"Passing Through Deep Waters"-- Isaiah 43:1-2, 16-21, John 12:1-8-- March 17, 2013

The big ecclesiastical news this week, of course, was the election of a new pope– Habemus papam! And this pope from a new part of the world chose a new name for himself, new at least for popes–Francis, recalling the saint who lived in solidarity with the poor and the creatures of the earth. That is a hopeful sign, I think, and from what I’ve been able to tell from reports about the new pope’s words and actions this week, as well as from reports of his tenure as Archbishop in Buenos Aires, I am hopeful that he will be able to reach across the growing chasm between rich and poor and to bring the Vatican into a place of more integrity, at least in regards to its finances. I do not expect married priests or same-gender marriages or women priests in the Roman Catholic Church anytime soon, but I wish our brother Francis well. He will need all the wisdom, strength, and compassion from God he can get.

"Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old," God says through the prophet Isaiah. "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" Isaiah was prophet in the time of Israel’s exile in Babylon some 2500 years ago, but these words ring down through the centuries to us today in the church–the United Church of Christ as well as the Roman Catholic Church. "Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?"

Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann says of these verses that they are "that most remarkable of all texts, that we should not speak until we decide if we trust it." (Cited by Kate Huey in Weekly Seeds, 3/17/13) For such a prolific scholar to single this text out as "most remarkable of all texts" should give us pause. "We should not speak [it] until we decide if we trust it." Do we?

Isaiah has indeed remembered the former things–God’s bringing the children of Israel out of slavery in Egypt and through the waters of the Red Sea, leaving horse and chariot, army and warrior to drown. God formed this ragtag bunch of former slaves into a people, marked by God’s love. God led them safely through the deep waters across the Jordan River, into the Promised Land. And now here in the exile, where their souls have been wounded, cut off from home and culture, they have almost forgotten who they are. [This, by the way, is why most of what we know of Hebrew scriptures–the Torah, the law–was pulled together and written down during the exile–so that all the generations wouldn’t forget who they were, and Whose they were.] Here in Babylon, it was all too easy to buy into the values of the culture around them, to worship the gods whose images and temples were all around them, whose customs reinforced another way of living.

But here is God, not only promising to make a way through the desert back home, but to "do a new thing." Don’t even remember the former days, of glory or of judgment, God says. Even now the new "thing" is springing forth-- do you not perceive it?–new things like making rivers in the desert, infusing all creation so that the jackals and ostriches pay God homage.

"Let go of the past and its pain," God says to Israel. How about that for a Lenten discipline? "Let go of the past and its pain." (Margaret Aymer, cited in Huey, op cit.) Might you do that in your family? Might we do that as a nation? Move on from the pain and humiliation and anger from the events of Sept. 11, 2001, and even entertain the possibility of looking at the world through a different lens? "Do not remember the former things," says God. "Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" What former things in your life might you let go of, and what new thing might god be doing in your life?

And what about in church? For some of us, the "former things" were packed sanctuaries almost every Sunday (and absolutely on Christmas and Easter), overflowing Sunday Schools, people vying for positions on the Church Council. But we are getting farther and farther away from those times. We look around and see fewer families with young children and more and more, admittedly remarkable, gray-heads. What’s happening to our committees and boards? Who’s going to chair the Snowball Bazaar? John C. Holbert suggests, "We are like those who define madness; we do the same things again and again and expect different results." (Patheos, 2/10/13)

....Which is why, of course, we are in the process of "re-thinking church." How can we let go of the past, while still honoring it, and truly be open to the new thing God is doing? For it is God who will do it. It’s tempting to think that it’s simply a matter of our coming up with the right set of by-laws, of creating a structure that will revitalize us, but Brueggemann reminds us that this newness is not something we can generate ourselves. We can only receive it. (Ibid.) God is doing this new thing. In some sense, we just need to get out of God’s–and our own–way.

So there is no need for fear. God has been with us when we’ve passed through deep waters before, when we’ve wandered in the wilderness, even when we’ve tried to turn our backs on God, God has not abandoned us. Bruce Epperly [Adventurous Lectionary, 3/17/13] reminds us that there’s a reason the rearview mirror in our cars is smaller than the front windshield. We need to be facing forward, not backward. We need to be opening ourselves up to God’s guidance, taking the time to listen, to discern, to trust, to welcome God’s "new thing" that even now is springing forth.

