A Word to those who Weep

Luke 7:1-17

7 After Jesus had finished all his sayings in the hearing of the people, he entered Capernaum. 2 A centurion there had a slave whom he valued highly, and who was ill and close to death. 3 When he heard about Jesus, he sent some Jewish elders to him, asking him to come and heal his slave. 4 When they came to Jesus, they appealed to him earnestly, saying, “He is worthy of having you do this for him, 5 for he loves our people, and it is he who built our synagogue for us.” 6 And Jesus went with them, but when he was not far from the house, the centurion sent friends to say to him, “Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; 7 therefore I did not presume to come to you. But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed. 8 For I also am a man set under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my slave, ‘Do this,’ and the slave does it.” 9 When Jesus heard this he was amazed at him, and turning to the crowd that followed him, he said, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.” 10 When those who had been sent returned to the house, they found the slave in good health.

11 Soon afterwards[b] he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. 12 As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. 13 When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” 14 Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” 15 The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus[c] gave him to his mother. 16 Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has looked favorably on his people!” 17 This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.

It’s been almost a full year since the Coronavirus pandemic upended every aspect of our lives. Each day seems to unveil new reminders that reiterate just how long it has been. The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo just announced the cancellation of this year’s event. And while most of us probably saw that coming a mile away, even as we try to steel ourselves against continued disappointment, it forms yet another landmark of loss. Even if you’ve never been and never intended to go, the rodeo is such a part of this city’s spring psyche, that the weight of its absence affects much more than our calendars or economy. Locally, it was the loss of this communal ritual last year that made clear to many of us just how significant the danger was becoming.  As we approach this anniversary and the various things that won’t happen…again, and are struck by the stark awareness of what hasn’t gotten better… it stirs up the old fears, heartache, and trauma.  The impact is multiplied as this crisis left us without many of the ways we would usually cope and care. And of those that have remained, we’ve already had to extend their reach far beyond what we ever anticipated…again and again.

 At this point, which one of us doesn’t feel ill and close to death multiple times a week or even in a day? And if not us directly, then likely somewhere within the circle of people near to us that we value highly. This on top of medical diagnoses, relationship struggles, existing mental health concerns, and continued injustice.

 I read an article on Huffington Post this week called “It's Not Just You. A Lot Of Us Are Hitting A Pandemic Wall Right Now.” Our body’s natural adrenaline and cortisol systems that keep us going during stress have been working on overdrive. One licensed mental health counselor explained that “when our fight-or-flight system has been totally overworked like that, even little things that might not have bothered us before can get to us. Eventually, those feelings build up and can become emotionally exhausting. “We’re at more risk for burnout because of the circumstances and because of the fact that we’re continually re-traumatized and [reactivating] that cortisol spike.”

Our bodies and souls yearn for healing. Off in the distance, we’ve heard that this is exactly what some teacher named Jesus is up to.

The Centurion gives voice to this longing. He speaks this need for healing and shares this need with his community. He puts forward the suffering of another which has clearly become his own suffering as well. Everything is laid out in the open in trusted relationship and in vulnerable hope. I suppose healing is not entirely impossible in silence and seclusion, but it seems significantly encouraged when wounds are no longer hidden entirely. Downplaying and distracting ourselves from the hurt simply doesn’t accomplish actual healing.

 The widow of Nain isn’t given a voice in her grief, there are no words or prayers that we can hear or see. And yet, we know she is still surrounded by her community to share the weight of this moment.  She has allowed her grief to be seen in public and she is not abandoned.

Jesus hears the Centurion’s agony and moves toward it. Jesus sees the Widow’s heartache and is moved with compassion, a suffering with those who are suffering. Jesus tends to the sick and engages the sorrow. Jesus touches the bier, the thing that carries the dead, breaking through the boundary of “good clean” religiosity. Jesus extends a hand to the place of death and decay to bring healing and renewal.

God draws near when hope seems far and speaks a word of wholeness. God leads a procession of life right into the middle of a procession of death, disrupting its pull, and giving rise to renewed joy that overflows.

 While there are other stories where Jesus heals inside someone’s home or at the place where they set up to teach…here, healing is not something that happens as a static location, it happens in motion. It is not a set place that the wounded make pilgrimage to, but something that unfolds along the way.  It isn’t bound to the place we’d know to call sacred nor the places we fortify with control, but transpires in the space in-between.  

 Nor is this healing contained to one people, but transcends to the vast diversity of creation. The widow is Jewish like Jesus. She’s part of the family and tradition that gives guidance and clear directive for care. The Centurion is Roman, meaning not-Jewish, not a part of the people Israel, not a part of the family, and even part of active opposition. God is present and at work just as profoundly, even beyond what the world might define as proper or just.  Faith is seen and experienced even in what the righteous might call profane. In Christ, there is room even for opposing peoples to know healing. 

There’s a fairly popular saying that sits in the back of my mind whenever faith and healing and community come up. It proclaims, “the church is not a museum for saints, it is a hospital for sinners.” It’s a word of comfort when I don’t feel very saintly and when I want others who feel similarly to know they are welcome here too. But, I wonder if it doesn’t ring a bit hollow when we’re really in the thick of it, when the idea of hospitals and healing seems laughably quaint as we’re being carried out on what feels like a funeral bier. Perhaps the church is not a hospital for sinners; it is a morgue for the dead. Yet, it is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive! I have experienced this as true even when it appears that no obvious miracle has arrived. Healing doesn’t always look like cure, but it can also be care.  Healing doesn’t always mean physical resurrection, but it does mean restoration and wholeness.

This is a powerful Word. It’s the kind of word that isn’t limited to proximity, but can reach across time and place and people to create what it says. There is power in community, in presence and gathering, but also in Word, in what is spoken to become being.  As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once said and as every poet already knows, “words create worlds.” Jesus, who is The Word embodied, creates a new world and a new way where there seems to be none. The Centurion particularly recognizes this – that if Jesus says something, it can be counted on as complete. And the mourning masses become a part of that Word, spreading the word of One who has arisen to give rise to impossible hopes.  Speaking is its own kind of resurrection from death which creates silence. As they tell others of the pieces of their own story that were dead and now show signs of life, it sparks life in others. 

And listen, I’m not saying that life is immediately lush and flowering. It may look like something on the clearance rack at the nursery and be wilted and damaged and parts of it may or may not grow back, but it can and will live and grow. God’s specialty seems to be the broken, bruised, and totally dried up things anyway.  God sees our heartache and hurt, we need not be afraid or ashamed of showing it. God tends to us where we are most tender. God says we are holy and whole and in so doing, revives us when from what feels too far gone.

May we see and hear and know and hold and reflect this life-giving Word today and tomorrow and throughout our story. Amen.

 ……..

 What does this sacred story show us about God? Where are you in this story or what part is about you?

What is the Holy Spirit saying to you here?  What does it move you to say to others?

Where am I going? Who will go with me?

Luke 5:1-11

5 Once while Jesus[a] was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, 2 he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. 4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” 5 Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” 6 When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. 8 But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” 9 For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; 10 and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” 11 When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

“Great Catch” by John August Swanson

This past Tuesday afternoon I went out to the back yard to soak up some of the beautiful sunshine that graced us that day.  I got comfy in the hammock chair and I finally returned a call to a friend of mine who serves on the council of his church and wanted to learn more about how +KINDRED does leadership, decision-making, and work-sharing. Church governance doesn’t really rev my engine, so honestly, I’d been kind of avoiding the call. But then I got talking about when our Leadership Table chose to move our meetings from a conference room to a home, so that parents could be included and still get their kids to bed. How we always spend nearly a quarter of our time sharing a meal and stories, praying for one another, and reflecting deeply on scripture together. Sure, the agenda, our administrative tasks and work for mission matters a great deal, but it is first rooted in relationship, in shared life. It’s definitely not the most efficient way to run a meeting, but that’s only if you don’t consider the slow and sometimes unremarkable work of cultivating bold community part of our essential work, and I believe it is. I really got going talking about our balance of form and flexibility, the Spirit of faithfulness and openness that shapes who we are and how we are. If you haven’t spent significant time with many other churches, this is just not the norm in my experience. I mean, I think it should be which is why we take time to share what we’ve learned along the way. But this way of being church is pretty special. I could hear his voice lift on the other side of the phone as this story got him thinking in new life-giving ways about what community and leadership could look like, even in a very different culture than our own.

Later in the week, I was talking with an artist about a potential commission piece for the sanctuary. I was trying to describe who we are as people of God, what’s important to us about the Gospel, and how that might be reflected with meaningful images. She repeated back to me what she understood. She said, “so….we’re talking about a non-white Jesus that honors the LGBTQ community and you have pastors who ride motorcycles….what kind of a church did you say this was?” In her tone was another message: “This is a different story than I’m used to hearing…and it’s exciting.” Sometimes I take who we are and how we live into the Gospel for granted. The way we live and move and have our being…together…FOR one another…is still pretty revolutionary.

We certainly aren’t perfect and there’s plenty room to grow, but we stand on a firm foundation.

Word of Jesus is spreading, the curiosity is compelling crowds to come and see what the stories really look like. It’s a powerful Word. But so far Jesus has been carrying it mostly on their own. It could use some powerful allies to really get somewhere.

Civil rights leader and theologian, Howard Thurman, once said, “There are two questions we have to ask ourselves: the first is ‘Where am I going?’ And the second is ‘who will go with me?”

Jesus has been gaining a sense of where this Word is going. Through baptism, wilderness, and exploring the role of teacher and preacher…Jesus has begun to understand the risk-taking and life-giving work they’re called to. Now they find themselves in a moment where it is particularly clear that others will need to come along.

The idea of an all-powerful God is often taken to mean that Jesus could have done anything on their own, that God could do it all without any help, but CHOOSES to include others.  That sounds a lot like toxic colonial theology to me. I wonder if divine power isn’t inherently powerful in its independence but in its extension, in its drawing in and gathering up of others for this work in mutuality. The Gospel becomes the Gospel as its fruit is multiplied by doing it together.

Jesus needs others for the Gospel to be heard and grow. The Gospel isn’t the Gospel if it remains isolated as hero-worship. God invites others to be a part of this life and work. When Jesus looks to invite…the focus isn’t on just ANY others. They particularly notice the often unnoticed.  There is a crowd of interested folks right in front of them, plenty of them would surely be happy to volunteer for whatever task is needed, but Jesus invites those one the edge of this scene - the nearby fishermen cleaning their nets after a long night of work definitely didn’t seek out being in the midst of this crowd, they just happened to be nearby.

Imagine going to hear an incredible speaker at some little coffee shop. You’ve heard such wonderful things about them. Maybe you’ve been inspired by what you’ve heard, maybe you just go to see what the hype is about.  As the room fills up and the speaker steps out to start, they need a volunteer to help them with something.  Looking around, they point beyond all the folks sitting at tables or lining the walls, staring straight in their direction. They’re pointing to the person just going about their job, bussing tables in the back corner, clearing the empty cups and wiping down the chairs.

Jesus doesn’t just call on them to make a point, but because what they have and who they are is critically needed. Jesus asks them to do what they’re good at with the gifts and resources they have.

I need a way to be heard and seen; you have the boat and the skill that would make that possible.

Jesus notices and invites them into a meaningful role in this story. This is not tokenism.  In the invitation and the blessing of abundance that follows…Jesus acknowledges, celebrates, and blesses their gifts and their being as they’ve understood it thus far and also reveals how these are still unfolding as a blessing and a boon to God’s work in the world. They are invited to be fully who they are alongside the gospel, to come and be more than spectators and witnesses, but to be a part of it. This experience of meaning and deep belonging is what entices them to follow. In Luke, Jesus doesn’t say “come and follow me,” it’s simply the response of people who have seen and known the goodness of God and tasted the possibility of their own place within that goodness.  There’s an invitation to come experience, to come lend a hand, but the movement to follow is the harvest which ripens with mysterious beauty.

The nature of this helping, this way of being, and the abundance it reveals is that it leads us to invite others along in the work too. As the fresh fish fill the nets beyond their capacity, Simon must call to partners, to James and John to come and help too. The poetry of Psalm 42 proclaims, “deep calls to deep.” The experience of joy, wonder, fear moves us to share it with others. The opened heart reminds and restores nearby hearts to open.

Many of us have experienced invitation in manipulative ways, especially when religion is involved. Between the prevalence of evangelicalism and mid-level marketing schemes…It’s fair that we’ve become jaded and cynical of supposed holy invitation. But often, in our avoidance of becoming part of something like that, we avoid invitation altogether.  Because we’ve been pressured and shamed into involvement that was not life-giving, we don’t want to do the same to others or be perceived as perpetuating that culture.

But our lives are filled with joy, wonder, and meaning that blossom and bless when shared.

I want to invite you into an exercise of reflection and invitation. As people of God, as a church, this should be a place to prepare and practice for a life of faith beyond this moment and this community. This is a time and place where we can try things and let them be wonky and learn together. Grab piece of paper and something to write with or use a notepad on your smart device.

I want you to think about your current rhythm of life. I know, rhythm might be an aspirational word for what life looks like right now, but just…what things are a part of your days, weeks, month that brings you joy, wonder, and meaning? Try to think of at least 3 things. Worship among +KINDRED can be one of those things, but what else? Walking in your neighborhood or at a local park? Maybe a webinar series or TikTok creator’s page? Maybe an online or outdoor yoga class? Where do you experience joy, wonder, and meaning?

Take a minute of silent prayer to reflect and write what the Spirit reveals.

Now, who might you be able to share these things with? Again, give yourself a time of silence and prayer to notice what the Holy Spirit may say here. But before we do that…keep an eye open for those on the edges and in the corners of your life. I’m not talking about the folks who get under your skin or the ones who are so far from your circle that you don’t genuinely have a starting place together yet; I’m talking about the diversity of people that are actually around us, near us, but that our biases often blind us from. Think about people who are different from you, different from those you’d typically call on first, but with whom you are indeed already connected so that you might recognize deeper blessing in one another. Because a diverse community doesn’t just happen, it’s cultivated.

So next to at least three of the things you wrote down as places of joy, wonder, and meaning. I want you to write at least one name of someone you could invite to share this thing alongside you. I recognize that sharing has its particular challenges right now, but some things are still possible and somethings you can hold onto for when gathering in person is safer. The invitation can be as simple as “hey, I’m planning on going for a walk in the park tomorrow to settle down after work, would you be up for coming with me?” Or “I’ve had this movie on my list to watch forever, but never get around to it.  I’d actually love to have someone to talk about it with afterward.  I thought of you. Does that sound like something you’d be into?” This practice may feel awkward or disorienting, but I imagine that’s not so dissimilar from how the first disciples felt when Jesus says they will fish for people. It will take practice and unfolding, but we’re in it together.

Hold a minute of silent prayer to reflect and write what the Spirit reveals.

Lord Jesus of fisher folk,
You taught your disciples to cast a wide net — not for fish, but for people. Teach us to recognize and utilize our own gifts for the Gospel. Make us nimble and gentle so we may handle hearts and hands with care; make our minds quiet and patient for your movement and revelation; and make our hearts hungry for your word, for the sake of the one who has captured our hearts already, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Continue to journal or meditate:                                                                              

What surprised you or stuck out to you in this story?

What seems hardest about this practice of invitation?

What would you hope to be the fruit of this practice?

An Undomesticated Gospel

Luke 4:14-30

14 Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. 15 He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.

16 When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    because he has anointed me
        to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
    and recovery of sight to the blind,
        to let the oppressed go free,
19 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

20 And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” 22 All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” 23 He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” 24 And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. 25 But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; 26 yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. 27 There were also many lepers[a] in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” 28 When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. 29 They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. 30 But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

 If you’re new here, you may not know that I can be kind of smug about stylistic expression. That’s a couched way of saying that I have tendency to sneer at farmhouse chic “live laugh love” décor. It’s just not my gig and I am probably over-compensating for not fitting into various societal norms throughout life, but I am truly a punk about it. It’s not that I resent the idea of living, or laughing, or love or even reminders to be more attentive to these things, it’s just that the more common it becomes, the more washed out the words seem to feel. And I do think these words point to the important stuff.

I wonder if there isn’t a similar effect with the words Jesus reads from the scroll of Isaiah:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    because he has anointed me
        to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
    and recovery of sight to the blind,
        to let the oppressed go free,
19 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

Poetic, bold, inspiring proclamation. Last week we heard about Jesus’ baptism among the people and then this follows.  This baptismal identity is embodied in the work of justice and liberation. Jesus gives voice to what baptismal life is to be about and who it is to be for – not a personal or private salvation, but for the whole of the world and particularly for those most-often ignored, overlooked, and oppressed.

It is not a promise for someday off in the distance but for the here and now. It’s an invigorating vision, but I wonder if that’s as far as we’re willing to let these words go. If they, too, have become pretty words on a plaque for us to appreciate but not incorporate into our lives. At least not with the depth and breadth that they are intended.  

This often happens with the prophetic words, work, and memory of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. It shows up in bite-size chunks, just enough to sound virtuous and inspiring, but then put in service to other agendas.  We want to be on the right side of history, but it’s warped into our own benefit of being right more than it is about enacting justice. The memorializing is often romanticized and domesticated and stops short of the disruption and anguish that surrounded these words when they were fresh. At a 50 years distance, we can tidy up his story and then embrace him on our own terms. But while he was living, he was held in contempt as a dangerous protest leader, with only 36% of white Americans thinking that his work was actually helping the cause of civil rights and a similar proportion feeling like he brought his assassination upon himself.

icpn by Robert Lentz

It’s easy to see how the boldness of the Gospel becomes romanticized and domesticated. When the words are just words, we read things like “he was praised by everyone.”

This story of Jesus has lived in my head as a trope of how hard it is to grow beyond the expectations of small town community, that it’s just too scandalous that a simple person would speak so confidently or rise beyond their station, as it were. Or that it’s just too hard to hear profound truth from people you’ve known intimately, from someone you remember as a child.

