Second Congregational Church

"You may have heard..." Early Christmas Eve 2016

"You may have heard this story before. Maybe not. Maybe it has haunted you from the first time you put on a bathrobe and had a towel strapped around your head to be a shepherd in a pageant years ago. Or maybe it’s a new story for you–you may have heard about Jesus and Mary and Joseph somewhere, but who were they? Who are they? You may have heard this story before or maybe not. Hear it again tonight, maybe for the first time. I don’t know if it really happened this way, but I know it is true. And I know that you are part of the story. So, come all you faithful and you doubters and you seekers. Come and listen. Come and sing."

"You may have heard that God is like Santa Claus on steroids–the list God makes, you know the one about who’s naughty and nice, lasts for eternity, you may have heard; God always sees you, knows if you’ve been bad or good and has cooked up all sorts of terrible things to do to the bad people--which is most of us–and prepared an unbelievably wonderful place for the few good people who pass the test. You may have heard that. But I tell you, God is way more than an old man with a beard. God is Energy with Personality, God is Love and Light, God is Justice and Mercy, God is Mystery. And God is always loving you. God created you as a miracle, a hope for the world, just like the baby whose birth we celebrate tonight. God loves you so much that God slips into human skin at every opportunity, to show us what it means to be fully alive, to help each other out, to stand up for each other, to care for the earth, to heal all our brokenness. There is no present like this present moment, when God is waiting to be born in us."

"You may have heard that the people with the real power are the ones in the palaces and towers, the ones who make decrees and issue orders and tweets and proclamations. But I tell you that it is the child who cries in the night to wake his parents, the young writer who creates new pathways for imagination, the teen who immerses herself in music to get inside it and so to allow it to flow in new ways through her, the grad student who invents a machine to sweep plastic from the oceans, the single mother who raises her children to be caring and responsible, the refugee who shows the face of our connectedness, the grandfather who shares his wisdom with troubled youth, the old woman who dies with hope and dignity– these are the ones with the real power to change the world. The rulers of the world have no idea what they’re up against."

"You may have heard that you have to be popular and perfect to get anywhere that matters. But I tell you it was to some of the dirtiest, crummiest, most socially awkward, and frankly, not too bright shepherds that God chose to send that angel choir and announce the birth of the Messiah. Introverts and loners–this is our moment! God can find us wherever we are, minding our own business, and enlist us in the saving of the world. The thing is, like the shepherds, you can’t keep that news to yourself. You’ve got to go and see for yourself, and then you’ve got to tell everyone you meet what you’ve learned. Then you can hole up for a few days to re-group, but don’t forget this is too important to hide your light away. Find some folks who’ll love you and let you speak and act in your own timing. And those of you who love to speak to find out what you’re thinking, and who just love to mix and mingle, we need you too. Find a way to tell the Good News that God hasn’t given up on us, and then allow folks time to absorb it and put it into their own words. You may have heard that you have to popular and perfect to get anywhere that matters, but I tell you God made your true self perfect and unique, and living out of that true self is the surest way to get anywhere that truly matters."

"You may have heard that God sends messiahs and rulers to save us, to take us away from the daily, dirty tasks of life, to lift us above our bodies’ desires into spiritual thoughts, to set us apart from those "others"–the ones who don’t think like us or worship like us or look like us or love like us–but I tell you that this night, God shows us how much God loves these human bodies and how we are to be saved–by allowing God to be born in us, to take our places among the animals and stars, to be humble and wise, to listen to people who don’t have the ear of anyone in any kind of power, to be brave and to travel together. It is by the "holy harmony" that God’s coming makes in you that you shall know the truth of who you are and Whose you are, and the truth shall set you free. He is born this night, and every moment, God is always doing a new, unimaginable thing, longing for us to notice and get onboard. We are the ones God has been waiting for. Let us be born this night as well."

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Mary's Sermons

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"Sign Posts"-- Isaiah 35:1-10, Matthew 11:2-11-- Dec. 11, 2016

A woman who was cleaning out boxes and closets found her diary from a year that had been particularly hard, full of depression, shame, anxiety, and confusion. As she flipped through the pages she found one on which she had written in big letters– "I WANT MY JOY BACK!" underline, underline, underline. (Elizabeth Gilbert, Facebook post)

"I want my joy back." My guess is there are a lot of us who are saying the same thing this year. There’s a reason we light candles, sing, and gather together this time of year–December is DARK and cold in the Northern Hemisphere! Our culture counteracts by hyping up expectations of happiness found in piles of presents,"glossy, manipulative TV specials," [Katie Hines-Shah, christiancentury, 11/11/16] perfect holiday meals, and blissful family gatherings. With those expectations, it’s no wonder we’re stressed and inevitably disappointed. The turkey is dry, travel to relatives is a hassle, the kids (and we) are over-sugared and under-slept.

The church can add to those disappointments too. We get jazz when we long for Gregorian chant flat–or the other way around–, the sermon is flat or too "woo woo," there aren’t enough kids, the language of the Scripture readings has all been changed, or it hasn’t been changed since the 1600's. We have to sing Advent carols for weeks when we want to sing Christmas carols. I want my joy back.

Of course, in the scheme of things, those are all relatively minor challenges to contend with. Therapists, doctors, and pastors know that this is a tough time of year for lots of people. The loss of loved ones seems particularly painful, as we adjust the number of settings at the table, or remember celebrations of years past. Debt and job loss glare at us. Our aches and pains and infirmities remind us of our mortality.

And 2016 has been a tough year on the political scene. We have all breathed the toxic fumes of hatred, prejudice, fear, accusations, name-calling, predictions of doom. Friends and family members seem like strangers as we occupy opposite political positions. Places of safety and renewing now seem fraught with tension and anxiety, and who knows what the future will bring? I want my joy back.

"The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad," the prophet Isaiah sings, "the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing...A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way." If only we could program "the Holy Way" into our internal GPS and be led step by step to that highway of rejoicing! The question is, though, do we really want to go there?

For the first time in a long time–maybe ever–I read the two chapters just before this 35^th chapter in Isaiah, and I have to say that by the time I got to chapter 35, I heard that good news about the desert blossoming as never before. Isaiah has been talking about utter devastation, about the vengeance of the Lord, about how furious God is with the nations for their faithlessness, their cruelty, their greed, their injustice, their exploitation of the earth. (And who can blame God, then or now?) God will execute a scorched earth policy, Isaiah says, in essence, so that the only inhabitants will be the owls and jackals, and thorns will cover the earth. It’s like one of those dark fairy tales, only who knows where or if the sleeping princess lies amidst the brambles?

"Seek and read from the book of the Lord," Isaiah says. After all this devastation, God will gather together a remnant. And then,

"The wilderness and the dry land shall rejoice...Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God....Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert....A highway shall be there, called the Holy Way...And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."

