“Right in the Middle...”-- Isaiah 9:1-4, Matthew 4:12-23-- Jan. 26, 2014

One of the many reasons I’m not a Biblical literalist is that it’s just too much work.  It’s too much work trying to reconcile things stated in different parts of the bible that are clearly contradictory.  Take the call of Jesus’ disciples, for example.

Last week we read John’s version.  There John the Baptist was walking along with a couple of his disciples when Jesus walked by.  “Behold the Lamb of God,” John said to them, and the next day, when those same disciples saw Jesus again, Jesus asked them what they were looking for.  When they answered by asking where he lived, Jesus said to them, “Come and see.”  So they went and became Jesus’ disciples.

Today, in Matthew’s version of the call story, John the Baptist has been arrested while Jesus was in the wilderness, being tested by Satan.  When Jesus emerges from the wilderness and hears about John, he leaves his home in Nazareth and heads to Capernaum, by the sea.  There he sees two sets of brothers–Simon Peter and Andrew, and James and John.  Peter and Andrew are casting their nets into the sea, James and John are mending their nets in the boat with their father.  Jesus says to both sets of brothers–“Follow me, and I will make you fish for people...or fishers of people.”  And “immediately,” Matthew says, “they left their nets and followed him.”

This always strikes me as a scene from “The Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”  Really?  Just like that, they dropped their nets, left their poor old father and their boats, and followed Jesus?  People who know a lot more than I about that culture suggest that it was not uncommon for someone who has made known their grievance–in this case, the oppression of the Roman occupations and its effect on the Palestinian fishing business–to walk around and solicit folks to join in the cause.  This could have been the winter season, these commentators suggest, when there was a lull in the fishing business, and so now was the time for these independent businessmen to join with neighbors for the greater good.  Jesus would not have been an unknown to them, and particularly now with John the Baptist arrested, his disciple Jesus would have taken up his cause.  Could be, if you’re looking for a rational, logical explanation for this scene by the seaside, although the gospels usually aren’t too interested in offering rational, logical explanations.

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near,” Jesus began preaching after his time in the wilderness.  That’s what John had preached.  John’s baptism had been for the forgiveness of sins – a way of washing your past clean before re-orienting your life [which is what “repent” means].  Jesus also preached repentance, but he seemed more interested in what was worth re-orienting your life to.  What is clear in all the gospels is that he not only proclaimed the good news of that kingdom or community but also demonstrated what the kingdom of God was like, as he healed “every disease and every sickness.” The kingdom of God is how God wants us to live together.  The kingdom of God is about justice, about inclusion, about sharing food, about healing and wholeness.   “And great crowds followed him,” Matthew says.

“Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people,” Jesus said.  It was a call to fishermen, who knew how to fish.  I imagine that if it had been the story of the call of Lydia, for example–the woman whom Paul tells us about who was a seller of purple cloth–that Jesus might have said, “Follow me, and I will make you weave people together.”

“I will make you fishers of people.”  We may be a little appalled by that image, if we think of fishing as hooking people and reeling them in.  We’ve heard of too many unscrupulous types who do that.  But remember that Peter and Andrew and James and John used nets.  They cast their nets upon the sea and then drew in everything within those nets–fish and old shoes and sea weed alike.  “Follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of people...I’ll show you how to gather people together...” but in this gathering that Jesus has in mind, it’s less of a coralling in against their will and more of a connecting, an introduction to one another and a way of life that is life-giving; a field of energy, if you will, a “field of compassion,” as author Judy Cannatto put it in her book of the same name.