Dare we speak this text–"Behold, I am doing a new thing." Have we decided that we trust it? Or, as someone has asked, "Have we practiced a meager economy of expectations?" (Huey, op cit.) What about great expectations?! Again, Brueggemann tells us–"Biblical faith is geared to the future. It moves always to God’s coming miracle that pushes past old treasured miracles and old suffered judgments." God is with us, not only in the glory days of the past, but also in our present, and in an utterly new future. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Youth Group Potato Brunch, March 17,2013

The Youth Group baked and then prepared potatoes for the congregation on Sunday morning, March 17th.  The brunch included a salad, potato with choice of toppings, dessert and drinks.

Everyone was very pleased with the food and the service.  Due to the generosity of the congregation, enough funds were raised to send two teams to the Big Brothers Big Sisters of Bennington Bowl a Thon.

Please click the "Find Us on FaceBook" link at the bottom of this page to view the full album of the days events.

 

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"So Spacious..."-- Luke 15:1-3, 11-32-- March 10, 2013

Martin Copenhaver tells the story of two old friends who "meet in the park. Upon seeing each other they don't say a word. They sit on a park bench in silence for the longest time. Then one finally breaks the silence by saying, ‘Oy.’ The other responds, ‘Oy.’ To which the first replies, ‘Well, enough about the children."’ We may not know the details, [Martin adds] but we know this: family relationships are perhaps the most challenging of all." (God is still speaking, 3/9/13)

Where to start – or end – with this rich, well-known and well-loved parable that has come to be known as the Story of the Prodigal Son? It’s not a helpful title, really, as the word "prodigal" doesn’t appear anywhere in it, and if prodigal means "extravagantly wasteful" or "profusely giving,"as the dictionary says, it could apply to both the father and the younger son. And then there’s the elder brother, who-- an argument could be made–the parable is really about. "A man had two sons" would probably be the best way to refer to this story, as it leaves open all the possibilities.

The choir anthem told about the inner story–the story of the younger son and his father. It’s the heart-warming part of the story–the rebellious, younger son, feeling stifled and constrained at home, with wanderlust in his bones, asks his father for his portion of the inheritance. By rights, the first-born son would get 2/3 of his father’s estate, leaving one-third to be distributed to the remaining children. But to ask for one’s inheritance while the father is still alive is to say, in essence, "Father, I wish you were dead." Right there the young man has broken the commandment to "Honor your mother and your father."

Furthermore, the law also says,

If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, ‘This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all of the men of the town shall stone him to death. So shall you purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel will hear, and be afraid."

(Deut. 21:18-21)

Those listening to Jesus tell this story would not have identified at all with the father, but would have thought of him, as one commentator suggests, as "stupidly lax to pamper his immoral son." (Stan Duncan, If You Lived Here..., 3/7/13)

But the younger son is an American hero, isn’t he? "Go west, young man!" we encourage him. Make a name for yourself. See the world. Drink the finest wines, see the sights, gather your rosebuds while ye may...

But his story is also the American story...of thinking that money can buy happiness, that the more thrilling experiences I can wrack up–make sure I complete my bucket list–I will be happy. If I just consume enough–stuff, food, drugs, alcohol, success, power–I’ll be great, I’ll be happy. I’m entitled to the freedom to do what I want–without responsibility to anyone else. Alas, ending up slopping pigs is also too frequently where this American dream ends. All that "stuff" doesn’t buy us happiness. Instead of "finding"ourselves, we discover that we have lost ourselves. Not only do we find that we are starving for food that truly nourishes us, we find that we are starving for relationships that nourish us, for work that is meaningful and humane, for a way to get through the day that doesn’t involve a bottle or a pill. "When he came to himself," is how Jesus describes the younger brother’s realization. He came to himself.