But this time when I read it, I noticed that even after Jesus read the scroll proclaiming these promises of liberation, and even after they announced the fulfillment of these promises in their being (which could have been considered blasphemy )….they STILL spoke well of him and were amazed at his gracious words. 

Where it turns is when the people are denied ownership over this Good News. When they first hear it, it sounds awesome and some part of them thinks… “this is perfect. He’s one of ours, so we’ll get first dibs on all this goodness, right? Surely we’ll get some advantages out of our association.”

The Gospel of Luke highlights a Jesus who is bigger than one subset of people. The response is basically a punch in the gut of privilege.  Not only will God’s blessing not preference those who expect it, it goes out of the way to reach those who would be considered “the wrong people.” In this first lesson on what Good News looks like in Christ, Jesus clarifies that liberation that does not privilege certain people. In fact, it unravels the idea that there can be a tiered or segmented Gospel. And THAT’S when they want to run Jesus off a cliff.

Good News to the poor is Good News for all of us, but it will cost something of those who expect pride of place in the relationship. It will disrupt the ways we secretly or not so secretly resent not having something we assumed either consciously or unconsciously.

The life and work of +KINDRED is to echo Jesus’s proclamation that today these words are fulfilled in our hearing. That liberation is not only spoken but embodied. That we would be free of any illusions of romanticism about an abstract good news to the poor when we sit side by side with one another around the table. Even now, when it is hard if not impossible to see one another face to face, the relationships born over shared meals and stories still hold in our hearts and we know that the poor are not an abstract and platitudes and well wishes are not sufficiently the Good News.  

Honestly, I often struggle with how to share this Good News with those we love who face eviction, are sleeping their cars, and waiting in lines for food. It feels hollow to speak of divine love and care while so much seems uncaring. But perhaps the Good News is the promise and practice that while many want to pretend like you don’t exist or that your economics are the measure of your value as a person, we have not and will not forget you or diminish you. We insist that You are a revelation of God’s goodness in the world.  We will tell others the same truth even when you’re not around and we will show up beside you at City Hall and any other hall of power when your divine dignity is not being honored.  While some don’t want to see you, we’re not only glad you are here, but blessed by your presence and personhood. Even when things get messy, and they will, we choose love over ease.

We will walk alongside those with privilege to release the constricting notions and systems of superiority and control and actively work to undo them in the name of Christ. We will remind each other that God’s love and care is already for us so that we can be free of the exhausting ways we try to earn or wield it in our favor.  God’s favor is called jubilee because the joy it brings outlasts the weariness of our trying to chase it.

And that just can’t be reflected by embellished lettering on shiplap.

Today, may these promises be fulfilled, revealed in whole, and embodied  in our hearing. Amen.

We're In Deep

This week’s sacred story comes from Luke 3:1-22 where John the Baptist takes a break from speaking up against tyrants who abuse their power to preach about the interwoven nature of baptism and repentance (as transformative/restorative action…not shame), Jesus is baptized with the masses, and it all culminates in a declaration of belovedness. Read the full text here.

“Baptism of Christ” by Greta Lasko

I admit that I am not entirely sure what to say to you all today. Weeks like this one when I have to prepare to say something about good news, I don’t even know where to start. In Lutheran ordinations we are commissioned to avoid offering illusory hope, shallow spiritual platitudes. I know my soul would not be satisfied with such simple or tidy tidings, so I will not disrespect you by feeding you sawdust words and trying to pass them off as enough.

I have no spin, I have only a story. It’s a story that holds so much truth, that it has endured across time and place for generations.  This story has seen empires rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall…and still continues. It is a sacred story.

Today it is the story of someone living in the wilderness, because even the Herods and Pilates, kings and governors, of the world have a harder time controlling you there. The story of someone who spoke up when even the highest rulers abused their power and acted like the rules didn’t apply to them, especially toward women, like with Herodias.  The story of someone who didn’t mince words, naming the truth of a brood of vipers when we saw one, even if they had just followed the crowd and especially if they had come in the name of religious righteousness.

Certainly all this can be twisted in convenient service to condemn those we find personally distasteful. Such a story could fuel a haughty heart and also dishearten branches that feel fruitless.

But this is also a story of someone pointing beyond themselves. John proclaims that the transformative work happening in him and through him and with the people is not because he’s so smart or noble or  nice or even that he is particularly special, but because that’s just what this stuff means. This is what the Messiah, the Savior, brings. This is how salvation is seen. This is what the water immerses us in.

In baptism, the surface of the water is broken. The boundary of above and below is held open. Whether a sprinkle or a dunk, the smooth stillness is disrupted. As the holy current whips around, it serves to loosen the caked-on dust that stiffens our body and soul. The hardened crust that has gathered in our pores is softened and ultimately released.

John calls this repentance – naming the dirt, recognizing how it got on us, how rolling in the mud probably won’t help, and realizing that the water will mean rejecting this shroud.

Before saying anything of what the baptized believe, the Lutheran liturgy of baptism first asks what will be rejected. This comes in the form of questions and response given voice in public community.

Do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God? I renounce them.

Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God? I renounce them.

Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God? I renounce them.

We cannot cling to the dirt and the water at the same time. The steady stream both bids and enables us to let go of its attachment and to turn toward a world refreshed.

If we are to be people who walk in this holy water, let us name and reject the evil of individualism, the perversion of power that is nationalism, and the insidious sin of white supremacy. For these things directly contradict the blessedness of God and the image of God in our neighbors and in ourselves. Likewise, let us name and renounce the evil of convenient condemnation, the poison of isolation, and the sin of smug satisfaction.  These false Gods perversely promise goodness, security, and blessedness but none can endure as the waters rise.  We cannot defend or cling to them AND the promises of all-encompassing belovedness.

What, then, emerges from the depths?

As the droplets drip from their soaked hair and pools at their feet on the shore, the people look at their water-wrinkled fingertips, which still seem wholly ordinary and wonder….

Did it work? Can you see it on our skin? Am I surrounded by a divine force field?

Do we have crime-fighting super-powers now?

Well, no. But also, kinda, yes.

They ask John, what should we do? What does this mean? What happens now?

He doesn’t say join a Bible study or go to temple more often (not that those things hurt, obviously) but that’s not the fruit of repentance in baptism. He compels them to live a daily reality that reflects God’s belovedness through integrity, justice, and generosity.

Baptism is not closure, it’s an opening. This is not a moment, it’s the movement.

They describe the faithful distribution of possessions, the rejection of corruption, and a legal system that refuses to use violence for its own preservation. For Justo González, John’s call to obedience is about more than individual purity; it has to do “with justice and the well ordering of society.” But John reminds us that this way of life is expressed in the intentional actions within the life that is already right in front of you. Consistent through the Gospel of Luke, the halls of power are not where the real action takes place. The spiritual action happens in livestock pens, dusty towns, watering holes, and wilderness, and prison.

What should we do? What happens now? When presidents lie, incite destruction and violence, and attempt coups that threaten civil war? What should the baptized do when math assignments still need to be turned in and we still have to show up for our shift? When the car battery dies or the bill is overdue, and the office e-mail chain still goes round? When people are still getting sick but also getting vaccinated? What do we reach for with these water-wrinkled hands?

Jesus sits among this community of soggy hopefuls. Their baptism isn’t separate, but a part of the many. And once again, the world is disrupted as the threshold between above and below is held open. What emerges is like coming up for air. Holiness comes into bodily form, enfleshed in the regular rhythm of breathing in an out. A voice bigger and wider than ourselves, louder than any mob, more resolute than any desk, and more enduring than any denomination broadcasts this blessing: “You are my child, my Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Before healing or miracles or learning, there is a deep well of belovedness.

May divine belovedness flood your heart and find you swimming in community.

May its rushing release you from stuck places and move you with power and grace.

May this deep transformative love quench your being and quell your fear.

May it rain down to refresh and nourish your roots so that you may bear good fruit where you are planted.

Amen.

A God Who Grows

Luke 2:41-52

41 Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. 42 And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. 43 When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. 44 Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. 45 When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. 46 After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. 47 And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. 48 When his parents[a] saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.” 49 He said to them, “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”[b] 50 But they did not understand what he said to them. 51 Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart.

52 And Jesus increased in wisdom and in years,[c] and in divine and human favor.

“Young Jesus in the Temple” by Jean-Baptiste Bottex

As a mom, I can easily see myself in the place of Mary and Joseph in this story. I can easily envision going about an annual tradition with a dear and familiar community, where we share a kinship to one another and our children and so even if I cannot see them, I can assume my child is being cared for somewhere in the arms of an auntie or cousin or friend.  Jesus is no longer a toddler who must be watched constantly watched so they doesn’t put crayons in their mouth or reach for something too sharp. They are not yet considered an adult with all its trusts and responsibilities, as they will be at age 13. There is this threshold between, a tween Jesus, who is capable of more independence that often surprises parents and causes us both exasperation and relief, life-threatening heart palpitations and a strange pride as it unfolds.

I can also relate to this young person, trying on various aspects of identity like hats to find what feels true for us, seeking out somewhere a bit farther from the influence/bias/control of others’ expectations. It is at once thrilling and terrifying. Amidst the hope and fear, rough drafts and sketches of self, you come across something that is completely novel and yet also feels like it was already a part of yourself, being both surprised and affirmed in this discovery.  It’s as in those moments when you’re reading a book about someone or somewhere else and then suddenly you see your own reflection there, sometimes directly, sometimes cast in relief, or at an angle…revealed by the space the story makes. Somehow there are finally words, an image, something tangible for what you’ve felt within but never knew how to express.  I wonder if Jesus was as surprised as their family when the words rolled off their tongue.

I am both, parent and child among other things, and still unfolding within each identity, still learning what it looks like and means. And apparently …the divine is here too.

We are entering further into the Gospel of Luke and in this Gospel. While there are still informed shepherds and insightful prophets, there are no magi or wise ones from afar that come with enlightening gifts that point to Christ’s future. As we mark this time of Epiphany, it is with less fanfare and more ordinary revelation.  “Epiphany” is “a sudden, intuitive perception or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.” It is both like a lightbulb that comes on to illuminate and give meaning to the shapes that were already there, but also a doorway that connects where we’ve been and where we’re going. It opens onto new ways of being in all places that we either missed or seemed too daunting before.

On this Sunday where we mark Epiphany, we are offered insight into the reality and essential meaning of the divine in a simple experience.  A young Jesus sits in sacred places with others to ask questions, to listen and learn. Likely, our picture of Jesus is more often in the role of teacher on mountainside or lakeshore, casting their already-refined wisdom to the masses. But here, there is also wisdom and understanding shown in continued wondering and reflection.  Here God is also a learner, someone with room to grow and not made lesser for it. On this 9th day of Christmas, what is revealed is not only the presence of God, but also the nature of God – communal, relational, reciprocal, and curious….both within and beyond time.

Even God’s very self is one of unfolding. God is the beginning and the end, but also to be found in the in-between – somewhere in between innocent infancy and convicted rebel.  So much of our life, too, happens between the pinnacles, the resolutions, the farmable snapshots, and the annual newsletters. This doesn’t mean these moments don’t matter or matter less. These in-between places form and shape how we connect to and understand the whole of the story, of ourselves, and of God with us throughout.

Christendom has long celebrated Jesus’ divinity, the complete beyond-ness of God. But this is a season to ponder and treasure God’s humanity - the messiness, the imperfection, the vulnerability of God – and what happens when the things we’ve been told make us less than are indeed inhabited by the Great I Am. In a season where we are told to set ourselves toward being better, or more, or to chase down happiness and success and wrestle it to the ground….God who is goodness is learning to be. This “be”ing is not resigned or stagnant; it is still making choices and moving, but is into depth and fullness of themselves. There’s nothing wrong with goals or setting intentions, but perhaps equally important is reflection on why or in what direction does this serve to move me. Sometimes we don’t have an answer for that, but it stirs up a pondering in our heart that moves us in its own way over time.

We have arrived here, to his place and moment, to wonder and celebrate and follow a God who grows…before us, within us, and beyond us. Amen.

I invite you to meditate, start a conversation with others, or write in a journal:

Where do you see yourself in this story?

What did you notice or learn about the essential reality of your sacred self in this past year?

Who is in your community that helps you to wonder and reflect and grow in divine fullness? How can you strengthen this community and these practices?

How are you walking alongside another as they wonder, and wrestle, and discover their sacred wholeness?

Blessed Rebel Girl

Luke 1:26-56

26 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, 27 to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. 28 And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”[a] 29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30 The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” 34 Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”[b] 35 The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born[c] will be holy; he will be called Son of God. 36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God.” 38 Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

39 In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, 40 where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. 41 When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit 42 and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. 43 And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? 44 For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. 45 And blessed is she who believed that there would be[d] a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

46 And Mary said,
‘My soul magnifies the Lord,
47   and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
48 for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
   Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
   and holy is his name.
50 His mercy is for those who fear him
   from generation to generation.
51 He has shown strength with his arm;
   he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
   and lifted up the lowly;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things,
   and sent the rich away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
   in remembrance of his mercy,
55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
   to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

56 And Mary remained with her for about three months and then returned to her home.

“Mary and Elizabeth” by Lauren Wright Pittman

These last few Sundays of Advent, we’ve heard this story sung in melodic chorus – “An angel went from God to a town called Nazareth to a woman whose name was Mary.” Maybe you can even hear the harmonies now as I say the words. “You shall bear a child and his name shall be Jesus, the chosen one of God most high.” Maybe you find yourself eager to join in the song.

It is a beautiful tune that sings of an even more beautiful vision. God is with you.  

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in these words – God is with you. The Gospel writer wants to make sure we notice. This vision and promise has been at work from long ago. The threads of God’s story are being woven together. The promises God made to David and Jacob for their blessing to endure are being fulfilled again through Mary. A line of royal authority continues. The child is to be named Jesus, the Greek by way of Aramaic version of the Hebrew Joshua – the liberating priest who brought God’s people into the promised land. There will be no end fullness of ever-flowing milk and honey that he brings. Mary sits alongside her ancestors like Sarah and Hannah who find themselves flabbergasted with the divine promise of an impossible baby who will have a profound impact on the world. Her name and the revolutionary song she sings in response to this news are tied to Miriam – whose name means among other things, “rebellion.” Mary carries on the exodus tune and through the waters of birth, will open up a new way for all creation.  

The ancient promises of God with us, to the redemption of the world, are being fulfilled…and as clearly Jewish as this promise is, the fullness of its goodness does not get boxed into the corner of one religious identity.  “He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most high, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.” These titles, thrones, honorifics, and even birth through a virgin mother…match line for line with the alternative story of a Caesar’s holy and redeeming birth to a Roman Empire that was considered “the whole world.” “God is with you” will mean….yes, there too. God’s promises don’t just go around or over the exploitative systems of power, but enters in to disrupt and dismantle every nook and cranny where other promises hope to have sway.

Just after her visit with Elizabeth, Mary responds with a song which is called “The Magnificat” which comes from its first line “my soul magnifies the Lord.” She sings of the radical and redemptive upheaval that this day will bring, let the fires of God’s justice burn. She does not sing in a distant future tense, but in the present perfect which again notes complete fulfillment.  God HAS scattered the proud. God HAS brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly. God HAS filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty. This is the setting-aright of all things, which will mean knocking some things down, lifting up the trampled, visiting the overlooked, turning exploitation on its heads so that justice rather than dominance, rolls down over everything.

While I love the gentle lilting rhythms of Holden Evening’s Magnificat, it still surprises me that this subversive song doesn’t have a punk rock version that I think it deserves.  Mary meek and mild is one step away from putting on her Doc Martens and a Leia Organa t-shirt that says “a woman’s place is in the resistance,” marching with a sign that reads “eat the rich.” Or, more likely, putting her dark hair in braids along the Frontera, or on the Reservation, or her traditional blue dress reflected in one of kente cloth, with her fist raised to the sky in protest.  This announcement of the angel is more than a baby to one family, it is the assurance of liberation for all people for all time. And it arrives through an unmarried pregnant girl from a little working-class town.

Before she sings with such powerful and present promise, she wonders….how can this be? As much as we long for this all to be true and to be here, we have seen and experienced so much that seems to be contrary to this reality. We’ve been taught that one plus one makes two, and yet here is a promise that there is more than one way to create holy family. We have witnessed barriers that hold apart, and yet here God transcends them all. How can this be?

Perhaps she cannot yet fully account for its truth, but begins to lean into its mystery. Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

The angel points her to community, to her relative, her kin, Elizabeth with whom she can visit and wonder and cry and hope and be with.

I remember soon after learning that I was pregnant, I hurried to visit my friend Andrea in California as she had just given birth herself. I helped with burping, swaddling, and rocking her little one as I wondered how this could be in my own rhythm of life. We walked and talked and fumbled together. As we shared the excitement, nerves, and  wonder – none of those things went away but rather, just as my body could carry something at once intimately connected and yet foreign and unknown, it seemed my soul too could grow and expand enough to make room for this vast experience of expectation.

Perhaps it is in community, in relationship, in friendship, kinship, in sharing, that Mary finds the power to proclaim the fulfillment of this astounding promise and sing. The angel of God declares Mary blessed, those near her affirm this blessing, until she too claims it as her own. Her leaning into God’s promise has her diving head-first into the deep waters of possibility - not only for herself, but for all those the world has deemed “impossible” and indeed all the world, from beginning to end and then some. God is with you. Let it be.

The Gospel of Black Joy

Isaiah 61:1-11

61The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
   because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
   to bind up the broken-hearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
   and release to the prisoners;
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour,
   and the day of vengeance of our God;
   to comfort all who mourn;
3 to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
   to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
   the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,
   the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
4 They shall build up the ancient ruins,
   they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
   the devastations of many generations.

5 Strangers shall stand and feed your flocks,
   foreigners shall till your land and dress your vines;
6 but you shall be called priests of the Lord,
   you shall be named ministers of our God;
you shall enjoy the wealth of the nations,
   and in their riches you shall glory.
7 Because their shame was double,
   and dishonour was proclaimed as their lot,
therefore they shall possess a double portion;
   everlasting joy shall be theirs.

