Second Congregational Church

Early Christmas Eve, 2012

Even if we haven’t heard the story for a long time, we at least vaguely remember the characters– Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the kings or the Wise Men (we rarely remember the word "magi"), and the angels. Then, of course, there’s Jesus, the one whom all the fuss is about.

You can Google all these characters and spend hours and hours reading all kinds of interesting and crazy stuff about them. But then, you’d miss the point of the story.

Because the point of the story is not just about Jesus, certainly not about "facts" about how he was born. The story is too important and too true for "facts." The point of the story is that God, or whatever you want to call the Life Force, the Energy that lights and runs and radiates through everything that is, was, and ever will be, your Higher Power, Love, with a capital "L" or Light, with a capital "L" –God came to inhabit human flesh, most clearly and fully in Jesus of Nazareth, but that was to make the point. God lived not only in Jesus but God lives in you and me and all around us. The fact of the matter is that lots of time we’ve got so much stuff and baggage and fear and busyness built up around us that we don’t even pay attention to the God who was born in us. Children often have less accumulations built up in and around them, so we see God more clearly in them. But just as we keep searching for God-- somewhere, out there, in the sky and stars, in holy places-- God in fact is searching for us, poking us gently from the inside sometimes, sometimes knocking us over to get our attention.

The really good news is that nothing–all our silly searching in all the wrong places, all our wanderings in the wrong directions, no failure or flaw, not even death itself–nothing ultimately can separate us from God, whose love and light we know in Christ Jesus. That Love and Light is being born–in us and all over the world–this night, this moment. Glory to God in the highest and on earth. Peace. Amen.

Late Christmas Eve 2012

The late Roman Catholic Archbishop Christophe Munzihirwa said, "There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried." Bishop Munzihirwa was martyred in 2001 in the war in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

"There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried." JK Rowling tried to communicate that to children in her Harry Potter books, where only those who had seen death could see thestrals, a strange, dinosaur-type creature. Harry Potter, whose parents had both been killed, and Luna Lovegood, whose mom had died, could both see them, while other children couldn’t.

The eyes of the people of Newtown, CT must be weary with crying this Christmas Eve night. They have been joined by millions of others, from the President on down, weeping over the slaughter of innocents this month. A commentator on NPR quietly reminded us of other eyes that have been crying, when, after reading the names of the 20 children and 6 adults who had been killed in the Sandy Hook Elementary School, he said, "We do not know the names of the 10 or 11 children in Afghanistan who died this week when they happened to walk along the edge of a field that had been mined."

"There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried."

This story that we read tonight–about the young mother and her not-yet-husband, about shepherds and angels, about a baby born and laid in the feeding trough of animals–can be heard as simply a lovely miracle story, a story for children, a story without blood or pain or messiness; and it is a beautiful story about God’s sending a child into the world to teach and show people about God.

But "there are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried.." The story also has power for those eyes–through tears the story reminds us of how close birth comes to death, as childbirth was the foremost cause of death for women in Mary’s time and still is in many parts of the world; through tears the story tells us how God works through circumstances that are not at all how we would have liked them to be–an untimely pregnancy, a necessary journey at the worst possible time, rejection by people who can see only money or status or success. Through tears, the story tells us that it is often far away from the center of the news media, on the edges of society, that God sends messengers to tell of hope, and birth–to shepherds and peasants and those who frequent soup kitchens and homeless shelters. Through tears, the story reminds us that the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The story may make us nostalgic, but we should not be naive about its power.

This is power that doesn’t need to speak in halls of power. This is power that disregards society’s infatuation with celebrity. This is power that is at work even now, deep in the earth as seeds lie dormant, at work on the edges of our vision, in the spaces inbetween our cells and leaping over the walls and boundaries we have carefully constructed. This is power that, even now, is giving birth to new life, new dreams, in young people and old who dare to dream dreams and be open to God’s wonder-working power. This is power that even death cannot stop.

"There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried." Through the vision of tears we see not only great sorrow and suffering, but also deep joy and hope.

To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic,"

wrote historian Howard Zinn, it is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places–and there are so many–where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory."

The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. May we be part of the light. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Wed., Dec. 19, 2012 – The Light shines in the darkness...

The sanctuary at Second Congregational Church was full this past Sunday of folks who had come for our annual Christmas pageant and Jesus’ birthday party, but also of folks who needed to come together, maybe longing for a word or a reason or some way to understand the tragic events that took place in Newtown, CT last Friday. I know any number of colleagues who ripped up their prepared sermons to directly address those events and others like them, to give voice to the pain, sorrow, anger and confusion that many people were experiencing.

Just before the service, a number of parents of young children had come up to me and said, “We haven’t told our child about what happened in Newtown, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it directly.” Ahh....it’s been awhile since my children were in first grade, and that was 20 years ago. How to honor those parents’ decisions and be sensitive to the wide range of needs and abilities of our church family?

Looking out on the congregation as I stood up to welcome everyone, I saw all those beautiful faces, some atop angel and shepherd costumes, some older and more reflective, and it seemed so good and right that we should all be there together–children in our midst, sitting with their parents or beloved adults, teens and adults in various groupings. Just gathering together in that place was healing. Lighting the Advent candles, even–perhaps especially–the candle of Joy, which, in the words Tom read, is both like an underground stream and a choice–lighting those candles was sign and symbol of the Light that shines in the darkness. Seeing the green ferns and trailing vines emerging from what 2 weeks ago had been a bare root on the communion table reminded us of the Life that emerges even from the most desolate settings. And the children ministered to us with their pageant–Mary and Joseph both responding so quickly and matter-of-factly to the angel’s news that they were to be parents of this God-child – “okay,” they said simply, the shepherd bowing with her lamb, the three wise men gallantly climbing the steps, King Herod’s bluster and then dramatic death, surrounded by the cutest thugs ever....”and all because of just a little Christmas.”

It is the middle of the darkest week of the year here, in so many ways. Rain and thick cloud cover make it even darker. Sadness and ache as we watch Newtown bury its children and fallen heroes. So more than ever, we long for the Light.

Here’s the advice my friend Maria Sirois, who’s one of the adjunct faculty of my Positive Psychology course as well as a psychotherapist, shared with us–

When tragedy strikes, here’s what we can do–
–Feel what we feel, so that neither grief nor anger become poison within us and so that others have permission to feel all that they feel.
–Bear witness without flinching from the darkness.
–Tell the truth.
–Honor the ordinary heroes among us and those who do the difficult work of holding the story in all its despair and desolation and those who begin the long, hard job of clearing and cleaning, uncovering and naming as much as can be uncovered and named.
–Hold onto the bits of light that emerge wherever they do so and from whomever.
–And surround those who grieve with care that is authentic and wholehearted. Love them up, feed them, show up and show up again. Bake if you can, drive if you can, buy them milk, share your memories if they are ready and however possible, be as a sequoia, rooted in your conviction that none of us need go through this alone and certain that every limb, every twig, every arm holds the promise of spring even as it anchors the ice of winter.

Mr. Rogers said to tell children to “Look for the helpers,” and indeed we lift up and remember the helpers–the teachers and staff, the first responders, the fire department, and police, the ministers, priests, and rabbis, the counselors, the funeral directors and personnel. Remember them in your prayers.

The Rev. Matt Crebbin is the senior minister of the UCC Church in Newtown, who was interviewed on the Today Show this morning. (If you missed it, check it out on Today.com.) He did a beautiful job of conveying the complexity and richness of our faith that is based on joy that is deeper than “happiness,”/happenstance.

The UCC and Pilgrim Press are donating 1000 copies of “Waterbugs and Dragonflies: Explaining Death to Small Children”. You can send $1 donation to https://secure3.convio.net/ucc/site/Ecommerce, although my guess is the $1000 was quickly raised. We have copies of this book in our church library (and I have one in my office). Feel free to borrow it.

The time for advocacy for safer gun laws will surely come, though that journey is complicated and fraught with difficulty. Support of mental health services and research is long overdue, and we need to have conversations about both. Our nation’s culture of violence is pervasive and destructive, and we must begin that long, hard self-examination sooner rather than later.

I welcome further conversation about how we as individuals and we as a church family might respond to events like Newtown, which, alas, will surely not be the last. We need to be the change we long to see, as Gandhi said. We need to hold on to the Light that is within and around us, being born into the world at every moment. “ The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Thanks be to God!
–Mary

"...Into the Ways of Peace" --Luke 1:68-79, Luke 3:1-6 -- Dec. 9, 2012

After turning our attention last week to cosmic matters like the end of the world, when the sun, moon and stars would fall and people would be distressed by the rising of the seas, Advent–and Luke in particular–zooms into the particular this week. Like a Google Earth camera, panning through the layers of the atmosphere, Luke zeroes in on a very particular time and place:

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Anna and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.

You couldn’t hear the word of God in any of the zillion political ads this fall. You can’t hear it in any of the statements released by the White House or the leaders of Congress. Maybe it’s even unlikely to be heard from any of the pulpits or chancels or soapboxes of the church or other religious establishments. "The word of God came – not to any of the political or religious leaders of the time – but the word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness."