Patriarchs did not run. It was not a dignified or honorable thing to do, to lift up the bottom of one’s robe to free up the feet, to move one’s aged body more quickly than it had moved in years, let alone to do all that to rush down the road to greet one’s good-for-nothing son. The townspeople would have come out to witness this errant, shameful boy drag himself with his tail between his legs and grovel in the dirt before his father, but this father runs through the gauntlet himself to greet and embrace his son. "Quickly, bring out a robe–the best one–and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!" Talk about prodigal–"extravagantly wasteful," "profusely giving"!

All of that, it could be said–this whole inner story–is just a set up for what happens next. You’ll recall that David read the beginning of this chapter, the comments that prompted this story in the first place–"Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes, the reverends and the good people of the church, were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’ So he told them this parable...."

If the younger son’s story is the American dream gone bad, the elder brother’s story is the established church’s sorrow and challenge. Of course we love the stories of people who’ve been "redeemed," who have found themselves, by the grace of God, and turned their lives around. That is the story of some of you sitting here. "Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!"–written by a redeemed slave trader. It’s a story told over and over in testimonies in storefront churches, at AA meetings, in prisons, in support groups. We want to be part of that story–maybe part of helping people to find themselves, providing space in our buildings for meetings, wearing our t-shirts–"Second Congregational Church–Changing lives since 1865".

But how many of us are the elder brother or sister, not able to hear these stories of transformation without pursing our lips, just a little bit? How many of us are the elder brother or sister–the obedient, faithful ones who’ve been keeping the building open, who’ve sat in more meetings than there are hairs left on our heads, who look upon all the drama with more than a little skepticism and, may I confess? more than a little judgment? "It must be nice,..." we mutter as the story of journeys to exciting-sounding places unfold. "Yeah, while you were sipping bordeaux, I was pouring grape juice into tiny little cups." "Nobody knows half the things I’ve done for this church, while you get your face on the front page of the newspaper as part of a great ‘turn-around story.’"

How many of us elder brother and sister types find that we too have ended up in a "far country," estranged from joy, estranged from our best selves, estranged from those who would love us as we are, let alone estranged from any kind of a loving God?

Father Greg Boyle is a Jesuit priest who works in some of the roughest neighborhoods in Los Angeles, and is the founder of Homeboy Industries. Homeboy Industries works with and hires gang members, teaches them skills, provides them with therapists, gives them hope, blesses them, loves them. Last Sunday morning he was on Christa Tippett’s public radio program, "On Being," and if you missed it, I urge you to listen to it or read the manuscript at onbeing.org, or read Fr. Boyle’s book "Tattooes on the Heart."

"The measure of our compassion," Fr. Boyle said, "lies not in our service of those on the margins, but in our willingness to see ourselves in kinship. [Here we go–family again!] So that means the decided movement towards awe and giant steps away from judgment." The decided movement towards awe and giant steps away from judgment. "So how can we seek really a compassion that can stand in awe at what people have to carry rather than stand in judgment at how they carry it?" That, Fr. Boyle says, is the measure of health of any community, church community or otherwise. When we take the time to really listen to people’s stories, to allow them to unfold in our presence, it has certainly been my experience that I am more often than not in awe of how much people are carrying around, and you’d never guess.

"If you presume [Fr. Boyle said] that God is compassionate, lovingkindness [and that’s a big IF–do you?], all we’re asked to do in the world is be in the world who God is." As Christa Tippett remarked, "But that’s huge!" To which Father Boyle replied, "Yeah, so you’re trying to imitate the kind of God you believe in. You want to move away from whatever is tiny-spirited and judgmental...you want to be as spacious as you can be [so] that you can have room for stuff and love is all there is and love is all you are, you know. And [he said] you want people to recognize the truth of who they are, that they’re exactly what God had in mind when God made them." He went on to say, "Alice Miller, who’s the late great child psychologist, talked about [how] we’re called to be enlightened witnesses...people who through your kindness and tenderness and focused attempt of love return people to themselves and in the process, you’re returned to yourself, you know." "And when he came to himself..."