"In the bleak midwinter," we sing, "heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign..."

I want my joy back.

Just above that scribble "I WANT MY JOY BACK!" the woman saw that she had written, "...for how long?" For how long will this sorrow or frustration or despair or longing or depression last? "How long, O Lord?"

"Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" That’s the question that John sent to Jesus from the bleakness of a dark prison cell. "Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" It’s heartbreaking to hear John ask that, John who was so convinced out there in the wilderness as he shouted until he was hoarse that God’s anointed one was coming, that the kingdom of God was at hand, that there was the fierce urgency of now. That conviction and courage had compelled John to speak the hard truth to Herod, about his philandering ways, and now here was John squatting in a dank, rat-infested prison cell. "Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" How long?

Had John staked his life on the wrong promise, the wrong person? For it certainly seemed as though nothing had changed. Guys like Herod were in office, still on the throne, and people like John were rotting in prison. [Debie Thomas, journeywithjesus, 12/4/16] This servant of God, prophet of the Almighty, who had seemed so full of certainty now seemed so full of doubt. "Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?"

Jesus doesn’t receive John’s question with judgment or condemnation, though. One commentator says it’s almost relief. "OK, good. You’re willing at last to let go of your preconceptions. You’re ready for the saving work of disillusionment. Now you can get to know me–the real me." [Thomas, op cit.] "Tell him what you’ve seen," he tells John’s messengers. Not some title or slogan or pronouncement, but look at what’s happened, what’s emerging in the lives of ordinary people. Not the fake news, but the real news.

And Jesus says to those around him, "What did you go out into the desert to see, when you went to see the John the Baptist? Someone in soft robes? In other words, a celebrity? They’re in royal palaces, in towers of power. If that’s who you’re seeking, you’ll always be taken in by them and duped. Rather, "this is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’" And even the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than this, Jesus said. You can do the same thing. You too can prepare the way of God.

"Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" John’s question from prison haunts us. He would soon be killed senselessly from a ridiculous promise of Herod to a woman he was trying to impress, and Jesus too would soon enough be in prison and killed by the powers that be. But John, and maybe Jesus himself, did not know what we know, which is how the story ends–or rather, doesn’t. That the prison cell and the gruesome platter, the cross and the dark tomb do not have the last word, that our stories only find their completion in the presence of God.

I WANT MY JOY BACK. The woman who had scrawled that in her diary recognized it as "a cry of stubborn desire" in the midst of her anger and frustration. It was that stubborn desire for joy that eventually enabled her to scrabble her way out, to recognize what she needed to let go of and what she needed to cling on to.

Martha Beck, author and life coach, says that "the Universe is constantly trying to use your JOY as a way of communicating your destiny to you." She explains:

If you feel a hint of joy, that means you’re on the right track. If not, you’re going in the wrong direction. The scattered moments of joy that you feel in your life are meant to be clues. THIS IS WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING; THIS IS THE KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH; THIS IS HOW YOU ARE MEANT TO FEEL. [Martha says that] if we refuse to seek joy, believe in joy, trust joy, and follow our joy–then the Universe will resort to using pain and suffering to try to get our attention...but God would really rather communicate your destiny to you through joy. So try that first. Look for crumbs of joy, and trust them. [Elizabeth Gilbert, FB]

Look for crumbs of joy. Remember that joy isn’t that trivial, glittery stuff that advertisers would lead you to believe can be bought. My teacher Tal Ben-Shahar says that joy is the intersection of deep pleasure and deep meaning. John the Baptist knew something hard and flinty about joy, left behind all the trappings of what passed for joy in his culture, and, we

believe, at last was received into the Presence of Joy and Love.

The One who did come, and who is always coming into the world, knew that the only joy worth reaching for, worth giving your life for, is God’s joy–that "God’s joy and our well-being are interconnected" [Bruce Epperly, Adventurous Lectionary, 12/16], that there are, indeed, crumbs of joy strewn along our path, if we would only notice them and take them in–the touch of a loved one’s hand, the face of a child caught up in wonder, the company of loving friends, burying your face into the neck of a dog, the smell of balsam, the satisfaction of service, the thrill of doing a random act of kindness, savoring small bites of delicious food, listening to or making music that feeds your soul.

I WANT GOD’S JOY!–which is my true joy. May that be all we really want for Christmas this year. So may we find it. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Advent, the season leading up to Christmas may be an invitation to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give..." Be ready at any moment for God to appear in your life as inspiration, opportunity, insight, person, possibility.
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Our church's banner photo (above) is of the snowflakes (each one unique just as people are) and the trees... all made by Barbara true-Weber and other creative people of our church especially for Advent 2016. Advent, the season leading up to Christmas, is "an invitation to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give..." Be ready at any moment for God to appear in your life as inspiration, opportunity, insight, person, possibility.

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"Eating from the Jesse Tree"- Isaiah 11:1-10, Matthew 3:1-12-- Dec. 4, 2016

If only the landscape weren’t so familiar–a clear-cut mountain side, a battlefield strewn with bodies and smoldering equipment, whole neighborhoods left in nothing but rubble. Or that all too familiar political landscape–never-ending bickering and name-calling, deadlocked legislative bodies, deals and lining pockets leaving the real issues of communities untouched. Or the devastation of interior landscapes–the house after she’s left, the silence after he died, the ominous dark and density of depression, the relentlessness of pain.

2700 years ago Isaiah looked upon the landscape of his country with utter frustration and disgust, his fellow "prophets," if you could call them that, spouting lies and silliness, the kings of Judah worthless, and the Empire of Assyria looming at the border. Surely God was dismayed at the faithlessness of those who were supposed to be "God’s people." Surely this was not what God intended, this was not God’s dream for the people of Judah or the earth.

So, as he did in times of distress and despair, Isaiah went deep. Got still. Listened. Searched his heart and the landscape of his mind. And at last, he heard the melody.

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear. But with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins. The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hold of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious.

"A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots."

It’s a rather strange image of hope to offer to a people in utter discouragement and devastation.

It had been 200 years since the death of King David, that ruler that Judah seemed to refer to as the model, the beloved king, yet Isaiah remembers the mixed record of King David, with his seductions, his betrayals, his wars, his infidelities. There was no "golden time" before. Judah doesn’t need another king like that. Maybe, Isaiah dreams, God will bring another shoot from Jesse–a new and better ruler, one with qualities that God longs for in a ruler–"a fearsome knowledge of Yahweh, extraordinarily discerning wisdom, unbending counsel, this one’s strength in words of truth and power." [John Holbert, patheos, 12/8/13] I found myself won-dering if there might have been a daughter of Jesse, not just all the sons who were paraded in front of the prophet Samuel to be anointed king. After all, it is through the mother that Jewish lineage is traced, though you’d never know it from the Bible. I couldn’t even find the name of David’s mother in the Bible, and as it turns out, it isn’t in there. It’s in the Talmud, though, the accumulated commentary by the rabbis of Torah, and there it says that David’s mother was Nitzeyet, daughter of Adael. You learn something new every day. Anyway, it’s a little diversion –a daughter from the stump of Jesse-- but then, who knows where Hope will come from?

