"Connected through Grief"-- John 18: 33-38a-- Nov. 22, 2015

At the end of a week of such violence and heartbreak–not only bombings and shootings in Paris and the ongoing search for accomplices in Belgium and beyond, but also hostage-taking in Bamako, Mali, ongoing violence in Iraq and Lebanon, in Afghanistan and Nigeria, in cities of our country, in places known and unknown to us, in places near and far, violence and brutality and hate- and fear-mongering–at the end of such a week, like so many other weeks, how can we possibly claim that Christ is sovereign over all the world?

"Are you a king?" Pilate asked Jesus on that dark night in the praetorium. "My kingdom is not from this world," Jesus answered. "If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here."

Notice that he said, "My kingdom is not from here." He didn’t say, "My kingdom is not here." The kingdom that Christ reigns is not about location–not some other-worldly place–but the reign of Christ is about relationships. It is not about relationships of violence, like a kingdom here in "the world," as John refers to it–"If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews." Your kingdom, Pilate, is run by violence, and in your kingdom people like me get beaten and crucified. In your kingdom, and kingdoms like yours, people blow themselves up, mow down innocents at restaurants and concerts, return hatred with hatred, violence with violence. "But as it is, my kingdom is not from here...I came to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." And Pilate asked him, "What is truth?"

As Nancy Rockwell wrote, "Jesus freely walks into the city [of Jerusalem] knowing the truth that Pilate doesn’t know...the truth that life [and love] cannot be stopped by brutality and cruelty. Pilate looks to the world to see where power lies and where power rises, and sees only the absence of power in Jesus." [patheos, 11/22/15] Only the absence of power in Jesus, in this man who this time the next day would be dead and laid in a tomb...utterly powerless. Except that we know what power was at work in him, a power that brutality and cruelty could not ultimately stop. It was the power of resurrection, the power of love, the power of kindness, the power of relationships that are not based in violence. "Are you a king?"

Still, in the midst of the bombs, in the midst of the beatings, in the midst of the gaping holes of grief over loved ones–these and others-- lost suddenly or over a long, agonizing time, life and love do not feel so powerful. It feels like heartbreak. It feels like being torn apart. It feels like utter powerlessness. "Are you a king?"

Parker Palmer writes that "Heartbreak is such a constant that every ancient wisdom tradition seeks to answer three questions: How can we prepare for heartbreak? How should we hold it when it comes, as it always will? Where will we let it take us–toward more death or new life?" [onbeing, blog, 11/18/15]

I shared yesterday at Marge Page’s funeral that last weekend, days after the Paris bombings, Michel Martin of National Public Radio had told of friend of hers–a neighbor, a teacher–who had died. "I mourn her," Martin said, "because I know her and appreciate her, but I also mourn her because the grieving of one merges into the grieving of others." Each grief merges not only into other griefs we’ve experienced, but also into the grief that all human beings share. "We bereaved are not alone," Helen Keller wrote. "We belong to the largest company in all the world–the company of those who have known suffering. When it seems that our sorrow is too great to be borne, let us think of the great family of the heavy-hearted into which our grief has given us entrance, and inevitably, we will feel about us their arms, their sympathy, their understanding. Believe, when you are most unhappy, that there is something for you to do in the world. So long as you can sweeten another’s pain, life is not in vain."

How do we prepare for heartbreak? "Attentive students of life [Parker Palmer writes] learn to exercise the heart day in and day out, allowing life’s ‘little deaths’ to stretch us in ways that make our hearts suppler." Little deaths like, spending yourself, disappointments, failures, the death of a dream or a relationship, "every day a little death," as the song from the musical "A Little Night Music" puts it. "Then," Palmer says, "when larger forms of suffering strike, our hearts can break open rather than apart–giving them a greater capacity to hold life’s pain as well as its possibilities and joys." [op cit.]

How do we hold heartbreak when it comes, and where do we let it take us? We share in the great company of the bereaved, as Helen Keller says, and use our experience to lighten the load of others, for one thing. And also this wisdom from the wonderful Palestinian-American poet Naomi Shihab Nye--"Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside," she writes, "you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing." Her poem called "Kindness" is deep medicine and wisdom for a day like today and a world like ours.

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness...

... Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

It is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you everywhere

like a shadow or a friend. [cited by Palmer, op cit.]

"In a world that can be as heedless and as heartless as ours," Palmer writes, "kindness must grow from deep roots if it is to be strong and sustainable." Our faith must grow from deep roots, if it is to be strong and sustainable, if it is to carry us through our loss and grief and into the new days of hope and resurrection and life.