And John went all around that region around the Jordan, "proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." A baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan write that "repentance means to ‘go beyond the mind that you have.’" (cited by Mary Ann McKibben Dana, in Journal for Preachers, Advent 2012, p. 5) Much of what we know today goes way beyond the mind that those who heard John’s message might have had, but the call to "repentance," the call to go beyond the mind we have is as urgent today as ever. We would do well to consider the ways we’ve become captive to outmoded ways of thinking–about God, about ourselves, about life–and Advent is an opportunity to do just that. That’s why, instead of being coddled and cooed around the manger from the get-go, in the texts of Advent we are shaken out of our comfort zones with end-of-the-world talk and this sharp-edged character of John the Baptist, crying out in the wilderness.

After all, we and the world are still waiting. Still waiting for ... what? Surely waiting for more than the latest iPhone, or the latest winner of the The Voice or American Idol; surely waiting for more than some political leader to solve all our problems..

Advent puts us in feeling-touch with what [one commentator] describes as ‘an unquenchable fire, a restlessness, a longing, a disquiet, a hunger, a loneliness, a gnawing nostalgia, a wildness that cannot be tamed, a congenital all-embracing ache that lies at the center of human experience.’ [Ronald Rolheiser, The Holy Longing, cited by Guy Sayles in JP, op cit., p. 13] That ache includes a yearning for hope, a hunger for meaning, a thirst for joy, a need for mystery, a craving for ecstasy, and, most of all, a desire to be known and loved. [Sayles, ibid.]

In the midst of our busyness, in the midst of all our decorations and gifts piled up in closets and attics, it’s all too easy to miss the One we’re waiting for. We’re paying attention to so many other things, trying just to keep up, trying not to disappoint anyone, trying to do what our culture keeps telling us we should be doing this time of year. So we don’t really have time to pay attention to that ache, that other hunger, and if we do manage to get it together to come to church on Sundays, we might be reminded–maybe we perceive it as a rather rude reminder–of just what that ache might be about.

"[John] went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins..." Even now, this morning, John is calling us to go beyond the mind we have, the mind that may tell us we’re woefully inadequate, God is so far away, God is making a list and checking it twice... Go beyond the mind you have [–repent], be immersed in the assurance and knowledge that God is everywhere, even inside you [the forgiveness of sins is about removing the separation between you and God]. Pay attention. Be made new.

Poet Mary Oliver is a consummate observer, quintessentially paying attention, and she writes, "Everyday I’m still looking for God and I’m still finding him everywhere, in the dust..." The news that God is everywhere, lovingly, searingly, powerfully present everywhere–that news is "garbled," as one writer puts it, "garbled almost everywhere except the wilderness." (Sayles, ibid.) It rings true, doesn’t it? that the word of God would come to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness, not to the pomp and proceedings of the political or religious establishments.

Zechariah, like almost any father, looked into his infant son’s eyes and saw there infinite possibility–so new, so longed-for, so yet untouched by the world’s brutality. "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel," Zechariah sang, "for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them....He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David....And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways..."

Some thought John was the long-awaited mighty savior, but here in Zechariah’s song the church affirms that he was the messenger announcing the coming savior. But John’s message is no less a saving message–"Repent, and be baptized for the forgiveness of sins. Go beyond the mind you have, be immersed in the assurance and knowledge that God is everywhere, even inside you. Pay attention. Be made new." John may have a saving message to the church, as Walter Brueggemann suggests, a church who may need to be called back to the basics, a church whose heart may have been compromised, a church who may have lost our critical edge, softened the gospel, accommodated to consumerism, become cynically accepting of social violence and developed a casual indifference to the poor. "Altogether," Brueggemann writes, " [this may have led to ]a dulled faith that cannot well receive the Christmas gift of newness. John, the carrier of costly readiness, is a wake-up call to Christians to get back to the basics of faith, to recover our initial resolve, and to be in a mode of hungry receptiveness." (Sojourners, Dec. 2009)

That is the gift of John the Baptist, this once Man-child to whom his aged father sang, "And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."

"Prepare the way of the Lord," John would later cry, echoing the prophet Isaiah. "Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God."

...Prepare, prepare [writes Jan Richardson of John’s message].

It may feel like

the world is leveling you

emptying you

as it asks you

to give up

what you have known.

It is impolite

and hardly tame

but when it falls

upon your lips

you will wonder at the sweetness

like honey

that finds its way

into the hunger

you had not known

was there.

["The Advent Door," Advent 2, 2012]

Pay attention to the hunger. Watch for gratitude. Take time to breathe deeply and be still. Walk

in the way of peace. Go beyond the mind you have. Prepare the way.

　

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Drawing near..." --Jeremiah 33:14-16, Luke 21:25-36-- Dec. 2, 2012

The church year begins by shoving us off balance. Instead of looking to the skies for a hint of gathering angel choirs, we read this–"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken." Welcome, Advent!

Joanna Adams wrote of Advent a few years ago–and it rings true today–"This Advent I feel an urgent need for the light that comes from God, and I do not think I am the only one....The clouds of anxiety about the future are hovering so low and close that you can barely see your hand in front of your face." (Cited by Kate Huey in Weekly Seeds, 12/2/12) She finds herself "holding on for dear life to the reassurance that God intends to make the world right again." I know how she feels.

I daresay we could quickly come up with a list of things and events that make up that low-hanging cloud of anxiety–the impending "fiscal cliff" and on-going recession, the ice shelf melting into the sea, the rising of sea levels and the resulting extreme devastation of storms like Sandy, worries over our children or aging parents, nagging worries over changes in our bodies or financial situations, the struggles and concerns of those near and dear to us. And we’re among the most fortunate ones–imagine the anxiety of our neighbors who begin this month with a paltry sum for food and shelter, let alone any extra to buy Christmas presents for their children; or residents of the Rockaways or Staten Island or the Jersey shore whose homes were washed away; or refugees from the world’s wars–in Syria and the Congo, in Turkey and Jordan; those still living in the midst of war and violence. "People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken."

"The stories of Advent," writes one commentator, "are dug from the harsh soil of human struggle and the littered landscape of dashed dreams. They are told from the vista where sin still reigns supreme and hope has gone on vacation." (Gary W. Charles, cited by Huey, op cit.) "Now when these things begin to take place," Jesus tells his followers in Luke’s gospel, "stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." He doesn’t say, "When the Son of Humanity comes in a cloud with great power and great glory, then you can stand up and raise your heads," but rather, "when these things begin to take place, stand up...for your redemption is drawing near." The question is, "How do we remain faithful when these fear-filled and foreboding signs begin to happen? What do we do when the chaos begins?" (Mark Davis, Left Behind and Loving It, 11/27/12) Stand up and lift up your heads, Jesus says. One translator calls this "the imperative of expectation." (Davis, ibid.)

I thought of that this week in the midst of the chaos here. I have infinite admiration for all those who kept facing into the chaos, who received each additional donation of "stuff" with good nature and thanks, who, after only very brief respites of sitting down and weeping, stood up and lifted up their heads, in expectation that Friday evening would indeed come, and the Snowball Bazaar would yet again open its doors to eager customers. The Imperative of Expectation. It was the expectation that kept them going. That’s what Advent helps us do.

Jeremiah looked out on the devastation of his own landscape–after shouting himself hoarse and warning the people and their leaders of the consequences of turning away from God and relying on other sources for their security. The Babylonian armies had marched and torched through and taken the leaders off into exile, leaving not only the cities but all the old ways of life destroyed. It is then, as one commentator describes it, that "the prophet looks out on the wasted landscape and begins to fill it with images of beauty, peace, and wholeness." (Amy Erickson, Odyssey Network, 11/27/12, "After the Chaos Ends") Jeremiah speaks of a "righteous branch," drawing on the image of trees that is deeply rooted in the Old Testament tradition. "The tree of life in the Garden of Eden story links trees with ideas of abundance, fertility, and renewal," (Erickson), and just rulers are often referred to as a "righteous branch." With great imagination and drawing deeply on his call to proclaim God’s intention for, and even present making of, the future, Jeremiah points to the small green shoot of life in the gray landscape of death and destruction. "What is happening underneath, what we cannot see, is nevertheless real," he says. (Huey)

Jesus points to another tree–"Look at the fig tree and all the trees," he says. "As soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near." The kingdom is already in our midst, already beginning to blossom, so be alert. Pay attention not only to the signs around you, but also to yourselves. What are you doing in this twilight time between times? Between the failures of the past and the emerging of who you are meant to be, who we all are meant to be? Are you numbing yourself with "dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life," as Jesus says? It’s a question for our time and culture, as we are the most overweight, addicted, drugged, busy generation in our history. There’s a whole lot of numbing going on. "Be on guard," Jesus said, "so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap."

"The dreadful and terrible day, according to Jesus, will be known by its fruitfulness and its blooming as much as by its distress. And this, said Jesus, is how redemption draws near." (Nancy Rockwell, Bite in the Apple, 11/25/12) ... " known by its fruitfulness and its blooming as much as by its distress." It is understandable, even easy, to look upon Advent with a certain amount of skepticism. We’ve been to this movie before. Every year we start hoping again, hoping that this year, there really will be a new beginning, –for us, for our families, for our nation, for our world--that this year a child will be born among us who will make a difference in the life of the world, that this year, God will make the world right.

