Wed., Feb. 27, 2013--For "Speaking of Religion," Bennington Banner, March 2, 2013 — This I (Don’t) Believe

A while back, National Public Radio sponsored a series of reflections entitled, "This I Believe," in which people from a variety of walks of life spoke and wrote about what they trust in, "what they know for sure," as Oprah puts it, what they have concluded is true from their experience of living. These reflections were less a series of statements like, "I believe that...the world is round,...Pluto should be called a ‘planet,’...blondes have more fun...." but rather, "I believe in...the power of kindness to transform ... the necessity of expanding our notion of ‘family,’....the importance of immersing children in nature... " In other words, "belief" less as an assent to a list of facts or declarations or propositions, and more as "trust in" conclusions drawn from experiences, a deeply-held sense or knowledge or intuition that seems to hold true.

Many people seem to think that Christianity is a set of "beliefs"–that it is a matter of saying "yes" to a series of statements of doctrine–"I believe this, this, and this... and if I believe this, this, and this, I am guaranteed to go to heaven." THIS I DON’T BELIEVE. While creeds and doctrines can be useful to teach about and try to put into words that which is essentially beyond words, I do not believe that they are the end or purpose of faith. If people’s lives are not tranformed by their faith, if their "beliefs" do not make a difference in how they live, then the words may be beautiful but inadequate. The United Church of Christ, of which Second Congregational Church is a member church, proclaims that, while we affirm the historic creeds, it is the task of every generation to articulate its own "statement of faith" that has meaning and power for its day and age. "God is still speaking," we say. "Preach the gospel always. If necessary, use words."

Christianity, from its very beginnings, has been a diverse and multi-voiced religion–that’s why there are four gospels instead of one. That is as true today as it ever was, despite what many people think when they hear the word "Christian." Frankly, I do not even recognize some of what gets labeled "Christian" as anything I know about what it means to be a follower of Jesus the Christ. When Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist folk from Kansas demonstrate at funerals of soldiers or gunned-down Newtown children with signs saying, "God hates [homosexuals]," "This is punishment for America’s sins," "Burn in hell," it’s all I can do not to want to return their evil with evil. But that, of course, would not be following the Way of Jesus. When, as was reported in this paper a couple weeks ago, the Newtown, CT Missouri Synod Lutheran pastor offered the benediction at the interfaith service for the slain children and teachers there, he was reprimanded by his church leaders for appearing to condone the doctrinal differences between the participating faith communities, and he apologized. That is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my United Church of Christ–and many other mainline Christian denominations–who seek whenever possible to work and witness together for justice and compassion with other people of faith. Our local Greater Bennington Interfaith Council and the Greater Bennington Interfaith Community Services are examples of people of faith working together to make our little part of the world a better place.

I do not believe that Jesus was only interested in the kingdom of heaven as a future, after-death, reality, but rather in the kingdom of heaven, or the kingdom of God, that he said "is in your midst," "it’s coming and now is." I do not believe that science threatens faith; rather, it is a different language seeking to understand the mystery. As Rabbi Harold Kushner said, "I take the Bible too seriously to take it literally." I believe the Bible is a collection of writings by inspired human beings, that speak of truths better spoken of in story, metaphor, poetry, and whose light and truth shine through the filter of particular contexts of time and place. We as a community of faith need to wrestle with what is light and truth and what is filter. Some people may conclude that because I do not believe these things (or because I do), that I am not a "real" Christian.

Many people assume that a Christian is "someone who believes that faith is primarily a belief system mediated by an infallible Bible. The reward for believing the right things is forgiveness of sins and certain knowledge of eternal life." Rev. Robin Meyers (a UCC pastor), in his book The Underground Church, explains that that may describe a "religious conservative," but there are also "religious liberals, [and many folks in between] who believe that faith is primarily about the transformation of self and society through the wisdom of spiritual truth. Liberals emphasize inclusion, social justice, and transformation over individual salvation, and resist all exclusive religious claims." I would simply beg to let that word "Christian" breathe and be embodied in lives rather only in words. It means–and has always meant–more than one "party line."