On this Reign of Christ Sunday, we pledge our allegiance to this Sovereign–

"When we speak about wisdom," wrote the 4^th c. bishop Ambrose of Milan, "we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about virtue, we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about justice, we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about peace, we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about truth and life and redemption, we are speaking of Christ." So may wisdom and virtue, justice and peace, truth and life and redemption and kindness rule our lives and our world, as we give thanks and remember this day.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Pet Pourri

[fsg_photobox rows="3" cols="3" autoplay="true" link="attachment"] An inter-generational work-bee on Saturday November 14 was a lot of fun. We made toys, fleece beds, treats and more for dogs and cats, as well as seed wreaths for birds. These environmentally friendly gifts for animals and animal-lovers will be sold at the Pet-Pourri table, a new and special feature of the 2015 Snowball Bazaar. Crafted by the Eaarth Advocates group (plus two boys who came to help the church clean-up) during two Saturday work-bees, they were made under the supervision of a professional veterinarian of our congregation. This project of the grassroots group Eaarth Advocates continues the group's work to promote what we can do to care for our planet, individually, as families, as a church and community, and in the wider world.

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Fall cleanup

[fsg_photobox rows="2" cols="3" autoplay="true" link="attachment"] Despite the cool and windy Saturday, a good turn-out of hardy congregation members brought rakes, leaf blowers and tarps to collect the fallen autumn leaves and spruce up our church grounds before winter. Coffee, donuts and homemade chocolate chip cookies helped to warm the hard-working crew, which finished all the leaves before noon.

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"When Enough Isn’t Enough"-- 1 Samuel 1:4-20, Mark 13:1-8 --Nov. 15, 2015

Yesterday morning I re-read the sermon I had written on Friday and decided it wasn’t enough. It was perfectly adequate, but it wasn’t enough for the world we were reminded we live in after the attacks in Paris Friday night. Of course, it’s the same world that people in Iraq and Beirut and Afghanistan know all too well, but we who see ourselves in the people of Paris only seem to acknowledge that world when people who look like us and our children are victims of such horror and violence.

All of a sudden, those apocalyptic scenes from our Mark reading–where great stones and buildings are toppled, there are wars and rumors of war, where nation rises up against nation, kingdom against kingdom, there are earthquakes and famine–all those scenes of things falling apart don’t seem quite so wild-eyed and crazy. And Jesus’ warning about not being led astray by false messiahs also comes to mind. Let’s not rush to conclusions, not be too quick to hurl the bombs in return. Let’s try not to make the same mistakes over and over again.

Mark’s community lived in times no less uncertain than our own. Tensions with Rome were leading up to the destruction of Jerusalem and the toppling of all those impressive stones of the Temple, or perhaps already had. Those early Christians still expected Jesus to return in equal power and set all things right. The problem of living in times of confusion, challenge, and distress is that we are tempted to be impressed by the wrong things–like fire power, like prestige, like glib answers, like economic wealth, like over-the-top presentations, like the promise of somebody else coming in to clean up your life, make it all better.

"This is but the beginning of the birthpangs," Jesus said. Yippee. So much for making everything right. Uncertainty and insecurity is the name of the game apparently, so you’d better know who you are and Whose you are in the midst of all this–beloved children of God. "The antidote to uncertainty, it turns out," David Lose says, "isn’t certainty, but courage; and the best response to insecurity is the confidence that comes from knowing that God esteems you worthy of dignity, honor, and love." [inthemeantime, 11/15/15] You are a beloved child of God. And we know that it is fear–not courage-- that is exactly what the false messiahs and powers that be of the world are counting on.

A classmate of mine in my Positive Psychology course has started an organization in Cleveland, OH called "Thrive Cleveland," which is doing all sorts of creative things to help people in Cleveland–you guessed it–thrive. Right now, they are in the third and final day of a "Scare Your Soul Challenge." "At least once in your life...[their promotional website says] you did something that was brave and generous and important. The only question is...when will we care enough to be brave again?" (Seth Godin) "Sometimes, being happy isn’t all about being comfortable. Sometimes, being happy is all about being brave." "The science of happiness teaches us that we really maximize our happiness when we push our comfort zones, and do those things we know are holding us back. Taking on challenges reinforces what is good in each of us,

and the result is amazing–we are LIT UP by our successes and we want to take on even more."