Nancy Rockwell interviewed perspective students for her alma mater. She was particularly touched by two of these bright 17-year-olds.

One young woman, who had been studying the classics, said she had responded to the Arab spring by deciding she could use her facility with languages and alphabets to learn Arabic. She found a summer program that took her to Jordan where she lived with an Arab family and learned a lot about the culture and the history as well as learning the language. Now she wants to become a diplomat. Urgently.

One young man, a jock through and through, captain of the crew, the swim team, the water polo team, has plunged into environmental sciences. Summers he is working in wetlands conservation, and this fall he’s written a paper on the pollution of the oceans. He wants to become an engineer who works to restore the now-endangered ocean waters. ‘All my pleasures come from water,’ he says, ‘and I need to give back. The planet needs a healthy ocean to survive." (Bite in the Apple

, 11/25/12)

The temptation to give in to frustration, despair, and fear, Rockwell writes, "will always be overcome by the light of those who pick up the pieces they know they can handle, and give the brief candle of their own lifetime to lighting the common way. There is something personal, something individual about the great and terrible–and fruitful day. It does come to each of us as a choice, what hope and expectation we bring to the world and how we use our lives."

"Now when these things begin to take place," Jesus said, "stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." The "imperative of expectation" calls us to order our lives so that we live each day as though the day when God makes all things right is already here, the green shoot of the righteous branch is already emerging, there already is enough for all and each of us is enough. We are all part of the same loaf, the same cup. That is what this table reminds us of. The sap of the righteous branch is running through us, the lifeblood of Jesus is flowing through our veins, and even now, new life is sprouting all around us. Let us keep the feast. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Like the Morning Light..." --2 Samuel 23:1-7, John 18:33-37 -- Nov. 25, 2012

I was working here alone on Friday morning, my Thanksgiving dinner still pleasantly digesting as I was pondering what I should have done to make the turkey a little less dry. I haven’t had to cook the turkey for several years now, as we’ve been accustomed to traveling up to Potsdam to be with Bruce’s parents and aunt, and someone else always took care of the turkey. So, I wondered–next year should I use a baking bag, or wrap the bird up tightly in aluminum foil, or maybe just cook it a little slower, but for less time.

I heard the door into Webster Hall open, listened to the footsteps approaching, and a middle-aged gentleman, whom I had seen before, stood in my doorway and said, "I wondered if I might get a gas voucher." As I was getting the folder with the vouchers, he asked me, "How was your Thanksgiving?" I told him it was good, though a little different this year without a number of family members, who had died this year. "Yes," he said, "I lost two of my close friends in just these last few weeks. And I didn’t know about the programs here–I went to BROC for help with Thanksgiving, and they told me I was too late. I hadn’t signed up. So I had spaghetti with butter, since I didn’t have any sauce."

Suddenly I wasn’t worried about whether I’d use more aluminum foil or lower the oven temperature next year. Spaghetti with butter for Thanksgiving? Why wasn’t this man sitting at our dining room table, eating some of our abundant, albeit a little dry, turkey?! If Jesus really was Sovereign of the World, nobody would have to eat spaghetti with butter, alone, for Thanksgiving, unless that’s what they wanted to do.

Delores Williams is a theologian at Union Seminary. "She grew up in the south and remembers Sunday mornings when the minister shouted out: "Who is Jesus?’ The choir responded in voices loud and strong: "King of kings and Lord Almighty!’ Then, [she said] little Miss Huff, in a voice so fragile and soft you could hardly hear, would sing her own answer: "Poor little Mary’s boy." Back and forth they sang–King of Kings...poor little Mary’s boy. Delores said, "It was the Black church doing theology." Who is Jesus? ‘King of Kings’ cannot be the answer without seeing, ‘poor little Mary’s boy.’" (told by Barbara Lundblad, Odyssey Network, "A Different King od King," 11/20/12)

On this last Sunday of the Christian year, we celebrate Reign of Christ Sunday, which used to be "Christ the King Sunday," when we affirm that Christ is sovereign over all the earth, the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. It’s kind of a grandiose concept, easily slipping into triumphalism, rolling over all other faith traditions. Our own "God is still speaking" United Church of Christ has for its symbol a globe with a crown and cross on top. When poor little Mary’s boy is eating spaghetti with butter for Thanksgiving, what do we mean when we talk about the "reign of Christ"? For that matter what does "Jesus is my Lord and Savior" mean?

Pilate wondered that too. "Are you king of the Jews?" he asked Jesus. And Jesus eventually answered, "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. [That’s what rulers of this world do–they have armies. They get their point across with weapons. They back up their claims with artillary.] But as it is, [Jesus said] my kingdom is not from here." Pilate asked him, "So you are a king?" Jesus answered, "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." Pilate asked him, "What is truth?" That’s the real question, isn’t it? What is truth?

In John’s gospel, Jesus doesn’t talk so much about the "kingdom of God" or the "kingdom of heaven." John’s Jesus, as we see here, isn’t really interested in "kingdoms." What he talks about, what he reveals,–what he is–is the truth, the truth about God. "Jesus’ followers [writes John Pilch] are not subjects in a kingdom but persons who hear the truth and respond to it." (The Cultural World of Jesus, Year B, p. 167) It was the Truth about God who was standing before Pilate. No wonder Pilate couldn’t make up his mind–all his old categories and definitions of "king" didn’t fit into the mystery facing him.

Br. Curtis Almquist says, "If your former experience of ‘God’ no longer has any meaning for you, if it’s too small, too pedestrian, too local, then translate it. Find some new language to speak out of the depths of your life. Get in touch with your ultimate concern, what you take seriously and without reservation." (Cited by Lundblad, op cit.) Again, what do we mean when we talk about the "reign of Christ" What does it mean to say "Jesus is my Lord and Savior"? Two days after Black Friday (and Gray Thursday), when the rulers of the world, the Magnates of Consumerism, the experts on the economy tell us that we and our children and grandchildren will only be worthy of respect and honor and love if we have the latest mobile device, flat screen TV, video game, sweater with sparkle, swag with style, what does it mean to say "Jesus is Lord"?

We each have to come to terms with that for ourselves; find what speaks to the depth of our experience, what we can take seriously and without reservation. That’s the only unifying theology in the UCC–Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior–each one of us has to figure out what that means for us. For me, to say that Jesus is Lord of my life means that I try to live my life out of a Christ-consciousness–that dinvine-infused humanity that says "I am beloved, a precious child of God. I am enough." Who I am–without buying or receiving one single thing–who I am is enough. I am worthy of love and honor and respect. And to say that Jesus reveals the truth about God for the world means that every single person, every single creature, is enough, worthy of love and honor and respect. It means that there are other forces and powers competing for my loyalty, even my life, that present themselves beautifully, compellingly, seductively, and if I don’t "know Jesus" well enough, that is, if I’m not grounded in the truth about God that Jesus revealed, I can easily get convinced that lots of other things are more important, that they will make me enough, worthy of love and respect and honor.

Pilate wields his ability to have Jesus put to death over him, but even that doesn’t even register on Jesus’ radar of truth. That, of course, is the real challenge to us who wrestle with what it means for Jesus Christ to be Lord and Savior. Do we trust the Truth he revealed enough to entrust our loved ones to it when they die, let alone when we die? Just as Br. Almquist urged us to find new language to speak out of the depth of our lives, so Robert Roth "re-envisions providence"–"God will take care of us," he writes in Sojourners Magazine (Nov. 2006) "Beyond what we can see–or are willing to see–God is taking care of us already. There is loving, tender guardianship going on. If only we would be more trusting, if only we would let go and see what God is already doing."

That is easier said than done, isn’t it? Be more trusting, let go and see what God is already doing, when we or our loved ones face ominous diagnoses, when bills pile up or tensions at work or at home get more and more unbearable..."Be more trusting, let go and see what God is already doing..." when the "fiscal cliff" looms, and sea levels rise, when thousands of people die in heatwaves and droughts, and millions in wars and famines. "Brothers and sisters," begins a recent New Yorker magazine piece by David Remnick) –Brothers and Sisters, before we open our hymnals and sing the many grim verses of ‘Now Cometh the Hard Part,’...the congregation is kindly requested to indulge in a brief interlude of soul-replenishing joy." (11/19/12) Here at the end of church year, on Reign of Christ Sunday, is the upcoming season of Advent just a "brief interlude of soul-replenishing joy" before we sing the many grim verses of ‘Now Cometh the Hard Part’? If Jesus is Sovereign over all the world, if Christ reveals the truth about God, about who we are and Whose we are, then even in the midst of the "hard part"–even in the midst of death and grief and fear and pain and anxiety–we can trust that we and our loves ones–and everyone else--are being taken care of.

"Ooh, is He safe?" Lucy asks when she see the mighty lion Aslan in C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. "No," replies Mrs. Squirrel. "He is not safe, but He is good." Can we trust that God’s goodness transcends our safety?