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Pastor, Second Congregational Church, UCC, Bennington

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"I’m going on anyway..." --Gen. 15:1-12,17-18, Luke 13:31-35-- Feb. 24, 2013

There is a small chapel on one of the hills overlooking Jerusalem which, tradition says, is on the spot where Jesus wept over the city. The wall behind the altar is made of glass, and so there is a beautiful view of the city. On the front of the altar, one observer writes, is the image of a rooster, "a bright, fierce-looking bird made out of colored tiles with a flock of little chicks under his wings." (Barbara Brown Taylor, Bread of Angels, "Chicken and Foxes," P. 124)

Now, a rooster has spikes and talons–you do not want to get in a fight with a rooster–though some people apparently love to watch cock fights. Hens can be pretty fierce too–that’s where we get the term "henpecked," after all–but a hen’s main defense is fluffing herself up, pecking, and getting in the way of a fox who is after her chicks. By literally offering her body to the attacker, she can hope to satisfy his hunger with her large body so that he will leave her chicks alone.

"Get away from here," some Pharisees warned Jesus as he headed toward Jerusalem, "for Herod wants to kill you." "Go and tell that fox for me," Jesus replied, "...that I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem. Jerusalem, Jerusalem," he cried, "the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" "How do you like that image of God?" one preacher asks. "If you are like me [she says] it is fine in terms of comfort, but in terms of protection, it leaves something to be desired." (BBT, Ibid., p. 125)

"I’d turn back if I wuz you," the Cowardly Lion reads on the sign as he, Dorothy, Scarecrow & Tin Man enter the enchanted forest surrounding the Wicked Witch of the West’s castle. Sounds like a good idea to him, to all of them, really, but they lock arms and press forward. "Get away from here," some Pharisees warned Jesus as he headed toward Jerusalem, "for Herod wants to kill you." Wings outstretched, breast exposed, is the most vulnerable position, but Mother Hen Jesus presses on toward Herod the Fox.

Like the prophets before him, Jesus takes the path of most resistance, telling us not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear. (Robin Meyers, The Underground Church, p. 113) Courage and commitment are our only defenses, but love is a fierce defensive weapon, stronger than death, as it turns out, though it never looks it at the time. Who would draw that conclusion from the cross? Who would draw that conclusion from the bodies piled up before the lines of British soldiers in Gandhi’s famous salt march? Who would draw that conclusion from the bullet-riddled bodies of children and teachers lying on classroom and hallway floors in Newtown, CT? Who would draw that conclusion as the fox licks his lips and picks a feather out of his paws? Love is stronger than death?

"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it?" Don’t you think Jesus is still weeping over Jerusalem, and Washington, and Baghdad, and Kabul? "How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing?"

"Most of our churches are friendly, comfortable, and well appointed," writes Rev. Robin Meyers, author of the book a number of us are reading this Lent–The Underground Church. "But who goes there expecting to be ‘undone’? Who expects to weep at recognizing the world as it really is, or to shudder at the certain knowledge that until we start taking risks it is likely to stay that way?" (P. 4) We are warned not to mix religion and politics, but who does not weep at the deadly foolishness that is being engineered in Washington? We’re all madly driving off a cliff, indiscriminately taking everyone we can with us–men, women, and children, young, old, everybody’s in this Sequester Bus–giving new meaning to the wisdom that an eye for an eye eventually makes the whole world blind. "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Washington, Washington, city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to you!" Who wouldn’t weep?

What’s a would-be follower of Jesus to do? If "I’d turn back if I wuz you" isn’t an option, what is? At the very least, it seems to me, every one of us can pray for our leaders in Washington and in Montpelier. While that may sound like something of a cop-out, a religious trifle, you may not have allowed yourself to be immersed in prayer enough. When we lift someone up into the powerful, even searing, presence of God and simply turn them over to God’s care and attention, praying that they be open to divine wisdom and direction and healing rather than directing God to have them vote "yay" or "nay" on some particular piece of legislation, we unleash a power that is far beyond our imagination or manipulation. And, by the way, this is not an entirely "safe" option–we may find ourselves caught up in the force of this power, and might even find that we need to contact our legislator, to express our views and opinions. And then we might find that we want to join with others working toward a new vision of the common good, either here in our community or maybe on a national or even international level. You just never know where a little prayer is going to lead you, so watch out for this second "Practice for the Way" whose candle we lit this morning. Courage and commitment may be our only defenses but daring greatly for Love is mighty armor indeed, as Paul referred to the "whole armor of God."

"Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you." "I’d turn back if I wuz you." We may wish that Jesus had chosen a mother lion or bear instead of a mother hen to describe God’s love and protection. We may wish that God hadn’t chosen a cross as a symbol of the extent to which God would go to save us and stay in solidarity with us through every evil and heartache and struggle and suffering life throws at us. But we know that sometimes love requires that we keep going on anyway.

What fox are you facing? Is it a relationship that you know will kill you–or at least sap all the life out of you? Is it illness or anxiety? Is it a person at work who makes your life miserable? Is it your own self-image that is eating you away from the inside? "I may be knocked down now," the southern expression goes, " but I’m goin’ on anyway. I may be scared out of my mind, but I’m goin’ on anyway... I’m goin’ on, because there is One who goes on with me. Jesus may have had to walk that lonesome valley all by himself, but we don’t have to. God has walked every valley we’ve been through and is with us now. Tears may be in both our eyes, but I feel his elbow locked in mine, I feel her strong wing gathering me in. The cross is not the end of the story. That’s just the first day. But the cross can give us courage and strength nonetheless. Hear this poem by Roger Courtney, entitled, "I am standing before the cross"--

I am standing before the cross in all its brutality

and feel overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.

Why could the church not have a nice

life-affirming symbol instead of a cross?

Something to remind us to love each other and

that love will always triumph in the end.

But perhaps that would be just too easy.

Perhaps we need reminding

that to love unconditionally often comes at a cost

when we cross the barriers of prejudice and exclusion

that society puts up to separate us from the poor and despised,

from our traditional enemies;

when we truly stand up for what is right

we too may be rejected and ridiculed.

The cross reminds us that love has no boundaries, no limitations.

We must keep loving, regardless of the consequences.

The cross is not a symbol of defeat

but a symbol of the victory of unconditional selfless love

which should support and inspire us to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.

(Roger Courtney, on progressivechristianity.org)

"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it?...How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing?" It gives a whole new meaning to the word "chicken," doesn’t it? Let us be on our way, or rather, "the Way." Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Wandering in the Wilderness" --Deut. 26:1-11, Luke 4:1-13-- Feb. 17, 2013

As Bruce and I both have turned 61 in these couple of weeks, we are obviously firmly in the midst of the generation called "Baby Boomers"–the largest though, arguably not the greatest, of currently living generations. You have us to thank for the impending onslaught on Social Security and Medicare resources, but I learned in the last couple of weeks that we are also responsible for giving the travel industry the demand for "glamping" vacations. Glamping is the marriage of camping and glamour. "Luxury camping" is another way of putting it.

Boomers, it seems, want to get back to nature as we did back in the ‘60's–backpacking, camping, hitchhiking,...but now that we’re older, we don’t want to give up any of the amenities that have come to define our lives. We want to have wireless connections in the Serengeti, so we can keep in touch with our family and business associates. We want to have hot tubs in our "tents," which, by the way, are not your father’s–or your–old pup tents. These are platform constructions with queen-sized beds and indoor plumbing. We want to travel in Airstream campers that cushion the ride and have surround-sound stereo systems. (NY Times, Feb. 3, 2013, Travel, "We’re All Boomers Now") Ah, the wilderness experience....

That may be the kind of journey through Lent we’d also prefer–not your parents’ or even your Lenten experience, of eating fish on Fridays, wearing ashes on your forehead, endless confession and sackcloth, the whole thing fairly morose and depressing. Amen to giving up the morose and depressing part, but can we give up anything? Can we clear out any space in our lives and in our days to simply be with ourselves and God? Is it possible to pack and carry what is essential on our backs, without having a whole van and entourage following along behind? Can we spend any time considering who we’ve become and who we are becoming? Is there any way we could allow the wilderness to just be, well, the wilderness?