8 For I the Lord love justice,
   I hate robbery and wrongdoing;
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
   and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.
9 Their descendants shall be known among the nations,
   and their offspring among the peoples;
all who see them shall acknowledge
   that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed.
10 I will greatly rejoice in the Lord,
   my whole being shall exult in my God;
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
   he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
   and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
11 For as the earth brings forth its shoots,
   and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up,
so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
   to spring up before all the nations.

Perhaps the first few verses of this text are familiar to you. They are a mighty proclamation to those who long for justice. They echo from generation to generation. It is this chapter of Isaiah that Jesus reads at the synagogue in their hometown as they enter in fullness to ministry. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is baptized, led into the wilderness and temped, then returns to community to begin leaning into the their identity as Christ and the first thing they do is to go to the synagogue on the Sabbath as usual, read from the sacred text as usual, but this time joining the ancient promises with contemporary reality,

saying “these words are fulfilled in your hearing.” The idea that these promises would be made true here and now through someone as seemingly ordinary as a backwoods carpenter’s son is so beyond expectation or comprehension that it gets Jesus run out of town.

The prophets gives voice to God’s poetic vision, not to provide clarifying detail, but to reveal the character of what WILL be.

Perhaps you too long for someone to show up and announce that they are here to usher in a time of liberation, a year of Jubilee where the debts of generations are cancelled, the compiled and compounded weight of struggle is lifted. Isaiah and Jesus both proclaim that they embody the Spirit’s work toward this end.

But even more so, they point to God’s work among the whole people as the fulfillment of these words. This Spirit of the Lord is upon me to do and be these things, but also with you. The movement of God’s promise and presence are from Me to We.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,
   the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
4 They shall build up the ancient ruins,
   they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
   the devastations of many generations.

…. you shall be called priests of the Lord,
   you shall be named ministers of our God….

   everlasting joy shall be theirs.

The embodiment of God among us does not float just above our reach, but enters fully into the mess of the masses. It is not only the noted leaders, but the people together who will be agents of this rebuilding. And this rebuilding is not the result of a slog of suffering. Rather, it is buoyed by the subversive joy that remains even amid the toil.

I met with my spiritual director recently and she talked about this practice she does with those who are feeling isolated and weighed down during the pandemic.  She has them envision the last time they were among family or friends, that last really good gathering. Remember where they were and who was there, the look and smell and taste of the food that was shared, the games that were played or the stories that were told, the rising sound of their laughter, and the whole-hearted smiles.

Through this remembering, there is also an experience of joy that takes shape. This vision of past joy actually produces an echo of that same joy into the present. The physiology of it proves true, that our brain benefits even from pretending to be joyful.  It’s the science behind laugh therapy, which says that laughing even at nothing, even if it feels phony or hollow, if we lead our bodies into the practices of joy, it can create the same chemical boosts that we find in those rarified moments of true joy.

She talked about it like an endowment - that we can draw on the balance of joy, both past and future, to  be sustained and bolstered through this moment.

I wouldn’t say the Gospel is a mind over matter proposition, but I have seen how a vision of joy beyond this moment radiates into current realities to create powerful liberation among us.

It is that infectious joy that bring us to tears for the way it evokes our heart and our humanity in ways that defy the dominion of sorrow and restores the soul, beginning with the defiant hope that joy is even possible.  Even as it seems beyond us, it enters into us and changes everything.   

Could there be any witness to this more powerful than black joy? Throughout history the black community, and in our corner of the world the African-American community has been given reason aplenty to mourn and despair - as we are being sorrowfully reminded in recent days with continued state violence toward black men – the federal execution of Brandon Bernard and then Alfred Bourgeois with two more black men scheduled before inauguration day, the police killing of Casey Goodson Jr. – who’s basic existence is assumed to be criminal. How can there be rebuilding, hope, or joy amidst so much pain and destruction, the devastation of many generations? 

And yet, the current of black joy is not dissolved. Rather, it emerges all the more insistently. It serves as a holy incarnation among us, the embodiment of God’s vision that blesses us into new ways of being.

During this time of global strife, a song by Master KG out of South Africa went viral. “Jerusalema”, sung in Zulu, remembers and builds the symbol of holy home, the promised land that leaves none forsaken.   The words speak of healing, but it is the joyful dance and the sharing that make it tangible. It became an international “challenge” that produced effervescent videos from Angola to Romania and all around the world – Of people dancing with lunch plates still in hand to frontline healthcare workers dancing down hospital corridors. It is precisely in these places where it is least expected that is becomes most palpable and perhaps irresistible.

I’d like to share one of my favorites with you. The Masaka Kids Africana is a dance troupe made up of children who have often lost one of both parents through the devastation of war, famine, and disease.  Yet here they are, a prophetic witness to resounding joy.

During this season of Advent as we yearn for and look forward God’s arrival among us, let us not forget to look at the flesh and blood already surrounding us. Jesus isn’t born somewhere back there or beyond us, but within and by us. Amen.

BONUS LINKS:

Author Irenosen Okojie speaks to why we need “black joy”.

There'll Be Peace in the Valley

Joel 2:12-13, 28-29

12 Yet even now, says the Lord,
    return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
13     rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the Lord, your God,
    for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,
    and relents from punishing.

28 [a] Then afterward
    I will pour out my spirit on all flesh;
your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
    your elders shall dream dreams,
    and your young people shall see visions.
29 Even on the male and female slaves,
    in those days, I will pour out my spirit.

Nothing bolsters my faith like peace. Not just because peace is this transformative power that draws me deeper into the holy, but because if I, as an anxious, distractible, and cynical person am able to recognize peace…it surely did not come from my own production or effort, but only through the grace of God. That’s not to say I can’t contribute to ways that either support or restrict peace, but ultimately it isn’t something to be conjured up.

I’m so tired of what seems to be a fruitless pursuit of peace. I’m tired of hearing and saying things that seem to put lipstick on a pandemic. I’m tired of trying to convince myself that the morsels of goodness we scrounge for in these days count as a full meal. I wonder…what is it that you are weary of?

Perhaps these too are appropriate sentiments for Advent.

On this Sunday where we consider the promise of peace in the anticipation of Christ, the Prince of Peace…

we are met with a text of mourning. The prophet Joel speaks to a people who look around them and see nothing but destruction. Everything is in ruins. It’s not only in the form of human harm, but creation itself suffers. Land plundered and burned, animals crying out to God for water … all of earth seems to lament. With resources devoured, Judah will not have anything material to offer in worship of the Lord, nothing visible or tangible to demonstrate their devotion. How then will they offer a sacrifice and repair the relationship with their God? How can they be connected to God and goodness?

Yet even now, God speaks to the possibility of holy communion – not just bread and cup, but what they ultimately point to - to God drawing near, in, and with the people.

These first verses are ones traditionally read on Ash Wednesday, ushering us into a Lenten season of lament and repentance. Perhaps Advent calls us into its own form of these things. Fasting, weeping, mourning, and rending apart.

Whereas Lent prepares us for death and new life, Advent approaches a time of new birth. It seems similar enough, but the subtle differences cast a distinct tone on how we might experience and engage these things. I am tired of both hearing and saying that this time of tribulation has something to teach us, that we are being invited to consider what is central when the trappings of the season are lost. And yet, this reflection unveils fresh new layers with the passage of time. The questions holds but my experience changes as do the landmarks of meaning. What does “alleluia” mean when there will be no trumpets or confetti on Easter? How can our spirits be lifted when the songs don’t reverberate off arched beams? How can reheated Chinese takeout eaten out of a coffee mug because it’s the last clean dish that resembles a bowl…become a sacred meal when there is so much distance from those across the table from us? How can we possibly speak of mercy, vision, gratitude, hope, and peace…in these days of turmoil?

I am cautioned by the prophets like Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Micah who warn against crying “peace, peace, when there is no peace” - warning that it is not only misguided but even dangerous to announce peace when there is none because The Word of God should not be reduced to superficial soothing.

And yet even now…God whispers, come and see. Return. Release. Rend open your hearts.

Over the past week, in our household, we have been putting out the seasonal decorations. And so the time for endlessly sweeping glitter and plastic pine needles from the floor has arrived. Hanging garland and arranging the mantle were boring enough tasks to everyone else in my house that I got to do it by myself. Which really shouldn’t be as satisfying as it was, but oh, it was. The tree, however, was a different story. My preferred approach of gently controlling the final product (with what I’m sure is convincing subtlety to the rest of my family) was quickly established as folly. I wish I could tell you I embraced the moment of messy togetherness with grace and wisdom. It’s not like this is the first time we’ve been here. But I will confess that first I’d have to travel through the seven levels of candy cane forest hell, through the sea of swirly-twirly feelings of frustration.

And then, day after day, our cats also wanted to contribute by repeatedly rending apart my casually draped (but carefully pinned) tree skirt. So yesterday…to try and create a fortified barrier that will keep our cats from ripping apart the tree skirt again and again…I also decided to start wrapping presents to weight the thing down. Again, I made beautifully organized piles of paper, ribbons, bows, and baubles…not to control, of course…but to…support? our construction of insta-worthy packages tied up with string. Which…as it turns out, is just not how my independent and helpful 9-year-old likes to roll. And listen, I get that it’s all going to be destroyed in a matter of minutes on Christmas morning…but that just doesn’t change my guttural response to the situation.

So as I sit there, trying to not snap…Elvis Presley’s Christmas album is spinning in the background singing “There’ll be peace in the valley someday.” While Elvis may croon, these words of the prophet Isaiah were set to verse by black minister Thomas Dorsey and intended for the illustrious gospel singer, Mahalia Jackson. Before arriving at this promise of peace the first lines pour out the soul: “I’m tried and weary, but I must go along.” Only afterward does the chorus arrive declaring “there’ll be peace in the valley someday, for me. There’ll be peace in the valley for me.”

I wonder about the call to repentance, the call to return to God through lament, as a call to release, to let loose our grip. I wonder if, rather than by quiet forest streams, peace is not more profoundly present precisely in the time of giving voice to what is missing or altogether lost in ways already known to our hearts. I wonder if peace doesn’t always sound like soft rain or chirping birds, but can also be known in a good cry or a primal scream as we release all of it.

When lighting the candles doesn’t spark joy or we don’t even feel up to trimming a tree, perhaps we are opened to notice that those were always the tools to help point us toward meaning, but not the place it truly resides. It doesn’t mean that we won’t grieve in the process of releasing our grip on what has held our hope in the past. And by release, I don’t mean “giving up”, nor even “giving it to God”, but to fall into and maybe even lean into the possibility that goodness still remains beyond our grasp of it.

In the way that the tomb of resurrection moves from full to emptied, perhaps the womb of advent moves from empty to full - the strange kind of fullness that lives both within and beyond you and kicks you in the ribs sometimes. And in this womb’s rending open…it is as if we, alongside Christ, take our first full breath.

In the garden, when all is cleared away, the place where stem and root meet is revealed and both can breathe again. Peace is that thing that soothes the spiritual swelling so that there is room enough for deep, full, life-giving breath - room enough for visions and dreaming - not only in the places and people where we have known them before but in every corner of being. It points us to and brings forth a horizon of holy imagination. The same act of pouring out bares our heart and fills with Spirit. The high places are made low and the lowly lifted up.

Now the bear will be gentle
The wolf will be tame
And the lion shall lay down with the lamb, oh yes

And the beast from the wild
Will be led by a child
I'll be changed from this creature that I am.

Oh, there’ll be peace in the valley for me, some day
There’ll be peace in the valley for me, I pray.

Amen.

Hope in the Lion's Den

This week’s sacred story comes from Daniel 6:6-27 in a darkly humorous tale of kings making rules to seem powerful only to have them backfire, and the prophet’s refusal to play along finds him locked up with some lions overnight. As we reflect on the theme of Hope, it is messier and more powerful than what you’d find on an embroidered pillow.

Word art by Jim LePage

The Book of Daniel holds one of my absolute favorite stories in scripture and also drives me bonkers as one of the most-cited books by those who claim certainty in deciphering its hyperbolic visions of “the end times.” It’s ironic because Daniel often tells the story of those who think they’ve cracked the code on God, only to have their prideful assurance and thin illusions of being in control become the butt of satirical comedy.

Its namesake, Daniel, is a prophet of Israel, a voice pointing to God behind, beside, and before the people - following in the tradition of Elijah, Jonah, Micah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Joel. Like others, he is a reliable interpreter of dreams and visions when all others fail. He is a leader among an exiled people, whose God-given gifts have meant gain in political position. King after king find themselves lost and confused and seek Daniel’s counsel. Truth is revealed and in seeming gratitude and celebration, the Kings momentarily decree that the Most High God should be honored and worshipped by all above all. Until the next time THEY want to be worshipped, are refused, and get murderous.  

The first time this happens with Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel gets promoted and in turn promotes others - appointing Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego over the affairs of the province of Babylon.  I fell in love with this Story after reading it aloud for Easter Vigil – a night of telling the story of God through the long thread of scripture until we find ourselves again at resurrection. Apparently learning nothing…the King makes a ridiculously giant golden statue of himself, creates an obscene spectacle out of the whole thing, and commands the people to worship it or be thrown into a blazing fire.  It’s so over the top that it screams of trying too hard in a very “emperor has no clothes” mood. The more he lays it on thick, the more ridiculous and hilarious the irony gets. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego don’t buy in and refuse to worship this hollow idol. Even the king’s attempted vengeance is made ridiculous by his own extremes as he cranks the furnace up to an exponentially hotter degree which ends up killing those who brought the three into the fire but as for the intended targets, it leaves the even the clothes on their bodies unsinged. The dark humor of it all! It paints the king as a raging buffoon and the rage-ier he gets, the more ridiculous his claims of power sound as the fall to the ground. Perhaps it’s a laugh to keep from crying situation.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Leaders rise, elevate themselves to the level of God, even as they give lip service and rewards to the Most High God of Daniel, but continually fall when they fail to honor this truth in their hearts. A few verses before our reading, Daniel articulates it plainly, saying, “You have praised the gods of silver and gold, of bronze, iron, wood, and stone, which do not see or hear or know; but the God in whose power is your very breath, and to whom belong all your ways, you have not honored.”(Dan 6:23)

The foolish repetition is astounding and the groundhog day cycle of continued stumbling without significant change is obnoxious at best to soul-crushing on our more difficult days. The idea of hope in the midst of such chaos can seem equally silly, or sound hollow, and can even feel like a salt in open wounds.

In some ways, the resilience of hope seems equally ridiculous and foolish. Alongside Daniel’s cryptic visions of angels, thrones of fire, winged lions, bears with 3 tusks, four-headed leopards, and ten-horned beasts with iron teeth…it takes a conscious choice for my modern ears to not throw the whole thing out. 

In some ways, Daniel’s story might seem far away like folklore or fantasy. The seemingly extreme apocalyptic visions and explicit martyrdom might feel like a distant reality, yet many are still thrown to the lions for standing firm in their dignity, in their faithfulness to who God created them to be and in the truth that no system, façade, or anything that we create is worthy of our ultimate allegiance or worship. Sometimes it makes the headlines and sometimes it’s in the nearby quiet places of our lives.  People are still hurt by the compulsion to control and protect at all costs. Beloved children of God still suffer, still die. Like Daniel and the Crucified Christ, we find ourselves sealed up by the weight of an unmovable stone.

Trust me…my human heart would loooooove to see some vindication in this scenario. But the boldness and courage of Daniel is not a story of human heroes valiantly overcoming religious persecution – real or perceived, even as we strive together toward justice. The Gospel does not make noble the suffering of slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. There’s no sugar-coating the cruelty or pain. If our greatest hope is glory, even the redemptive kind, we simply replace one devouring lion with another (which is exactly what the Persian King of Kings does), and the beat goes on.  

But this is a book of apocalyptic literature. Apocalypse does not mean destruction, but “unveiling.” It is about revelation – the revealing of ultimate and enduring things.  It draws back the curtain on what lies behind all the performance and puff and thus what endures and grows in the very belly of creation. It exposes the farce and folly of earthly authority trying to grasp at eternal authority, not only for oneself but over and against others – the cycle of using any means necessary to control because that’s the only way. It proclaims that pride, vanity, violence, chaos, exile…not only don’t continue forever but indeed cannot. The trampling of the innocent and systems that trap even those that intended to trap others…will not last nor get the final word. This doesn’t remove all mystery, but makes a way to draw near to it. We will know holy relief. Everlasting liberation is on the way and is arriving soon. 

Being a church youth group kid in the late 90s, there was this super popular song in Lutheran circles. A duo of nasally singers had us clapping along as we sang the chorus, “Oh them lions they can eat my body, but they can’t swallow my soul.”  Over and over, with a sort of doo-wop baseline in the round… “They keep on trying to crash my party, but they can’t get control no no.”

It’s kinda weird to look back at a room full of teens excitedly bopping up and down to a tune of ancient torture.  I didn’t have the words for it then, but the resilient hope those words gave me was not that bodies don’t matter, or are only secondary truths.  Nor do I think that Daniel’s ultimate hope is that God will save him from any and all harm and that everything will be just fine. It is so much bigger. I think I’ve only gained the words and understanding for this the more I read and learn from black liberation theology.

It is a hope that even when things are definitely not fine…God is still present, still faithful to the enduring promise that the roaring lions of life, do not get to define us or make ultimate claims about the world. It is the assurance that this truth will continue to unfold no matter what pain or puffed-up power trip tries to stop it.  

The season of Advent is about expectation of arrival, it leads us into literally the longest of dark nights, and reveals that it is there that life still emerges.  We sit in between the joy of twinkling lights, gingerbread houses, music that lifts the spirit…and lamenting the absence of loved ones, semblances of normality, and even burying yet another murdered black transwomen like our own Asia Foster who we’ll memorialize this Saturday. Hope does not avoid or overcome this messy mix, but enters into it to remind us of what still dwells at the center and will continue. God makes a dwelling among us there. God in whose power is our very breath, and to whom belongs all our ways…can never be ultimately silenced or sealed up.  Jesus the Christ, who is both the Lion of Judah and the Lamb of God, embodies a new way of being that makes room for the whole of creation and endures forever. Amen.