“Follow me and I will make you fishers of people.”  I will help you draw people together to discover their profound unity or oneness in the midst of all their diversity.  To the quantum physicist, Jesus might have said, “Follow me, and I will make you a strange attractor.”  I think that’s my favorite variation or riff on this theme.  “Follow me and I will make you a strange attractor.”  What is that, you may ask?  In chaos theory, the most chaotic of systems are found to have a deep internal order and never go beyond certain boundaries.  They are held within what is called a strange attractor. (Margaret Wheatley, Leadership and the New Science, p. 21)

Now, I know some of you think that our new “structure,” if you can call it that, is utter chaos.  Who’s going to be responsible for what?  Is anything going to get accomplished?  How do I know who to talk to about anything?  I urge you to give quantum physics the benefit of the doubt.  Margaret Wheatley in her book Leadership and the New Science suggests that it is the governing vision of an organization that sets up the field within which the organization can move and evolve and spin out and organize itself. If the Way of Jesus is our governing vision–the way of compassion, of hospitality, of affirming the divine essence of every person, the way of justice and standing alongside those in need–if we keep ourselves within the field of “following Jesus,” then perhaps each one of us might become “strange attractors” [OR, fishers of people, if you prefer].  Each one of us might become so energized by this vision, filled with the Light and Love of God, if you will, that right in the middle of our ordinary lives–at school, at Price Chopper or Hannaford’s, at work, at Home Depot, at home, while we’re traveling, while we’re coaching or skiing the trails at Prospect–we will be “strange attractors.” People will wonder what it is about us that seems so alive, so open, so compassionate.  If they should ask us, my guess is few of us will begin talking about Jesus, but we might find a way that has integrity for us.  We might find a way to talk about God, however we think about or experience God.  We might even mention Second Congregational Church and use Jesus’ line from the gospel of John–“Come and see.”

That vision and strange attraction are much more powerful and effective than any structure or flow chart we can diagram on paper, though we do know that institutions and organizations are essential for passing along traditions and information.  It’s just that they tend to become ends in themselves, instead of means to an end.

“Follow me and I will make you fishers of people,” Jesus said, “and immediately they left their nets and followed him...and Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching ...and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.”  Good news, wisdom, healing, and sense of worth and belonging.  Let us become such fishers of people and strange attractors to Real Life.  Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Come and see" --Isaiah 49:1-7, John 1: 29-42-- Jan. 19, 2014

"Would it be ok if I came to your church on Sunday?" she asked. "I’m not even sure what I believe."

For the past 400 years or so, when Western Christianity split into Protestants and Catholics, faith has been ordered in a particular way. So writes Diana Butler Bass, a scholar of the history, culture, and politics of religion, in her book, Christianity after Religion. That order of faith was first, belief–you had to figure out what you believed, which typically followed along the lines of the creeds and confessions of the church. Then you learned the practices of that belief–how to pray, to worship, to give alms, to order your life. And only then, if you had passed the first two steps correctly, you belonged. (P. 201) This was the Age of Belief, as Harvey Cox calls it. Believing, behaving, belonging. That was the order of things.

It wasn’t always so. Before then, Butler Bass writes, "Christians understood that faith was a matter of community first, practices second, and belief as a result of the first two." (203)

In the reading from the first chapter of the gospel of John, which Ernie read for us, Jesus notices that two of John the Baptist’s disciples are following him, so Jesus asked them, "What are you looking for?" They, in turn, asked Jesus, "Teacher, where are you staying?" Kind of an odd question, asking for his address. But Jesus responds, "Come and see."

"Come and see." That’s essentially what I said to the woman who had asked me if she could come to "my" church on Sunday. "Come and see. You’ll be in good company," I told her, the company of people who are in the process of figuring out what they believe, not always coming up with the same answers, and yet we live in community together, caring for one another, caring for others. Come and see.

In the last 20 years, Diana Butler Bass notes, people are expressing a longing for an experience of God, rather than a statement about God. They are longing for an experience that connects them with a deeper sense of themselves and the Divine, a sense of belonging to something greater than themselves. This, suggests Harvey Cox, is the beginning of the Age of the Spirit, where the order of faith is reversed–belonging, behaving, believing.

Now, we know that New Englanders are skeptical about "deep spiritual experiences." Vermont is the least religious of all the 50 states, and Butler Bass points out that the decline of religious institutions is greatest in those quadrants, like New England, which are most resistant to deep, personal experiences.