"In many cultures, there is an ancient custom of giving one-tenth of each year’s income to some holy use" (frederickbuechner.com, First Sunday in Lent)–in other words, a tithe. Our reading from Deuteronomy this morning describes one such offering of "first fruits," to be offered to the priest; and when the priest takes the basket of the offering and sets it down at the altar of God, the Israelite was to say, "A wandering Aramean was my father [or ancestor]," referring to Jacob, who went down into Egypt to escape the famine in his own land. These are instructions for when the Israelites have settled in the Promised Land, a "land flowing with milk and honey," "which [the text says]the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance to possess." The tension, of course, comes between claiming the land as their own, despite all the people who already lived there– AND being reminded that "a wandering Aramean was my father," utterly at the mercy of God and strangers, and receiving this new land as a gift from God whose land it actually is. This tension vibrates today in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

"40 years" wandering in the wilderness is the time it took the Hebrews to figure out who they were, where their strength came from, and where they were going. Jesus spent "40 days" in the wilderness figuring out who he was, what it meant to be the Beloved Child of God, as the voice at his baptism had told him, what it meant to be Jesus. "The church [writes Samuel Wells] marks Lent to discover in Whose strength it stands." (Journal for Preachers, Lent 2013, p. 12) 40 days is approximately a tenth of the days of the year, so we offer it for "some holy use," a tithe, if you will, given to the Source of our being.

The readings for this first Sunday in Lent are a "meditation (Walter Brueggemann tells us) on the primal human question: Who will make us safe?" (Sojourners, Feb. 2010) Deuteronomy talks about how God rescued the Hebrew people from slavery and oppression in Egypt; Psalm 91(the psalm for the day) proclaims, "Because you had made the Lord your refuge, the Most High your dwelling place, no evil shall befall you, no scourge come near your tent..." And then the verses that we hear in Jesus’ conversation with Satan–"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone." The Epistle lesson from Romans 10 says that "if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." I am certain that Paul was not thinking of this confession as a kind of magical formula, but again, it goes to the heart of that primal human question, Who will make us safe? Who will "save" us? So, 1)God provides for us, says Deuteronomy, 2)God protects us on our journey, the psalmist declares, 3)God saves us, confesses Paul. Those are the three tests put to Jesus in the wilderness. "Lent," Brueggemann writes, "is a time to sort out and refuse the other offers [for security] and to embrace the only reliable gift of well-being. Imagine choosing God or Jesus rather than money, control, or power–the usual seductions in our society." (Ibid.)

Beyond the giving up of chocolate, or eating fish on Fridays, and burying the Alleluias, these 40 days of Lent are an opportunity to ask ourselves, "What does it mean to be you?" Frederick Buechner offers some helpful suggestions for questions to ponder during these 6 weeks, one for each week, if you choose–

1. "If you had to bet everything you have on whether there is a God or whether there isn’t, which side would get your money and why?

2. "When you look at your face in the mirro, what do you see in it that you most like and what do you see in it that you most deplore?

3. "If you had only one last message to leave to the handful of people who are most important to you, what would it be in 25 words or less? [Remember our imagining of the gospel in 7 words?]

4. "Of all the things you have done in your life, which is the one you would most like to undo? Which is the one that makes you happiest to remember?

5. "Is there any person in the world, or any cause, that if circumstances called for it, you would be willing to die for?

6. "If this were the last day of your life, what would you do with it?

Buechner suggests that in the process of contemplating these questions, you might come to a clearer sense of who you are, who you are becoming, and who you are failing to become. (Whistling in the Dark, cited on frederickbuechner.com, op cit.)

The pattern of Lent–this paring down, this self-examination and deeper self-knowledge, this giving up and pondering what is worth giving ourselves to, even dying for–is the image of God’s giving up of everything to "have" us, if you will, to let us know how much we are loved, to show us the depth of the Ground of our Being, to use Paul Tillich’s phrase. "Lent is a time for setting things aside, (Sam Wells writes), even good things, to desire only God." (Wells, JP, pp. 10-11) I sometimes think that’s the ultimate lesson of our lives–to come to set things aside, even good things, like our possessions, our accomplishments, finally even our loved ones and our bodies, to desire only God, and then God folds us into that Great Love. Lent lets us practice letting go.