Vision

Isaiah 6:1-8

6 In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2 Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3 And one called to another and said:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;

the whole earth is full of his glory.”

4 The pivots[a] on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. 5 And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”

6 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7 The seraph[b] touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 8 Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”

I would say that our family is fairly outdoorsy.  We’re not extreme off-the-grid backcountry adventurers, at least not all of us, not all the time...yet...but we do enjoy and seek out extended time in nature. We ride bikes, we go camping, and occasionally I can convince my crew to go on a little hike. Over time, we’ve all developed a sort of role in the process.  I pack the day bag with snacks, first aid, water bottles, bug spray, and maps. I’ll carry the pack for a little ways, until my husband Mark ends up carrying it most of the trip. While my mind is still unwinding from things I might have forgotten or what needs to be done when we get back to camp, or what text or e-mail I need to send and what trail I hope to convince them of tomorrow...our daughter Marley will spot some glorious wonder of creation before any of us would have even been close to noticing.  We say that she has the sharpest trail eye. She always finds the camouflage turtle that I was about to step on and the tiny frog hidden in the mud. She’s our scout that sees the glimmering spider web we’re about to run into and the curious mushroom tucked among the forest floor  leaves. Somehow I’m always the one that sees a snake first. I guess we all have our gifts.

But every once in a while, our eye level elevation as grown-ups gives us an advantage to see something she hasn’t yet. And then we do that thing where we try to point to it through the trees, describe how it’s to the right of that one branch and just above that more yellow-y looking leaf...But our sightlines just aren’t matching up.  So then you do that thing where you put their head right in front of yours to try and align your pointing arm with their angle of vision and will them to see what you’ve seen.  Sometimes it works, sometimes she pretends it worked, and sometimes we just have to move on knowing that we’ll have different experiences throughout the day. 

Isaiah has already had visions of what is happening to the people of God, what will happen as a result, and what comes after. He has seen them devolve into a lost people who have forgotten God’s ways of justice and care as they strive after power and security as defined by economic dominance and military might. He can foresee and has prophesied the imminent consequences of collapse. Even good kings like Uziah do not last forever. And yet, he can also see that God’s commitment and care for the people still persists and  life continues and is refreshed even from the dry stumps left behind. 

Here, Isaiah also sees Godself. Isaiah sees God’s glory filling up the holy temple, but also seemingly extending beyond it. God’s hem is spilling over the edges, and holy smoke spreads throughout. It’s an element you can try to contain for a time, but ultimately seeps into and beyond all confines.  God’s presence is fullness, bursting at the seam. God’s winged seraphs surround with a cry of “holy, holy, holy,” giving voice to God’s resounding holiness and the boundless nature of God’s glory that fills every nook and cranny to the whole of the earth. 

Seeing God like this, so completely and clearly, doesn’t put a jig in Isaiah’s step but brings forth woe from his lips. Isaiah sees how different this is from what he sees in the world around him. God’s infinite goodness undoes Isaiah as a flawed and finite human. He laments himself as a man of unclean clean lips, which is not unique to him, but a condition of the whole people. His final response declares, and yet…”I have seen the King. I have seen the Lord.” The same words that will come from the mouths of those who have been healed by Jesus, and the women who come running from the empty tomb of resurrection.

And yet...In seeing God, Isaiah begins to see himself differently. Where Isaiah sees brokenness, God sees belovedness. Where Isaiah sees destruction, God sees possibility. When Isaiah says unclean, God says these lips will go and speak for me. And so when God asks, who will go...Isaiah is both charred and capable, a conduit of the holy. God sees Isaiah, fully and clearly, and dwells there.

It’s been a long couple of weeks on the heels of a long couple of weeks following a long couple of weeks. I’m tired and often cranky. As I envisioned this weekend, I pictured my Saturday sitting on the couch and moving only to refill my bowl of ice cream. But we ended up going out to Camp Lutherhill, our synod’s camp and retreat center, for a socially distant day retreat. We picked up my favorite donuts on our way out to one of my favorite places to be among some of my favorite people. Even as we talked of Psalms of joy, playfully pursued scavenger hunts, and clapped our hands in sacred silliness...my mind’s eye was still stuck on what’s wrong and broken, and annoying, and woeful. I found myself longing for liberation from these feelings and for Godself, but still feeling stuck with scales over my eyes. It seemed like my most pressing longing was to see God in the midst of it. It was harder for me to recognize my longing to be seen - for God to see me and my mess, have mercy, and still want me. 

I love seeing God in the glory of hillside sunsets and cherished smiles, as golden hour light trickles through the oak trees.  It’s harder for me to see God in the skinned knees and cluttered sinks. And yet…

Today is 5 years to the day that I was ordained as a pastor, actually at that holy dwelling place called Lutherhill. And at milestones like these people will ask me if ministry and if +KINDRED looks the way I envisioned it would. Yes and no. I had seen enough to know that this would be a simultaneously messy and beautiful life, but honestly I couldn’t see much farther than the next step along the way...if that. As someone who’s been hooked on the impossible hope of God for most of my life, I still get frustrated and fogged up by the ways in which things are broken and not yet what they could be. And yet, the presence and prophets of God point to holiness which resides not only in grandeur but in the profane, holding together a vision of what is and what is becoming. God calls and sends the scarred and scared.

I wonder where you may have seen this confounding God today. Where, in looking back, you might notice something holy.

I wonder how this vision impacts your view of yourself? Your people?

I wonder what it shows you about what God has ahead?

The sacred story of Isaiah is the prophet most referenced in the New Testament as God Among Us, Immanuel, is revealed in the paradox of an infant eternal suffering king. I don’t always see it, at least not fully or clearly. And yet….here we are...and here we go. Amen.

When Mercy Ticks Us Off

This week’s sacred story is the book of Jonah (yup, the whole book…which is only 4 chapters of drama). Read it here or watch an adorable kid tell her version here. It basically goes like this: God tells Jonah to go to Nineveh as a prophet and warn them against the consequences of their evil ways. Jonah runs from God tries to get as far away from Nineveh as possible via boat. Big storm, thrown in sea, swallowed up by big fish. Jonah prays to God and gets spit out of fish. God tells Jonah again to go to Nineveh and he does and they repent and commit to changing their ways. But Jonah is big mad and builds a pouting shed outside the city. God is there too and they talk it through.

art by Jim LePage

So here’s the sermon:

I wonder what was going on before this story.

I wonder what comes after.

I wonder what details you noticed or that stood out to you.

I wonder where you are in the story or what part of the story is about you.

I wonder what feels familiar about this story.

I wonder what was new or surprising about this story.

As I read the book of Jonah this week, the WHOLE book, maybe for the first time and without Veggie Tales running alongside or the Sunday School felt boards or coloring pages…

I noticed that this sacred story was a more complex mix of:

What I knew, what I thought I knew, and what I definitely didn’t know.

I knew that Jonah was told to go to Nineveh, I knew he ran away from this call and I knew that ended him up in the belly of a fish…that eventually spits him out.  Of course, there was a time in my life I thought I knew that fish was a whale, but it turns out that was mostly legendary embellishment. But even until this week, I didn’t know much about what happened to Jonah after that, or why he was told to go to Nineveh in the first place or what happens to Nineveh in the end or why Jonah had was running away. I filled in the gaps with my own biblical imagination.  There are plenty of prophets who initially wrestle with God’s call for them so I just assumed that, like with others, bearing the Word of God to anyone is hard and scary and so resisting that call is pretty natural.

I didn’t know that Jonah was so angry. I didn’t know WHY he would be angry.

I filled in the gaps with what I thought I knew. Nineveh is a foreign (read: not Hebrew) city. Asking people who don’t share your beliefs to trust you enough to change is hard. Contemplating their inclusion in the holy promises that ground and guide you and your people, even through repentance and God’s mercy…I can imagine that would cause some serious soul-searching. And all that’s true, but it’s also not the whole story. Based on what I thought I knew, honestly, I thought Jonah was acting like a bit of a narrow-minded coward. But this week I read the story for the first time in many many years and I read the whole story. I learned that Nineveh is not just a foreign city, filled with religious and ethnic outsiders in Jonah’s eyes but…Nineveh is an Assyrian city – a power seat of an empire known for its brutally cruel treatment of enemies. You can visit museums that show ancient art of the Assyrians piling up heads like Jonah’s on spikes. These people had done profound harm, and Jonah gets to tell them about the divine judgement headed their way. I can imagine that powerful mix of both terrifying danger and strange sadistic satisfaction.

Jonah has every reason to anticipate that things will go badly and, I think, is justified in fear and resentment. Jonah gives the most half-hearted prophetic call I can think of.  As he walks through the city there’s no grand speech, just one simple line – “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” That’s it.

But then…things actually go well. The people believe God and take it to heart, and take on the acts of repentance. The whole people, from the King to the livestock, commit to change and participate in the work in the hope of redemption.

You would think this would be a pleasant surprise to be celebrated. What seemed unlikely at best and doomed at worst has somehow arrived quickly and peacefully. And God relents of their destruction. Seems like best-case scenario stuff.

But Jonah is pissed. He throws God’s goodness in God’s face and says, “this is exactly why I didn’t want any part of this.” “for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.” I don’t know if he’s spitting mad because in hindsight it seems like it wasn’t worth him getting involved or because he had to risk his own skin for their benefit or because God’s mercy toward these people is absolutely scandalous. What I do know is that he’s mad enough to want to die. He’s ready to cut off his nose to spite his face. He even builds himself a booth outside the city (read: wallow pit) to wait and see if this mercy will really hold out. And I mean…it’s Moira Rose level melodramatic. But you know what? I don’t really blame him. It doesn’t seem fair or just.

Trained caregivers know that when human beings experience anger, it is a secondary emotion to something else. It provides cover for our raw underbelly experiences of hurt, fear, guilt, grief, trauma, among a number of vulnerable feelings we struggle to acknowledge or express.

Under the surface, between and behind this story of what Jonah is doing, is a story of what God is doing.

When Jonah is hurled into the violent sea, God provides a giant fish that actually holds him safe. God lets Jonah stew, and even provides some respite of shade so that he can stew comfortably. But God won’t let him stay bound by his anger forever, which is a kind of mercy too.

God expresses it as concern. God shows the seemingly impossible breadth of bearing concern for both Jonah and the people of Nineveh AND not only the people but all the creatures. After all, if God can have mercy toward Nineveh, isn’t it just as profound that God speaks to Jonah a second time after running away? Isn’t is just as scandalous that the person who’s fear ran amok to the endangerment of random sailors…would still be invited and included in this way of setting things right?

With what then, shall we be concerned?

Someone once said, “When we live from our boundaries rather than from our center – from who we think we aren’t rather than who we really are – then we will fail to see our connectedness with those we perceive to be different.”

God’s mercy says “enough.” God’s grand mercy binds our redemption together and extends beyond what we are prepared for.  God’s mercy shows up in the incarnation of care and concern for our whole and true self as well as the other. God’s mercy endures forever and is new every morning.

I don’t always like it, and I’m not always thankful for it despite myself. Which is also why I desperately need it. I need it to swallow me up and make its home in my heart and my hands. I need it to come a second time. I need this God of mercy to come and be with me in my bones.

O come, O come, Emmanuel. Amen.

Making Meaning in the Wilderness

Exodus 32:1-14

1 When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered around Aaron, and said to him, "Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him." 2 Aaron said to them, "Take off the gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me." 3 So all the people took off the gold rings from their ears, and brought them to Aaron. 4 He took the gold from them, formed it in a mold, and cast an image of a calf; and they said, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!" 5 When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation and said, "Tomorrow shall be a festival to the Lord." 6 They rose early the next day, and offered burnt offerings and brought sacrifices of well-being; and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to revel. 7 The Lord said to Moses, "Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely; 8 they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them; they have cast for themselves an image of a calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, 'These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!'" 9 The Lord said to Moses, "I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. 10 Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them; and of you I will make a great nation." 11 But Moses implored the Lord his God, and said, "O Lord, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? 12 Why should the Egyptians say, "It was with evil intent that he brought them out to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth'? Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. 13 Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, 'I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.'" 14 And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.

It’s taking longer than expected. So .much. longer. I don’t know how long I thought it was going to take, but whatever it was, we passed that point long ago.  We stayed in our houses as death passed through. We ate the meal that was supposed to strengthen, sustain, and holds us together in connection. We escaped from one cruel master only to find ourselves in this vast wilderness of uncertainty and wonder now if we’ve made the right choices, whether we followed promises of life that can be trusted or whether it was folly.

He’s still not back yet. It seems nothing has moved at all. Do we keep waiting? Has this relationship gone sideways? Maybe he’s not coming back? Maybe we should try something else? Where is God? Where is Moses, our leader? Why is it taking so long?

God appeared to the people previously in the cloud and in the fire (Exodus 13:21; 24:16-18), and in the theophany of smoke, lightning, and thunder on Mt. Sinai (Exodus 19:16-19), but God has not been as visible or present since then. As Hebrews 11:1 says, faith is the conviction of things unseen, but the people reflect a deep human desire -- even a need -- for something tangible. And with Moses at a distance, the people want to see (a) God.

They ask Aaron to make “elohim.” Most English versions translate this word as “gods,” but it can also be translated as the singular noun, “God.” Are the people asking for Aaron to create for them other gods to follow, or are they asking for Aaron to make them a physical form of God? To make a visible sign of invisible presence?

The ancient Egyptians and the Canaanites also held images of a bull to represent sacred power. Maybe there’s something to that. Maybe some piece of that could still help them.  Maybe it’s an attempt to hedge their bets, maybe it’s an honest yearning gone awry – good intentions that miss the mark.

I always thought the golden calf was an easy tie to the idols we create - the power of consumerism, white supremacy, tribalism, social media, or a litany of other addictions to functions as God over our lives. This big umbrella of idolatry is certainly one I fit under too, but it’s so big that I can also kind of conveniently distance myself from it. I know that I’ve thrown my own gold earrings into the pile, but at the end of the day my part melds indistinguishably into that of others that almost makes me feel justified in the whole thing in a “well, they did it too and my contribution wasn’t as much as theirs anyway” kind of thinking. But in this particular moment, I find myself with a little more compassion for the wandering Israelites.

Away from the traditions and landmarks we usually rely on for meaning and direction, we still long for something that will remind us who we are and what we’re about – as ourselves, as people of faith, as a community, as +KINDRED. We are wandering in a strange land without shared sustained laughter at birthday parties or baby showers, without the resounding applause and boisterous dancing that follow wedding vows, without hugging and holding one another as tears flow from worry or loss. In this wilderness we cannot hear the notes of one another’s consolation in the songs of lament at a funeral or linger together over the little pimento cheese sandwiches at the house afterward. As +KINDRED, without our communal tables and lingering together on the porch, around the dishwasher and in the doorways, without seeing one another in the flesh, witnessing and experiencing the glory of the vast diversity of Christ’s body among us…we feel disconnected from our own identity and purpose. I’m no Moses, but I can understand the challenge of the community still feeling connected to pastoral ministry that happens out of sight, and often without anything tangible to show for it.

Where is God when the physical presence and signs and people we rely on for meaning are absent? Who are we, who will we be when we no longer have the physical and relational landmarks that once guided us? Along this journey there have been milestones, stories, and experiences we haven’t been able to share or mark in the same ways and not only does it cause us grief, it causes us to question what matters, what we can rely on, who we even are. Perhaps it has us feeling both frantic and foolish for sitting at the foot of a mountain, expecting something good to still be possible. We’ve been betrayed or let down so many times before by the hollow words of leaders that we’re wary of more of the same. We long for something we can see and hold and have near, something that will save us from this feeling of being tossed like a falling leaf caught in the wind, or something that will allow us to feel anything at all.

So we try to cobble together meaning as best we can on our own. We throw our valuable energy into the yearning hope that one more episode, one more scroll, one more drink, one more purchase, one more activity or accomplishment…will either satisfy our longing for meaning or help us forget its absence, but in the end it is still a hollow mold.

The object of a golden calf isn’t the actual problem. In fact, the irony is that over the last 8 chapters of Exodus that represent the 40 days and 40 night that Moses was on the mountain with God, and while the people were yearning for a tangible connection to their identity, meaning, and belovedness…God was giving Moses written word on stone and instructions for a tabernacle made of gold that would be a way for God and God’s promises to be something they could see and hold and have near. God was all along working to give them what they needed as God’s people. Longing for such things, even creating such things and reveling in them isn’t what is perverse, it’s the ways in which we try to create such things APART from God that is turning aside from the way God commands and creates us. It’s the ways we strive to have God work on OUR terms and appear as WE would envision that reveals the stiff-necked way of empire still lingers in our hearts.  I would chastise the Israelites from my moral high horse for their addiction to control if I didn’t have such profound empathy for the human propensity to control what you can when things feels out of control.

It’s what follows that not only reminds the people who they are, their beloved belonging, and what still deeply matters, but reveals who God is, the endurance of God’s promises even in brokenness, and their capacity to change everything.  

We are created in the image of God who apparently reflects our being in feeling all the feels.  There’s a little bit of denial when God says to Moses, “YOUR people have done this” as if they ever stopped being God’s people too.  There is fierce anger and bargaining. God is showing signs of grief… for the deep sense of disconnection among the people, their identity and purpose which stems from their relationship with God. God is shown as feeling a complex mixture of emotions, but still ultimately none more powerful than love. This translation says that God changed God’s mind about the disastrous wrath, but the Hebrew reads better as “God relented of the disaster.” God releases this anger from taking up the driver seat. The relationship will certainly need tending to and repair, but God remembers that it is more than its worst moments. And so what is left? What remains more enduring than the hurt and its ripples? It is a love that binds us together beyond anything else. This is the enduring nature and promise of God.