But we do value neighborliness. People may not want to "join," to become members, but they are willing to join in. We do value working together to help those in need, as evidenced most publicly after Tropical Storm Irene or in any number of other community efforts. "Who is my neighbor?" is a great starting point with deep roots in our Christian tradition. "Come and see. Come join us in what we are doing." Come join me in this project we’ve got going to simplify our lives, to care for the earth, to advocate for more sustainable development and policies. Or come join us in making dinner for our community. Or come join our family group that’s collecting toys and books for homeless families. Or come join in our efforts to live out the Beloved community that Martin Luther King Jr. talked about. That’s what we hope our new "structure" will encourage us to do. Wouldn’t it be great if every one of us heard ourselves saying to somebody, "Come and see"?!

And as we are in community with one another, the disciples’ question, "Where are you staying?" gets translated, "How do you live together? How do you treat people? How do you shape your lives? How do you practice doing what you’re doing? How resilient are those practices? How do you behave?

And finally, in the midst of those relationships and as we practice those practices, the question arises, Who is God in our midst? How do we understand our experiences of the Divine? What are our convictions? That’s when we might have conversations around a dinner table that include sharing some of those convictions–"I am of the conviction that God is love, that all are welcome, that children shouldn’t go to bed hungry, that the earth is a sacred trust, that... who knows what else?" "We’ve never written theology with Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, and Hindus as neighbors," Butler Bass says (Conference, 4/13/13) "We’ve never written theology in a technologically-connected world, with climate change pressing in upon us.... We’re the opening act [she says] of another couple hundred years to come, so let’s start well..."

"Come and see," Jesus said to John’s disciples. He didn’t sit them down and go over the fine points of difference between his theology and John’s. He simply invited them to come and see, see where and how I live.

We really are at the beginning...which of course also feels to some of us, maybe all of us some of the time, that we’re at the end of something else–a familiar way of doing things, perhaps, a safe harbor in the midst of changing seas. But the fact of the matter is, as the seas change, so do the harbors. It is, finally, only the One who invites us to "Come and see" who is confident that even the wind and the waves are not to be feared, that none of us will be lost, that the horizon is God’s as surely as the harbor was. "Come and see."

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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“Now it begins...”-- Isaiah 42: 1-9, Matthew 3:13-17 -- Jan. 12, 2014

My niece has asked me if I would consider baptizing their 1-year-old daughter.  Isabel is their second child, and Izzie’s 4 year-old big sister Nuala was baptized in the Roman Catholic Church.  Erin [my niece] and [her husband] Mark were both confirmed and married in the Catholic Church, so this request to consider baptizing Izzie comes with a story, I gather.  I’ve told Erin that I would certainly “consider” baptizing Isabel, but, like every other request for baptism, I told her, “Let’s talk.”  We haven’t had a chance to do that yet, but I’ve been thinking about baptism, especially this week, when we celebrate the baptism of Jesus.

So, if you don’t mind, and if Erin and Mark don’t mind, [of course, I’ll have to ask their forgiveness, rather than their permission!] I’d like to share with you a letter I’ve been composing to them, just to get my thoughts on paper and to give us a place to start that conversation which we have yet to schedule.  Maybe it will get you thinking about baptism as well, your own baptism, whether you’ve had one or whether you’re thinking about having one.

So here’s the letter–

Dear Erin and Mark,

Happy First Birthday to Isabel!  Of course, Izzie just did “what came naturally” in being born.  It was the two of you-- ok, especially you, Erin-- who did the work of bringing her to birth, and both of you have nurtured and provided for her in this first year, so Happy Birthday to you both as well!  What a gift to all of us are your two beautiful daughters, so thank you for that.

You’ve asked me if I would consider baptizing Isabel, which of course I’d be honored and delighted to do, but since we may have different experiences and understandings of baptism, I thought it might be a good idea for me to at least let you know what I bring to our conversation about Isabel’s baptism and then I welcome your responses and questions as well.