Belden C. Lane has written a book with a remarkable title–The Solace of Fierce Landscapes–Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality. I confess that I am intrigued and terrified by it. But listen to this passage in which Lane talks about the true gift–the true "solace," if you will–of "fierce landscapes"--

...Ever distrustful of grace, I assent more readily to being destroyed than to being loved. It’s too much to presume that I might be the object of God’s deepest longing, profoundly loved by that which frightens me most. Why am I drawn to desert and mountain fierceness? What impels me to its unmitigated honesty, its dreadful capacity to strip bare, its long, compelling silence? It’s the frail hope that in finding myself brought to the edge–to the macabre, stone-silent edge of death itself–I may hear a word whispered in its loneliness. The word is ‘love,’ spoken pointedly and undeniably to me. It may have been uttered many times in the past, but I’m fully able to hear it only in that silence. (Cited in

An Almanac for the Soul, Marv and Nancy Hiles, p. 47)

40 days–or 40 years–seems like such a long time. Have you ever tried praying for 40 minutes? It seems like an eternity. It could be longer, it could be shorter, it means "as long as it takes"–as long as it takes for us as a church to figure out what we are here for and who we are here for; as long as it takes for us to shape our lives into some Christ-shaped vessel so that divinity may become flesh in our humanity; as long as it takes for us to figure out who we are and Whose we are. As long as it takes. Let us begin the journey together.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Transfigured–for real or Real?"-- Exodus 34:29-35, Luke 9:28-36-- Feb. 10, 2013

"Dr. Eben Alexander was a highly accomplished and widely published neurosurgeon who didn’t consider himself religious. He attended church on Christmas and Easter, but his real religion was empirical science. He describes himself as a "friendly skeptic."

In Nov. 2008, Alexander was admitted to a Lynchburg, VA hospital with "excruciating back pain," and slipped into a coma, which lasted for 7 days.

At the end of those 7 days, he opened his eyes and thrashed around in bed. After the doctor removed his ventilator, Alexander took his first unassisted breath in a week, calmed down, and then said, ‘thank you.’ Looking around the room at his family and doctors, he smiled and said, ‘All is well. Don’t worry, all is well.’"(Dan Clendenin, Journey with Jesus, 2/3/13)

Alexander had had an extremely rare form of meningitis, and during his coma "his brain’s neocortex had shut down. He describes it as ‘inoperative.’ It wasn’t that his brain was working improperly or poorly, he says, but that it wasn’t working at all." In a book published in 2011, Alexander describes "the profound spiritual experience he had when he was ‘completely free of the limitations of my physical brain.’" (Ibid.) Without going into the particulars of his very clear memories of that experience, it is Dr. Alexander’s conclusion that is particularly significant, which is that "whether you feel it or not, nothing can separate you from the Perfect Love that exists at the heart of the universe. [Clendenin] ‘This is the reality of realities, [he writes] the incomprehensibly glorious truth of truths that lives and breathes at the core of everything that exists or ever will exist.’" (ibid.)

For Eben Alexander, the veil which is the normal functioning of his brain, was lifted, and he got a glimpse of the Reality of realities that lies at the heart of the universe. He had an experience of transfiguration. Fortunately, one doesn’t have to have a near-death experience to catch a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the universe, but it may involve a letting go of the death grip we have on what we’re convinced is "reality."

Jesus took Peter, James and John with him up on the mountain to pray. Moses went up on the mountain to meet with God. "Up on the mountain" is Biblical shorthand for "meeting with God." And up on the mountain, while he was praying, Jesus’ appearance was transfigured– his face and his clothes became dazzlingly, radiantly white, and two figures appeared with him, whom the disciples took to be Moses and Elijah. "They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem." It was a timeless moment, and Peter, half-asleep, or in a kind of trance himself, sought to preserve it. "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." That idea was quickly brought to a close as a cloud of "dazzling darkness," as Barbara Brown Taylor describes it, came over them, and a voice from the cloud spoke. "This is my Son, my Chosen [or my Beloved]: listen to him." And then the cloud and the figures were gone, leaving only Jesus. The next day they returned to the valley, where a boy possessed by a demon awaited healing by Jesus.

Jesus’ face and clothing were transfigured in dazzling radiance. Moses’ face was shining so brightly that he had to wear a veil to shield its brightness from the others. These two men, the only two people who are described in the Bible with the word "meek," meaning not milquetoast but rather "utterly transparent" to God, both transfigured, changed, by their encounters with God, the Source of the Radiance. Abwun, Jesus addressed God. Father, Source of the Radiance, Creative Breath–all meanings of that Aramaic word, abba. Jesus went up on the mountain to pray.