Fr. Boyle then told the story of Louie, an exasperating, whiny, difficult kid who "works" for Homeboy Industries, "though work may be too strong a verb," Fr. Boyle says. On Louie’s 18^th birthday, he came to Fr. Boyle’s office and asked him for a blessing, as many of the homeboys and homegirls do. "Hey, G [Greg]–give me a bless, yeah?" they say. "Hey, G–give me a bless, yeah?" Louie asked. So, Father Boyle put his hand on Louie’s bowed head and said, "You know, Louie, I’m proud to know you. When you were born, you know, the world became a better place and I’m proud to call you my son, even though–and I don’t know why I decided to add this part–at times you can be a huge pain in the [butt].’ and he looks up at me and says, ‘The feeling’s mutual.’ And, you know [Fr. Boyle said] you’re not sort of this delivery system,...but maybe I return him to himself. But there is no doubt that he returned me to myself."

So spacious. God is so spacious, so vast, so "great and wild," as the poet Hafiz says. So prodigal. Always greater than we can imagine. "Whenever you land on a God who’s tiny or judgmental or exacting or concerned with some kind of purity code," as Fr. Boyle says, this sense of God as spacious and vast and always greater "sort of blows it wide open and knowing that there’s a need to have this blown wide open all the time."

Where do we begin and where do we end mining the depths of this brilliant, amazingly rich story of the father and his two sons that Jesus told? We are not told what happens next–whether the younger brother returned to being manipulative and selfish after he got some of that fatted calf in his stomach, or whether the elder brother ever came in to the party, or whether the father ever had his honor restored in the village. We don’t know. We can only choose the next steps in our story, whether or not we will come home, to who we are and Whose we are. But, what I know for sure is, there is a party going on.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Tales of a Life- Changing Foursome by Jane Norrie

Jane Norrie has been a member of Second Congregational Church since 1977.  Her late husband was a UCC Pastor and Jane’s life work has included medical office management, technical support, as well as 15 years of experience as a therapeutic equine assisted activities instructor and director of the Ride and Shine Special Equestrians Program in Shaftsbury, VT.  Now retired, Jane continues to be active as a mentor for aspiring equine therapy professionals and as a coordinator of healing ministry activities at Second Congregational Church.

 

TALES OF A LIFE-CHANGING FOURSOME

 

Everyone loves a story, and my story today is in four chapters about four life-changing events in my life since 1977 – all of them associated with members of  our Second Congregational church family.  It was very difficult to limit myself to only four chapters, as many, many wonderful people and events flooded me with memories.  It’s a good thing I had Tom Steffen as my sermon writing coach as he is very good at insisting on staying within a 15 minute time limit.  Left to my own devices I might have gone on for at least an hour!

 

To set some historical context, we might take note that there was a somewhat revolutionary movement toward de-institutionalizing Brandon State Training School and placing its former residents within local communities near their families of origin.  In the early spring of l977 my husband David, recently semi-retired from parish pastorate due to health problems, received a phone call from Vermont State Conference Minister Charles Chamberlain informing us that UCS in Bennington was recruiting group home staff for a community care home for developmentally disabled adults transferring from Brandon.  Charles thought we might be interested in applying for this position.  We did apply and were hired to begin work on preparing a house at 215 Union St. to receive 7 residents, all young adults, 5 of whom had spent most of their life in Brandon State Training School.

Of course we immediately transferred our church membership to Second Congregational and were more or less settled into our new position just in time to celebrate the Bicentennial of the Battle of Bennington with the greatest ever Battle Day Weekend parade and all the fixin’s!  A short time thereafter enter Tom and Nancy Jean Steffen for chapter one of the life-changing foursome.

 

The stresses of our 24/7 residential staff position soon proved to be overwhelming for David.  In the early winter of 1977 he was admitted to Putnam Memorial Hospital’s ICU with gastrointestinal bleeding.  When I went to visit him early in the morning of his first hospital day I found him in a state of delirium, in 4-point restraints, unable to recognize me.  His nurse was handing me a telephone and telling me that Dr. Guerrero was on the line to speak with me.  I was on the verge of going to pieces when someone came up behind me, put his arm around my shoulders, took the phone and started speaking  with the doctor on my behalf.  That someone was Tom Steffen.  Later when I asked Tom what he was doing at the hospital so early in the day he told me he just “had a feeling” that he ought to go visit David.  I am very glad he listened to that inner guidance and came to my rescue, not only ministering to David’s and my spiritual needs but also insisting that I take time off from the residential job and stay at the parsonage for a few days until David’s health stabilized and we could see our way clear to re-adjusting our living situation in Bennington.  Tom and Nancy Jean’s hospitality was like a harbor in a storm for me.  While I was given respite in their home I also came to know Nancy Jean as a role model of a pastor’s wife like none I had ever known before, seeing her in action as a successful business owner in her own right as well as wife, mother and faithful leader in church life.