First of all, baptism is one of just two sacraments in the United Church of Church–and in most other Protestant churches as well.  The other sacrament is Holy Communion, the Eucharist.  Those two–out of the seven, I think, recognized by the Roman Catholic Church–are chosen because we understand that Jesus himself participated in both of these.  They weren’t “sacraments,” as such, because that’s what the later Church called them, but in these two occasions, Jesus and elements of the earth–water, bread, wine–came together in significant ways that were transformative for him and for us.

So, in baptism, we affirm for ourselves and re-enact or remember what Jesus himself went through.  The name given to Jesus at his baptism–Beloved of God–is given to each one of us in our baptism.  I’ve told my congregation many times the baptismal affirmation told by a United Methodist colleague of mine, which has become part of my own daily affirmation ritual– “I am beloved, a precious child of God, beautiful to behold.”  Isabel too is beloved, a precious child of God, beautiful to behold.  I happen to believe that she is that already, but baptism affirms and somehow, mysteriously, reinforces that.

In our tradition, baptism almost always takes place in the context of the community’s worship service.  That’s why I asked you, Erin, if you’d consider having Izzie baptized here at Second Congregational Church.  During the baptismal service, questions are asked not only of the parents and godparents or sponsors, but also of the community.  “Will you support and nurture this child and these parents...?”

You both are blessed with truly amazing families who love and support you, but in baptism we are reminded that the Family we are part of extends way beyond blood or marital relations.  God’s Family transcends all the boundaries and definitions we tend to put around people, and in fact, transcends both place and time.  It extends even beyond death.  Your grandparents and other loved ones who have died continue to be part of this Family.

Although your extended family in many ways could be considered a “village,” there is great wisdom in the saying, “It takes a village to raise a child.”  Isabel is not only your child, she is God’s child, and she is our child.  All of us bear responsibility to teach her, to model a way of life for her, to do what we can to advocate for structures and systems that not only enable her to live life fully, but to enable all of God’s “beloveds” to live life fully.  This “village” or community into which we baptize Izzie is centered less in a list of common statements of belief but more in a set of values, beginning with the value that each person is a beloved child of God.

There is a passage in Isaiah which we think the early Christian community looked to in understanding who Jesus was.  In it, God says, “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations...a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench...I am the Lord,...I have taken you by the hand and kept you...I have given you as a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness...”

This is the kind of servant the community looks to and values–a person passionate about justice and healing and liberation, who would not break a bruised reed or quench a dimly burning wick.  There are so many people in our communities, our nation, our world, who are broken, whose light is barely able to shine.  Here in Bennington at Mt. Anthony Union High School, less than 40% of the girls taking the Youth Risk Behavior Survey in 2011 said they felt like they mattered in their community.  The boys were only slightly more positive.  That means that somewhere around 60% of the high school kids in our community feel like they don’t matter here.  Wow.  Lots of bruised reeds and dimly burning wicks!

My hope and guess is that Isabel will grow to be one of those girls who feel like they do matter, but her baptism puts her in a community that says every person matters, is beloved and whose true essence is beautiful to behold.  Her–and your–participation in the life of a community that extends beyond our incredibly blessed family and friends will challenge her not only to be aware of but also to interact with and stand in solidarity with all those “dimly burning wicks.”  Within any given church community are people who we would not otherwise choose to associate, who “rub us the wrong way,” who we don’t feel we have very much in common with, and yet, in our baptism, we affirm them as our sisters and brothers, with something to teach us, whose diversity enriches us.  So, whether here or, preferably closer to home, I urge you to find such a community.

All four gospels tell us that Jesus was baptized, though each one tells the story slightly differently.  In Matthew, Jesus alone sees the Spirit descending upon him like a dove and hears the Voice from heaven saying, “Here is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.”  The picture here is, if you will, a “selfie,” as one commentator calls it [a picture one takes of oneself with a cell phone or camera].  That claiming of him as God’s beloved child was for Jesus to press into his heart and then live into what that meant.  He went immediately into the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights, the gospels tell us, to be “tested,” but it could be said that growing up through adolescence and beyond is the wilderness all of us go through to be tested and to figure out who we are.  Baptism, it could be said, is the point from which it all begins.