"A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots." A strange image. So often we think of shoots sticking out of stumps as "suckers" and do our best to seal them off. It’s hard to feel confident in a future that comes from a sucker. It sounds like a loser. We prefer winners.

A shoot is a fragile thing, vulnerable to cold snaps, or being hit too hard, or not enough moisture. Vulnerable to death, in other words. We know that branches grow at their edges, at their ends, and a stump–without leaves to process their chlorophyll–seems like a dead end, literally. But it’s been discovered that the roots of trees that grow near each other are so intertwined that any who do have leaves, produce the chlorophyll and energy that is shared through the roots. The community of trees literally keeps its members alive.

"A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord–the breath or wind of God–shall blow over and rest on this one, the spirit/breath/wind of wisdom and understanding, the spirit/breath/wind of counsel and might, the spirit/breath/wind of knowledge and the fear of the Lord."

Back in the 1990's, there was an experiment called the Biodome, which attempted to make a totally self-contained biological environment. One of the baffling disappointments was the trees. They had sunlight, water, nutrients, but they didn’t stand tall. They flopped over. As it turns out, the missing element was wind. Trees actually need wind occasionally to blow and create microcracks in their trunks and branches. Just like bones, that are stronger where they’ve been stressed or broken, so trees need the stress of wind. "We actually need storms in life," as one preacher put it. [Rev. Whitney Rice, sermonsthatwork, 2 Advent 2013] "The spirit/breath/wind of the Lord shall blow over and rest on this one," Isaiah wrote, this branch from Jesse’s tree.

And it won’t be just the human population who will be transformed, led in a new way by this little one, this leader of wisdom and understanding, compassion and counsel. The whole of creation will be transformed. The rule and order of nature will be changed and overturned .

The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.

This is indeed a new kind of peace. When the leopard lies down with the kid, that baby goat’s not going to get much sleep, we think. What happens when the more powerful of these pairs gets hungry? Will the lion really be satisfied eating straw? This time of peace or shalom "is creation time," writes Walter Brueggemann, "when all God’s creation eases up on hostility and destruction and finds another way of relating." [cited by Kate Huey in sermonseeds, 12/7/13]

Can we imagine a new kind of peace, along with a new kind of ruler?

It’s a dream of an impossible possibility, as Bruce Epperly puts is, of enemies becoming companions, children safe from harm, wise national leadership, a world without war. It has never happened, but it still judges the world, it is still the ideal, the goal toward which any and all of our endeavors must reach. [Bruce Epperly, Adventurous Lectionary, 12/4/16] Indeed, we still long for it, still sing Isaiah’s song every Advent –"When God is a child there’s joy in our song, the last shall be first, and the weak shall be strong, and none shall be afraid...."

A shoot shall come out of the stump of Jesse... It will not happen overnight. It is a fragile beginning, but each of us has a stake in tending to it, we each have a role in bringing this shoot to branch to bud to blossom, so that we may eat of its fruit. Every child is potentially that leader. What was said to John the Baptist as an infant by his dead stump of a father Zechariah might be said to every new-born–"And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go to prepare God’s ways..." Align with those ways, that child-become-man cried out in the wilderness. Live into the dream God has for us. Repent. Prepare ye the way!

You know the dream. Sing it with me. "When God is a child, there’s joy in our song. The last shall be first, and the weak shall be strong. And none shall be afraid." (Brian Wren)

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"The Longing"-- Isaiah 2:1-5, Matthew 24:36-44-- Nov. 27, 2016

How ironic–and typical–that just when we need to have a clear eye and ready energy, we are stuffed and sleepy from our Thanksgiving feasts. Of course, merchants and advertisers call us to frantic, competitive shopping, our eyes open to the best deal, but Advent’s call to alertness and readiness to perceive God’s coming in new ways into our lives? Not so much. It’s hard to hear that call over the shouting and blaring of sales and Santa and the promise of that perfect gift which will "show how much you care."

That brilliant curmudgeon and Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann describes the season we are just entering like this, "Advent invites us to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give...Advent is an abrupt disruption in our ‘ordinary time’...an utterly new year, new time, new life." [cited in K. Matthew, sermonseeds, 11/27/16]

"Then two will be in the field...[Jesus says] Two women will be grinding meal together"– ordinary time. Then "one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming." Of course, you can read this as a description of the Rapture–that fundamentalist notion of God’s "rapturing" the faithful believers up into heaven while leaving the others behind to fend for themselves in the apocalypse. I’ve seen a bumper sticker that says, "Warning: In case of the Rapture, this car will become driverless." I’m thinking that in such a scenario, if I’m left behind, driverless cars will be the least of my worries.

Or Jesus’ urging here to keep awake and ready may be understood as a wise statement about living your life mindfully and fully because you do not know what day will be your last. "You do not know on what day your Lord is coming."

Or, this jarring Advent text may just be what Brueggemann says the whole season is about– an invitation to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give..." Be ready at any moment for God to appear in your life as inspiration, opportunity, insight, person, possibility. Don’t sleep through that. Two men will be in the field, one cursing his life of hard work, the other thankful for his strong body, his ability to provide for his family. One will taken, one left.

Two women grinding corn, one complaining about her dreadful life, the other grateful her arms are strong and thinking of her children’s growing bodies she is able to fill with bread. One will be taken, one left.

Any moment may become radiant with God’s Light, any moment may be transformed with God’s power, at any moment a window or door may open into God’s possibility. Maybe this is not the end of the world, as some think of it, but rather the beginning. This is true at any time of year, but Advent provides us with a wake-up call.

At the same time, Walter Brueggemann also likens today’s reading from Hebrew Scripture to Martin Luther King Jr.’s "I Have a Dream" speech.

In days to come [says the prophet Isaiah] the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.’ For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!

It is "so evocative of such a deep yearning" [Kate Matthews, sermonseeds, 11/27/16] that it is used in public places. It’s engraved on the wall near the United Nations building in New York City. And in the plaza in front of Marsh Chapel at Boston University is a great metal sculpture, depicting spears transforming into pruning hooks and finally into doves.