So the Scare Your Soul Challenge is this: "For one 3-day period (Nov. 13-15) we invite you to conquer some of the fears and obstacles which hold you back. Fear that is preventing you from writing that novel, launching that business, taking on the next fitness challenge, or even connecting with the people you love the most." One young girl is going to the top floor of a tall building. Another man is making some long put-off medical appointments. An older woman is going back to physical therapy after 4 years. What if you brainstormed to think of 3 actions that would scare you, excite you, or inspire you? Start with one small thing. It doesn’t have to be sky-diving! One of those scary, but maybe inspiring, things might be taking the first 5% of every pay check and giving it away–to help light up the world, to give to the church or wherever you see God at work in the world. Scare Your Soul Challenge.

Those of us who are white have the privilege of not living everyday with the fear that our skin color or bone structure will be an issue, and more, will be the subject or object of violence, verbal or physical. Knowing that so many of their brothers and sisters will never have the privilege of going to college, the students of color at the University of Missouri might have settled into their fear or simply "counted their blessings," simply said, "It’s enough that we’re here." Instead, when the university president and administration responded with a stunning lack of empathy to the racial slurs hurled at the black student body president and black student organization, and when a swastika painted in human feces was smeared on a residence hall, the students said "Enough!". A 25 year-old graduate student, Jonathan Butler, sensing the deep disconnect and even hostility from the white students, announced that he would go on a hunger strike until President Tim Wolfe resigned or was removed from office. He signed a DNR [do not resuscitate] order and updated his will. Jim Wallis of Sojourners wrote, "His extraordinary action was exemplary of how non-violent action that risks an individual’s safety, security, and even life can inspire others to act–even a football team." [Sojourners, 11/12/15] Black members of the football team, supported by their coach, refused to practice or play until Butler started eating again, and when it became apparent that the university would have to pay Brigham Young University a million dollars if they refused to play the upcoming televised game, the president resigned. Enough was not enough. We have to something, start somewhere. Systems will not fix themselves.

Who knows how many years Hannah put up with the looks, the comments, her own self-loathing, before she walked past the priest Eli and laid her heart open to God. "Count your blessings," someone might have said to Hannah. "Count your blessings–you’ve got a husband who loves you, who even gives you double portions of meat. You are cared for, with food and shelter. Isn’t that enough?"

But being barren in those days meant having no future, for children were thought to be the only security–the ones who would care for you in your old age, the ones in whom at least your memory would live on. Simply existing wasn’t enough. Plus, it didn’t look like there was much of a future for Israel. At the end of the book of Judges, which describes the setting at the beginning of 1 Samuel, the tribes had all dispersed to their own territories and, the conclusion of Judges says, "In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes."

Writer Anais Nin wrote poignantly and powerfully, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." So Hannah risked the scorn of the priest, the consternation of her husband, and went straight to God with her vow. And Hannah, having unburdened her soul, left the temple radiant in her faith. Indeed, her request was granted, and some time later, she gave birth to a son, whom she named Samuel. At last, not only she had a future, but so did Israel, as Samuel would ultimately become a judge and the priest who anointed Israel’s first king, Saul, and finally David.

"Count your blessings." Isn’t it enough that you have a loving family, a comfortable place to live, reasonable financial security, fairly good health? Of course, our culture doesn’t know the meaning of "enough," and bombards us with all sorts of messages that keep us chronically wanting something more–a nicer car, a bigger house, or a house with a more open floor plan, a smarter smart phone, more channels on our tv, a faster time in our races, a higher ranking in our sports league, a few less pounds, a few less wrinkles and gray hairs.

That’s the kind of life that makes sense to others, but does it feel right to us? Even when we’ve got the raise, or moved into the house, or won the race, is it enough? Is the approval of others enough for us? What would it take for you to blossom? " The path to enough," writes Anna Shirey, "begins when we decide to quit settling...when we risk being vulnerable with God with [our] heart’s desire." [Anna Shirey, thelabyrinthway.net] Have you ever allowed yourself to identify your heart’s desire?

There is a powerful shift when we give our heart its voice, Shirey says, when we let go of the predictability of life, perhaps being misunderstood by others, even the jealousy of others who are stuck. "And somehow in our deepest selves we intuit our life becomes more about sacrifice, about letting go, than in building up." (Op cit.)

What if we did that as a church? What if we let go of the predictability of what we do? That is, in part, what Doug Pagitt suggests being "Church in the Inventive Age" is about. What if we opened up our building at night to house homeless people for a month or two or three during the winter? What if we supported and worked in an afterschool program for kids who have nowhere else to go? What if we didn’t worry so much about what others thought of us?

