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.

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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

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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

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"...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

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"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

 

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