Now, I don’t know about you, but my experiences of prayer are not normally accompanied by figures of light and dazzling clouds with voices. And yet, and yet, if prayer is, as one writer puts it, "a way of attuning ourselves to God" (David Lose, Working Preacher.com, 2/10/13) in those moments when I’ve let go of trying to do it "right" or been so attached to one particular outcome, when I’ve been able to let go of all the other things I think are so important and actually pointed my self in a direction that maybe, possibly, was "attuned to God," sometimes I’ve gotten a new perspective, a new way of seeing, a new way of experiencing a situation.

It’s not easy in our society which, one novelist describes as one of "Total Noise." (David Foster Wallace, cited in Clendenin, op cit.) To pull yourself away from the internet, turn off the television, the radio, the "shoulda-woulda-coulda" tapes that run non-stop in our brains and just try to "attune yourself to God" is no simple task. It is a practice. To set aside 5, 10, even 20 min. minutes a day, even, imagine! twice a day, to "attune ourselves" to the Perfect Love that exists at the heart of the universe, the Reality of realities, the truth of truths that lives and breathes at the core of everything that exists or ever will exist. That takes intention, practice, if you will. The upcoming season of Lent may be just the excuse we need to make a daily routine of this.

During our second "commercial interruption" in a few minutes, Ernie Lafontaine will be talking about moving from hope to reality, about "getting real" about our hopes and dreams for this congregation as we move into God’s future for us. This process cannot just be about us, not even our best thoughts and ideas and plans. It has to be attuned to God. We need to take ourselves "up on the mountain" of whatever place or state of mind helps us to "attune with God," even to encounter God, which is an awesome, even terrifying, place to be. "Imagine an entire congregation begin transfigured," one writer says, "into a powerful and bright witness, a beacon of light and warmth for a weary, cynical world." (Sharron R. Blezard, Stewardship of Life, 2/6/13)

"Transfiguration is living by vision [wrote Walter Wink]: standing foursquare in the midst of a broken, tortured, oppressed, starving, dehumanizing reality, yet seeing the invisible, calling to it to come, behaving as if it is on the way, sustained by elements of it that have come already, within and among us. In those moments when people are healed, transformed, freed from addictions, obsessions, destructiveness, self worship or when groups or communities or even, rarely, whole nations glimpse the light of the transcendent in their midst, there the New Creation has come upon us. The world for one brief moment is transfigured. The beyond shines in our midst—on the way to the cross." [Walter Wink, Interpretation, in Imaging the Word, vol. 1, p. 142)

That is a vision worth living into. Amen, and amen.

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"What’s Love got to do with it?" --1 Corinthians 13:1-13, Luke 4:21-30-- Feb. 3, 2013

You could hear the sharp intake of breath as the tattooed and multiply-pierced young man walked forward to the chancel with the guitar under his arm. Stepping up next to him was a young woman in tight jeans and a streak of blue in her hair. They took a moment to plug the guitar into the speaker and adjust the microphones near their lips. Then with a chord that got everyone’s attention, their anthem began. "Woe to you hypocrites," they sang, directly quoting Jesus, but somehow sounding very "un-Christian." They listed the evident sins of the society they saw around them–the number of hungry and homeless people, violence in the streets and schools, drug and alcohol abuse, young people being judged for the way they looked.

It made even the woman who devoted much of her time volunteering in the soup kitchen feel uncomfortable. It certainly made the man who owned a business on Main St. angry. It confused the first-grader sitting with her parents.

When the minister stood up to deliver the sermon, you could see folks relax in their pews. The women and some of the men smiled and unconsciously touched their hair. The handsome young man standing in the pulpit made them feel sexy. He spoke so passionately and beautifully–he didn’t even use notes. The time during his sermon flew by, and if you’d asked anyone about it later, they most likely would have commented on how they loved to hear Rev. Jones speak, though they’d have been hard-pressed to tell you what he spoke about.

At coffee hour, a group of folks who were adamantly for gun control, upset about the growing violence in their own little town, glared across the room at a group of hunters and NRA members. The kids sat at separate tables, hurling cheetos at one another, while their doting parents looked on, reluctant to make a fuss. Older folks seethed with disapproval.