Hannah’s longing to have a child was ultimately not merely a selfish desire. "Our desire, our longing for freedom," writes one woman, "is an expression of all of Creation waiting to be born–this time through us." [Shirey, op cit.] When you see these things," Jesus said to the disciples–nations at war, structures unraveling–"they are the birthpangs of the future." God is alarmingly free to act," as one writer puts it. [Micah Kiel, workingpreacher, 2012] When she dedicates her son to God, Hannah sings a song that would become the model for another woman’s song when she becomes pregnant unexpectedly. "Magnificat," we call that song of Mary, "My soul magnifies the Lord, because he has thrown the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the poor."

So even into our troubled world, a world of bombings and suicide bombers, of refugees streaming from countries made unbearable by violence and cruelty and poverty, even into our world the song is still being sung. "Listen," one prophet writes, all those wars and rumors of wars?

Listen: It’s all true, or it’s freaked out fearful chatter, or who knows,

but then what anyway? All is prologue and prelude, lift up your

heart to the universe: the ultimate word and song are yet to come:

sonnets of peace, grace notes of lovingkindness, rumors spreading

of Spirit filling up the desolate space between when all this

cosmic crucifixion will rest and then rise a sanctified singularity."[Michael Coffey, Ocotillo Pub, Nov. 14, 2012]

"All is prologue and prelude. Lift up your heart to the universe: the ultimate word and song are yet to come." May we live into that world with hope, with courage, with generosity, and love.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"You want me to give what?!"- I Kings 17:8-16, Mark 12:38-44-- Nov. 8, 2015

Two widows, both possibly in their last days, both at the end of their resources certainly. The word "widow" in Hebrew means "silenced one," "one who has no voice" [Seasons of the Spirit, 11/8/15] –and neither of these women, like so many other women in the Bible, are given a name. So, no time, no resources, no voice, no name.

And yet, here we are, 2 and a half, and 2 millenia later, hearing their stories, looking somehow to connect their stories with our story. On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be much similarity–like a "bridge too far"--the one woman, in the middle of a drought, gathering up sticks for firewood on which to make what would surely be the last meal for her and her son, for there was only a handful of meal and a little oil left in her jug. And along comes the prophet Elijah, asking for some water–in the midst of the drought–and a little morsel of bread, which was all that that handful of meal and drib of oil were going to make. "Give me all you’ve got left," Elijah might as well have said to her, except that he wasn’t a robber. In his asking and in her giving, they opened up the spigot to an ever-flowing stream of sustenance. "She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that God spoke by Elijah."

The other woman slips into the offering line at the Temple, barely visible among the long robes and grand gestures of the scribes and clergy. [Always makes me a little uncomfortable robing when this Scripture reading comes around in the cycle] She empties the little coin purse and slips in the contents–a couple of coins that together are worth about a penny. And nobody notices her or her offering–except Jesus. He notices her. "She out of her poverty has put in everything," he comments to his disciples–and to himself, "all she had to live."

Jesus is within days of dying himself, as this scene takes place in Jerusalem, during what we now call Holy Week. If the widow has indeed put in all she had to live, she too will die a few days later, as one commentator has pointed out [Debie Thomas, journeywithjesus, 11/1/15]. Notice that Jesus doesn’t exactly praise the widow’s offering, but he does notice it–notices her courage, her dignity, her self-sacrifice, her pre-figuring what he will do in the days ahead. "She gave everything she had, all she had to live on."

This is not a ready-made illustration for a Stewardship campaign sermon. If anything, it’s a condemnation of the religious institution that lifts up the wealthy who have way more than they need to live on and which bores people with their long prayers. "Long prayers are miserable enough," commentator Mark Davis remarks. "Pretentious long prayers? Even worse." (leftbehindand lovingit, 11/8/15] As soon as the widow slips away, Jesus and his disciples leave the Temple, and when one of them remarks at the grandness of the building, Jesus says that it’ll all be destroyed with not one stone left standing on another. Any institution that devours the vulnerable and bloats its treasury so the wealthy can have more is doomed for destruction. We can only imagine Jesus’ review of the newly released books on the Vatican’s alleged diverting of money given to benefit the poor that ended up supplying the Curia with luxuries.

Perhaps it is, in part, this betrayal by religious institutions of all types that has contributed to the current situation in this country and Europe where more and more people identify themselves as "spiritual but not religious." Have we asked people to commit their lives to an institution, or to God? If it has been only to the institution, then that institution may be in decline to the betterment of all. If we can preserve the real treasure of the institution–the community, the practices, the resources that enable and empower people to live out their love of God and neighbor and their best selves–then that is an institution worth revitalizing, to support people in their love for God.