In this season when we are surrounded by images of trees, Rebecca Solnik suggests that "The branches are hope; the Roots are memory...Though hope is about the future, grounds for hope lie in the records and recollections of the past." [Solnik, Hope in the Dark, xix]

So Israel and the church look to God’s actions in the past to ground our hope for the future. God delivered us from slavery in Egypt. God provided food for us during our sojourn in the wilderness. God allowed us to be overrun and taken into exile when we abandoned our trust in God; and God restored us after the exile. God sent us prophets and messengers when we had lost hope, when we had forgotten who we were. And God came to live among us and to show us what a human being fully alive with God looks like. Even though the powers and principalities appeared to have killed him, God raised him from death, and God is still with us–Emmanuel–the Word made flesh in our lives and in the lives of those around us.

Memory is important, but we must remember the whole story. There was never a "golden time,’ in Israel’s history or in ours. Nor is our history one of unmitigated disaster and cruelty. It is a complex, complicated, multi-layered reality of triumph and failure, with room for all of that to be considered and learned from. "Not everything that is faced can be changed," wrote the great African American writer James Baldwin, "but nothing can be changed until it is faced."

We will never make America great until we face the whole of that history which was not great for everyone. The greatness of America will only be found as we continue to work for "a more perfect union" of all and everyone that is America now. Like the season of Advent, our nation cannot live or yearn for a golden "once upon a time," but rather live into a season of "not yet."

"The branches are hope; the roots are memory." What is the nature of this hope? While it is rooted in our very real lives, it is less about a 10-point plan and more about a state of heart, as Czechoslovakian poet and prime minister Vaclav Havel wrote, back in the mid-1980's, when Czechoslovakia was still a Soviet satellite–

The kind of hope I often think about (especially in situations that are particularly hopeless, such as prison) I understand above all as a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it is a dimension of the soul; it’s not essentially dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation. Hope is not prognostication. It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart; it transcends the world as immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but, rather, an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed. [cited in Solnik, p. 11]

"Hope is an embrace of the unknown and unknowable," Rebecca Solnik writes, "an alternative to the certainty of both optimists and pessimists...It’s the belief that what we do matters even though how and when it will matter, who and what it may impact, are not things we can know beforehand." [op cit., p. xvi] "To hope is to gamble. It’s to bet on the future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous, and yet it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk." [p. 4] "Keep awake therefore," Jesus said, "for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming," you do not know what opportunities and possibilities will present themselves.

What is the hope we long for? "Authentic hope requires clarity..and imagination," as Solnik says, for false or inadequate hope is seductive and dangerous. Don’t hope for and work for something that isn’t big enough or deep enough, or true enough, or worthy of your life. What is it we hope will grow and sprout and blossom and bear fruit on these branches? And what are we willing to sacrifice, what of ourselves are we willing to offer, to nourish and care for these hopes? Is it that day when nations shall not lift up sword against nation, nor learn war anymore? Is it the blossoming of the Beloved Community, which King wrote about, comprised of people of all races, creeds, and colors, living in peace and dignity? Or is it something more personal–a sense of integrity, of living in a way that feels true to your essence, your soul? Is it finding a relationship that honors who you are and promotes your full blossoming into the human being God intended you to be? What is it you hope for, and what are you willing to do, to sacrifice, on behalf of that hope?

Because, after all, as Rebecca Solnik writes, "Hope gets you there; work gets you through." And it’s not just any work. The images Isaiah uses–plow and pruning hook–are instruments of overturning, digging into, pruning,...that kind of work. We need an education and training for hope. "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord," Isaiah says, "that God may teach us his ways and that we may walk in God’s paths." What would your course in hope look like? An examination of your life and the forces that have shaped you? An honest inventory of your gifts and passions? Would it include training in non-violent resistance? Would it include an exploration of White Privilege or of a more comprehensive view of American history? Would it include Bible study with a group of companions or a commitment to a daily prayer or meditation practice? Would it include new ways of caring for your body? Would it include mending some of the rifts in relationships you experience or a letting go of resentments and hurts? What would your course in hope look like?

"Keep awake," Jesus said. "You know what time it is," the apostle Paul wrote, "how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep...the night is far gone, the day is near.." (Rom. 13:11-12) In the meantime, as we wait for the One who is coming and is already in our midst, we take each day that is given to us. "Every morning you wake up," Barbara Brown Taylor writes, "decide to live the life God has given you to live right now. Refuse to live yesterday over and over again. Resist the temptation to save your best self for tomorrow." [cited in Matthews, op cit.] This is the day given to us, full of hope and possibility. Let us live in expectation. Even now, the Holy One is at hand. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Holding All Things Together"- Jeremiah 23:1-6, Colossians 1:11-20--Nov. 20, 2016

When you log into a computer, the first picture that usually comes on the screen is called the "desktop"–a term that conjures up a flat wooden surface with cubbyholes and jars of pens and pencils, but that is not what a computer desktop is. On a computer desktop are all sorts of little pictures, called icons, which represent the various programs that you’ve got on your computer– there may be a 4-paned window drawn in perspective that represents Microsoft Windows; there might be a blue lower case "f" representing Facebook, or a little picture of a bird for your Twitter account.

When you click on any of these icons, you are given entrance into that whole program– when you click on the blue f, Facebook opens up and you can see pictures of your friends or grandchildren, read what your co-worker is doing or is passionate about, read the upcoming announcements for the week from Second Congregational Church, or read a false newsstory, like "the Pope just proclaimed we should kill all Muslims." What you do once you’re inside that program is up to you, but you can’t do anything until you’ve been given access to it.

Just as a computer desktop bears only the faintest resemblance to an actual piece of furniture, so the term "icon" – these pictures that appear on a computer screen and are, essentially, the entrance points into computer program– is a far cry from the original meaning of the term, which is a religious image through which the devotee might gain deeper understanding of or even encounter the god or religious figure the icon represents. If you walk into an Orthodox Church or chapel, like the one up at New Skete in Cambridge, you are instantly surrounded by icons and images of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Mary the Mother of Jesus (or Mother of God), a whole cloud or procession of saints, and, in the case of New Skete, figures of people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Dorothy Day, painted in the iconic style, all of whom invite further meditation and contemplation. The Native American trinity hanging outside my office door is an icon, painted meditatively, inviting meditation.

It is that same word–ikon–that Paul uses in his letter to the Colossians, probably quoting a hymn sung by early Christians.

He [Christ Jesus] is the ikon of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers–all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Just as clicking on an icon on a computer screen gives you entrance into the world of a computer program, so, says Paul, does faith or trust in or " entering into" Christ–the image or icon of the invisible God-- open up for the Christian an experience of God, gives us entrance into a way of experiencing and seeing the world infused with the Holy, recognizing that all things, including all thrones or dominions or rulers or powers are actually created through and ultimately for God. This is not the same as simply looking to the earthly life of Jesus of Nazareth and trying to follow his example. Christ as the icon or image of the invisible God is a meta-physical–"beyond the physical"–coming together of divinity and humanity, the intersection of human and divine.