Who is Jesus? King of Kings and Lord Almighty. Poor little Mary’s boy. Jesus’ great-great-great-great grandfather David, in one of his wiser moments, is reported to have said, "One who rules over people justly...is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land." That is a sovereign worthy of our allegiance and our lives. May we live into that Truth, may we kneel in gratitude and humility before that Truth, and may we allow that Truth to come and live in us this day and every day to come.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

“Birth Pangs”--1 Samuel 1:4-20, Mark 13:1-8 --Nov. 18, 2012

You may or may not know that the world is supposed to be coming to an end on December 21, 2012. That’s the cyberspace and tabloid buzz around the date on which the ancient Mayan “Long Count” calendar ends. The Mayans were a central American culture which thrived between 250 and 950 of the Common Era, who were known for their skills in astronomy and elaborate calendars. 12/21/12, or the winter solstice of 2012, is the date when our planet is aligned with the center of the Milky Way in such a way that cosmic energy is supposed to stream over us. It is the end of the so-called 4th Age–the age of Materialism, and the beginning of the 5th age, the age of Spirituality. An incredible percentage of the world’s peoples, at some point, believe that the end of the world will come in their lifetime. From all we know, Jesus too was one of those people.

Not surprisingly, real live Mayan elders have a different take on this doomsday prediction. Felippe Gomez protests the commercialization and distortion of this ancient prophecy and says that they are “turning us into folklore-for-profit.” (Huffington Post, 10/31/12) December 21 is actually the beginning of a new time cycle on the Mayan calendar, he says, and it “means there will be big changes on the personal, family, and community level, so that there is harmony and balance between [hu-]mankind and nature.”

Carlos Barrios, another Mayan Elder and ceremonial priest of the Eagle Clan, explains further–
“We are disturbed [“we” meaning the inhabitants of planet Earth]–we can’t play anymore. Our planet can be renewed or ravaged. Now is the time to awaken and take action. Everyone is needed. You are not here for no reason. Everyone who is here now has an important purpose. This is a hard but a special time. We have the opportunity for growth, but we must be ready for this moment in history.” (SERI-Worldwide. org)

“Tell us,” Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked Jesus privately, after he had said that not one of the massive stones of the Temple would be left standing, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?”

Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.”

Mark’s community lived in the 60's or early 70's of the Common Era, a time when the Temple was about to be, or had already been, destroyed. The Roman armies marched through Jerusalem following yet another Jewish revolt, and essentially bull-dozed the Temple, tore down the Holy of Holies, the place where God Himself was said to reside, and slaughtered all the inhabitants of the city. Blood was literally flowing in the streets. It’s as powerful an image of the end-time as you could get.

“There is wistfulness and grief in Jesus’ words,” writes one commentator. “He is for life, not destruction” (Bruce Epperly, The Adventurous Lectionary, 11/12/12). This passage follows immediately upon Jesus’ observation of the poor widow putting her last two coins into the Temple treasury and his lament over the corruption and injustice of the Temple hierarchy. “Beware the scribes,” he said, “for [among other things] they devour widows’ houses...” In Mark’s–and maybe Jesus’–imagining of the end time, the great upheaval, the apocalypse, the Temple and a whole complex of events around it loom large. (Russell Pregeant, Process and Faith website, for 11/18/12)

But Jesus’ advice to his followers here is not to look for signs to figure out the end-time timetable, but rather to keep awake, to beware of being led astray, for persecutions and distortions come not only from without but also from within. “Beware that no one leads you astray,” he told them. “Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am’ [which is God’s name, or] I am he!’ and they will lead many astray.”

In our day, there are some who have warned that progressive or liberal Christians, for whom God is still speaking, who believe God’s revelation didn’t end with the Book of Revelation but is still unfolding, some warn that we are leading people astray. But it could also be said that those who preach a prosperity gospel–that God simply wants you to have more cars and houses and to wear the finest clothes–are leading people away from the gospel that Jesus preached and away from his spirit. It could be said that those who preach a gospel of hatred–who demonstrate at soldiers’ funerals saying God is punishing the U.S. for sanctioning homosexuality and feminism and abortion–it could be said that they are leading people astray in the name of Jesus. It could be said that those who preach disdain for the poor, who preach God’s preference for one nation over all others, who preach carelessness or exploitation of the earth are all leading people astray in the name of Jesus, going against the spirit of Jesus. “Beware that no one leads you astray,” Jesus warned. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.”

Alfred North Whitehead, the great process theologian, wrote, “The pure conservative is fighting against the essence of the universe,” [cited by Pregeant, op cit.) and that essence is change. Those who wish to return to some pure, golden time, who want to conserve the way things were, are fighting a losing battle, which is what makes their tactics and their rhetoric so often violent and full of vitriole. There are some in the Roman Catholic Church hierarchy, the Tea Party, fundamentalists of Islam, Christianity, Judaism, and Hinduism who all share a deep longing to return to the way they imagine things once were, but the current of history flows on.

The ancient Greeks said, “All things must pass. The river flows and life is brief.” As one commentator writes, “Our greatest achievements and the institutions we love (church, country) are finite, mortal, and temporary. This can lead to anxiety and acquisitiveness, it can also lead to gratitude and appreciation for this day that God has made.” (Epperly, op cit.) Another says, “Our job is thus not to impede change but to enable creative transformation...The God of the biblical tradition is...[not] tied to established patterns but rather a dynamic creator who continually re-shapes those patterns to meet new situations; and the church should honor that process of constant revolution.” (Pregeant, op cit.)

At our Re-think Church Task Force meeting this week, we acknowledged that the river of Change for the church is already flowing. We could decide to climb out onto the bank and be left high and dry, or to keep paddling. We acknowledged that the incontrovertible statistics about church decline and disenfranchisement toward institutions like the church are scary, as we think about our own church here and all that it means to us. But we also acknowledged that it is exciting. The image of the white water river raft captured that fear and that thrill. None of us know where the river is headed, but we do know that looking back is not the way to go! The best we can do is keep paddling, keep looking forward, keep our heads above water, give a shout out to the others paddling down the river with us, keep alert. That way, when we do finally arrive, when the new birth finally takes place, we will be able to climb ashore with our companions on the journey, look around, and see then what new thing God has brought forth.

The image of the church as a ship or an ark, self-contained and closed in, is not the image for these times, thinking we can ride out the storm and emerge unchanged. There are others riding these waves with us, toward that hopeful future: allies in other faith traditions, allies in other spiritual if not religious communities, allies in the environmental and social justice movements, allies in positive psychology and yoga communities, allies in artists, dancers, musicians, architects of the new creation. “I have sheep that are not of this fold,” Jesus reminds us.

So, if so much is changing, including our own beloved Second Congregational Church, why at this time of year should we pledge or commit some portion of our financial treasure to its future? Why should we contribute to or invest our time, talent and treasure in this current incarnation if the river of change is carrying us to an as yet unknown destination? This is the craft we’ve been given for the journey. Have you ever tried rowing or steering a raft all by yourself? We still need and want companions on this journey, this journey not only to some new incarnation of the church but this journey that each of us is traveling toward who God wants us to be. We can be reminders to one another of who we are and Whose we are; together we can help others who are drowning. “We are called to support one another to live in joyful hope of what we can’t yet see.” (Brian Volck, Living into the Mystery, Ekklesia Project, 11/14/12) Perhaps the former age is coming to an end, but the new age is being born. God is always doing a new thing. Thanks be to God!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"On the edge"-- Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17; Mark 12:38-44-- Nov. 11, 2012

The word for widow in Hebrew means "one who is silent." It reflected the status of widows in ancient culture, which was utterly dependent, having no voice of their own, having no home of their own other than their husband’s nearest male relative, if he would take her in, and who might fulfill his obligation to give her a son, though it wasn’t thought of "her" son, rather his dead brother’s son, if he had had none before he died.

So taking care of the widows and orphans is over and over lifted up as an obligation of the community of faith, and it was certainly one of the marks of the early Christian community. Their common meals and sharing of resources saved many an otherwise destitute person from utter misery and abandonment.

Ruth and Naomi lived on the edge of their patriarchal culture, which had made some provisions for them (Kate Huey, Weekly Seeds, 11/11/12). The poor were allowed to glean on the edges of fields, entitled to the unpicked or dropped harvest. There was also the levirate marriage, allowing a widow to be married or "acquired" by her dead husband’s nearest male relative as part of his estate. Those were Ruth and Naomi’s institutional options, but their story reflects a much richer and more creative set of possibilities. They take care of and show concern for one another. They become "safe harbor" for one another, as Martin Copenhaver puts it, (Cited by Huey, op cit.) and in that caring and concern, discover a way where there appeared to be no way, and they give life not only to their community but also to generations to come.

There isn’t a lot of "God-talk" in the book of Ruth, other than saying after the fact that God must have intended either the bitterness of Naomi’s losing of her husbands and sons (which we read about last week) or, in the end, the blessing and restoration of Naomi’s fortune, when her daughter-in-law marries Boaz and produces a son–and a future-- for her. But beneath the surface, in much more subtle ways, God is at work, creating a future not only for Ruth and Naomi, but for all of Israel as well. God’s actions, though, depend upon the courage and creativity of these two women, who had been written off by their culture as hopeless cases, living, as it were, on a fiscal cliff, on the edge of ruin.