We, of course, are in the midst of our stewardship campaign, but the issue really isn’t about money. It’s about what the money is for. Can we use our money to give voice to the voiceless, to bring into our midst those who have been shoved to the margins of our society? Do we use our money to help our neighbors live with dignity, to have the food and shelter and healthcare they need? Do we use our money to provide resources for people to come together for support and mutual accountability, to learn the practices of faith, to explore ways to embody "whole life living," which is what the widow pointed to? Do we use our money to spark imaginations about the abundance that exists in the midst of what appears to others to be merely scarcity? So we use our money to help people love God? Do we use our money to light up the world?

The widow of Zarepheth was not at all sure that Elijah’s request was anything but an abuse of desert hospitality which would simply hasten death. But, as Cameron Howard writes, "The widow’s doubt, as well as her profession of faith, may also be our own. It is easy to believe in death-dealing powers, for that is what we witness in the world every day. It is much harder to imagine the power of love that conquers death." [workingpreacher.org, 11/2013]

It is hard to "imagine the power of love that conquers death" when all around us, with every newscast, every item on our newsfeed, and many conversations on the street, we see and hear only about death and dying, really. The life that is lifted up is shallow, fleeting, solitary, needing to be desperately preserved and clung to. But we have an alternative to offer, an alternative that is generous, self-giving, communal, expansive. "Generosity connects us with the energy of the universe and the wisdom of God," as Bruce Epperly writes, "which will provide for our deepest needs." [Faith Forward, Patheos, 2010]

The rich, the successful, the "winners" are the ones held up by our society and, too often, by the church, to be noticed. They are the ones whom God has blessed, we even say. Except that Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor," not because it’s fun or healthy or even desireable to be poor, but because there are no illusions about being self-sufficient and all-powerful and in control when you’re poor. Jesus noticed the widow dropping in her two coins. Do we take the time to notice those who have no voice or power? Do we try to understand what it is like not to be in charge of your day, your time, even your body? Can we imagine what it is like to have to respond to crises everyday, another child getting in trouble, something wrong with the car so you can’t get to work, the money you had saved in an envelope to go toward the rent stolen to buy drugs? Do we notice, and if we do, is it only with judgment? Don’t be too busy to notice, Jesus says, or too spiritual, or too self-absorbed to notice.

The gospel–the good news–in all of this is in the God revealed in Jesus [David Lose, inthemeantime, 11/8/15], the God who gives God’s whole life, God’s whole self for us and for the world. The invitation into God’s kingdom is the invitation into whole life living, whole-hearted living, pouring ourselves out for others because the stream of living waters–the fountain of Love-- never runs dry. When death-dealing powers seem to be all around us, we can trust in the love that not only embraces but conquers death. Notice the ones who are giving of themselves; join together with them and encourage and remind one another of the divine energy and wisdom at work in the world, set loose in the world. If you want to call that coming together "church" insofar as you embody Christ in the world, so be it. Invest in it. Support it with your time, your talent, your treasure, your whole lives. So may we light up the world.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Sunday Bulletin Announcements

Birthdays and Celebrations

December 20 - Eileen Peckham, 91
December 21 - Veronique O'Brien
December 22 - Jack Haynes
December 23 - Alec Nicol, 22

Christmas Altar Flowers— If you wish to bring poinsettias for the Christmas Eve Altar, please have them in by Tuesday, December 22. If you’d like to give them in someone’s memory or honor, have the name(s) into Rebekah by Tuesday, December 22nd as well.

Wednesday December 23, 6pm Handbell choir rehearsal

Christmas Eve—
5 p.m. Service of Candlelight, Carols, and Music of the Season, beginning with the Second Congo Brass at 4:30 p.m. Time of catching up with new and old friends over a cup of hot cider follows in Webster Hall.
10 p.m. Service of Communion, Candles, and Carols.
If you'd like to sing in the pick-up choir for the late service, speak with Mary or Bruce Lee-Clark.
A free-will offering for the Food and Fuel Fund will be received at both Christmas Eve services. Make checks out to Second Congregational Church, with “FFF” in the memo.

Sunday, Dec. 27- 10 am worship - Time to relax and reflect upon
Christmas with carols, stories and a baptism. There will be no Godly Play.

Reading Group - The Reading Group will gather after worship on Sunday, January 3, for discussion of books on the second reading list. Theme - Books about the Bible. The leader will be Jan Lerrigo. You are welcome to attend whether you have read books from the list or not.