The readers of Paul’s letter would have heard echoes of the Hebrew figure of Lady Wisdom–Sophia–and the Greek Word, or Intention, or logos, there with God at the beginning of creation, infused through all things. We might also imagine the radiance and energy of God in all beings – "God is everywhere, within me and around me." "In him all things hold together."

"All things hold together." There are days–weeks–years–when it seems like things are falling apart, aren’t there? Not only on a global or national scale, but in our own lives, when our bodies seem to be falling apart, or our relationships are strained to the point of breaking, when our jobs seem fragile or unbearable, or we’re failing a course in school, not to mention the refrigerator, microwave, and car which all seem to fall apart at the same time. "In him all things hold together." What could that possibly mean?

Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron wrote a book called, "When Things Fall Apart–Heart Advice for Difficult Times." In it she warns about too easily telling a story about the things that are falling apart in our lives. One woman, for example, told how her life and marriage fell apart when her husband revealed that he’d been having an affair for 8 years and left her and her two children. She had been telling that story at a conference or retreat sometime later when someone overhearing said, "You know, it sounds like you have really found your true self since that happened. You are here at this amazing retreat, you have a new relationship with your kids, you’ve made some important decisions about your life. Maybe your life came together instead of fell apart."

Now, I have no doubt that the sense of betrayal and loss and disorientation were real for this woman and her children. This was no doubt an incredibly difficult time to go through. But the icon or lens through which she came to look upon that experience made all the difference in how she would face and experience her life from now on. Left behind or empowered? Victim or person with agency? Sadder or sadder but wiser? Lost love or newly discovered larger love?

Just so, looking at life and the world through the icon or lens of Christ allows us to see not just things falling apart but all things held together and infused with the Love and Light of God; it enables us to see presidents and prime ministers, kings and cabinets as having power and influence of their own but ultimately bowing to the power of God whose kingdom–or kin-dom–is coming and already is in our midst. When we know we are "in Christ," we know that we are still loved and valuable, even though we lose our job or fail a test. When we know we are in Christ and Christ in us, we can meditate upon the radiance and healing of God flowing through our bodies, instead of only blaming or cursing our bodies for not working the way we think they should. When we know we are "in Christ"–fully open to God’s presence and power in human lives–we know we are wondrously connected to and in relationship with our loved ones who have died. When we are "in Christ," we can work to transform our world, from a deep place of peace and power and love, not from a place of fear or anger or hatred. All things hold together, even if, even when, the "rulers," the "powers and principalities" seem to have the upper hand.

This icon or image of Christ Jesus–including his death on the cross–gives us entrance into an experience of God, even when things fall apart, even when–maybe especially when–we feel broken by life. The great song writer Leonard Cohen, who died last week, wrote, "There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in." "God has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son..." Paul says.

So as we come full circle in the year today, this year that perhaps has done its best to break us, as we remember those who have died, who have gone on to that greater shore, we are assured that "all things hold together in him," assured that we have access into that Reality in which our loved ones and we are held. "May you be made strong [Paul wrote] with all the strength that comes from God’s glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to God, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light."

All things hold together in him. May these words be hope and courage and strength for us for the living of these days. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"For Such a Time as This"-- Isaiah 65:17-25, Luke 21:5-19 -- Nov. 13, 2016

What’s the worst thing that has happened to you when you claimed to be a Christian? I don’t know about you, but I’m almost ashamed to say that I’ve gotten off pretty easily. I have been dismissed and ignored for being Christian. I have been patronized–"Oh, how nice." I’ve been in some rather uncomfortable conversations, mainly with people who don’t know me but who assume they know what it means to be a Christian-- "How can you believe that stuff?" or "Look at all the hateful things that have been done in Christ’s name!" I’ve been confronted with "calendar disbelief" – "Oh, you mean you can’t come to our event/brunch/game on Sunday morning?" All pretty mild stuff.

Honestly, I think the worst thing that has happened to me when I’ve "claimed" to be a Christian is being associated with "those people" who also claim to be Christian but who believe and act in ways that are abhorrent to me–people who claim to love Jesus but who clearly hate their neighbor, especially if that neighbor happens to be Muslim, or Jewish, or LGBTQ, or has dark skin, or comes from a different country, or who knows what other offending characteristic. I hate it when people assume I must be like that since I’m Christian, but I also know that my disdain or dismissal or even hatred of people whose beliefs are so different from mine makes me exactly like them–putting up walls, instead of building bridges.

Walls seem to be the go–to solution these days for dealing with people we don’t like or disagree with or are afraid of–the wall that is supposed to be built–or completed–between the United States and Mexico, the wall that runs through communities in Israel to separate Israelis from Palestinians, the Berlin Wall, which, of course, was torn down. But walls don’t have to be made of bricks and steel and cement–we put up walls between ourselves and others whom we don’t want to deal with or don’t want to have to see or maybe can’t deal with right now. Walls of silence or avoidance, walls of distance, walls of privilege, walls of income, walls of ignorance, walls of prejudice.

"Something there is that doesn’t love a wall," Robert Frost wrote, "that sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, and spills the upper boulders in the sun; and makes gaps even two can pass abreast." ("The Mending Wall") Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.

"When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, Jesus said, ‘As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down." Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.

Luke says Jesus was talking about the end time, the coming time of wars and insur-rections, of upheaval and dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. Coming times of betrayal and arrest. "You will be brought before kings and governors because of my name," he said. When you claim to follow me, this is what will happen, he said. And then this– "This will give you an opportunity to testify."

I do not need to tell you that we are living in a time of great upheaval and great uncertainty. This election has revealed the vast fissures and wounds in our nation, and the walls and even foundations of our governmental and political institutions are shaking. As I said last week, it may even ultimately prove to be a helpful, though brutal, revealing of not only the divisions and wounds but also the racism, misogyny, homophobia, classism, fear of strangers, and arrogance that underlies too much of our culture.

But to suggest that this unveiling may be helpful is not to deny that for so many of our neighbors and fellow citizens, some of whom are part of our church family, what has been unleashed is a toxic, dangerous stew of acts of violence and hatred directed against them because of who they are, what they look like, where they’ve come from, who they love.

One woman posted on Facebook:

People with all the privileges keep saying: "It’ll be OK. It is what it is now. Oh well, better luck in 4 years. They joke about moving to Canada. He’s our President, now it’s time to accept it. All my friends without those same privileges worry– Will my marriage stay legal? Are we safe? What’s going to happen to my healthcare? Are we safe? Will my trans child be safe @ school? Will this increase the militarization of the police in my predominantly black neighborhood? Are we safe? Will Roe vs. Wade be overturned? [Will my child’s asthma get worse because of the coal-fired plat in our neighborhood? Am I safe?" [Saundra M. Troy-Ward]

Swastikas painted on school buildings, hateful graffiti and messages written on cars, beatings and bloodyings, even a rash of suicides out of fear and despair. This is not the greatness of America, and this is not the Christian witness that Jesus and his god are calling us to. Glennon Doyle Melton said that the Jesus of the Gospels went around asking two questions–"Who is power forgetting?" and "Who is religion oppressing?" and then Jesus would seek those people out and sit down to a meal with them. [FB, 11/11/16] We need to seek those people out, sit down with the, stand beside them.