In a recent interview with World Ark, the magazine of Heifer Project International, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton talks about the importance of supporting and empowering women throughout the world as a primary and effective way of raising the standard of living and well-being of the world’s people.

We know that investing in women’s employment, health and education levels leads to greater economic growth across a broad spectrum

[she says]. It also leads to healthier children and a better educated population overall. We know that political systems that are open to full participation by women produce more effective institutions and more representative governments...

...Women have shown time and again that they will seize opportunities to improve their own and their families’ lives. And even when it seems that no opportunity exists, they still find a way... [World Ark, Holiday 2012, pp. 7-8]

Secretary Clinton could have been describing Ruth and Naomi. If you’ve never done it, I urge you to read the whole story of Ruth–it’s only 4 chapters, less than 4 pages in your Bible–and totally worth it. It’s got intrigue–even sexual intrigue–humor, courage, and daring. It’s even got a happy ending, which we all could use these days, so give it a read–you’ve even got an extra day off this week, and this will only take you a few minutes.

In the snippet we have extracted from the story which we read this morning, "Naomi her mother-in-law said to [Ruth], ‘My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well for you. [Remember Sec. Clinton’s remarks–"Women have shown time and again that they will seize opportunities to improve their own and their families’ lives."?] ‘My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well for you. Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor;; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.’ She said to her, ‘All that you tell me I will do.’ So she went down to the threshing floor and did just as her mother-in-law had instructed her."

See what I mean? Intrigue? Double intendre? Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann writes that this story, which is the basis for the Jewish Festival of Weeks, is written with subtlety and sophistication, pointing out that "the primary action occurs on the threshing floor...It may...be...that in the imaginative horizon of the narrator the threshing floor, the defining venue for the festival, is understood as a most generative arena in which radical newness is given that opens futures for Israel." (Brueggemann, An Introduction to the Old Testament, p. 322) It is that "divinely given newness" that is celebrated each Festival of Weeks.

Our readings this morning don’t include the additional potential barrier of another, closer male relative, but Boaz quickly and honorably negotiates the passing of his right of redemption, and when our reading picks up, we know that "Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife. When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son...They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David." God has indeed acted in what appeared to be a hopeless case, but not out of the blue–not without the courage, kindness, initiative, and risk-taking of Ruth & Naomi.

Jesus points to another widow living on the edge in our reading from Mark this morning. Jesus sits opposite the treasury and watches the crowd putting money into the offering box. "Many rich people put in large sums, [but] a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny." Jesus calls his disciples and says to them, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."

This story is often read this time of year, when many churches are engaged in their stewardship campaigns, and the widow is lifted up as a model of sacrificial giving. But is Jesus praising her or lamenting her situation? Just before this, Jesus has pointed to the scribes, "who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets...They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation."

Is Jesus perhaps pointing to the widow’s giving of her last two coins to the Temple treasury as an example of the "devouring of widow’s houses"? As a condemnation of an institution which drains people’s resources and then ushers them out the door? I have come to insert my own revision of Mark’s manuscript here. Before the next verse, when Jesus is coming out of the Temple, I imagine Jesus’ saying to one of his disciples, "Go over to that widow and invite her to our supper tonight. And see if there isn’t room in Martha’s house for her."

"Jesus didn’t allow his listeners to forget about the poor," writes one commentator (Greg Carey, Odyssey Network, 11/6/12, "Chump Change"). "It would have been impossible anyway. Nearly everyone in the ancient world lived in poverty, often dire. Jesus’ world included a very few wildly wealthy people, a few people finding ways to make money and accumulate wealth, lots of people scratching a living off the land, and lots of people living on the margins of the economy."

It doesn’t sound all that different from our world, although most people don’t live close enough to the land to scratch a living off it. And we still don’t like to talk about the poor, as I’ve said before. We and our politicians prefer to focus on the middle-class. We still think poverty is shameful–not just for what the poor do or don’t do, but for who they are. They are largely invisible in our midst, but Jesus saw the widow.

"The widow’s generosity places the reality of poverty before our eyes," that same commentator goes on. "It reminds us that the poor do not represent parasites who drain society of its resources. This story reminds us that we live in an economy that siphons its resources upward and leaves the vulnerable to face destitution on the own." (Carey, op cit.)

Before we urge widows or anyone else to give all they have to the church or any other institution, we should rather make sure that we are taking care of their basic human needs, that we are acting as a "family of choice" for all those without families who can care for them, caring for one another, becoming safe harbor for one another. Jesus may be suggesting that the widow who put her two coins in the offering is giving out of her love for and gratitude to God, not the Temple per se. What we can learn from her is that we are all dependent upon God for all that we have and are, not independent, self-sufficient individuals, which our culture is more likely to lift up as the model to be copied. In as much as we as a church community live up to the community of caring that Jesus creates, we are worthy of sacrificial giving, not only of our treasure, but also our time and talent, so that we can continue to be such a community.

No matter what we might be "on the edge of"–financial ruin, a new stage of life, the end of independent living, on the cusp of a new way of thinking and acting, a new way of being "church"–we can look to the models of these widows who became vessels for God’s radical newness, who dared greatly, who trusted in God boldly, who cared for one another, and who, in the end, became part of the story of God’s people transforming the world, no longer silent, but becoming the Word made flesh. This is Good News indeed!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Of princes, widows, and orphans..."11 Ruth 1:1-18, Psalm 146 -- November 4, 2012

"In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land, and a certain man of Bethlehem in Judah went to live in the country of Moab, he and his wife and two sons." The story of Ruth begins like the story of so many other people, who find themselves displaced, adrift, at a loss, through no fault of their own. "In the days when Barack Obama was President, there was a hurricane named Sandy, a tropical storm named Irene, and they were left without power or heat, their homes were swept away, they lost everything they had."

It’s a story repeated over and over again, in our country and around the world. "In the days when Bashir el Asad was President, a civil war arose in Syria, and thousands of refugees fled their country to Jordan, to Turkey, taking with them their families and the few belongings they could carry." "In the days when Peter Shumlin was Governor, Louise could no longer take care of herself or stay in her own home, and so she moved to a community care home, all the while longing to go back to her ‘own’ home." "In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness."

Over and over, set against the background of rulers and people in power who come and go, the lives of the children of God go on, up against the forces of nature, up against the natural processes of aging and disability, up against the powers and principalities that seem to sweep all the "little ones" up in their path. "Do not put your trust in princes," warns the psalmist," in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day, their plans perish."

However, the psalmist goes on to say, "Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God, who is making heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them; who is keeping faith forever; who executes, who is making, justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry." The God who is still creating the heavens and the earth is at the same time the One who is executing justice for the oppressed, who is lifting up those who are bowed down. "God watches over the strangers; upholds the orphan and the widow."

In all these stories of displacement and hopelessness, there is a glimmer of hope, a hint of what is at work beneath the surface. "There was a certain man from Bethlehem of Judah...." Ruth travels with her mother-in-law back to Bethlehem, where she ends up marrying Naomi’s kinsman, Boaz, and becomes one of the grandmothers of David and thus of Jesus. In the midst of the devastation along the east coast, there are countless acts of courage and kindness, as people help one another and as engineers and reconstruction teams bring knowledge, ingenuity, and skill to the rebuilding and re-visioning process. The reality of rising sea levels due to climate change becomes an unavoidable fact, perhaps alerting us to take a serious look at how we might be contributing to it and how we might do things differently. Families find new families and allies that support and assist them in taking care of loved ones, and we all realize how dependent we actually are on one another.

In the kingdom of God, Jesus said,-- if God truly were ruler of the nations, of the world-- the hungry would be fed, the homeless housed, the widows and orphans taken care of, the prisoners set free, those who are bowed down would be lifted up, the eyes of the blind would be opened, the refugees and sojourners would find a home. But the kingdom, or the reign, of God is not just some future time, Jesus said. It’s coming and now is, he said. You are to live in that realm as well, feeding the hungry, taking care of the widows and orphans, finding homes for the strangers and aliens in your midst, executing justice. You are to be-friend the friendless. You are to stand with those who are going through troubles.

You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin–to the bitter end. [said his friends to Frodo, the Hobbit in JRR Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring] And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours–closer than you yourself keep it. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is."

"I have called you my friends," Jesus said to his followers. Can we not be as good a friend

as Hobbits to the least of Jesus’ brothers and sisters, whom he said were his surrogates? "Whatever you have done to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you have done to me."

"Do not put your trust in princes," the psalmist said, but the reign of God is not only coming but now is. Regardless of who wins the elections on Tuesday, we are called as friends of Jesus to look out for the widow and orphan, the powerless, the sick, the homeless, and so to be concerned about how we as a community and a nation choose to live together. The personal is political for so many of us, particularly for those who through no fault of their own find themselves in need. God is executing justice for the oppressed, as the psalmist says, God is "powerfully partisan," as one Biblical scholar writes, (Texts for Preaching, Year B, p. 570) and we are to align ourselves with that ongoing process.