Annual Meeting is just around the corner! All members of The Second Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, of Bennington, Vermont, are warned to be present on January 24, 2016 for the Annual Meeting of the Church. The Annual Meeting will begin immediately after lunch which will follow the worship service.
Please have all reports submitted electronically to the office by January 11th.

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"Saints in the Making"- Ruth 1:1-18, Mark 12:28-34-- Nov. 1, 2015

"Saints in the Making"- Ruth 1:1-18, Mark 12:28-34-- Nov. 1, 2015

All Saints’ Day–the "hallow" part of "Halloween." The same as the word used in the King James version of the Lord’s Prayer–"hallowed be Thy name," [not Harold, as some may presume]. "Holy be Your name."

All Saints’ Day. We Protestants don’t quite know what to do with saints. It sounds so, well, Catholic, and we watch the debates and struggles of our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters over who should or shouldn’t be called a saint and how fast should be the fasttrack to sainthood with some consternation and even amusement. Calls for making Pope John Paul and Mother Theresa saints began upon their deaths. More recently, during his September visit to the U.S., Pope Francis canonized the 18^th c. Spanish missionary Junipero Serra, which thrilled many Latinos who to see one of their own so honored, while it appalled many Native Americans, who saw Fr. Serra as one of a long line of genocidal conquistadors.

For the first 300 years of their existence, Christians were by and large a persecuted sect, so models of faithfulness and courage were lifted up for encouragement. Relics were preserved and the dates of their deaths were honored. "The church eventually concluded," one commentator writes, "that all believers who had died, and not just famous saints, should rightly be commemorated," [Dan Clendenin, journeywithjesus, 10/25/15] and so in 835, Pope Gregory IV declared All Saints Day should be celebrated on November 1, though the Eastern Orthodox part of the Christian family celebrates it on the first Sunday after Pentecost.

Protestants are much more nervous about this celebration, and often prefer to focus instead on Reformation Day, Oct. 31, the All Hallows Eve on which Martin Luther posted his 95 points of disagreement–his 95 theses–on the church door in Wittenberg. Prince Frederick the Wise of Wittenberg had collected quite the cache of relics–allegedly including a tooth from St. Jerome, 3 pieces of Mary’s cloak, a piece of gold from the Three Wise Men, a piece of bread from the Last Supper, and a strand from Jesus’ beard. By 1520 he was said to have a collection of 19,013 holy bones.

"These distortions of the gospel made Luther’s blood boil." [Clendenin, op cit.] "What lies there are about relics! [he wrote] One claims to have a feather from the wing of the angel Gabriel, and the Bishop of Mainz has a twig from Moses’ burning bush. And how does it happen that 18 apostles are buried in Germany when Christ had only 12?" And of course, what really burned Luther, so to speak, was that these relics were publicly displayed on All Saints Day and for a fee, the pope would reduce your time in purgatory up to 1,902,202 years and 270 days. [a bargain at any price].

Protestants are thus historically nervous about saints, especially about the blurring of the line between honoring the saints and worshipping the saints. Though there are technical definitions of saints, including how many miracles they are to have performed, it is important to note that the apostle Paul wrote in his letters to the churches in Rome, Ephesus, and Philippi that all believers are called to be saints, not just faithful superstars. Martin Luther said that "every believer is simultaneously a saint and sinner," though we shouldn’t dismiss the value of holding up models of faithful people. In our celebrity culture, it would be–and is-- refreshing to point to people who, despite their fame and maybe fortune, have held on to values of humility and service and self-giving instead of self-serving. Sometimes it is the non-famous, everyday people who inspire us most and serve as models and encouragement for our own daily decision-making and actions. On All Saints Day, we are reminded that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, who have gone before us, who have experienced the same struggles and failures and small triumphs that we have, and that wherever we are on our journey, they are cheering us on.

You’ll notice [now] that we didn’t sing the great Reformation hymn "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" this morning, but rather, "I Sing a Song of the Saints of God." The two hymns could hardly be more different, with the weighty, sometimes dark, images of Luther’s hymn contrasting with the almost child-like images in the Scott and Hopkins hymn, with its refrain, "and I want to be one too."