"For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth," God says through the prophet Isaiah, at the end of the exile. "The former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating...." Can we believe this? Can we trust in this vision and make it the vision for our lives? Newness coming out of devastation? Is this not the central claim of the Christian faith? "They tried to bury us, but they forgot we were seeds," says a Mexican resistance proverb. We are seeds, seeds of the kin-dom of God, planted where we are and in who we are.

"Perhaps it is for just such a time as this," Queen Esther’s uncle Mordecai said to her when the Jews were in peril in her husband’s kingdom–"Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this." You can make a difference there in the palace, he said,you can use your creativity and courage to expose those who intend harm to God’s people, and thus you can help to save God’s people."

Perhaps it is for just such a time as ours that we have been put here, to live out our true Christian identity, that we can stand alongside those who are targeted for hate or prejudice and say, "That is not who we are." Perhaps it is for just such a time as this that we can model radical hospitality and inclusivity in our homes, in our church, in our places of work and study. Perhaps it is for just such a time as this that we will be given "an opportunity to testify," as Jesus told his disciples, to speak out for who we believe God is and what God is about, what the really good news is.

"United in Spirit, inspired by God’s grace, we love all, welcome all, and seek justice for all." That’s the Mission statement of the United Church of Christ–to the point, easy to remember (if you can remember anything), and able to be spoken in the time it takes the doors on an elevator to close. "United in Spirit, inspired by God’s grace, we love all, welcome all, and seek justice for all." An opportunity to testify.

After the vote to leave the European Union, a rash of violence broke out in England, just as it has here since the election, targeting immigrants, people of color, Muslims, members of the LGBTQ community. So many people began to wear safety pins on their clothes, a sign that people who felt afraid could count on them, could turn to them for safety. It has been suggested that we take up that movement as well–wear safety pins on our clothes to signal that we offer a safe space, an offering of protection and solidarity, to anyone who feels threatened by hatred or prejudice. I invite you to join me in wearing one.

Molly Baskette, pastor of the Berkeley, CA UCC church, wrote that this is what she means when wears her safety pin–

If you wear a hijab, I’ll sit with you on the train. If you’re trans, I’ll go to the bathroom with you. If you’re a person of color, I’ll stand with you if the cops stop you. If you’re a person with disabilities, I’ll hand you my megaphone. If you’re an immigrant, I’ll help you find resources. If you’re a survivor, I’ll believe you. If you’re a refugee, I’ll make sure you’re welcome. If you’re a veteran, I’ll take up your fight. If you’re LGBTQ, I’ll remind you that you beautiful and beloved, just as God made you. If you’re a woman, I’ll make sure you get home OK. If you’re tired, me too. If you need a hug I’ve got an infinite supply. If you need me, I’ll be with you. All I ask is that you be with me too. Together, we’ll be the strong arm of God. [FB]

Even if no one comes to you asking for help, it will serve as a prompt, a reminder to you to be on the lookout for people who might feel threatened, who might need a friend. It might give you an opportunity to engage in conversation when somebody asks you why you’re wearing a safety pin and to share what your vision of our country is, what kind of community you want to live in, what kind of person you want to be. And of course, we must teach our children to be safe presences for others, to watch out for kids who are not feeling safe.

"The wolf and the lamb shall feed together," Isaiah says. "The lion shall eat straw like the ox." We are going to have to do things that will make us uncomfortable. How does the lamb feel eating next to the wolf, or the lion feel about eating straw? This may test our mettle. We may even find ourselves in actual danger, but "safety" in that sense was never guaranteed to us when we set out follow Jesus–I’d like to say, "Obviously," but too often we forget where the path of Jesus took him. Perhaps we will have the opportunity not only to "testify" but to help someone who has succumbed to hatred or fear or prejudice to rediscover the light within themselves, to get in touch with their better nature in the presence of our own calmness and courage.

This will require practice, my friends, and I know you’ve heard me talk about practicing before. Pray always and everywhere, for everyone. "Prayer moistens the heart for hope and journeying on through it all," Kirk Byron Jones says. "Amid the personal and social fallout, protect your soul. Take moments to rest in the storm. Rest leads to peace. Peace leads to clarity, Clarity leads to creativity." [FB] Do not give them your hate, as the Parisian man whose wife was killed in the ISIS attacks on the Bataclan–"I will not give you my hatred." Don’t lose sight that the world is indeed wonderful and full of wonder. Join regularly in and support this community of faith that reminds us who we are and Whose we are, through music, praise, prayer, and acts and witness of justice and earth advocacy. Reaffirm to yourself every day that you are beloved, a precious child of God, beautiful to behold.

Even now, God is creating new heavens and a new earth. Even now, God is tearing down and building up, dismantling walls and building bridges. So, "rise up, sweet people," as the call to Progressive Christians went out. [Cameron Trimble of the Center for Progressive Renewal] "You are stronger and braver than you know. Now we will prove that to each other. Rise up...For the sake of the people we are, for the sake of the people we love and the planet we live within." [convergence.org] It is for just such a time as this that we were made.

May it be so.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"The Day Begins at Night"-- Haggai 1:15b-2:9, 2 Thess. 2:1-5, 13-17--Nov. 3, 2016

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the "Anti-Christ," so I’m always caught up short when these passages from the later Christian writings–like 2 Thessalonians or Revelation-- come up in the lectionary and warn us about the "lawless one" or the Antichrist. I will confess to you that in the past, I have entertained the possibility that one of our Presidents was maybe the antichrist, or at least one member of his cabinet, and I’m sure there are those today, who are always on high alert for such things, who are pointing to either –or both–of the presidential candidates as fulfilling the position of "the lawless one."

There are even supposedly Christian leaders who’ve come out to condemn to eternal damnation those members of their flock who dare to vote, in this case, for the Democratic candidate. I could never figure out how to get that direct line to the Almighty, but maybe it’s a kind of Wikileak from the Book of Life which contains all our Permanent Records! At any rate, all I’m going to do is to urge you to vote this Tuesday, if you haven’t already, and if you need a ride to the polls, let me know.

But stepping back from the immediate situation, I have always wondered why in the world God’s alleged Plan for the End Times, according to these sources, includes a period of time when the Antichrist would be in charge. Will God allow him one last fling before God ultimately destroys him? What about all the people who get sucked in and deceived by the Antichrist? It hardly seems fair that God would want that many more people to be ultimately destroyed.