"I vote because I am a citizen," writes the Rev. James Moos, Executive Minister of the UCC Wider Church Ministries and Co-executive for Global Ministries, in a press release entitled, "Our Faith, Our Vote, God’s World"--

I vote because I am a citizen. Yes, I am a citizen of the Untied States and I take civic responsibilities seriously. More importantly, however, I am a citizen of

God’s realm; as such I am called to live out my faith in the public arena. This means casting my vote not out of economic self-interest, but for the sake of all of God’s people and all of creation, and especially on behalf of the vulnerable and powerless.

I vote because of a little Palestinian girl named Siham in East Jerusalem who my wife and I sponsor through Global Ministries’ Child sponsorship program. Siham’s future and the prospects for peace in the Middle East will be deeply impacted by U.S. foreign policy. Siham cannot hold our nations’ leadership accountable, but we can.

I vote because I live in Cleveland, OH, a city where 44 out of every 100 adults over the age of 16 lack basic literacy skills. They cannot read a bus schedule, or write a letter explaining a credit card billing error. Through elections we both demand better educational systems and we support them.

I vote because 15% of households in the wealthiest country on earth lack food security. At some point in the past year, they had insufficient nutritional food to lead healthy, active lives. While private generosity is good and necessary in addressing these needs, the structural inequities that underlie them are a matter of public policy.

I vote

because, as a former military chaplain, I know all too well the grief and trauma inflicted upon the innocent and suffered by veterans and their families during unjust and seemingly never-ending wars. On Nov. 6^thwe will choose the next Commander-in-Chief.

I vote because the first eight months of 2012 were hottest on record. South Pacific islanders are being swamped by rising sea levels due to global warming. The legislators we choose will decide on whether we take bold action, or continue on the path of environmental catastrophe.

I vote because nearly 50 million Americans lack health insurance, some of them are close friends and family members. Access to quality health care is not a privilege, it is a human right. The future of that access will be determined on Election Day.

I vote because I affirm marriage equality. In the land where the constitution guarantees equal protection to all citizens, same gender loving people are entitled to all the rights and responsibilities of marriage. Elected officials and ballot measures are keys to attaining and maintaining marriage equality.

I vote because while faith is intensely personal, it is never purely private. In his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," Martin Luther King chastised this contemporaries who were ‘....more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.’ Faith that is nurtured in the church must be boldly lived out in the world. In a democracy, the ballot box is one place for us to live out that faith. Please join me in voting."

"Do not put your trust in princes...Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God, who is making heaven and earth, who is executing justice and lifting up those who are bowed down." Because God’s reign is coming and now is, we who are Friends of Jesus (FOJ?) know that we are bound together with all God’s children, both here and around the world. We know that God sets a welcome table for all people who would come to it, and so we come to this table this morning, affirming that we are One Body in Christ Jesus. We are fed and nourished, that we too might become food and drink for a hungry and thirsty world. In faith, in hope, in courage, then, let us keep the feast. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Wed., Oct. 31, 2012

I’ve decided to use this blog to share with you some of my weekly learnings from my

Positive Psychology course. I welcome conversation around any of this material and hope that you find it helpful.

The current "module" we’re in has to do with Change, and this week I’ve been reading about some of the latest findings in brain research, which have real implications for how change is possible.

Up until the past few years, it was thought that our brains pretty much finished growing and changing by the time we were 3 years old, with a few alterations up through puberty. Now we know that the brain is, in fact, "plastic," that is, it is possible to build new neural pathways up until we die. In a fascinating book by Doidge, called The Brain That Changes Itself, story after story is told about how seemingly hopeless cases–people with brain injuries or diseases–were able to re-route neural pathways from injured areas of their brain to other areas, which took up the functions of the injured areas, through persistent therapies and exercises.

In the context of Positive Psychology, this offers real hope in the possibility of not only dealing with conditions, like depression, even schizophrenia, without the use of pharmaceuticals, but also reinforces the effectiveness of certain behaviors that can bring about real change. Research has shown that our level of happiness is about 50% due to genetics, 10% to our environment or situation, and 40% to the choices we make in our thinking and our behavior. That means we can intentionally make a big difference in our level of happiness by choosing certain behaviors and ways of thinking over others AND by doing so, can actually change the neural pathways in our brains.

For example, I may be prone to being a "fault-finder" or seeing the glass half-empty. By writing down 3 or 4 or 5 things that I’m grateful for every night for a month, I can actually begin to re-wire my brain so that I may become more of a "benefit-finder," and begin to see the glass as half-full. I begin to notice things during the day that I’m grateful for, notice not only the things that bother me about a person or situation, but also the things that I appreciate and find hopeful.

As I get older, I find this research to be especially hopeful, as I do not have to resign myself to a steady downhill decline in brain function! Maybe this means that even though I forget names and even words occasionally, there’s a good chance that with exercise and the other behaviors I choose to engage in, [and with genes from my 93-year-old-still-walking-6-miles-a-day mom] I may very well be able to carry on a fairly intelligent conversation for many more years.

“Daring Greatly”--Mark 10: 46-52-- Oct. 28, 2012

The title of this morning’s sermon comes from a speech by Theodore Roosevelt, which was entitled “Citizenship in a Republic,” given in Paris, France in April, 1910. It’s also the title of Dr. Brene Brown’s most recent book, which I am in the midst of pondering and devouring.

Here’s the passage from Teddy Roosevelt’s speech–
“It is not the critic who counts; not the [person] who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the [person] who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself [or herself] in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he [or she] fails, at least fails while daring greatly...”

Bartimaeus was the man in the arena, his eyes clouded over, probably, from one of the many diseases of the eye common in those days; whose only resort had been to sit by the side of the road outside of Jericho and beg. His cloak, his only possession, was wrapped around him as some protection from the cold, with its hem spread out around him to catch the few coins thrown his way.

He may have been blind, but he wasn’t deaf, thanks be to God, and he could hear what people were saying about Jesus of Nazareth. How he healed the blind and the lame, how he had opened the deaf man’s ears, how he had stood up to those of the scribes and Pharisees who wanted to hush him from teaching with such authority and such power. Bartimaeus may have been blind, but he wasn’t deaf. He knew what people were saying now, and what the prophets had said about the one they called “Son of David.”

So, when he heard the crowd coming down the road and heard them talking about Jesus of Nazareth, Bartimaeus knew that this was his moment. If ever he was going to engage with his life, if ever there was a time to show up in his life, now was the time. He had nothing to lose, except his life at the side of the road, listening while the world and the life he knew he was meant to live passed him by.

So “he began to shout out, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet.” Of course they did. He knew they would. People don’t like it when someone who’s become part of the architecture, who’s been a landmark along the side of the road, starts to move and shout for attention. “But he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’”

And, oh my God, “Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’” Life responds to those who dare to call it by name. “Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’” And they called the blind man, saying to him, –now they said to him...!– ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So, throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus,” his heart pumping, his mind racing, yet also strangely focused. This was it.

“Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’” And Bartimaeus, the blind man, said to him, ‘Rabbouni,’ [just like Mary did when she recognized Jesus in the garden on Easter morning]–Rabbouni, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.”

The first time Brene Brown read the Roosevelt quote about the man in the arena, she thought, “This is vulnerability. Everything I’ve learned from over a decade of research on vulnerability has taught me this exact lesson. Vulnerability is not knowing victory or defeat, it’s understanding the necessity of both; it’s engaging. It’s being all in.

“Vulnerability is not weakness, [she writes] and the uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure we face every day are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection.” (P. 2) “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change.”

The story of blind Bartimaeus is the last story in Mark’s gospel before Jesus rides into Jerusalem on an ass–talk about vulnerability! Mark has skillfully crafted his story to sum up the journey so far, with echoes of the incidents and characters we’ve already met and heard of. The disciples gathered around Jesus have been persistently blind, just not getting what Jesus was trying to tell them. Yet here was “blind” Bartimaeus, who could see who Jesus was and who responded wholeheartedly. The rich man who had followed all the commandments from his youth, who came to Jesus asking what he had to do to gain eternal life–or authentic life--, and when Jesus lovingly told him to go, sell all he had and give it to the poor, he turned away, broken-hearted, because he couldn’t bear that much vulnerability. Bartimaeus, who only owned a cloak, threw even that away, risked everything, and ended up healed, whole, saved–all meanings of the word–and he followed Jesus on the way–on the way to Jerusalem, on the way to life, even though the road led through death.

And remember the woman who’d had the hemorrhage for 12 years who crept up to Jesus in the crowd and touched the hem of his robe and was immediately healed? Remember her courage and her vulnerability when he asked, Who touched me? And even though she could have slipped away in the crowd, came forward and knelt at his feet. Jesus said the same thing to her that he said to Bartimaeus, “Go, your faith has made you well [or whole].”

What is it you want to ask of Life? Or God? Or Jesus? What would you do if you knew you might fail but it didn’t matter–not in the long run? What would you risk if you knew that even though you might end up embarrassed or criticized or humiliated, that in the end, even if you failed, you are not a failure? That you are worthy of love and connection and joy? What would you cry out if Jesus were coming down the road? Would your cry be for healing or justice or peace or equality? (David Lose, workingpreacher.com, 10/21/12) What if you dared to call up the woman whose child has recently died, even if you didn’t know what to say? What if you connected to her? What if you picked up the remote control and pressed “off” and said to your partner, “We need to talk”? What if you connected? What if you wrote that Letter to the Editor about what’s been burning a hole in your heart? What if you connected to others who share that same heartburn, not to mention connecting to your true Self? What would you do? What are you dying to dare greatly?