Perhaps the mystery and holiness of [baptism] are in the selfie, [writes Nancy Rockwell], in the image that moves into the heart and mind of each of us, when an expected–or unexpected–act of baptism occurs...What makes the baptismal name–Beloved–powerful for us is how and when we share it and what struggles it gets us through.  It is an Epiphany begun in a moment, yet made real over years of time in other moments, as we reveal it to other people and continue to embed it in ourselves, till it becomes so much a part of us that everyone says Amen.   [Bite in the Apple blog, 1/12/14]

Chances are Izzie won’t remember her baptism.  It is for you–and us–to remind her of it.  Martin Luther is said to have reminded himself in particularly low moments, “Remember your baptism.”  As hard as you may try to shield her from them, Izzie will go through tough times, times when she is hurt, physically or emotionally, times when she is frustrated or infuriated or sad.  You cannot–and should not–keep her from that.  But you can remind her that she is beloved.

Finally, since I think of God energetically, I want to share this image of baptism that rings true for me.  It’s from a guy named Bruce Epperly who’s a Disciples of Christ minister–

While baptism is not necessary for salvation, it is a sign of God’s grace and opens the door for experiencing a greater impact of God’s energy of love in our lives and communities...Baptism is a type of spiritual vortex, an axis of graceful energy that attracts other graceful energies into our lives and expands our ability to share grace with others.  The promise of God in baptism serves to remind us body, mind, and spirit that we are always recipients of grace; grace doesn’t depend on our perfection, although turning away from God may impede its flow into our lives...”
[The Adventurous Lectionary, 1/12/14]

I love that–“baptism opens the door for experiencing a greater impact of God’s energy of love in our lives...[it’s] a type of spiritual vortex, an axis of graceful energy that attracts other graceful energies...and expands our ability to share grace with others...”

That’s probably more than enough for now, but thanks for letting me put some of these thoughts together.  Let’s find a time to sit together and talk about what Izzie’s baptism means to you and what you hope it will mean for her.  I promise not to put any of that conversation into a sermon without asking your permission first!

Know that you both are beloved, and I am so grateful that you are part of our lives.  Let’s talk soon.

Love,
Aunt Mary

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"Power to Become Children of God"-- Isaiah 60:1-6, John 1:10-18-- Jan. 5, 2014

It’s actually Isaiah who supplies the details about kings and camels. In the late first century, the writer of the Gospel of Matthew looks back to Isaiah, who writes about the light rising in and over the darkness, who talks about kings coming to little Israel to worship Israel’s God, and a multitude of camels, bearing precious frankincense and gold. Surely now is a time of darkness, Matthew says, with the Temple and Jerusalem destroyed, Jews dispersed throughout the ancient world, and in the midst of a string of would-be messiahs and Kings of the Jews, there was One–one who we thought had died like the rest of them at the hand of Rome, and yet He is still with us, with Matthew’s community, with followers of all varieties and stations in life. What did we miss about that life? What might it have been like? What was God trying to tell us? So the writer of Matthew wondered as he took pen in hand.

Matthew is probably the most Jewish of the Gospel writers, but he chooses to craft his story of the birth of Jesus around the visit of non-Jews, from a far-country, who found in signs in the heavens that a great ruler had been born, and who came to worship him. This One who had come into their midst and who was still them, who had been thoroughly Jewish, this One was not just for Jews. Matthew’s own community was evidence of that. There were other communities of his followers around the ancient world made up entirely of non-Jews, so it must have intended from the beginning. What do our scriptures say? Matthew wondered.

The writer of the gospel of John, writing even later than Matthew, maybe even at the beginning of the 2^nd century, goes all the way back, back to The Beginning, and can only imagine it in song and poetry. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it."