It is not only for the sake of the Israelites that this love prevails, but also for their enemies in Egypt. This persistent love is not only a witness to this one tribe in the wilderness, but even to their oppressors. Not only for one people, but all people. It is the love that was promised generations ago, has continued through the ages, and guides the way forward when we’ve lost our way. It is a love that reminds and remembers us when we forget ourselves.

Things look and function differently than they did before, but God has not forgotten us. Even when things seem still and stagnant, God has not stopped working to bring about goodness that goes through our bones and life that grows even in desert places.

God has not and will not abandon us, but is still moving among us.

+KINDRED is still feeding people, body and soul.

You still belong to this holy family…not because of what you can cobble together or create, but because alongside the divine, we love you so much.

My prayer for us tonight it this: may we still yearn for the nearness of God, relent of our ways to push forward apart from God, and remember our enduring and sacred belovedness that reflects God’s being and movement in the world. Amen.

A Taste of Liberation

Exodus 12:1-13; 13:1-8

12:1 The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: 2 This month shall mark for you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year for you. 3 Tell the whole congregation of Israel that on the tenth of this month they are to take a lamb for each family, a lamb for each household. 4 If a household is too small for a whole lamb, it shall join its closest neighbor in obtaining one; the lamb shall be divided in proportion to the number of people who eat of it. 5 Your lamb shall be without blemish, a year-old male; you may take it from the sheep or from the goats. 6 You shall keep it until the fourteenth day of this month; then the whole assembled congregation of Israel shall slaughter it at twilight. 7 They shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they eat it. 8 They shall eat the lamb that same night; they shall eat it roasted over the fire with unleavened bread and bitter herbs.9 Do not eat any of it raw or boiled in water, but roasted over the fire, with its head, legs, and inner organs. 10 You shall let none of it remain until the morning; anything that remains until the morning you shall burn. 11 This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly. It is the passover of the Lord. 12 For I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike down every firstborn in the land of Egypt, both human beings and animals; on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments: I am the Lord. 13 The blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live: when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague shall destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt.13:1 The Lord said to Moses: 2 Consecrate to me all the firstborn; whatever is the first to open the womb among the Israelites, of human beings and animals, is mine. 3 Moses said to the people, "Remember this day on which you came out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, because the Lord brought you out from there by strength of hand; no leavened bread shall be eaten. 4 Today, in the month of Abib, you are going out. 5 When the Lord brings you into the land of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites, which he swore to your ancestors to give you, a land flowing with milk and honey, you shall keep this observance in this month. 6 Seven days you shall eat unleavened bread, and on the seventh day there shall be a festival to the Lord. 7Unleavened bread shall be eaten for seven days; no leavened bread shall be seen in your possession, and no leaven shall be seen among you in all your territory. 8 You shall tell your child on that day, "It is because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.'

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989, Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Why is this night different from all other nights?  This is the first of question asked by the youngest child at a Jewish Passover table. It comes after the stranger has been welcomed and the unleavened bread is broken and it begins the retelling and remembering of this sacred story of Exodus which is instituted in ritual here. 

Sometimes a meal is just a meal, a necessary part of our daily rhythms of survival. Sometimes we get so caught up in other things, we almost forget about its significance. Sometimes it is truly a delight and a joy, but only at a surface level that dissipates as soon as the plates are cleared.

But sometimes…if we’re paying attention…a meal can also be something quite different than all that. Don’t get me wrong, I very much enjoy my life-sustaining chips and queso, but here we see the possibility…the prescription…the promise…of something more. 

Meals themselves can tell important stories. Not only the food, but the process and all its elements involve us in those stories in ways that literally fuel our bodies and get into our souls. 

Every element is more than a piece of a recipe or a legalistic requirement; it holds deep meaning - the timing, the ingredients, the practices of sharing and serving. This Passover meal is to happen at the beginning of marked time, it reflects and creates new beginning. The lamb or goat is to be young and without blemish, one that reflects and conveys the purifying power of God. There is to be enough for everyone without scarcity or hoarding or waste, reflecting and providing God’s care of the whole community through one another. Even the clothing to be worn and the manner in which it is to be eaten – fully clothed with shoes and tools and tempo prepared for a journey, reflects and prepares a life in God who is on the move. 

Many parts of the meal and these practices are not entirely unique to this moment.  It’s not the only time they would eat lamb or roast it or join together as a community around tables. But the particular way in which their hearts are focused and its purpose made clear sets this meal apart. 

The Hebrew tradition asks, why is this night different from all other nights?

In the Lutheran tradition, we reflect on God’s commands and gifts by asking, what does this mean?

This literal foretaste of the feast to come. This sacred meal which is to be a catalyst of liberation, itself a taste of what liberated life is like – beautiful, delicious, enough, shared, and anything but stagnant, a beacon of life in the midst of death. This power of food to tell a sacred story that courses through our blood and our bones to take up life within us.

I would proclaim that long before the historical Jesus of Nazareth walked the earth, God has always been an incarnational God – one who is about the blessing and redemption of our physical bodies as well as our heart, mind, and soul. That the Good News of life and love that overcome death and despair is to be experienced and as well as heard. The pairing of practice and story create a ritual of connection and meaning. 

It points to not only what to do but how and why – connecting us to God, ourselves, and community. It culminates in the command: “You shall tell your child on that day, "It is because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.'” No matter how many generations removed for this historic saving act, the proclamation is made: this is what God has done for ME.  God’s saving liberation work is just as true and palpable for me today as it was millennia ago. The ritual meal help connects that promise across time and place. Even as the night of Passover arrived and everyone was confined to their different houses, they shared in this holy connection. 

We already know how this works at our own tables, even if we’re not always aware of it. 

The manner of a meal can hold deep sacred meaning. You’ve probably heard people talk about how the crunch and sweetness of a salad is enriched when they know it came from their own garden or at least one that isn’t abstract to them. I currently have meat in my freezer that came from a cow that a bunch of different households went it together to buy. So when we grill up our hamburgers, I can not help but think of those who are connected to us through this beef. I cannot help but feel connected to stories of my ancestors who were part of butcher clubs that shared the work and bounty of a whole hog among other homesteading families. 

Houston Chef Johnny Rhodes at Indigo - https://www.htxindigo.com/

Back when indoor dining at restaurants was a thing, I was invited for a meal at Indigo where a young black Houston chef cooks for just 14 people at a time around a u-shaped table, serving dishes inspired by slave cooking and African-American kitchens and reclaiming it as the marvel of cuisine it is, as he, in fact, tells those stories of origin as the meal is served – greens and turnip hams and oxtails and okra-seed coffee, cooked over open fire we could see and smell – once signifiers of cruelty and poverty…transformed to a means of dignity and deliverance.  Food is always connected to story and to memory that reflects and creates deep sacred meaning…if we approach it with the intention and attention to notice. Food isn’t the only way this happens, but it is certainly one of the ways. 

We didn’t read scripture around the u-shaped table that night, but we did yearn to further know God and one another in that space, and you can’t tell me that experience wasn’t sacred.

And being set apart as sacred doesn’t mean escapist. It doesn’t negate the ways suffering is still also connected to the story. The Hebrews are instructed to eat bitter herbs that acknowledge the bitterness of slavery, of oppression that is so ingrained in their being that it will take generations to truly escape. At the Seder meal, a portion of wine is removed from the cup because the joy it symbolizes cannot be complete or full while even the Egyptians have cause to grieve. This holy table is big enough to hold these complexities too. In truth it is the WHOLE story and not just the highlight reel that points to the fullness of this meal of liberation. 

As Christians, the sacred communion meal that reflects resurrection and wholeness, is also tied to the cross. Elements which are pressed, broken, and dispersed as Christ’s own body, somehow connect, heal, and liberate. It is a profound mystery. In simple bread and drink (which would have been a staple of any table at any day of the week), combined with story and community…something more than the sum of its parts takes place.

It is a meal that is alike but different than others, even other holidays and feasts. It is about remembering but also experiencing. A common invitation to the table is to “taste and see that God is good.” This is a meal that is about abiding presence and promise – a liberation not only from cruel tyrants (definitely always that) but also from the cosmic oppression of sin that would continue the cycle. It is a feast that reflects both the completion of liberation and the still unfolding nature of it.  This is not just a throwback, but remembering that ushers us forward, even through the wilderness, to continue and nourish us for the work of liberation. 

And so we set the table and gather round, as of old, to be joined together even as we are apart, to remember what God has done and is doing among us. It is not about pomp or circumstance, or ritual for its own sake, but a means of saving grace for all of creation. Amen.

Forgiveness Isn't the Goal

SACRED STORY – Genesis 37:3-8, 17b-22, 26-34; 50:15-21

37:3 Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he had made him a long robe with sleeves. 4 But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him. 5 Once Joseph had a dream, and when he told it to his brothers, they hated him even more. 6 He said to them, "Listen to this dream that I dreamed. 7There we were, binding sheaves in the field. Suddenly my sheaf rose and stood upright; then your sheaves gathered around it, and bowed down to my sheaf." 8 His brothers said to him, "Are you indeed to reign over us? Are you indeed to have dominion over us?" So they hated him even more because of his dreams and his words.

17b So Joseph went after his brothers, and found them at Dothan. 18 They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. 19 They said to one another, "Here comes this dreamer. 20 Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams." 21 But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, "Let us not take his life." 22 Reuben said to them, "Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him" — that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father.

26 Then Judah said to his brothers, "What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? 27 Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh." And his brothers agreed. 28 When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt. 29 When Reuben returned to the pit and saw that Joseph was not in the pit, he tore his clothes. 30 He returned to his brothers, and said, "The boy is gone; and I, where can I turn?" 31 Then they took Joseph's robe, slaughtered a goat, and dipped the robe in the blood. 32 They had the long robe with sleeves taken to their father, and they said, "This we have found; see now whether it is your son's robe or not." 33 He recognized it, and said, "It is my son's robe! A wild animal has devoured him; Joseph is without doubt torn to pieces." 34 Then Jacob tore his garments, and put sackcloth on his loins, and mourned for his son many days.

50:15 Realizing that their father was dead, Joseph's brothers said, "What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back in full for all the wrong that we did to him?" 16 So they approached Joseph, saying, "Your father gave this instruction before he died, 17 "Say to Joseph: I beg you, forgive the crime of your brothers and the wrong they did in harming you.' Now therefore please forgive the crime of the servants of the God of your father." Joseph wept when they spoke to him. 18 Then his brothers also wept, fell down before him, and said, "We are here as your slaves." 19 But Joseph said to them, "Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? 20 Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today. 21 So have no fear; I myself will provide for you and your little ones." In this way he reassured them, speaking kindly to them.

Stories like this one do not come out of nowhere.  The feelings, and expressions, and choices made…don’t come from nothing. This family has history, generations of history.  Last week we heard about God’s promise to Abram and Sarai, a promise of care and descendants that would outnumber the stars. But this beautiful scene devolves into sexual violence with their servant Hagar who gives birth to Ishmael, then later Sarah gives birth to Isaac who is led to the brink of murderous sacrifice at the hands of his father. None of them ever get along anything like a healthy family. Then Isaac marries Rebekah, who has twin boys Jacob and Esau and they are basically born into animosity with one another, followed by betrayal and conniving and fear that somehow DOES eventually pan out. But before that…Jacob, who will later be called Israel, meets Rachel and makes arrangements with her father to marry her, but then gets tricked by his no father-in-law into marrying her sister and so continues to work in his service in order to earn Rachel, who he makes clear is his favorite. What could go wrong from there? After Leah has 6 sons and a daughter, and the servants of his wives give birth to 2 more sons each, THEN Rachel has Joseph. The much hoped-for firstborn son of his favorite hard-earned wife?  Yeah…I don’t think favorite son even begins to cover it, but it is EXPLICIT in the first verse we read today.

 So all this sit behind and around this sacred story.  And then there’s us. We have our own feelings and expressions, and choices about this story.  I wonder…what do you bring to this sacred story of Joseph and his brothers? What of your own story and experience impacts how you read this? I am an older sibling myself, so I have some pre-conceived stuff about younger siblings. I love my little brother, but he definitely got away with stuff I only aspired, so resentment could easily fester. Which would only be exacerbated by the way I’ve seen this text interpreted over and over. Time and time again, I read commentaries and I myself have preached sermons that cast the young dreamer of Joseph as a bit of a brat.  How could he be so blind to the way his father’s favor (which isn’t really his doing) would form resentment among his brothers? What an insensitive jerk to seemingly rub his superiority in their faces with his dreams? What did he think would happen? Why would an adolescent kid think he could lean on his siblings to understand these weird things that are happening to him? Plenty of voices eagerly rush to declare that he was no angel. He put himself in a bad situation. He kinda asked for it. Somehow, he is also responsible for being left for dead in a pit, being sold into slavery that would lead to his own sexual assault for which he will be incarcerated. It’s tragic, but he should have made better choices.

I’ve been pulled into that narrative too because it feeds my need to be morally superior. It turns my unacknowledged or unresolved feelings into justified form. It not only defends but requires hatred, violence, and harm as a sort of necessary justice.  

“Recently there has been a cultural tendency to justify violence because we feel a certain way. One theologian writes how fear dictates and indeed justifies much of our worst behavior (it has been offered in recent years as supposedly sufficient justification for shooting people, for example). In Joseph’s story it is hatred, stoked by fear of being displaced in their father’s affections, that motivates them to act, but the results are similar. Maybe we imagine ourselves as more self-aware than this.  Maybe we do not identify with the blood-thirsty brothers who want to kill Joseph. But maybe we can’t exempt ourselves so quickly.

Reuben, the oldest son – a status of great privilege, wants to rescue his brother and bring him back to his father. He tries to work within the deadly family system without directly confronting it, and cleverly plays to the clear self-interest of the mob so that they might defeat themselves. But it falls short. When he realizes that he is too late, that his brother is gone from the pit, his vision of himself as triumphant deliverer of his brother (and who has not imagined themselves the savior in a crisis?) vaporizes. And then, instead of confessing all to his father, Reuben goes along with the lie the brothers tell their father, that Joseph has been killed by wild animals. Isn’t this more like us? Possessed of good intentions but caught up in forces larger than ourselves, and losing our agency in the midst of broader evil acts?”

Even when they are all finally face to face again, when the brothers come to plead for mercy, it is still through lies (their father Jacob never expressed such pleas on their behalf), still trying to manipulate, and still self-serving in their motivations. There does not seem to be any true repentance on their part.

Joseph would have every right to hold a grudge.  I wouldn’t even call it a grudge.  If Joseph was my parishioner I would tell him that it is good and healthy to hold boundaries, to recognize your autonomy in deciding how much you should trust someone has exploited you in the past and be cautious of how you extend yourself for their benefit.

Personally,  I want this story to be the Ant and the Grasshopper, everyone gets what they worked for, but then this would be a fable and not the Gospel.

Somehow, even evildoers don’t deserve to starve. Somehow, basic care is possible even without contrition. This is sometimes told as a tale of forgiveness, of reconciliation, but I’m not sure that’s true. The word forgive is never used in this text.  Nor would forgiveness mean that wrongdoers are released from the responsibilities of their actions.  I see no reconciliation among these brothers as they weep – perhaps out of fear, perhaps from some complicated sense of relief from arriving at this point of resolution, perhaps out of grief for the relationship which will never be again. 

Perhaps, rather than forgiveness, it is more a witness to an even larger hope - Liberation.  The Holy Spirit through Joseph recognizes that Liberation is not only for the individual but for all of creation. I say the Spirit in Joseph because Joseph, of course, isn’t a hero of goodness either, he’s human. None of us can really sustain a hero lifestyle.  We all have our moments. Heroic efforts and notorious lives have indeed shaped our world for good.  But ultimately, even more than heroes that rise and fall, we find our hope and freedom in a savior. Joseph proclaims “Do not be afraid,” which is a tell-tale phrase whenever the voice of God is taking over. Christ, who is alpha and omega, is known by power that does not exploit, not exercised as power over, but power with and power for.  It is God’s work, and not just Joseph’s magnanimous personality, that extends grace and mercy. It is the revolutionary power of Gospel upheaval that engages a former slave and convict once left for dead as the one to proclaim liberation and life that includes his whole self in ways that others would deny him, but also that extends to others in ways that would seem otherwise unimaginable.

But what to say of God’s action here? Chapter 50, verse 20 reads “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today.”

It’s a verse I have often found comfort in and offered as pastoral care in the midst of struggle that longs for redemption. But it has also been used as fuel for theology that proclaims:

“Everything happens for a reason”

“God needed to teach you something”

“God orchestrated your suffering in order accomplish some great good.”

But such a God would be as manipulative, abusive, and evil as the older brothers. This would be a God of morality, not of Goodness. This is not the God that is being revealed in the whole of scripture, in a resurrected Christ, or in the fruit of the Spirit still being born.

The Hebrew word translated as “intends”, is the word chashab. But “intends” as we hear it, isn’t quite right.  It is intention that is less of planning and predestination, but one that evokes both vision and action, of aspiration and movement toward this.  So we might better understand this verse as “you meant to insult and injure, but the whole time…God meant something stronger than that, God means to further good and healing…not just for me but for a numerous people, for all of creation.” “You worked toward harm, God worked to transform it for healing.” “What you envisioned as evil and its victory, God always envisioned as wholeness without end.”

Psalm 118, echoed by Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew proclaims this as “the stone the builders rejected, has become the cornerstone.” Injustice and indignity, however mighty in this world, do not hold ultimate claim over us.  Rejection is no match for God’s redemption. This is a Gospel Joseph needs as much as his brothers, and one that holds resurrection for those beyond them – for a country in crisis and for us too.

Lord knows we are surrounded by a seemingly inexhaustible level of hatred, harm, and manipulation, by good intentions coming up short, by deep hunger, and messy relationships.  It weighs heavily on us and our visions and dreams.  When the fear and the pain and the grief feel overwhelming and when it seems like that weight will drag us all down into the depths, God is still at work, still intending good not only for us but for the multitudes. God makes a way out of no way. That’s what resurrection is. The cross that was intended as shame and suffering, God redeems with liberation and life.