 

This was not to be the last time that Tom and Nancy Jean would come to my rescue as over the next ten years I learned to cope with being the main wage earner and caregiver to my husband who became increasingly disabled by severe heart disease and diabetes. David died in November, 1987, just 2 days before our 26^th wedding anniversary, at what had by then become Southwestern Vermont Medical Center’s new West Wing ICU.   Tom was there waiting for me when the staff asked me to leave David’s bedside as they began cardiac resuscitation.  Again Tom supported me as Dr. Guerrero told us that David had never regained consciousness.  And yet again Tom and Nancy Jean opened their home, now having moved to Margaret Lane, to me, my family and friends who came to attend David’s memorial service.  In the years since then both Nancy Jean and Tom have helped me to find out who I was as a pastor’s widow and ultimately who I am as a single woman, a person who continually learns and grows and who is very different from the young woman who moved to Bennington in 1977.

 

Chapter two of four tells of an influential woman by the name of Claire Santway.  Since 1977 Claire and I have become dear friends, perhaps even to be described as what Celtic tradition calls “anam cara” – soul friends.  Claire gave me a love of Yoga practice which she facilitated for a few of us in her sunny living room.  An especially important message for me would come through when, after guiding us in practice of several poses, Claire would tell us to lie still on our back for a few minutes to “relax and absorb the benefits”.  How often even now I need to remind myself to relax in order to absorb the benefits for my well-being which are offered in many surprising ways.  Even more important, however, is that Claire was the very first person to tell me about Reiki energy therapy and to demonstrate its benefits as a hands on healing modality which she learned through attunement to Reiki level I. This took place in the mid 1980’s at a gathering in a Manhattan city apartment where Claire’s teacher was a Reiki Master just one generation removed from Japanese Dr. Usui who promulgated a method of Reiki practice which has since spread throughout the world.  Eventually that introduction provided by Claire led me to use of Reiki for relief of  multiple sclerosis symptoms in my own body, and after a few years to my initiation as a Reiki Teaching Master as a student of Nancy Edwards here in Bennington.

 

Third chapter in historical progression tells of the family of David McMullen and Desmond Clohossey who moved from Staten Island to Bennington around 1987. They were attracted to Second Congregational and soon became active members.  They were men of varied talents- gardening, music, carpentry, home decorating to name a few.  Desmond was almost totally deaf so of course he and Dave were fluent in American Sign Language.  They lived in the neighborhood of the farm where I boarded my horse – a wonderful thoroughbred named Calypso Kid.  Desmond loved the horses, dogs, cats and other  animals at the farm and wanted to learn horseback riding.  So in exchange for sign language lessons I gave him riding lessons.  He learned to ride a whole lot faster than I learned how to sign!  In the course of our friendship both Dave and Desmond taught me many life lessons.  One of the most outstanding for me was a new way of understanding the KISS slogan which was popular at the time.  Keep it simple, stupid was the common usage, but Dave taught me to change that to “Keep it simple, sweetheart”, insisting that one should never call oneself stupid.  Many’s the time this turn of phrase has helped me deal gently with myself in difficult circumstances.  So it was that Desmond became my first equine assisted therapy student and Dave became another dear friend of the Celtic anam-cara sort.  You may have guessed by now that Dave and Desmond were homosexual partners.  It was the beginning of the AIDS epidemic, and while they lived their lives with us they helped our congregation work through the process of becoming Vermont’s first Open and Affirming congregation.  Towards the end of his life Desmond still came to visit Calypso Kid, now unable to ride but still loving to touch and groom The Kid and to delight in the fact that he could hear the barking of  Jesse the Golden Retriever who came to play fetch the stick.  Dave’s last lessons to me and others in a circle of caring friends from 2CC were about how to provide end of life hospice care when hospice care was still a rudimentary idea to most folks.  As many of you know, I went on to become a professional in equine assisted therapy programs, and of course I still often remember Dave when I tell myself to keep it simple sweetheart.