"That day [the Day of the Lord] will not come unless the rebellion comes first and the lawless one is revealed, the one destined for destruction. He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God."

The "day of the Lord," for Paul, is when we will all be gathered together into Jesus Christ. "We beg you, brothers and sisters, not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter, as though from us, to the effect that the day of the Lord is already here." If this is the day of the Lord already–in the midst of all the Thessalonians were going through, in the midst of persecutions and afflictions and all the delusions leading people to believe what’s false–well, it doesn’t feel much like being gathered together into Jesus. It really feels like the "lawless one" is in charge.

So too for the remnant of people left after the exile in Babylon, listlessly trying to rebuild the Temple that had been destroyed, those whom Haggai addressed. If this is the promise of restoration, who needs it? "Disappointing" would be too generous a word to use. "Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory?" Haggai asks. "How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?"

The people of God have been in dark, desolate places many times before–in slavery and oppression in Egypt, their backs up against the waters of the Red Sea, their country overrun by foreign armies, the One whom they thought was God’s Messiah hanging on a cross. So much for the day of the Lord. But remember, in Hebrew thought the day does not begin at dawn but at sundown on the night before. In the darkness. In the frightening, hard-to-see-your-way-through hours of the night. Even now, the day has begun.

What I think the Temple in ruins, the coming of the lawless one, of the antichrist, and all those apocalyptic scenarios do for us is peal away the layers of our illusions. It’s Toto drawing open the curtain to reveal the little old man frantically pulling levers to create the smoke and mirrors in the Wizard of Oz. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!" And yet we have seen him. Our eyes have been opened. And now we can really find a way home.

Quaker author Parker Palmer tells of a trip to the Grand Canyon, where he and his wife were appalled to see people allowing their children to get so close to the edge of the lookout. They spoke to a Park Ranger who told them,

"...A surprising number of folks think of the Canyon as a theme park, a fantasy land that may look dangerous but isn’t, where hidden nets will save you from injury or death. Everyday I have to remind some people that the Canyon is real, and so are the consequences of a fall of hundreds of feet. I guess some people prefer illusions to reality–even though illusions can kill you."

(onbeing.org, 10/19/16)

Ours is a culture that loves fantasy, Palmer points out. We love to "pretend," going back, he says, to our origins in 1776, when we proclaimed the "self-evident truth that all people are created equal"–and "then [as he said] proceeded to disenfranchise women, commit genocide against Native Americans, and build an economy on the backs of enslaved human beings."

Even today, we believe in "American exceptionalism"–that the United States is the greatest nation on earth–but objective statistics tell a different story. In global rankings of many serious social ills, the United States scores poorly compared to other countries, [including] mass shootings and other gun deaths, the numbers and percentages of incarcerated citizens, infant mortality rates, child poverty, disproportionate use of natural resources per person, and entrenched racism.

On the other hand, as the Dalai Lama wrote in a NYT op ed piece this week with Arthur Brooks, despite the ongoing levels of violence (too often in the name of the world’s religions) and suffering around the world, "In many ways, there has never been a better time to be alive." Statistically there are fewer people today who are poor or hungry, fewer children are dying, literacy rates are the highest they’ve ever been, medicine performs what would surely be viewed as miracles, the rights of women and minorities are recognized in ways they have never been before. "How strange, then," His Holiness says, "to see such anger and great discontent in some of the world’s richest nations." (NYT, 11/4/16)

"Such anger and great discontent" would certainly describe what we’ve seen in this election year. I don’t find the language of "the antichrist" useful or helpful, and I don’t want to discount or minimize the level of stress, anxiety, and fear that have been generated in this election–I have seen it in the faces of just about everyone I meet. However, I do think we have had revealed to us just how broken and divided we are, just how uneven the benefits of this great nation have been experienced and distributed; just how wounded in spirit so many of our fellow citizens–and perhaps we ourselves–are, just how much hard work and how wide a range of solutions is needed if we are to become the great nation we aspire to. The curtain has been drawn back.

Again, the Dalai Lama observes–"The problem is not a lack of riches. It is the growing number of people who feel they are no longer useful, no longer needed, no longer one with their societies." Research about human thriving reveals that "we all need to be needed." Seniors who didn’t feel useful to others were almost 3 times as likely to die prematurely as those who felt useful somehow. "It is a natural human hunger to serve others," the Dalai Lama wrote. "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness," Jesus said, who hunger for being in right relation with their neighbors and God. We ignore that hunger to our peril, not only in social unrest, but in the human toil of despair, shame, anger, and acting out violence. As a 13^th c. Buddhist sage said, "If one lights a fire for others, it will also brighten one’s own way." Our own happiness and well-being is inextricably woven together with serving others.

"In America today, compared with 50 years ago, [this NY Times piece says] three times as many working-age men are completely outside the work force." This same trend can be seen across the developing world. And the consequences are not just economic–"Feeling superfluous is a blow to the human spirit. It leads to social isolation and emotional pain, and creates the conditions for negative emotions to take root." Anyone noticed any "negative emotions" around?

"We beg you, brothers and sisters, not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter, as though from us, to the effect that the day of the Lord is already here." But it is coming–God will not abandon us and even now is at work, gathering us in, nudging us on, even though it seems like night in America and around the world. It is too easy to lose hope, to lose faith in the seed of greatness and goodness that is planted in the human spirit.

But there are things we can do. Parker Palmer wisely asserts that we must dismantle the culture of illusion if we are to take on the real problems we face. It will take a long time to make our way through the smoke and mirrors, but he writes, "All long journeys begin with one small step, so here’s a modest proposal: let’s reclaim ‘disillusionment’ as a word that names a blessing rather than a curse." [onbeing, op cit.] It is a blessing because it helps us see more clearly, so that we can develop better solutions to our problems. May you be blessed with disillusionment.

The Dalai Lama suggests that "We should start each day by consciously asking ourselves, ‘What can I do today to appreciate the gifts that others offer me?" because "Everyone has something valuable to share." We each have the responsibility to make this a habit. Those in positions of leadership and responsibility, he says, have the "Opportunity to expand inclusiveness and build societies that truly need everyone.. To create a wealth of opportunities for meaningful work, to provide education and training for our children that enriches their lives and gives them practical, useful skills....A compassionate society protects the vulnerable, while ensuring we don’t trap them in misery and dependence." All ideas and perspectives are needed, united by a common commitment to compassion.

And finally, Kelly McGonigal, in a post entitled, "How You Can Find Good in a Nasty Election Cycle" offers these 3 strategies–1. Do something. Vote. "Find something on that ballot that you feel good about saying yes to." 2. Look for the good. Witness the good in others. Notice when you see acts of kindness or generosity, and point them out, to that person or your children or others. Listen to StoryCorps. Pay attention to those last stories at the ends of the news, like "Making a Difference." There are so many good people out there, doing good things. And 3. Be the good. "Be the source point of what you want to see in the world." Commit to doing at least one deed of compassion or kindness or service a day. Note it before you fall asleep. Re-commit to another deed tomorrow.