I’ll admit that I’ve sometimes dismissed that as a rather naive sentiment, but I have new respect for it after reading a passage from Thomas Merton’s autobiography, The Seven-Story Mountain. Thomas Merton, you may recall, was a 20^th c. Trappist monk whose writings have earned him a place in many people’s most sacred treasures–some would call him a saint. In this section, "a young Thomas Merton walks down Sixth Ave. [in New York City] with his friend Lax on their way to Greenwich Village." [Suzanne Guthrie, Notes from the Enclosure, 11/1/15]

The street was all torn up and trenched and banked high with dirt and marked out with red lanterns where they were digging the subway, and we picked our way along the fronts of the dark little stores on our way to Greenwich Village [Merton writes]. The moment turned out to be historical, as far as my own soul is concerned.

I forget what we were arguing about, but in the end, Lax suddenly turned around and asked me the question, ‘What do you want to be, anyway?’

I could not say, ‘I want to be Thomas Merton, the well-known writer of all those book reviews in the back pages of the Times Book Review,’ or ‘Thomas Merton the assistant instructor of Freshman English at the New Life Social Institute for Progress and Culture,’ so I put the thin on the spiritual plane, where I knew it belonged and said: ‘I don’t know; I guess what I want to be is a good Catholic.’

‘What do you mean, You want to be a good Catholic?!’

The explanation I gave was lame enough, and expressed my confusion and betrayed how little I had really thought about it at all.

Lax did not accept it. ‘What you should say’–he told me–‘what you should say is you want to be a saint.’

A saint! The thought struck me as a little weird. I said: ‘How do you expect me to become a saint?’ ‘By wanted to,’ said Lax simply.

‘I can’t be a saint,’ I said, ‘I can’t be a saint.’ And my mind darkened with a confusion of realities and unrealities: the knowledge of my own sins, and the false humility which makes [people] say that they cannot do the things which they must do, cannot reach the level they must reach; the cowardice that says [in the end]....I do not want to give up my sins and my attachments.

[cited in Guthrie, op cit.]

"What do you want to be anyway?"

"One of the scribes asked Jesus, ‘Which commandment is the first of all?" Jesus answered, "The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these." And when the scribe agreed, saying he was right, and that loving God with everything and loving neighbor as yourself is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices, Jesus told him, "You are not far from the kingdom of God."

You become a saint by wanting to become a saint; by wanting to love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and wanting to love your neighbor as yourself. That’s how you start out–by wanting to do that, by setting an intention to do that. We all know what road is paved with good intentions, but it’s also the road that leads to God. And despite the spriteliness of the hymn, we know that it is not an easy path to follow. That’s why we take the time each week to call our souls back from where they’ve wandered from the pathway.

"Love God and love your neighbor as yourself." Start from that One Source. Who knows who might happen to notice in the way you’re walking the path that there can be another way of living in the world besides self-promotion, autonomy, and narcissism [Karoline Lewis, workingpreacher, 10/25/15], and in that way, you become a kind of model for "saintly" living. Maybe no one will notice, except God, but you will have been God’s face and hands and presence in the world, one more piece of the kingdom of heaven on earth.

You become a saint–a holy one, one who radiates God–by first wanting to. "And I want to be one too." That is a process of loving God, even of feeding on God. And so we come to this table, which is just a sliver of the Welcome Table God has spread for all the saints and all the would-be saints. "This is my body, this is my blood, the bread of life and the cup of blessing." Take and eat. Take and drink. Become one with me, God says. Become one with one another and with the whole world." Feed the saint in you. Let your light shine.

Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"It’s your lucky day!"- Jeremiah 31:7-9, Mark 10:46-52-- Oct. 25, 2015

If you had the chance to come before someone who you believed actually could do for you whatever you asked, what would you ask? If you’re like me, you may not have spent too much time thinking about it. After all, it’s one thing to fantasize about what you would do if you won the Publishers’ Clearinghouse sweepstakes or the lottery, and quite another thing to contemplate, even to acknowledge, your deepest, truest desire.

Last week we heard two of Jesus’ disciples’ request, as James and John pulled Jesus aside and asked him to do for them whatever they asked of him. And when he asked them, "What is it you want me to do for you?" they answered, "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory."

In today’s passage which Nora just read for us, Bartimaeus–the son of Timaeus who was also a blind beggar–was sitting by the side of the road outside of Jericho when he heard that Jesus was coming by. He began to "shout out"–the word is really more like "squawked"–"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Even though the crowd tried to hush him, he wouldn’t be shushed, and when Jesus heard him, he called him over. "It’s your lucky day," the crowd told him. Throwing off his begging cloak, Bartimaeus jumped up and came to Jesus, who then asked him, "What do you want me to do for you?" Sound familiar? "The blind man said, "Rabbouni, my teacher, let me see again."