To everyone’s surprise, coffee hour was interrupted when a woman tapped on the microphone of the social hall’s sound system. "Excuse me," she said, waiting for everyone to settle down and give her their attention. "Thank you," she said when the room had quieted down. "I have a letter from our founding pastor, and it’s important that we all hear it. I received it yesterday in the mail, and when I first read it, I was almost insulted. Then I read it again, and, I’m sorry to say, I think we need to hear this.

"Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,"

the letter began. "I give thanks to God for you everyday for the incredible gifts that have been poured out upon you. It is one of the real privileges and joys of my ministry that I was a part of bringing you together and getting you started as a community.

But I have to say, I’m distressed at what I’ve been hearing about you. You’ve got all sorts of causes you’re trumpeting–that’s good. You’ve got musicians and artists coming out of your ears–that’s great. Rev. Jones is the talk of the town, and your prayer chain’s got a reputation for performing miracles–all wonderful.

BUT, what I don’t hear anything about is the Love you have for one another or for any of the people you’re supposed to be helping. In fact, I’ve heard that coffee hour is toxic, your worship service is just a fan club, and people feel like they should be kissing the rings on the hands that serve them food.

Listen--If I speak in the tongues of angels or celebrities, but don’t have love, I might just as well be feedback from a microphone. If I am engaged in all the right social justice causes and stir people up to act and demonstrate, but don’t have love, I am nothing.

If I contribute to the NRA, the ACLU, the Sierra Club, the 5 All-Church Offerings of the United Church of Christ, but don’t have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends.

"I could be wrong," should be added at the end of any one of your pronouncements, maybe even at the end of Rev. Jones’ sermons. "I don’t know. I could listen more deeply" should be part of all your coffee hour or parking lot conversations. We just don’t know everything. Only God does. Love is what matters.

Coffee hour at the First Church of Corinth would never be the same, as you can imagine.

I’ll leave it to you to decide whether they took the letter’s words to heart or filed a complaint against their former pastor. But that’s the setting of this passage on Love that we are more likely to have heard read at weddings, when everyone looks beautiful and beaming, when all seems right with the world. What’s not to love about Love? In fact, love is most important in times of struggle and confusion, when life is complicated and difficult.

 

The congregation in Nazareth couldn’t have told you that Jesus’ little sermon had anything to do with Love, but that was precisely what Jesus was pushing them to understand. Love isn’t confined to your little circle of family and friends, he was saying. I’m not here just to bring honor and fame to this little Galilean village. God’s healing and justice and mercy–all of which are part of God’s Love–aren’t limited to certain geographical or ethnic or religious categories. You are loved, but not just you.

There is a saying attributed to St. Augustine that says, "God loves everyone as if he or she is the only one." That’s the scandal of God, isn’t it, and the scandal of Love? Where’s the integrity? Where are the standards? Where is the judgment? "Now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I now only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known."

"Now we see in a mirror dimly." "That should be the motto of every theologian and lover," Bruce Epperly writes (Adventurous Lectionary, 2/3/13) The love of God is bigger than we can get our minds wrapped around. The love of God includes each and all of us, yet is willing to struggle–even die–to teach us what that means. Love doesn’t mean the absence of conflict–in fact, conflict may be a way to teach us about love. Conflict is a given in human relationships–we are all different, have different experiences, different aptitudes and inclinations. Hiding or denying conflict is a recipe for failure. In healthy relationships, research has found, there is a 5 to 1 ratio between positive and negative interactions. While we need to accentuate the positive (as the song says), we really shouldn’t eliminate the negative. Working through conflict actually immunizes our relationships from the really big times of stress. Just like a wound that heals with a scar that is stronger than the original tissue, so acknowledging and working through conflict makes our relationships stronger. Conflict is actually necessary for the long-term success of committed relationships. (Tal Ben Shahar)

"This is my body, broken...this is my blood, poured out." What we consider "perfect"– the perfect relationship, the perfect church, the perfect loaf or cup–cannot grow and become available and nourishing to others until it is broken open, until it is tested. Perfect Love willingly opened itself up to suffering and death–foolishness to mortals, the wisdom of God.

So we come to break the bread and pour out the cup, so that we might be nourished and made new, and so that we might become bread and drink for a hungry and thirsty world. What’s Love got to do with it? Only everything.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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