May this divine mystery continue to surprise us and work us into new ways of being, finding rest and release in God’s goodness within and beyond ourselves. Amen.

Wilderness Belief

Genesis 15:1-6

1 After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, "Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great." 2 But Abram said, "O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?" 3 And Abram said, "You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir." 4 But the word of the Lord came to him, "This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir." 5 He brought him outside and said, "Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them." Then he said to him, "So shall your descendants be." 6 And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about wilderness recently. Specifically Wandering in the wilderness. 

It’s a theme that runs through scripture. The idea of wandering in the wilderness. 

Hagar and Ishmael are sent away by Abraham into the wilderness where they almost die of thirst.

Moses was wandering around in the wilderness when he came upon God in a burning bush.

After their escape from Egypt the Israelites wandered for 40 years in the wilderness before they were allowed to enter the promised land. 

Jesus is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit, and tempted there in hunger and thirst by Satan, the adversary.

In scripture, the wilderness can be bad, 

thirsting, starving, 

Isaiah predicts enemies coming in destroying from the wilderness, 

Sometimes it’s not so bad after all…manna is given to the people Israel in the desert, 

but either way it is scary, shadowy, mysterious

you never know what the future looks like for sure, 

or how to get there from here

In the wilderness 

you never know what is going to happen next

We catch up with Abram this week after a bit of wandering. In the previous couple of chapters, 

He’s been called by God and travelled to Canaan, then to Beth’el, then to Egypt, up through Negeb and back to Beth’el, then Caanan, the Hebron, Hobah, back to Hebron, 

During this journey God has told Abram about all the families of earth being blessed through him, about his name being great, about the wonderful land he and his offspring were to inherit and those descendants being as numerous as the dust of the earth. But up to now, up to where we pick up the story today…the only thing Abram has experienced is wandering.

So God comes to Abram again in our scripture for today, in a vision. 

Do not be afraid, I am your shield and your reward shall be very great God says. And for the first time in all this wandering, Abram argues with God. Yeah, you’ve said all this before, but I don’t see any descendants, do you? No children, no grandchildren. A slave in my house will inherit all I have. You’ve promised a lot, but I don’t see it. So God takes him outside and says, “Look at the stars. This is how many your descendants shall be. As many as the stars.”

Abram understandably has reservations about these promises from God, 

BUT after what seem like many unfulfilled promises and years of wandering

we read in verse 6, “Abram believed the LORD and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness.”  or another way to say it, Abram believed and because he believed God called him right, good, correct, basically God says a big loving thumbs-up YES to Abram.  

Paul uses this particular verse more than once in his letters to talk about Christians being saved not by what we do but through our belief. Abram was righteous because of his faith his trust, and so are we. In the saving action of God in Jesus Christ we are given that big thumbs up. Not because of what we do, just because we believed like Abram. 

In some ways this sounds almost easy. 

Just trust right? Just believe? 

A couple of times in his ministry when things are looking bad 

Jesus tells people, do not fear, only believe. 

Have faith. Trust. Just Be certain.

But in the wilderness that can be such a difficult thing to do. 

I guess I’ve been thinking about this a lot because

This present moment in time feels pretty darn wilderness-y. Global Pandemic, especially the vulnerable sick and dying, people losing jobs and health insurance. Violence and suspicion, Groups of people bitterly divided not talking to each other, not listening, Wondering who to trust, wondering what is truth….and things just seem to keep getting worse…

Like all those stars God shows to Abram, 

I can see the world I want, 

a vaccine, 

some unity 

a little listening, some understanding 

real action towards justice for all. 

I can visualize it. I can imagine it like God asks Abram to do.

But what I can’t visualize how we get there from here! There’s no map in the wilderness. 

God gives Abram a big YES for trusting what he doesn’t have a map for. 

Jesus says, only believe. No map, Nothing else, only believe. 

Let it go a little. Let the Holy Spirit do her holy work. 

But absolute certainty in the wilderness?

….where you never know what’s going to happen next?

Our brains don’t work that way.

When stuff gets wilderness-y around me

I start to worry and stew 

then my brain just will not shut up about all the scary stuff 

and things I wish I could control…

and how it’s not going to be ok

and if only I knew what comes next 

trying HARD to figure out how 

HOW we are gonna get from 

point A to point B…

Sometimes I have to try to stop thinking with my brain 

and instead start feeling with my heart. 

We know what a worried and paranoid brain does in the wilderness…

but what does a believing heart do? 

What does it mean to do faith instead of think faith?

Maybe it’s just waiting one extra second before running away. 

Maybe it’s leaning ever so slightly forward into the mystery

Not knowing where you’re going. Not being sure. Not having control. 

Just moving anyway, 

against everything your brain is telling you 

take a breath and move forward just a little into the wilderness…

where you never know what’s going to happen next…

When I started on this road to becoming a pastor, right from the beginning there was something in the process that scared me silly. Not classes, not preaching, not teaching, not even confirmation class! What scared me was something called CPE. Clinical Pastoral Education. Everyone who wants to be a pastor must complete it. Basically, you train and work at the same time as a chaplain in a hospital. To complete it you must log 100 hours of classes and 300 hours of patient visits. 

Now I am not a hospital person. To put it mildly. Actually, I was petrified of nursing homes, hospitals, sickness, trauma. Up to this point I’d been in hospitals to have my daughter, when my grandpa died and when my mother in law was sick and that’s pretty much it. 

I tried to tell people around me that I couldn’t do this.

I wanted to be a pastor, but I really really couldn’t do this. Everyone assured me that if I couldn’t, we’d figure something out…but that I would have to try. Just try. One step…

So I applied to the program BELIEVING I couldn’t do it, 

Had an interview and tour of St. Luke’s and Texas Children’s Hospital, and then was SURE I couldn’t do it,

was accepted into the program KNOWING I couldn’t do it, 

after the first 4 days of training I was CONVINCED I couldn’t do it 

and started my first shift shadowing another chaplain on a Friday night 

I was absolutely terrified but since for this one shift I would be with a senior chaplain the whole I thought maybe I could make it. She and I met up after class that day and she took me on her rounds.

St. Luke’s and Texas Children’s at the Med center are right next to each other and on Friday nights and weekends the St. Luke’s chaplain holds the pager for both hospitals. We did rounds at St. Luke’s but just answered the pager for emergencies at Texas Children’s.

-So, we started rounds that evening in the St. Luke’s ER

-Room to room

- I thought, I can’t do this

-I started rehearsing the phone call that I’d make the next day to quit.

-With an hour left in the shift I was absolutely decided. 

-then the Texas Children’s pager went off. My number one fear. I had gotten a tour of their level 1 trauma center specifically for children, and as a mother and human I prayed I’d never see that place again.

-But we got word a little boy was on his way in, unconscious, maybe a brain injury, so the Chaplain and I hurried over

-lots of people in the room hard to know who was related to who and how, it was loud

-almost immediately the Chaplain’s other pager went off indicating a death at St. Luke’s.

-She turned to me and asked, “Could you stay here…”

-I said yes

-Boy’s mother and grandmother were there but busy, they grateful I was there, but were busy doing and talking and planning

-then I saw a man and woman across the room. It was the boy’s father and stepmom

-Boy had gone to kindergarten just like normal that morning but had collapsed and initial diagnosis looked like a catastrophic brain aneurism.  

-I just stayed with them and followed.

-Eventually to the PICU, pediatric ICU, got them settled in the waiting room

-we chatted, I got them waters and directions to the bathroom

-waiting for the chaplain to come back

-she never did

-finally I made my exit

-Walked back to St. Luke’s found the chaplain, clocked out and got in my car to make the hour long trip home

-As I drove I thought maybe I wasn’t going to make that phone call the next day to my supervisor after all. 

-I didn’t know why. It wasn’t anything I’d done…I hadn’t done much. I’d been confused and scared the whole time, didn’t know what to do or where to go…But in my car traveling north on highway 45, something deep inside me was changing, turning, 

-Following Monday, I was back at St. Luke’s for class.

-Before we left that afternoon a friend and had to go over to Texas Children’s because he needed to pick up some additional paperwork or maybe his badge or something.

-Now, if you’ve ever been to Texas Children’s in the Med Center you’ll appreciate how unlikely it would be to bump into someone you know there. 

724 beds, 20 floors, 200,000 square feet

-But as we rounded a nondescript corner

-There in a random waiting room, they were – the boys dad and step mom

-Carrie, they shouted, ran over and wrapped me in their arms

-Thank you for what you did for us

-But I didn’t do anything. I panicked, I worried, 

-But you stayed with us, and talked with us

-Two weeks later they put in a request for the chaplain with the purple hair to visit on the day the little boy was being discharged. Good as new. Like it never happened. I celebrated with them, hugs and laughter all around.

I was surely wandering in the wilderness.

In fact I would have taken the wilderness maybe even tempting by the devil 

instead of the hospital. 

None of it made any sense to me 

I didn’t know what I was doing and my brain certainly wasn’t registering any faith or belief or certainty.

I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, took a breath and 

just stepped. Out. And the Holy Spirit stepped in. 

Thanks be to God 

and very much NOT with any powers, talents or skills that I possessed, 

I went on and finished my 100 hours of class and 300 hours of patient visits. 

Over the next 6 months I visited with about 600 patients. 

In the process learning a lot about not managing things with my brain, but just believing with my heart.

So maybe faith/belief isn’t something that happens in your brain. 

Maybe faith is more like motion. Motion led by your heart. 

Just one foot in front of the other. 

Don’t worry about where we’re going yet, just move one foot. 

Give up control and take another step. 

Take a deep breath, hold a hand and take yet another step. 

Because in this place of wilderness the Holy Spirit does amazing things. Miracles you might say. 

Things your brain can’t makes sense of. Can’t believe. 

But that your heart knows as the action of your loving creator. Working in and through creation in ways you would never know how to ask for and doing things that you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams.

Even when you don’t know what to do. 

Especially when it’s hard to see how we’re gonna get there from here,

…and like Abram against all odds, 

Have faith. God is at work. 

Because when it seems like you are lost and alone, 

you are never either of those things. 

Trust with your heart. 

You are always beloved right where you are taking that next brave baby step forward into the wilderness 

where you never know what’s going to happen next…

God in Jesus Christ promises, I am with you always, even to the edge of the world and to end of the age.  Thanks be to God, Amen.

Till and Keep

Genesis 2:4-15

4 These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.

Another Account of the Creation:

In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens, 5when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and no herb of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; 6but a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground— 7then the Lord God formed an earth creature from the dust of the ground, and breathed into its nostrils the breath of life; and the earth creature became a living being. 8And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there God put the earth creature whom had been formed. 9Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

10 A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches. 11The name of the first is Pishon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; 12and the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. 13The name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Cush. 14The name of the third river is Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.

15 The Lord God took the earth creature and put them in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it.

Over the past many months we have learned that, in terms of respiratory epidemiology, one of the safest places to be is outdoors. While there is still reason for caution and care, bright sunlight and open air have shown to be powerful liberators in the midst of pandemic. It is a place of life in the midst of death and perhaps holds healing for our souls and our communities. Since home and outside are the safest place to be (and, for quite some time have been the ONLY place to be), I’ve been doing a lot in my garden. I’ve dug several new garden beds, reconfigured old ones, moving things from one to the other.  When I start working in the garden, I usually have a vision of what the end is to be and try to order my steps to get there. But then I’ll see a pathway covered in weeds and think, “oh, I’ll just grab a few of those while the ground is soft from rain.” And then I’ll notice a far corner that’s looking a little wilty and so stop everything to go pick up some mulch. And then, our chickens will come along after me and scratch all the mulch away in order to get those good good bugs I just dug up, so I need to grab the rake. And then, there are all the new plants I bought and was excited about, still sitting in their containers, unplanted.

Cleaning out the guest closet this weekend felt a bit like this too –  in order to clear out some space, I would need to move all the games out, but then that would mean I need to sort through all our camping gear to make room for the games in our old wardrobe, which means I’ll need to organize the cabinet with all the various cleaning supplies and spare parts, and boxes of light bulbs that probably don’t even fit anything we own anymore.

Listen, I doooooo love a good project, but often find myself at the end of it exhausted from over-extension and wondering what I’ve even accomplished. These days it’s even easier to find myself in this place that feels so little like a garden of abundance.  Even the basic work of waking, cooking, navigating technology and relationships, and even speaking and breathing…seem to quickly consume every resource of energy and willpower.

In this account of creation, God gives humankind place and purpose, we are set in the garden to till it and keep it. To till & keep. Sometimes I confess that sometimes I hear these words, especially when I’m already tired, as a resignation that this is just the way the world works – endless sweat and toil, a divine sort of death and taxes, and it does not land in my body and soul as good news. I am aware that good news does not always mean easy news, but when my reading of scripture is getting me down that’s usually a red flag that there’s something I’m missing about it.

To till and keep.

The process of tilling land is indeed an involved and disruptive one. It uproots and overturns, but in so doing…allows new oxygen into the ground. To till is to cultivate, to use what’s there and to stir it up, so that it is enriched. It is to tend to and care for, but particularly, to address what needs addressing - to water what seems parched, to feed and foster what has room to grow, to clear what has becomes overgrown and cluttered, to work it, to work at it – not frantically but diligently. Rest, too, is an essential part of the rhythm.

When I think of what it means to keep, I think of Hagrid – the loveable gamekeeper of Hogwarts. It is to be a caretaker of life. In the bible, God says that our love of God is reflected by keeping the commandments – a sense of holding onto and holding dear…to hold but not possess, to be faithful to, to keep a covenant. Jesus reminds us that we are our brother’s keeper; we are keepers of creation and of one another. To keep is to remember and reflect our connectedness. If we are rooted in connection, and we are, the result is care. Indeed, the Hebrew word translated as “to till” also means “to serve.”

We often associate giving and generosity as material, as visible, measurable. For the longest time, I thought of service this way too – as something coordinated and orchestrated…project-based trips, workdays, and campaigns. These things are needed to be sure. I know that impact often takes organization, energy, and stuff. Hurricane response requires leaders, water, generators, and supplies. Bringing about systemic change takes organization, wisdom, and money. The hand sanitizer and meals and prayer beads we’re able to share on Sunday evenings from the church porch…it matters and I truly believe contributes to the wellness of our community and cultivates the flourishing of creation. This week, some of you have been working in the name of “God’s Work, Our Hands” to compile various kits, or give blood, or write letters to the isolated, or engage civic justice. This is part of our being to till and to keep.

But I also heard about what it means to harvest and give of your heart, something perhaps even more precious to us than anything else, and often with surprising capacity when everything seems wilt-y in the corners - acts of service that are really more a way of being, certainly imperfect but still good. Some of you talked to me about being committed to patient listening toward coworkers or family, practicing compassion to teachers struggling with technology, or connecting with a neighbor through conversations over the back fence.  In recent weeks as my extended family has been navigating various health diagnoses, I was kept by the prayers of community alongside the sharing of helpful resources and clinic info and offers to commiserate whenever needed. This kind of tilling and keeping, this simple nourishment that arrives amidst our simple rhythms of waking, cooking, feeding the cat…it doesn’t always show up well in a photograph or project report, but it still feels stunningly sacred.

Sometimes we read this commission to till and keep and it gets warped by the part of creation where God gives humankind dominion as well. We get sucked into the idea of dominion as power over and against rather than with and for. I think that’s what’s truly exhausting – the misunderstanding that we are expected to manage it all, conquer and control the mess in an orderly fashion in order to be worthy of the gift God has given us. But throughout the whole of scripture, God demonstrates it as a way of simply being, a way of dwelling, abiding with and among.

This waters me as good news in days when it feels like I have nothing left to give. The generosity and service of tilling and keeping isn’t about a glorification of toil. It is not a giving tree situation – destroying ourselves in ways that are unsustainable, always actively tilling until we collapse. Is it work? Yes. A slog? You know, sometimes…it can be. But it is also as simple and natural as breathing in and out, as waking and sleeping, speaking and listening, so ingrained in how we are created.

Our roots, our origin story, the genesis of our being as children of God… reminds us that suffering in service is not the point – but care and connection are. We don’t do this single-handed. We are not alone in this. We till and keep, nurture and connect – because God first creates and nurtures our being, hold us close, and never lets go. God cultivates and keeps us from beginning to end.

When I think again to the tilling and keeping of my garden, I am reminded that it doesn’t mean overhauling the whole garden every day or even particularly often, but looking to the place that most needs care in order to flourish, and focusing whatever it is that I have in terms of energy and being there. And sometimes I need a time of just sitting in the garden, looking around and being still to know what that is.

I want to invite you into a two –part reflection. Grab a piece of paper and something to write with or just meditate along.

You are a garden, how are you tending to and keeping yourself? How are you caring for and nourishing your being so that you can grow? What place in your life most pressingly needs your attention in order to be well, not perfect, but well, for it to be well with your soul?

You are a part of a larger garden, what is nearby that calls to you for care and attention so that you might flourish together? “Nearby” is relative – it might be in your own home, it might be down the block, it might be a nearness of heart. Don’t think about what you think it should be, but what seems nearby as if it is low-hanging fruit, ripened just for this moment. What is nearby that calls to you for care and attention so that you might flourish together?

May God continue to till and keep you as the Spirit moves and grows in us all, now and forever. Amen.

A God of Action

Acts 16.11-15

11 We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, 12and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. 13On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. 14A certain woman named Lydia, a worshipper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. 15When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, ‘If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.’ And she prevailed upon us.

This is the last Sunday of our series on She-roes of the faith. This has been a real challenge for me. Because we read in scripture that humans are created in the image of God. Not just humans in general, but each human is created in the image of God. God, huge, holy beyond human’s capacity to understand. Each human.

Simplifying people to what I can present in five minutes seems unfair.

Because people are unfathomably complex, autonomous, contradictory, heroes and villains of their own legends…

In short, there is always so much more to the story.

But even in just the broad strokes, I invite you to look through this lens:

What does the life here tell us about God?

What is God up to in the lives of these she-roes of the faith.