 

KISS may also stand for keep it short sweetheart.  Thus I have arrived at my fourth of the life-changing foursome – Estelle Bennett Atwood.  In a way she ties together my beginning years in Bennington with my present life because it was her legacy which made it possible for UCS to open the Atwood Center for Services to Developmentally Disabled Adults.  Many of the folks whom I first knew when they moved into the community from Brandon State Training School are today served by the Atwood Center Programs which make it possible for them to live up to their highest potential in the community.  It has been a joy and a privilege for me to remain connected with this population in several ways over the years and to see amazing changes in their lives as they have learned to hold jobs, to live independently and find great satisfaction in life through the mentoring and social skills development programs available through the Atwood Center.  I remember Estelle as an amazing woman who was a stalwart of our congregation and legend has it that she was still going to the gym to pump iron well up into her 70’s.  I in particular thank God for Estelle’s wisdom, compassion and generosity which inspired her to endow the Atwood Center as a place where special people find safe haven to discover and nurture the goodness within each one.

 

I rejoice in the imagery from Rev. 22 of the beautiful river flowing from the throne of God with the Tree of Life growing on its banks – the tree which bears fruit for 12 months of the year – the tree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, for the healing of people.  As with many stories, mine has a prologue in which I was a horse crazy kid, my dog at my side or (best yet!) trail riding on horseback.  Even then I knew that I wanted to be a teacher, and somehow I did know about the reality of healing touch.  My epilogue is yet to be but I’m sure it will be strongly influenced by the amazing place that is Second Congregational Church, Bennington, Vermont.  You as a congregation have given me formal affirmation to pursue healing ministry.  You support me in adventures of learning about dowsing, labyrinths, healing with sound (oh my!).  You pull me back to being reasonably well balanced when I’m on the brink of becoming wild-eyed revolutionary activist.  Now I live cautiously in the world of internet communication and I sometimes fear that with all our social media we have opened a Pandora’s box the contents of which is way beyond control.  With the development of the Hadron Collider and discovery of the Higgs-Bosson particle I fear we may be in danger, like Icarus, of flying too clos to the sun and falling back into the sea of chaos.  Yet God is in that Higgs-Bosson particle and God seeks a wholesome, holy and healing relationship with all creatures, with all creation.  I am a Vermonter by choice, sure that there are saints and angels hovering round to help guide us into ways of living wisdom.  So always I strive to rejoice in the words of Psalm 121 – “The Lord will protect you from all danger; He will keep you safe.  He will protect you as you come and go, now and forever.”  Amen.

 

Message shared in worship.

Scripture- Psalm 121 and Revelation 22:1-6

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"Come to the table"-- Isaiah 55:1-9, Luke 13:1-9-- March 3, 2013

Some of you may know that I was born in Oklahoma, but because we moved from there when I was 3, my memories of that time and place are pretty limited, just sensory memories mainly– primarily that of being carried down into the backyard storm cellar to escape from tornados, and the smell of melting tar from the streets on hot summer days. Beyond those very early years, I’ve never been back to the southwest, though would love to sometime, but I marvel at the almost unbelievable temperatures that get reported from there in the summer–well over 100 degrees for days and days. "It’s a dry heat," some explain, but it’s still hot, and recent years of drought have only worsened the situation.

I understand that there are signs now throughout Grand Canyon National Park that say, "Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not." Stop! Take a break from snapping pictures or taking videos. You could be eating dust before you know it if you don’t drink some water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not.

"Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters [reads the sign in the wilderness of exile]; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen so that you may live."

Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not. Do you know that you are thirsty? Have you been laboring for that which does not satisfy–working more and enjoying it less? Spending your time and money on that which doesn’t deeply nourish you? In the midst of a national and global climate that is obsessed with scarcity and debt, marked by rancor and frustration, this invitation through the prophet Isaiah sounds like sweet music or perhaps, as our rampant cynicism might say, "too good to be true." "Buy wine and milk without money and without price?" How good can that wine or milk be? And who’s giving it away? What’s in it for them?