John doesn’t even try to recreate the details of Jesus’ birth, as though the details of a baby born into a peasant family in an obscure village would have been important to anyone. John sees a much more important Birth. Through this One, who was born and lived and died like the rest of us, through this One a whole new life came into being, the light of all people. And to those who were somehow able to see and experience this new life, this life shot through with the radiance of God, "he gave power [John writes] to become children of God, ...born of God."

What’s important here is actually our birth, our birth as children of God. "From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace." That had been God’s intention–God’s Word, God’s Wisdom-- from the very beginning.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." "A week past the solstice, [a man writes in his diary] and the light of day is already three minutes longer than the night. Small, minuscule, to be sure, but significant in its forthright intent. The cosmos itself was once infinitesimally small before it exploded with light into countless, colorful clusters." (An Almanac for the Soul, Marv and Nancy Hiles, p. 258) Any moment, maybe this moment, we are being born anew, born again, born of God, as children of God.

So each moment, we must do our best to be present, to open our hearts to the new birth God intends for us...which doesn’t mean it won’t be hard or painful or troubling, which it no doubt will. Do you know any births that aren’t? But it also will be life-giving, with the possibility of joy, of connection, of love.

My friend Maria Sirois wrote in her book about her work with gravely ill and dying children,

There are moments in life when the forces that be hit us over the head and say, "Here. Now. Pay attention. This is important." Infants arrive, towers fall, homes burn, lost ones return, illness erupts, children die—such moments carry with them a potency and a possibility. In these concussive moments we are left with a choice: to open our hearts and gather what wisdom we can or to shut down and in effect, walk away. In "The Summer Day," poet Mary Oliver challenges "what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" The question streaks like an arrow shot through time from the voices of mystics, philosophers, and writers. In The Writing Life, Annie Dillard answers, demanding that we "play it, lose it, all, right away, every time," and from centuries back Gerard Manley Hopkins, Jelaluddin Rumi, and Kabir offered the same sentiment. In "The Time Before Death," Kabir wrote:

Jump into experience while you are alive!

Think … and think … while you are alive...

The time is now, the elders advise. Even in moments of great suffering, the time is now to connect deeply to the experience of our very own lives. "A mountain worth climbing," I tell myself and my psychotherapy clients,

[Maria writes] knowing full well that it is a steep but invaluable climb. [excerpted from Every Day Counts: Lessons in Love, Faith, and Resilience from Children Facing Illness]

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God...What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it....[and] to all who received him, who trusted in the Power and Radiance in him, he gave power to become children of God, who were born...of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, ...full of grace and truth."

May this prayer, written by a Jewish man, which Jesus was throughout his life, be a blessing for us all as we are reborn in this new year–

A New Year Begins

(by Alden Solovy)

Every moment a new year begins.

Something lost.

Something gained.

Every day, a new challenge.

Every hour, a new choice.

Every second, a new chance.

G-d of Old,

In this moment, a baby will be born,

And a child will die.

In this moment, lovers will marry,

And others will split.

In this moment, someone will hear

That their medical treatments succeeded,

And others will be told

To prepare to die.

Every moment a new year begins.

Something lost.

Something gained.

Let me love gently in the morning

And ferociously at night.

Let me dance wildly at dawn

And slowly at dusk.

At midnight, let me sing quietly,

And at midday I will croon, full voice.

I will breathe in a soul of compassion

And breathe out a soul of peace.

Creator of All,

Every moment a new year begins.

The flow of fresh light from heaven

Touches our hearts.

Something lost.

Something gained.

Let it be for blessing.

Let it be for healing.

Let it be for shelter.

Let it be for wisdom and strength.

Let us be, in this moment,

Your messengers of kindness on earth.

[© 2013 Alden Solovy and www.tobendlight.com. All rights reserved.]

So may we come to the table, to eat and drink of the Bread of Life and the Cup of Blessing.

Here’s to the new year and life!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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