This evening we’re talking about writer, activist, and the co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement,

Dorothy Day

Born 1897 in Brooklyn but moved around a lot as her father changed jobs and cities.

Her parents who didn’t go to church but

as a young child Dorothy expressed interest in the church

and an avid reader the bible was often under her arm

She found an episcopal church, learned the catechism herself and was baptized when she was 14.

In addition to the bible, Dorothy read everything she could get her hands on. Especially social commentaries.

Upton Sinclair, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy

She moved back to New York as a young woman and worked on the staff of a socialist newspaper and

began to develop her philosophy of unapologetic pacifism and service to the poor

In Greenwich Village Dorothy wrote and led a bohemian life developing friendships with prominent communists, suffragettes, writers, social activists,

In her job and knowing all these people

Dorothy had a front row seat for the human price paid by the poor during the great depression. It deeply affected her and she decided to give the problem of poverty absolutely everything she had.

She didn’t agree with everything it did, but The Catholic church provided the organization she needed and she joined forces with the church to live out her mission of service to the poor.

In 1933, with a partner Day started the Catholic Worker, a newspaper that highlighted the hardships of the working class. The paper covered strikes, working conditions, the plight of children, women and people of color in the workforce. It encouraged readers to support unions working for the safety and security of the working poor.

Then, as Dorothy herself tells it, one day

her partner ran out of second hand clothes he was giving out at the newspaper’s headquarters and so invited everyone in line in for a meal instead.

Being a proud French peasant he thought soup was good for the body and the soul.

So he and Dorothy served soup that night and hundreds of nights after to whoever showed up at their door. This was the first, “soup kitchen”.

Dorothy believed that her duty as a Christian was live the Gospel and to care for the poor – end of story.

Her life encompasses almost another 50 years of advocacy and work for the poor, against war,

Always what was paramount for Dorothy was help for the least of these.

-The little ones as Jesus calls them, those who are underemployed, undernourished, undereducated, underappreciated, underrepresented,

-Dorothy Day’s life, complex as her and all lives are, was about help and care for those little ones – so precious to Jesus and by his directive so precious to us.

-And for this work, she is incredibly well known, especially in Catholic circles for her work in non-violence, anti-war and workers rights. There are many buildings, programs, professorships books bearing her name and legacy. 

-And she is in investigation by the Catholic church for sainthood.

-Truly a remarkable, one of a kind human and through her tireless efforts surely changed the world. 

Our scripture today tells of another woman, also very successful in her time

Lydia, purveyor of purple cloth. she would have either been a merchant of the purple cloth itself, a rare commodity or just of the dye, which this region was famous for.

Either way, somehow a woman had a home that she could offer to Paul and his companions. A typical woman of this time would not own anything let alone a house, but Lydia did.

This business life couldn’t have been easy for a woman at the time, but obviously Lydia made it work. Probably with some business sense, possibly a little good luck, and

Definitely a lot of hard work.

We celebrate this businesswoman, most unusual in her time, who through hard work was able to support God’s mission by put Paul up while he and his followers stayed in Philippi spreading the good news of God in Jesus Christ.

 Dorothy Day, Tireless efforts, Lydia entrepreneurial hard work,

 And then we also today celebrate Katherine Von Bora Luther

Then somewhere in the middle of the acknowledgement scale is Katie Von Bora Luther.

But she also, with incredibly diligent hard work won the heart of Martin Luther (a priest and monk who never would have thought about marrying) by Making herself indispensable to his mission, keeping books, managing help and most importantly very competently brewing beer.

Our women of faith today worked. Tirelessly. Relentlessly. Persistently.

Like them, God is a god of action. Moving above the formless void before anything, creating, naming, encouraging, loving, disciplining, and God in Jesus – acting. Jesus is never sitting still. Walking, going, travelling, teaching, speaking…

God speaks through the lives of Dorothy Day, Lydia, Katie Von Bora as a God of action. God speaks love to creation in the language of tireless, relentless and persistent work.

Appropriate for a day we celebrate Labor

I find Labor Day to be another difficult thing actuallyBecause It is so tempting in this culture for us to measure our worth by our output

What is my job? How well do I do it? How cool is the job? How often do people celebrate this particular job? How many people know my job exists? Do my closest loved ones even know what I do at my job?

Even the jobs that are cool or maybe well-paying or secure – there are days for everyone

When I don’t feel like I’ve done much or done well or earned my keep.

There are times when my work seems invisible and me with it.

Yet sometimes it is in that invisible work in which God can be seen specifically.

When there are no names attached to it, no medals awarded, no salary received even.

Little ways we live and set an example for others, little ways we love like no one else can and little ways we teach with our being and presence others about love of God and of neighbor.

 So I’m going to add another few people to our last Sunday of She-roes of the faith. These people have no names and what they did probably seemed like nothing at the time. They got no prizes, probably not even a thank you, and yet their just being brought about a little piece of the kingdom of God.

I want to tell you the story of Dorothy Emma Howell Rodham. Born in Chicago in the early 1900s, she raised three children one of whom grew up to be first lady, senator, secretary of state and first female candidate of a major political party to run for president of the United States, Hillary Rodham Clinton. Hillary’s mom, Dorothy had a much different childhood from her daughter’s.

Born to teenage parents who didn’t know how to be adults and certainly weren’t interested in children, Dorothy grew up in and out of apartments and on the streets of Chicago during the great depression. Her parents would leave her alone for days at a time at the youngest of ages.

When her little sister came along she took on the role of mother.

When she was 8, she and her sister were put on a train by themselves and shipped to grandparents in California who didn’t want them either and punished and oppressed the girls relentlessly. It was so bad that Dorothy gave up on her dream of going to high school and at age 13, moved out and got a job as a live-in nanny. The mother of the family, the kindest human she’d known to that point in her life, said that if she got up early and took care of the children and housework she could go to high school if she could get herself there and back on time.

So grateful for this chance, Dorothy got up in the wee hours to work and by the time she got to school each morning had done an entire day’s chores.

After proudly graduating her mother contacted her and promised to send her to college if she moved back to Chicago. Excited that her mother wanted her finally, she went. But when she got there, she found her mother only wanted a free housekeeper and had no intention of sending her to college. Brokenhearted, Dorothy left to make her way in life, very much on her own.

An interviewer once asked Hillary Clinton after she told this story, “Did you ever ask her how she did it? How did she survive a childhood like this?”

And Hillary said, “Yes, I did ask her. I remember I asked her one time, How did you do it? How did you survive, and how did you turn out to be resilient and wanting to be a mom and wanting to do the best you could for your kids?

Here’s what she said, “At critical moments, somebody was kind to me. In first grade when my teacher noticed that I never had any food for lunch, from then on she always seemed to bring too much for herself and shared her lunch with me for the rest of the year.

All along the way, at critical moments somebody was kind to me.”

God in action in ways very few people will ever know about. Giving something to eat. Or even just giving a smile, a kind word on the way. No movements, No monuments, No sainthoods

Little things here and little things there that don’t seem to make a real difference in the moment.

But in the story of a life make all the difference.

So who is God in our stories, sacred and secular today?

God is activity itself. God is at work. Tirelessly. Relentlessly. Persistently.

God is active in lives of diligence, and renown and success.

God is at work making and sustaining Dorothy Day in her singular uniqueness…

feeding people in the soup lines, advocating for humane work conditions.

God is at work in creating Lydia a woman before her time giving her a competitive spirit

and providing her the opportunity to be able to shelter and offer care to travelers,

God is at work forming Katherine Von Bora in her tenacity working to make dreams into

realities for causes that change the world.

And God is at work creating and shaping you. In all your complexity, humanity, your hero-ness your rogue tendencies.

Big or small, God is with you in your doing and your being,

active and at work in your singular uniqueness, helping you giving gifts only you can give by being the wonderful, loving, complex and unique human you are created to be.

Thanks upon thanks be to God for creating humans so interesting and complicated and loving us into fullness bit by bit, day by day, in ways huge and hard to miss and in ways too tiny to notice.

Today and always dear Children of God, in your doing and in your being, you are truly blessed of your creator. Amen.

The Sacred Art of Talking Back to Jesus

Mark 7:24-30

24 From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, 25but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. 26Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. 27He said to her, ‘Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’ 28But she answered him, ‘Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.’ 29Then he said to her, ‘For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.’ 30So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

This story of the Syrophoenician woman, also called the Canaanite woman, is probably my favorite in all of scripture. If you know me at all, you can probably imagine why I’d resonate with and why I need a sacred story of women who talk back. I came of age watching powerful women like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Ashley Banks in The Fresh Prince of Bel-air. I feel a profound kinship with those who don’t fit into their assigned boxes or stay in their lane, women who dare question and contradict imposed inferiority. Their witness of being  is especially liberating in a society where “good” women are always portrayed as nice, courteous, and contained, encouraged and celebrated in their service to the comfort of others.

But my connection to such people and stories is more than a need to glorify rebellion. My soul has always longed for a God big enough to be challenged, who is not so fragile as to demand an unquestioning faith.

Katharina Schutz Zell came of age just as Martin Luther was stirring up the church in 15th century Germany. Inspired by Holy Spirit to pursue a radical grace, she became not only a follower of these teachings but a contributor to the reformation with her writings – producing pamphlets for the public to spread the Gospel. And I don’t mean that she simply echoed what the men were saying, reiterating their sanctioned talking points, but even contradicted them in pursuit of the grandiose God they proclaimed. She challenged the predominant notions of goodness not only with her words but her actions and with her whole being. Called by love, she was one of the first people to marry a clergyperson, even before Martin Luther got married, a pearl-clutching scandal in the eyes good Christians of the time. Five centuries ago she wrote: “I am convinced that if I agreed with our preachers in everything I would be called the most pious and knowledgeable woman born in Germany. But since I disagree I am called an arrogant person and, as many say, Doctor Katharina.” Rest assured that a woman being called Doctor in this way wasn’t a compliment, but a demeaning term implying presumptuousness. They called her uppity. In all this time, plenty of this sentiment remains for women who dare offer their God-given voice of faith so boldly. This woman refused to be dismissed and genuinely shaped the movement that forms my faith and I had never heard her name before this week.

Generations later, across an ocean, Antoinette Brown Blackwell was born in New York in the late 1800s and felt a call to ministry at an early age, preaching with her church even as a teenager. She would attend college at Oberlin and then lobbied to enter theological classes there that were previously not open to women.  They told her she would be allowed to be present but not recognized. And if that doesn’t sum up the heart of the issue.  They would passively tolerate her, but not empower her by actually awarding her a degree. Not only did she persist, she pursued. She would be the first woman ordained to a mainstream protestant church in the United States. It was her belief in an ever-widening God and gospel that fueled her fight for women’s suffrage and the abolition of slavery. And in fact, she was the only one of the first generation of suffragists who witnessed the passage of the 19th Amendment to the Constitution, a right she exercised on November 2, 1920, casting her first vote at the age of ninety-five, just a year before her death. She did not do this pioneering work in isolation but in community, gathered with other women AND men to effect change.

When the demon of racism possessed George Zimmerman and the system that dismissed his crimes, and a mother cried out for the life of her son, Trayvon Martin…Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi responded by creating the Black Lives Matter movement and network to counter the continued systemic violence toward their community and the dehumanization of black bodies.  These three women who together are black, queer, African, femme, Jewish – an intersection of so many things that our society would see as a liability and lesser-than – proclaim such as worthy of dignity.

The woman in today’s scripture proclaims to Jesus and all those gathered around them that Syrophonecian lives matter. The woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. Jesus calls her a dog.

When he says dog, he does not mean adorable puppy who is a member of the family. He means the same level of insult implied by the modern vernacular for female dog. It carries the same venomous weight of barbed words and names that aren’t names in order to diminish: doctor, bossy, flamboyant, vagrant, thug. It means the same dehumanizing dismissal as the whole litany of animal language used against those who are other-ed by racism and misogyny to declare them unworthy of care and indeed deserving of maltreatment.

Hearing it, out of Jesus’ mouth, is a punch in the gut that comes in the midst of a week where our sides are already sore from similar blows. Christians proclaim that Christ is fully divine and fully human, the fullness of God intertwined with the fullness of humanity - which seems endearing as a new born child in a feed trough and humbling on the cross, but this hits as just too human in our propensity to hurt each other.

Rev. Dr. Wil Gafney, a renowned black womanist theologian right here in Texas, has written this reflection and insight:

“Jesus was fully but not generically human. He was a first century Palestinian Jewish man who was religiously observant and a product of his culture, including its biases. Israel claimed God had given them Canaanite land, a notion the Canaanites did not share, and Israel occupied the land of Canaan every bit as much as Rome occupied Israel. Add to that the Israelite notions about Canaanites were no more generous than Roman ideas about the Jews. Perhaps more germane to us, as a Canaanite, specifically a Phoenician, she was a Gentile—like us—and Jesus is not shy about his opinions of Gentiles.”

She continues:

“You might be thinking, “I believe in the Incarnation, but this Jesus is a little too human.” To be human is not actually such a bad thing—I say from experience. For to be human is to be made in the image of God with something of her capacity to love, and to be human is to learn and grow and change, to open up our hearts and minds, expand our beliefs and relinquish our biases. I believe Jesus shares some of this with us else he wouldn’t be fully human.

This woman challenges the deeply-embedded notion that she is outside of God’s promises and their power to reconcile us to one another. She does not ask, but indeed proclaims that even her life and that of her child….matter. Where does this witness come from?  Is it strength? Desperation? Wit’s end? I don’t know, but it’s divinely powerful. Some would say that she is redeemed by her humility because she lowers herself at Jesus’ feet or refers to him with respectful titles like “sir” and kept things civil and polite.  This is misogyny with a religious façade. There is holiness not in her minding her manners but defending her divine dignity, not her deference but her defiance.  The Gospel is not a reward for “good behavior” but a scandalously generous gift for all, especially those the world declares as unworthy. It is she, the outsider who would be sent away, who boldly preaches the Good News that in fact, she too has a place at God’s table.

We lay down beside her to proclaim:

-      even desperate mothers at the border deserve basic life-sustaining medical care for their children

-      even children who live outside prestigious zip codes deserve a quality education

-      even transgender people deserve to be employed and sheltered

-      even someone who’s high or drunk deserves food in their belly

-      even those who for whatever reason cannot produce economic value deserve the basic dignities of life

-      even  the poor deserve protection  from hurricanes

-      even homeless black men killed by police in a moment of crisis, deserved our care not our bullets and at the very least, Julius “El” Keyhei, deserves to be named and mourned

-      even those walking away from police deserve to breathe

-      even those with rap sheets deserve to breathe.

-      even those out for a jog deserve to breathe.

-      even those reaching for their title and registration deserve to breathe.

-      even those sleeping in their beds deserve to breathe.

-      even those who take their outrage to the streets deserve to breathe.

-      and yes, even a 17 year old boy possessed with the demon of racism that harms and kills others, deserves to breathe.

You know what? Actually, none of them deserve that.  They deserve so much more. This is a sacred story about calling attention to but NOT about settling for the crumbs. When scripture talks about God’s goodness, it is a feast that never ends and a cup that overflows. This is not a Gospel that asks us to shrink smaller or think less of ourselves but to expect more of God because it is who God has promised us they are. The Gospel is that we are not created simply to be tolerated but embraced, and not only embraced but celebrated.

“Black Christ” by Rev. Canon Warner Traynham

This is what the woman gets Jesus to recognize, through contrast, about God’s own identity and call to ministry.

This story is told in two Gospels, in Matthew and well as Mark. In Matthew, the overall theme of the gospel is the inclusion of gentiles - outsiders and outcasts. In Mark, there’s an emphasis on profound and world-altering miracles like healing - healing even the entrenched and seemingly insurmountable barriers of bias the demean us all.

Continuing to reflect on what it means for God to be fully human, Rev. Dr. Wil Gafney writes:

“We are at our best as human beings when we listen to and learn from someone who is so different from us that everything in our culture and raising tells us she is other.”

….

“(The woman) left that place with her daughter (whom we never see and don’t know was even present) restored to wholeness, and Jesus left that place walking towards a whole new understanding of his ministry. …Jesus goes forward to proclaim a gospel in which all are welcome to the table.”

We are created in the image of a God who is big enough to withstand being wrong sometimes and strong enough to grow in relationship. And if God, the Creator, can change, surely so can this creation. This cosmic resurrection will bring both courage and conflict, and sustains us with faith:

- Courage to do a thing that’s never been done before and to clear a path for those who follow after, so they can pick up where the ancestors left off

- Faith to see the world not only as it is but also for what it can be, for how God promises it will be and is already becoming.

Amen.

SHEroes of Faith: Reclaiming Eve

Genesis 2.4b-9, 15-21

4b At the time when YHWH made the heavens and the earth, 5there was still no wild bush on the earth nor had any wild plant sprung up, for YHWH had not yet sent rain to the earth, and there was no human being to till the soil; 6Instead, a flow of water would well up from the ground and irrigate the soil.7So YHWH fashioned an earth creature out of the clay of the earth, and blew into its nostrils the breath of life, And the earth creature became a living being. 8YHWH planted a garden to the east, in Eden – “Land of Pleasure” – and placed in it the creature that had been made. Then YHWH caused every kind of tree, enticing to look at and good to eat, to spring from the soil. In the center of the garden was the Tree of Life, and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

15Then YHWH took the earth creature and settled it in the garden of Eden so that it might cultivate and care for the land. 16YHWH commanded the earth creature, “You may eat as much as you like from any of the trees of the garden – 17except the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. You must not eat from that tree, for on the day you eat from that tree, that is the day you will die.” 18 Then YHWH said, “It is not good for the earth creature to be alone. I will make a fitting companion for it.” 19So from the soil YHWH formed all the various wild beasts and all the birds of the air, and brought them to the earth creature to be named. Whatever the earth creature called each one, that became its name. 20The earth creature gave names to all the cattle, all the birds of the air, and all the wild animals. But none of them proved to be a fitting companion, 21So YHWH made the earth creature fall into a deep sleep, and while it slept, God divided the earth creature in two, then closed up the flesh from its side.