UCC pastor Kate Huey wonders whether we are "settled so comfortably into a routine and worldview that keep us busy and distracted that we’ve lost touch with our deepest selves, made in the image of God, and our spirits may be thirsty, starving, and homesick, even if we can’t name those feelings on our own." (Weekly Seeds, 3/3/13) Have you noticed how hungry and thirsty and homesick you are?

Last Sunday’s magazine section of the NY Times featured a cover story about the processed food industry and how it has researched, engineered, and invested in producing food and drink "products"that we are literally addicted to. "I feel so sorry for the public," said a former chief scientist for Frito-Lay. We don’t stand a chance as our palates become accustomed to and then crave the sugar, fat, and salt these items contain. Cheetos, as it turns out, "is one of the most marvelously constructed foods on the planet, in terms of pure pleasure," one food scientist said, and then focused on "the puff’s uncanny ability to melt in the mouth. ‘It’s called vanishing caloric density,’ [he] said. ‘If something melts down quickly, your brain thinks that there’s no calories in it...you can just keep eating it forever.’" (NY Times Magazine, 2/24/13, p. 47) I don’t know about you, but I’m salivating a little right now. Let’s hope there are Cheetos on the food table for Sunday Social. "Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?"

"Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters..." Isaiah issues an invitation from One who loves us, who offers us what we most deeply yearn for, though we may have become distracted with sugar, fat, and salt, let alone home improvement shows, or the latest exercise kick, or yet another health concern, or a car or home repair, or, or.... Come to the table, he calls, set with a rich feast of food and drink that satisfies our deepest hunger and thirst. Come home, to a community of love and meaning, committed to making the world a better place, to being a blessing to ourselves, our neighbors, near and far. It’s an invitation to stop, drink water. You are thirsty whether you realize it or not.

Jesus said the same thing essentially, when some people told him about recent disasters in which a number of people had been killed. Were they worse sinners or offenders than others? they implied, but Jesus dismissed that line of arguing and said, "No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did." In other words, Stop. Drink water. You are thirsty whether you realize it or not. Disasters happen to the good and the bad, can happen to any of us. To focus on them–and it’s hard not to, since we are fed a steady diet in our 24-7 news cycle–to focus on one disaster after another and all the bad news is to become fearful, hopeless, and uncertain. You will always be tossed about, able only to react to whatever comes along.

The important point, Jesus said, is to orient your life toward the source of Real Life, the source of living water, the source of the feast that satisfies our deepest hunger. That’s what "repent" means–re-orient your life toward God. Rather than blaming God for disasters as punishment, know that you can experience God in the midst of hardship and suffering, an ever-present help in times of trouble, as the psalmist says.

These practices along the way, these "disciplines," if you will, that we’ve been looking at and perhaps trying during this season of Lent, are meant to help us orient our lives toward God– building reminders into your environment to remind you of the sacred in the midst of the ordinary–a candle, a bowl of salt on the coffee table, perhaps, reminding you that you are to be the saltiness of the earth, not just consume salt; daily prayer–whether simply noticing your breath and taking the time to breathe deeply, or longer periods of sitting or moving meditation; being aware of our bodies as temples of the Holy Spirit and so tending to them, through exercise and healthy eating and rest. These are ways to practice everyday, when things are humming along, and when things screech to a halt, or we are thrown for a loop by illness or disaster or death, we have some handholds, or footholds, or soulholds to hang on to, keeping us centered in our true center.

Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not. Isaiah and Jesus call us away from wanderings and distractions not because they are to be condemned but because they ultimately do not get us anywhere, they’re unsatisfying, except for the briefest of times– "vanishing caloric density" in all sorts of ways.

Come to the table, they invite us. Come eat and drink food and wine that is infinitely satisfying and nourishing, come and experience community. The church, in whatever form it finally or even transitionally takes, is centered around the table. What if we as a church community not only provided and served the food for the 4^th Sunday of the month’s Sunday Supper, but also came and filled out the community around the tables? (Don’t worry, Tom. We’d help with setting up the tables.) Come to the table. Come to this table. This is the bread of life and the cup of blessing. All are invited. Let us keep the feast. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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