Sitting right next to the one you believe is the Messiah in his glory, or having your sight restored? "What is it you want me to do for you?" Jesus was able to offer James and John only the same suffering and costly outpouring of self that were about to come his way, but he couldn’t grant them the seating positions they wanted in glory. He said that was God’s–not his–to grant. But to "blind" Bartimaeus, Jesus said, "Go; your faith has made you well." "Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way."

The difference between the two is striking. Already daily companions of Jesus, James and John merely pulled him aside and made their request to get a piece of his glory. Confined to a spot on the roadside, sitting on a cloak that signaled his need, Bartimaeus literally leaped at the chance to come before Jesus, refusing to be turned away. And when Jesus called him, he threw off the only worldly possession he had, that not only signaled his condition but kept him warm, and came to Jesus. He was all in, risking everything.

It is not the critic who counts [President Theodore Roosevelt said in a speech at the Sorbonne in Paris in April, 1910]; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiently; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds, who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.

Bartimaeus was in the arena, and he dared greatly. He wasn’t just "lucky"–he was in the game.

"What is it that you want me to do for you?" Dare we contemplate an answer to that question for ourselves or for us as a church? Just as Jesus said to James and John last week, "Be careful what you ask for," we would do well to consider what we truly want, what we are willing to step up for, what we are willing to dare greatly for.

"I want to see again," Bartimaeus answered. See again, he said, so he must not have been blind for his whole life. Blindness due to things like glaucoma or diseases due to poor hygiene were common in the ancient world, so it’s quite possible Bartimaeus developed his blindness later in life. "I want to see again." Those of you who’ve had cataract operations know the thrill of vision and vividness restored, the ability to see distances and faces without glasses.

But we also know there are a number of ways to see. "I want to see you again, Jesus. I want to believe or trust in God again," not necessarily the way I did when I was a child–I’ve seen too much, know too much, been hurt too much for that to be possible; but maybe as philosopher Paul Ricoeur talks about, maybe I could see or believe with a "second naivete," knowing all the reasons why it doesn’t make sense, maybe knowing enough about the Bible and people who claim to be Christians to know it’s not what it looks like, but "I want to trust you again, God. I want to ‘believe,’ to ‘see’ you in the world, in my life." What is it you want me to do for you?

Or maybe I want to see to see my partner, my spouse, my parents, my children, even myself, again, see them/me with love again, not just with bitterness, or anger, or worry, or regret. "I want to see again."

"What is it you want me to do for you?" "We want to see our church alive and meaningful and relevant and an agent for transformation again, engaging children and youth, as well as adults, full of energy and passion." We know the story, the "narrative," if you will. We’re all getting older. The number of children and youth is shrinking. We pass deficit budgets and draw down our endowment. The darn sound system seems to have a mind of its own.

Well, as John Dorhauer, the President of the United Church of Christ, told the UCC Board of Directors last week, "Today the narrative shifts...Today the United Church of Christ [including Second Congregational Church ion Bennington, VT] focuses on what the Holy Spirit envisions for its future....the best days are ahead. What we are called to do matters; and lives will be transformed because of it." (Ucc.org) It is time to dare greatly, time to step up and step into the future God intends for us. "Step up and step in," in fact, is the theme of our stewardship campaign this year, which you’ll be hearing about in a couple of weeks.

This daring greatly is a challenge especially to those of us who feel relatively secure and comfortable, but for the majority of Christians in the world today, faith is a matter of life and death. We may not be facing prison cells or firing squads, but, my sisters and brothers, there are people dying around us everyday, sometimes inch by inch, drink by drink, cutting comment by cutting comment, loss after loss. We do have something to offer our community close by and far away. "What we are called to do matters," as President Dorhauer says, "and lives will be transformed because of it."

Of course daring greatly carries risks. But as sociologist Brene Brown writes, "Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure we face everyday are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. [Will we step up or not?] Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection." [Brown, Daring Greatly, p. 2]

In laying out his 5-step initiative to the Board of Directors, President Dorhauer concluded, "I want to create a culture of risk-taking and innovation and ingenuity." Those are not qualities that most people associate with a church, but those are the qualities we must nurture and develop if we too are going to focus on what the Holy Spirit envisions for our future.

"What is it you want me to do for you?" Dare we ask? "Son of David, Christ Jesus, fill us with your holy Spirit. Help us to dare greatly, to risk boldly, to reach out our hands to those that others have tried to keep down. Dream your dreams through us. Restore our sight. Walk beside us every step of the way." May that be our prayer today, and in all the days to come. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

 

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