The story of Bartimaeus tells us that when we dare greatly, when we engage fully–show up fully–in our lives, we can be made whole–“the physical healing is only part of a more complete restoration.” (Texts for Preaching, year B, p. 564) “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked Bartimaeus. “Rabbouni,” he said, “let me see again.” And Bartimaeus saw, not just his hands in front of his eyes, but the face in front of him, looking into his eyes. Not only his sight, but his vision was restored–the vision of what could be if he followed in the way, if we all followed in the Way of Jesus.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the [person] who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the [person] who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself [or herself] in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he [or she] fails, at least fails while daring greatly...”

Let us dare greatly–as men and women created in the image of God, and as a church, called to be the Body of Christ. Let us dare to live up to our calling, not to let our fears paralyze us, but to risk being used for a mighty, sacred purpose. Surely that would be a Reformation to be celebrated.

Amen and amen.
Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"A Tough Sell"-- Mark 10:35-45-- Oct. 21, 2012

In Matthew’s gospel, it is the mother of James and John who makes the request of Jesus that her sons be seated at his left and his right when he comes into his glory. It’s the kind of thing you can imagine a mother doing, advocating for her sons.

But even in Matthew, as it does here in Mark, this request comes right after the third time that Jesus lets his disciples in on what lies ahead–"See," Jesus says, right before this morning’s passage, "See we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again."

So when James and John come forward and ask to speak with Jesus–you know, just you and us, Jesus- and say to him, "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you," we may be a little shocked at their boldness. And then when we hear what they want–"Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory," it’s tempting to say, "Are you kidding? Did you just hear what he said (for the third time), what ‘glory’ awaits him?!"

To give James and John the benefit of the doubt, maybe they do get it, and are so scared and yet still trusting, that they’re looking for any security they can find. But my guess is that most of us react like the other disciples did, who, when they heard what the brothers had asked, were angry. Who do they think they are?

John Pilch, author of the series, The Cultural World of Jesus, explains the situation this way–

The group that Jesus gathered around himself is technically called a faction. Members of such a group each have a direct, important, and relatively strong relationship with the leader but very little knowledge of or relationship with each other.

In today’s story, James and John, two blood relatives, do something very normal and customary in this culture within factions. They jockey for a higher position of honor in the group and care nothing about the others. When Jesus receives his full measure of honor, these two brothers want a share in it by gaining the most prestigious positions next to him. In this culture, everything is always about honor.

(John Pilch, the Cultural World of Jesus, Year B, p. 151)

So, James and John are just acting out of what their culture has taught them about what is

important. Surely when Jesus "comes into his glory," it will be the glory that their culture imagines–on a throne raised up, with his most trusted advisors sitting on his left and his right, and from there he will rule over the earth, just like Caesar.

But Jesus knows better. "You do not know what you are asking," he says to them. "Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" They answer without even thinking, it seems. "We are able." That’s where the old hymn comes from–"Are ye able, said the Master, to be crucified with me? Yes, we are able, our spirits are free..." Really? I’d like to think I could answer, "I am able," but I’m not so sure. "You do not know what you are asking,"Jesus says. "Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?"

Mark’s community, some 30 years after Jesus’ death, knows that cup which Jesus drank was the cup assigned to him by God, to be poured out for the life of others. James and John say they are willing to drink that same cup. Mark’s community knows that to be baptized with Jesus is to be submerged in a death like his, as well as to be raised in a resurrection like his. That’s what many of them had already experienced. They might want to urge James and John to think twice before answering so glibly.

While he was Dean of the Chapel at Duke University, William Willimon lamented to a group of students that they attracted so few students in their services at Duke Chapel.

"Go easy on yourself," said one of the students. "Duke is a very selective school with very bright students," she said. (I’m thinking, ‘Yeah, bright but not all that humble.’) "I think most of them are smart enough to figure out," she continued, "That if they gave their

lives to Christ, he would only make their lives more difficult. I think it’s amazing you get as many students to come to Jesus as you do." (William Willimon, Day 1.org, 2009)

"Do you know what you are asking?" Jesus asked James and John. "Are you able to drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" "I think it’s amazing you get as many students to come to Jesus as you do."

Really, when you think about it, isn’t it amazing that so many of us are here? Do we really know what we could be in for?

The late Dorothy Sayers wrote, "I believe it is a great mistake to present Christianity as something charming and popular with no offense....We cannot blink at the fact that gentle Jesus meek and mild was so stiff in his opinions and so inflammatory in his language that he was thrown out of church [well, the synagogue], stoned, hunted from place to place, and finally gibbeted as a firebrand and a public danger. Whatever his peace was, it was not the peace of an amiable indifference." (inward/outward, Church of the Savior, 10/16/12)

Do we really know where the journey with Jesus may take us? "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you," James and John said. That’s what a lot of us are seeking when we come to church. I’d like more convenient times; I’d like faster service; I’d like better or different or (fill in the blank) music; I’d like more comfortable seating; I’d like a more entertaining speaker; I’d like some return on my investment.

"You do not know what you are asking," Jesus said. "Are you able to drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" We may look around and say, "We need more members, or we’re going to die." Just what are we inviting those potential new members to? " "I think it’s amazing you get as many students [or as many people] to come to Jesus as you do."

Robin Meyers, author and pastor of Mayflower Congregational Church in Oklahoma City, writes in his book, The Underground Church, "We have almost entirely forgotten who we and what we are–a strange, peculiar, and dangerous people." (P. xiv.) Second Congregational Church–Strange? Peculiar? Dangerous? Or are we just hoping for the best seats?

Jesus called the disciples together after this little conversation and said to them,

You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Humanity came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.

Not to be served, but to serve. "There is no smaller package in the world," wrote the late

William Sloane Coffin, "than a person who is all wrapped up in him or herself." It is important to take the time to "Know thyself," as both Socrates and Jesus said. It is important to take the time to discern what our unique strengths and gifts are and to nurture and develop them. That is what Positive Psychology calls "self-concordant goals"–figure out what your strengths are and what your passions are, and then live as much as possible in the place where they overlap. It’s the same with an institution like the church–we should assess what our strengths and assets are, as well as where the passions of our members lie, and then live out of that intersection.

But we must remember, both as individuals and as an institution, that we are given those gifts and strengths, even those passions, for a purpose–to serve. To serve the God of Love and Light, to serve our neighbors, both here and around the world. It ought to require something of us. It ought to demand sacrifice.

During last Sunday’s CROP Walk, one of the young women from the Interact Club developed a blister on her foot. She finally took off her shoes, boots actually, and walked barefoot. As she was walking and chatting with Bruce, he was telling her about some of the people for whom we were walking, who would be receiving some of the funds we were raising. "Then," the young woman said, "I’m actually walking barefoot in solidarity with them. Maybe next year," she said, thinking about it further, "we should all walk barefoot."

So many young people get it. They don’t trust a church that doesn’t ask anything of them, that doesn’t challenge them to dare something risky for an important cause, that doesn’t stand up to injustice, that is no different from any other social club. As that Duke student said, "I think most of them are smart enough to figure out that if they gave their lives to Christ, he would only make their lives more difficult."

As Robin Meyers says, many people say they are "spiritual but not religious" because they do not trust the church as an institution." (Ibid., p. 2) They do not trust an institution that claims to follow a single, homeless man that doesn’t house the homeless and feed the hungry, they do not trust an institution that claims to follow a man that was willing to give his life for others that doesn’t ask anything meaningful from them; let alone an institution that too often has betrayed the trust of the innocent and vulnerable, that has excluded and condemned, rather than reached out and been radically hospitable.

People thought Jesus was crazy, anddangerous. That’s the last thing most of us want others to think of us. We, like James and John, have learned the lessons of our culture well. But James and John, along with the other early followers of Jesus, did learn that Jesus was actually teaching them very different lessons, of a very different culture, the culture of the reign of God, very different from the culture of the Empire. And so they were, indeed, "strange, peculiar, and dangerous," so filled with the presence of this rabbi and the God he taught them about, that they were fearless, and there’s nothing more dangerous than someone’s who’s fearless.

So why should anyone join us? If it’s so strange, so peculiar, so dangerous, what’s the "good news"? We’ve got a number of good answers out on the board in 7 words or thereabouts. But, being a little more word-y, I might say that for all its sacrifice, its risk, its challenge, it’s the way to find out who you really are, who you were meant to be. It’s being part of a community of folks who are also searching for their true selves and who find that together they become much more than their individual parts. The way of Jesus gives us a rhythm to our weeks and year, a certain structure to our lives in the midst of an often chaotic and crazy calendar where the days run into each other and we never seem to be able to do or be enough. We are reminded here that we are "enough." We connect in this community with people of all different ages and stages, and we can be open about and even celebrate all those ages and stages. We celebrate the birth of a baby, a teenager’s accomplishment, two people committing their lives to each other, an honor bestowed upon one of our members by the wider community. We can even "celebrate" death, al-though that celebration often includes tears and sorrow shared together. But we know that even death is but one stage–and not the last-- on our journey with God.