*translation from The Inclusive Bible

art by Brianna McCarthy

On November 22, 1970, Elizabeth Platz was ordained in the Lutheran Church in America, making her the first woman of European descent to be ordained in a Lutheran Church body in North America. Exactly a month later, Barbara L. Andrews was ordained in the American Lutheran Church (I know, we’ve always been good at distinctive names). She was the first woman of European descent with a disability to be ordained in the United States. On March 4, 1979, Lydia Rivera Kalb became the first latina woman ordained in a Lutheran Church in the United States. Later that year, Earlean Miller became the first woman of African descent ordained in a Lutheran Church in the United States. July 1, 1982 - Asha George-Guiser became the first woman of Asian descent ordained in a Lutheran Church in the United States. July 19, 1987 - Marlene Whiterabbit Helgemo becomes the first American Indian woman ordained in a Lutheran Church in the United States. January 22, 1990 - Ruth Frost and Phyllis Zillhart are the first openly lesbian women to be ordained in a Lutheran church body in the United States and because of national church policy prohibiting such relationship their congregation was suspended and ultimately expelled. These women were formally welcomed back to the ELCA in 2010, after the people called church changed those policies at the 2009 Churchwide Assembly to acknowledge the calling of clergy in same-gendered relationships. This year we celebrate 50-40-10, the anniversaries of ordaining women, women of color, and LGBTQ people in relationships as Pastors, bearers of God’s goodness

These are our elders of faith, our own She-roes, as they shaped and became what we embody now, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (I know, we’ve come a long way in the naming department). This is our story. This is where we come from. These are our origins, our genesis. And before them, there were others. And before that, still more:

• Women of faith beyond any single timeframe or tradition, reflecting and participating in God’s creative goodness. 

• Women like those named in our invocation tonight and those we will name in the weeks to come.

• Women who know God’s voice and blessing from the beginning. 

 Our origin stories always take on a bit of that “larger than life” quality. It’s part history, part narrative, part mythical epic. It’s the story of how Disney, Google, HP, Amazon, and Apple were all founded in garages. Perhaps it’s the truth but maybe not the whole truth, or the truth packaged in a particular way so that it points to an even larger truth. 

Frederick Buechner wrote, “The raw material of a myth, like the raw material of a dream, may be something that actually happened once. But myths, like dreams, do not tell us much about that kind of actuality. The creation of Adam and Eve, the Tower of Babel, Oedipus- they do not tell us primarily about events. They tell us about ourselves. In popular usage, a myth has come to mean a story that is not true. Historically speaking, that may well be so. Humanly speaking, a myth is a story that is always true.”

How we imagine and understand our origins shapes everything that comes after.

The creation stories of Genesis 1 and 2 are categorically myths and yet also true in the ways they reveal the nature of ourselves and God from the beginning and even unto the end. These stories are not even entirely unique as they follow similar patterns of existing Sumerian and Babylonion creation myths, and yet also distinctive enough to make a different sort of claim about the world, humanity, and our relationship to the divine. In fact, the similarities serve to highlight the significance of these shifts. These other stories mirror the poetic rhythm of creating land and sky and water, moon and sun, growth and animals. When it comes to humanity...we come from the same stuff, from soil and mud.  But in these other stories the creation of humankind comes as a product  of violence and animosity; humanity comes from a motive of narrow control rather than care. 

In Genesis, we are defined by and dwell in a nature of integration, goodness, and wideness. Humanity is established with a deep connection to the earth as it becomes the very stuff of our being. Some bible translations present verse 7 as “the LORD God formed man out of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.” The word translated as “man” is actually the Hebrew word adam which is a play off of adamah, which means earth. “Adam” is not a proper noun (in fact, it isn’t even translated this way until halfway through chapter 3 after a little incident with a fruit tree), it’s a generic word which literally translates as earthling, one who is made of the dirt and dust. In the beginning, there is no gender that precedes another. Humankind is created together, full of capacity for all things. Our very being is drawn from the rich dark soil from which new life and possibility emerges. 

Our calling, our place, our purpose is to cultivate and care for the land, not conquer and control it. Our very being points to the connectedness of creation rather than its subjugation. This sense of cultivation evokes our work, our purpose, not as a means of production but as service, in service to the well-being of what the earth and all of creation was created to be. God plants a garden of plenty, pleasure, delight, and diversity where we are made to dwell. Whereas other stories use humankind as an inferior shell to serve divine interests, as cogs in the machine or pawns in a cosmic political game, the LORD God invites our whole being to share in the ongoing work of creation, to tend and till, to name and give meaning. This divine power is expansive in its inclusion, obscenely generous in its abundance, but also grounded in its responsibility to all else.

The culmination of this connected and integral creation is true companionship. What makes a fitting companion? The animals are made of the same stuff as the earth creature, but they do not have that “shared with” quality that creates companionship. Some translations render this as “a helper.” It is no insult nor insinuation of inferiority, that’s our baggage that we bring to the text. This same helper/companion word is used to describe God’s very self as in Psalm 121: “from where will my help come? My help comes from the LORD.” Likewise, from one becomes two - and God’s track record of an ever-expanding welcome continues. As the story sometimes goes, God pulls out a rib and creates a second earth creature. But again, the Hebrew word there is different from what this translation suggests.  The actual word is “side”, tsela, which is used again throughout Exodus to speak of the sides of the ark of the covenant, the sides of the holy altar, of the tabernacle sides - the holy dwelling places of God. And so this creature who is made side from side is not a lesser portion, but a complete and holy rendering. God creates the newly- expanded whole of humanity to literally stand side by side. Just as God does with fish and loaves of bread, when God divides it does not diminish. Only after this expansion are gendered words of man and woman, ish and isha, used simultaneously for humankind. Perhaps, then, they point less to separation or hierarchy and more to relationship and sharedness. 

This understanding of our origins shapes how we understand ourselves, our world, and our God and undoes the patriarchal interpretations that have tinted our view of scripture and the church for generations. For just a moment, before the blame and heteronormativity, and racism slither in, we find our origin is one not of sin, but of blessing.

But we can not hear this story without also wrestling with what comes after it. Even in the garden, the spectre of death and destruction sits right in the middle of everything. Right in the midst of everything else...YHWH commanded the earth creature, “You may eat as much as you like from any of the trees of the garden – 17except the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. You must not eat from that tree, for on the day you eat from that tree, that is the day you will die.” We know that in Chapter 3, both earth creatures do exactly that. The first thing that happens is that they realize they are naked and determine that their nakedness is not to be seen and so they go to cover themselves, to hide part of themselves from one another. Then, they hide themselves from God. Then, they turn to blame. Shame, blame, and hurt...the byproducts of loss, of grief, the response to death which comes in many forms. If we didn’t know that God said death would follow, we would know there had been a kind of death by this trail it leaves. We grieve at physical death but also the death of connection, the death of clarity, and the death of trust - the losses which cause us to question the abundance and connection of creation.  Is there really enough? Is this good enough?

Tradition has pointed to this moment as the origin of sin and it too is an origin story that claims to shape who and how we are as those who can sit as judge of good and evil. The serpent uses God’s own words, but then adds something that is not there. It twists the truth into something that serves subjugation and scarcity rather than the connectedness and abundance that we see God proclaim in creation. It is evident in art and literature as the woman is predominantly depicted with a snake wrapped around her like she’s Lord Voldemort. It is perpetuated in centuries of theology that insert bias into the text to cast her as seductress in ways that feed the poisoned fruit of sexism into the church and the world. It is found in the ways faithful people have laid their baggage on scripture to make woman second-best in order to silence and exclude.

In Genesis, chapter 3, God gives voice to the many difficulties that will come from this broken relationship culminating in the reminder that “you are dust and to dust you will return.” And when the dust settles, the woman is named “Eve.” Now here’s the last language lesson of the night.  Eve is an english translation of the Latin name Eva, which comes from the Hebrew name Chavah which comes from the root of chayim, which means “life.” Death is a part of life, but it’s not where the story ends. It’s easy to get stuck in that haunting middle, and sometimes it seems like that’s all there is, but there is more beyond it. In our story of origin, life persists even beyond death. The beginning points us toward a different kind of end. The first book of the Bible speaks to the last as Revelation proclaims that God’s creative work continues into a new heaven and a new earth. Death and mourning and pain will be no more and in its place at the center is a new garden amidst a new city - which gives only life to all people. It’s own mythic poetry reveals a creation and humanity that are not only restored, but resurrected, built again, created anew.  Even the incredible connectedness and care of the beginning is dwarfed by what is to come. 

This is where we come from and where we are going. THIS is the story of our people.  The Word of God. Amen. 

Psalm 57 and Sojourner Truth

Psalm 57

Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me!

In you my soul takes shelter;

I take shelter in the shadow of your wings

Until the destroying storm is over.

I call on God the Most High,

On God who has done everything for me,

to send help from heaven to save me,

to stop them from persecuting me.

-Selah-

O God, send me your love

and your faithfulness.

I am surrounded by lions

greedy for human prey,

their teeth are spears and arrows,

their tongue a sharp sword.

Rise high above the heavens, O God,

and let your glory cover the earth!

They laid a net where I was walking

when I was bowed with care;

they dug a pit for me

but fell into it themselves.

-Selah-

My heart is ready, O God,

my heart is ready;

I will sing and play for you.

Awake, my muse!

Awake, lyre and harp!

I will awaken the dawn!

I will thank you among the peoples, YHWH,

and sing of you among the nations;

your love is high as heaven;

your faithfulness reaches to the skies.

Rise high above the heavens, O God,

let your glory cover the earth!

Hi! My name is Carrie and I’ll be your Vicar this evening…this evening and for a couple more months of evenings. You all know all about whole Vicar thing, I know because you had Vicar Morgan here with you until very recently…but to review…The deal is, to be a Lutheran Pastor all students must do a year as a Vicar, A Vicar Year. So, you know how on New year’s we visualize the new year as a baby new year and we say goodbye to the old year as this elderly old man? I think of the year of the vicar sorta like that. You start your Vicar year as that brand new baby Vicar – full of promise and by the end you’re the super elderly Vicar with a cane looking all tired. So I’ve done the bulk of my Vicar year, I will do the final two months with you, I’m not the baby Vicar and not quite the elderly Vicar I’m coming to Kindred kinda like a middle age Vicar. What that means is that I won’t have quite as much time with you, but I am so excited for the time we will have together. So first and foremost, thank you Pastor Ashley for your time and mentorship and thank you all for your welcome of this middle age Vicar because I am so happy to be here sharing in who Kindred is and how Kindred participates in God’s plan of healing and wholeness for all of creation.

And my very first Sunday, I get to talk about mystics! This is starting well! I love a series on mystics. Because what is a mystic? Someone with Direct knowledge of/communication with/perception of the divine. How does it get cooler than that? Christian tradition is full of these people. Past present and future. And they’re not extra holy or God’s favorites or gifted in anything in particular. But they have ears to hear and eyes to see and have direct divine experience. Sometimes we don’t hear about them in the church though because direct experience with the divine is a little scary for the church. The church seems to prefer God to stick to scripture and sacraments and leave us alone otherwise. But that does not seem to be what God prefers. Because throughout history, people have had these mystical experiences…and talked about them. Sometimes they are praised as saints foundational members of the faith like David and other times well, not as much…Spanish Inquisition comes to mind…

This evening we are taking a look at Sojourner Truth. I knew about her as an activist and speaker for abolition, equal rights and women’s right to vote. But I didn’t know this other part of her story. A real and exquisite revelation from God in which she lived and moved, that informed what she did and said. After this revelation she would never be the same…and neither would the world

Long before she was Sojourner Truth, she was a little girl born into slavery in in New York. And she was called Belle.

• in the North slaves were bought and sold 

• same as in the south but instead of working in fields on big plantations, they worked in households or small farms doing household chores, farm work, child and elder care, cooking, cleaning, errands. 

• Belle grew up hearing stories from her parents of all her siblings who had been sold. 11 or 12 children. 

• They were all under the same stars her mother would insist, so it was almost like being together.

• As a child Belle never allowed to go to any church 

• knew only of a distant “God” her mother told her about who lived beyond the stars and would sometimes protect you or grant you favors when you needed them. 

• So, Belle prayed hard for God to free her from slavery. But it never happened. God wasn’t someone she trusted or loved, 

• just someone who seemed to make promises that couldn’t be kept

• She grew up and was married to another slave and had five children. 

• During this time the state of New York went back and forth abolishing slavery. They freed some slaves but not young ones, they had to work off their debt first. Whatever they did it never freed everyone for all time. 

• In 1826, Belle took her youngest baby and walked away from slavery never again to be owned by anyone. She liked to say she didn’t run away, which would be wrong, she simply walked away. 

• She and her baby found a home with a Dutch community a few towns over where they were welcomed as family.

• A few months later, one day, while walking she had a vision. 

• She realized like a flash like lightening that God was everywhere. In everything and everyone. 

• There was no place she could go or imagine where God was not. 

• This terrified her. A holy powerful totally Foreign being who knew her inside and out was with her always and knew her sin, her weakness, her unworthiness. 

• She wished with all her might that there could be something between her and this holy perfection that made her feel so small, sinful and unimportant. 

• She returned to her house, troubled by her vision and almost immediately saw a “friend” who seemed to stand between her and God. She thought at first it was a human friend come in to comfort her. 

• But the closer she looked the more she realized this friend was something different. The friend seemed familiar, someone she knew…had always known. 

• But she couldn’t come up with this friend’s name. And so she asked with all her heart, and immediately a name came to her. Jesus. Yes, it was Jesus. 

• She had only heard the name a few times…and didn’t know what it meant…slaves used to yell out Jesus name when being beaten by their owners. But she never knew who this Jesus was. Now Jesus was her friend standing between her and God, 

• through whom love flowed like a fountain.

• Then in her words…BOOK

• She was surprised when she attended a Methodist campground meeting to learn that other people knew her Jesus too. This friend Jesus …BOOK

• Grateful for people who knew Jesus’ love like she did, she became part of this Christian community 

• lived with friends, traveling here and there to find work and make a way for herself and children. 

• She settled in New York, working as a housekeeper and was active in many Christian communities singing and speaking in services and revivals. 

• As the years went by, she felt that God had other plans for her. 

• One day in 1843, when she was about 40 years old, 

• Belle heard God clearly tell her to stop being a servant for others and become a servant of God. God had shown her the truth and she was to go and share the truth with others. She prayed for God to give her a new name for this new calling, a name with special meaning, with purpose behind it. 

• And the moment she asked for it, a name came to her. 

• Sojourner Truth, “Why,” she said, “thank you God. That is a good name. You are my last Master and your name is Truth. So shall Truth be my last name until I die.”

• And then she started walking. 

• When she would meet someone on the street or in a store -  one person or a group of people 

• she would talk to them sharing the Truth she’d been shown. 

• She spoke on abolishing slavery, equal rights for all races, women’s rights, prison reform and capital punishment, 

• and the crowds got bigger and bigger.

• She had a powerful voice and a persuasive style. Whenever she talked, people listened. They didn’t always like what they heard and she her life and safety were constantly threatened.

• But true to her God-given name, Sojourner just kept walking and speaking truth, no matter who was listening. Educating, enlightening, persuading, arguing…

• She angered white mobs, famous ministers at revivals, 

• even Frederick Douglass could not agree with her about women’s rights.

• Far from intimidated, she would go on walking further and speaking louder. She traveled and spoke, even meeting presidents, Lincoln, Johnson and Grant in the service of her call from God, 

• Go out, and speak Truth.

As I read her story, I can’t help but think of our Psalm today. A Psalm of David. Have mercy on me, David cries, like Belle used to pray, Send help from heaven to save me to stop them from persecuting me I am surrounded by lions Greedy for human prey their teeth are spears and arrows, their tongue a sharp sword. And Belle was surely surrounded by poverty, violence, hatred, injustice. Spears and arrows tongues sharp as swords.

Then just like Belle’s life, the psalm makes a sharp turn. All of a sudden David sings: My heart is ready O God, my heart is ready. I will sing and play for you!

Awake my muse, awake lyre and harp! I will awaken the dawn.

My heart is ready. I will awaken the dawn, I will go out and speak truth. Awaken the people to a new day of enlightenment, justice, peace, love.

No longer Belle, Sojourner Truth found her voice in the gift of love and beloved identity she received from the God of love and her friend Jesus.

She went out and spoke truth not to live up to the name Sojourner Truth.

She went out and spoke truth because she was Sojourner Truth.

She didn’t do what she did to be beloved.

She did it because she was beloved.

Like David, beloved not because of what he did…but because of who he was…despite his many mistakes, a human after God’s own heart.

Like you, and me.

As the beloved child Jesus was born into this world, into a human body and a human life making all creation holy and reconciled, God has named you all beloved children, not in spite of who you are but precisely because of who you are. 

As a young woman Belle walked away from slavery, 

• she received a revelation from God while walking. 

• And Sojourner walked all over the states of New York and Michigan carrying and proclaiming God’s truth.

So as the cherished beings you are…

• I invite you to join into the practice of walking, moving around your neighborhood, the city and talking this week. 

Walking has been a sacred practice for thousands of years. Something about the rhythmic body movement. What it does to your brain, your mind, your heart, your soul…It is centering, soothing, and makes it a little easier to hear that call, that voice, like the whisper of an intimate friend, naming you precious, beloved that voice is easy to miss in the routine, business, business of being human. But when we’re walking, just walking and listening maybe a little easier. 

And then wherever you find yourself…maybe speak a little truth. We’re not all Sojourner Truth that’s not everyone’s gift. But the world could use a little truth here and there from the beloved ones. Consider it while you walk. 

Thanks be to God, and Amen.

Bonus Links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sojourner_Truth - Wikipedia article on Sojourner Truth

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0VqwNjbDKk – interview with Sojourner Truth biographer Nell Irvin Painter

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=248qIymSJHw - Cornell history professor Margaret Washington discussed her recent major work, "Sojourner Truth's America" Oct. 12, 2009.