So, if we’re perfectly honest, it is amazing that so many of us are here, given who it is we say we are following and the places he led his followers. Robin Meyers, again, issues the invitation to the "underground church," one which "reclaims the subversive way of Jesus." It’s the church "where there is no acceptable alternative to hope, no substitute for joy, and no excuse not to offer the same unconditional love to others that has been so freely lavished on us."

May we be part of that church and follow the subversive way of Jesus. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

CROP Walk 2012

CROP (Communities Responding to Overcome Poverty) Walk :

We had 7 Hoppers who raised $185.72! Way to go Hoppers!

We had 26 walkers who have raised $3,014.15 so far. If you have not given in your sponsorship or would still like to donate, it is not too late! See Nora Parsons. Thanks to all the walkers and sponsors! 25% comes back to our community to help with hunger in Bennington.

What does CROP mean? CROP means folks of our Church family walking together Sunday October 14, starting at 1pm at 2CC ... to take a stand against hunger in our world. It means that together we raise our awareness and that of our neighbors about the millions of people worldwide who live on the edge of subsistence, at the will of fragile economies.

CROP means folks of our church family who could walk outside to their cars, choose to walk 3.3 miles....SHOWING their solidarity with the many people who have to walk every day to get water, tend their fields and animals, to get to work or school, or to escape violence. CROP also means that those who sponsor our Crop walkers raise funds for international relief and development, to help people struggling to escape the crushing grip of poverty and powerlessness. Here in Bennington it means that we raise much-needed money for the Bennington Free Clinic and the Kitchen Cupboard (25% of what we raise is used right here in Bennington.

Whether CROP to you means walking or sponsoring someone, your actions mean something! You can make a difference. Please join us - see Janice Lerrigo or Sue Wiskoski to become a helper during the Crop Walk, a Walker, or become a Spirit Walker by supporting Walkers with $ and your prayers (their names will be on "feet" in Webster Hall).

For more on CROP walks click here CROP Hunger Walks - more stories

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"What about the poor?"-- Amos 5:6-7, 10-15, Mark 10:17-31-- Oct.14, 2012

It is Peak Season for politics, with a little over 3 weeks until Election Day. We are in the midst of Presidential and Vice-Presidential debates, with claims and counter-claims being made, and polls jumping up and down like some kind of irregular heart rate monitor.

Jim Wallis, author of several books, including God’s Politics–Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn’t Get It, and Editor-in-Chief of Sojourners Magazine, offered this analysis of both national parties–

As I carefully watched both the Democratic and the Republican conventions this summer

[and, I would add, as we watch the debates this fall], I realized, once again, how challenging and complicated it is to bring faith to politics.

For example, the phrase "middle class" was likely the most repeated phrase at the conventions. And even though both parties are utterly dependent on their wealthy donors (a fact they don’t like to talk about), they know that middle-class voters will determine the outcome of the election. Now, I believe a strong middle class is good for the country, but Jesus didn’t say, "What you have done for the middle class, you have done for me." Rather, Matthew 25 says, "What you have done to the least of these, you have done to me."

When your first principle for politics is what happens to the poor and vulnerable–and I believe that is the first principle for Christians–you keep waiting at conventions

[or debates]for those words and commitments. There were a few moments when the poor were briefly mentioned, but it certainly wasn’t a strong theme in Tampa or Charlotte. "Opportunity for the middle class" was an important word in both conventions this year, but Christians must be clear that creating new opportunities for poor children and low-income families is critical to us.

The conventions also talked a great deal about "success," but how we define that is very important. Is success mostly about how much money we make, defining the "American Dream" as being able to pass on more riches to our children than what our parents passed on to us? Or is success measured by how we as a nation prioritize, in our spending and political choices, the sick, the vulnerable, the weak, and the elderly? Is it determined more by the values we pass on to our children–evaluating our lives, and theirs, by how much we are able to help others?

(Sojourners Magazine,

Nov. 2012, p. 15)

The story of the rich man who comes to Jesus and asks what he must do to inherit eternal life is told in 3 of the 4 gospels. Matthew says that he was young, and Luke adds that he was a ruler. It has all the marks of a healing story, as the man comes and kneels before Jesus, making his request, and Jesus tells him to go, be healed, like he says to so many others. But I believe this is the only story where the person refuses the healing. "When he heard this [go and sell all you have and give it to the poor, then come, follow me], he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions."

And who of us wouldn’t have done the same thing? We are right there with the disciples who "were astounded and said to one another, ‘Then who can be saved?’" And even Jesus concedes, "For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God, all things are possible."

"Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" or, another way of putting that is, "What must I do to live an authentic life?" The man has clearly thrown his heart into "doing the right thing." He replies sincerely that he has kept all the commandments since his youth. Jesus can see this, see his sincerity, and, Mark alone adds, "Jesus loved him." But Jesus can also see what’s holding this man back from fully trusting, or, if you will, "believing in," God. It is his material wealth. It’s his crutch, his safety net, his hedge, against entrusting his life to God.

But just as the man has learned the lessons of his tradition, learned the commandments and the law, so he has learned its assumptions –that wealth is a reward for living righteously. God rewards the righteous and punishes the unrighteous, which is a slightly different way of putting what our culture assumes–wealth and success are the result of one’s own hard work and ingenuity, maybe a little luck, but those who are poor are that way because they’re lazy, shiftless, somehow to blame, they’re stupid, they prefer to "live that way." That despite the reality that in our country, many people are poor due to no fault of their own. One in four children live in poverty in the U.S. Is it their fault? Seven million Americans work two to three jobs and are twice as likely as the wealthy to give up sleeping to work. Are they lazy? The average food stamp benefit is $21/week. Would you choose that way of shopping if you could?

The perils of poverty are well documented–death by malnutrition or starvation, or, as seems to be more and more the case in our country, death by bad nutrition–by sugars and chemicals, resulting in obesity, sugar diabetes, and heart disease. All that with lack of access to health care, including, of course, no preventative health care. The perils of exposure from homelessness or inadequate housing. The loss of dignity and self-esteem. The peril of isolation, ridicule, disdain.

Jesus knew about the perils of wealth as well, however, and knew that this particular man was at risk–at risk of thinking he could somehow buy or earn an authentic life, or happiness, or salvation. At risk of thinking that authentic, or eternal, life is "an achievement earned or a commodity purchased rather than a gift gratefully received and shared," as one United Methodist bishop wrote (Kenneth Carder, Christian Century, 9/24-10/1/97, p. 831) At risk of confusing his–and our, for we are so like this rich man--our resources, our possessions, our status with our identity. At risk of becoming addicted to our stuff or to what our wealth can buy us – experiences, power, access, escape –and so they become more and more necessary, even impacting our health. "The problem with wealth," says Disciples of Christ pastor and author Bruce Epperly, " is that it isolates us from others. It buffers us against the suffering others experience and leads to false complacency about our own personal security....It often leads to rugged, uncaring individualism...where we are tempted to see [our] wealth as deserved, totally the result of [our own] efforts." (Process & Faith lectionary, 10/14/12)

Jesus knew that there were perils of both poverty and wealth; and he knew there were possibilities and blessings in both. "Blessed are you poor," he says in Luke’s gospel, "for yours is the kingdom of heaven." You know what it’s like to be utterly dependent upon God, to know your connection to and dependence upon others. And wealth, if it’s not hoarded but gratefully received as a gift to be shared, can be a tremendous vehicle for good, for relieving suffering, for building up, for creating and discovering. "Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, [he told the man] and you will have treasure in heaven; you’ll be able to come and follow me, learn my way of living and enter into relationship with God, with others, and your true self." Life is not found in riches, but rather in God’s grace. That’s where your true identity and worth come from.

It’s simple but certainly not easy. "For mortals it is impossible," in fact, "but not for God; for God all things are possible." It’s not something we can do, but we might be open to God’s doing it through us. And it’s not just a choice for us in our individual lives but also a choice for us as a community and nation. Consider the opportunity we have each Sunday at least to get to know some of our neighbors from whom we might be isolated the rest of the week. Being part of a Sunday Supper team may take you into territory that makes you uncomfortable but which you also might find transforming. Walking in solidarity today in the CROP with some of the folks profiled by CWS may connect us with a brother or sister whose life is wrapped up in ours. Volunteering at the Kitchen Cupboard or the Free Clinic may be just what you need to discover deeper dimensions of life.

And as you consider who you will vote for this November, consider this from Jim Wallis–

All candidates, including Barack Obama and Mitt Romney, should be evaluated by the competing visions of what they are setting forth for the country, by their vastly different policy positions, and by their personal moral compass and how it will impact their leadership. For Christians, our election choices should always have most to do with protecting ‘the least of these’: [including] low-income individuals and families, undocumented peopled, who are in the biblical category of "the stranger," those most vulnerable to hunger and disease around the world, poor people most impacted by climate change, women and children being trafficked and exploited, and those who are victims of violence and the ‘collateral damage" of war."

(op cit., p. 18)

"Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Is there one thing you lack, something that’s getting in your way of living a truly free, authentic life? If it seems overwhelming, that’s ok. With God, all things are possible.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Second Congregational Church

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