"Yet now take courage, for I am with you," God says to the people through Haggai. "My spirit abides among you; do not fear." "Stand firm, then, brothers and sisters, [Paul writes] and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by word of mouth or by our letter. And now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father and Mother, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word." Take and eat, this is my body. Take and drink, I am flowing in your veins. It may feel like nighttime, but already the day has begun. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Where do we stand?"-- Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4, Luke 19:1-10-- Oct. 30 2016

Some of you know that before I went to seminary, I was enrolled in a graduate program in dance. Other than the ballroom dancing classes I was forced to go to as a child–and loathed–, I never went to a dance class until I was in college. I was a jock, not an artist. But I fell in love with the total mind-body experience of dance, and while I’m pretty sure my decision to go into the ministry instead of dance was a wise one, I am grateful for the hours I spent immersed in the music and rhythm and movement.

One of the principles of movement is an awareness of your core, of the axis around which you body moves. If your core is saggy, your turns will be saggy. Preparation for a turn requires a strong foundation, a sending of energy down into the foot and up through the crown of your head. As it turns out, the same can be said for stillness in a yoga pose, like tree pose. Root to rise. In a ballet turn, you find a spot to focus on and keep coming back to that spot as soon as your head makes it around the turn. It keeps you from getting dizzy or nauseous, keeps the world from spinning out of control around you. In the midst of the motion, there is also stillness.

It could be said that our world seems to be spinning out of control, to such an extent that we sometimes feel dizzy, even nauseous. Every day, it seems, there is another sickening news release, another video clip or Wikileak, another poll, another shooting, another explosion, another update on the state of the planet’s climate or resources, another heartbreaking scene of refugees fleeing or civilians bombed. Maybe in your life, things seem to be spinning a bit–new living situations to adjust to, bills that seem to be piling up, relationships somehow off-kilter, perhaps your mental and/or physical health not what you wish it was. And here on the one-year-short-of-the-500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, the Church seems to be floundering, trying to regain its footing in a rapidly changing world, finding itself in the midst of what church historian Phyllis Tickle called the every-500 year Rummage Sale. What stays, and what needs to go?

We here at Second Congregational Church are in the midst of it all, poised, as we are, on the brink of this rather unorthodox transition model, not exactly sure how it’s all going to work, how we will pay for it, what this next pastor will bring to us and whether it will really make a difference. What will we have to let go of? What new life will we experience? In the midst of all this movement, change, and motion, we too must find the stillness.

The prophet Habbakuk races up to the ramparts in the midst of armies swarming and his society’s unraveling. "I will stand at my watch-post," he says, "and station myself on the rampart; I will keep watch to see what God will say to me, and what God will answer concerning my complaint." Like a scene out the Lord of the Rings, the prophet runs upwards against the stream of panicked villagers in Helm’s Deep, pushes his way through crowds and commotion, so that he can reach the rampart and get some perspective that goes beyond his own dizzying worries. He is energized by his longing for some sign from the God he knows will not abandon them, and with heaving chest and gasping breath, he looks out, stands still, and finally is not disappointed.

"Write the vision," God reveals to him. "Make it plain on tablets, so that a runner may read it. For there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay. Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by their faith."

Zacchaeus wanted a vision too. "He wanted to see Jesus, to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he [Zacchaeus?] or he [Jesus?] was short of stature." The Greek isn’t clear about this, and, being vertically challenged myself, I kind of like both of these options.

At any rate, Zacchaeus runs on ahead of the crowd and climbs a sycamore tree to get a better perspective. If you’ve noticed the big sycamore tree next to Wassick’s Tire Store at the end of Depot St., you’ll know that one does not simply leap up into a sycamore tree. This is not some bendy, wavy birch or willow tree. If it was anything like the old tree at Wassick’s, Zacchaeus at the very least would have had to hike up his robes and get a boost from somebody. He really wanted to see Jesus.

And, in the hints and spaces of this story as Luke tells it, [he’s the only one who does] it seems that Jesus wanted to see Zacchaeus too, maybe had already "seen" him, in a way that no one else seems to ever have. He sees the obviously wealthy man perched up on the branch of the sycamore tree, and says, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today."

Zacchaeus’ name in Hebrew means, "pure, innocent, clean," even "justice." The exact opposite of what everyone else seemed to think of him. He was a chief tax collector, overseeing the collection of taxes to the Roman Empire from his own people, making his own living by adding on to the proscribed taxes, and then taking his cut from all the tax collectors under him. If ever anyone was "lost" to a sense of righteousness or loyalty to his own community, it was Zacchaeus.

And yet, he stands his ground. "Look," he says to Jesus, and to the crowd grumbling and pressing in around them, "half of my possessions, Lord, I give to the poor." It’s actually present tense–a "customary, repeated practice," as one scholar says [John Pilch, The Cultural World of Jesus, Yr. C] "And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I pay back four times as much"–way beyond the demands of Torah. Who knew?! Jesus, apparently.

"Then Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.’" Saving has come–joy, being able to share hospitality, being claimed as part of the community–"a son of Abraham"–salvation has come to this man who had been lost to all that...

...all because Zacchaeus had risked climbing up a sycamore, going out on a limb–of a very strong tree.

Both Habakkuk and Zacchaeus receive grace. Beyond the paralysis and corruption of their culture and situations, they are given new life, a vision of what is possible, they can re-imagine their future. "Authentic grace is not the power to purchase," as one Baptist pastor says. "It is the stamina for sacrifice." [Willie Dwayn Francois III, The Christian Century, 10/12/16] The stamina for sacrifice.

In the Stewardship Campaign that Mike introduced us to this morning, he spoke about strengthening the foundations of our ongoing, daily mission and ministry–to put our programs, like Music, Education, and Eaarth Advocacy , on sure footing, to pay our staff decent, just wages, to provide for the ongoing soundness and safety of our building and grounds, to reduce our temporary debt. This is the "rooting down," so that we can rise into new possibilities for service and ministry. As we look for the vision that God has for us, look for that focal point in our future that calls us "go out on a limb," to try new things, to worship and serve our God in ways that will reach and bring life to those who feel simply tossed about by the world’s rants and raves, we will also need to build bridges upon which we can cross over into that future. In the Capital Campaign that will be introduced for your consideration and conversation this spring, we’ll talk about what those bridges will need–support for our new co-pastor during the overlap with my time, improvements to our sound and video capabilities, needed work on our building, new ventures into mission. But we want to do that from a place of stillness and stability, like Habakkuk’s rampart and Zacchaeus’ sycamore tree, from a firm foundation that has been laid by the saints before us and the mighty fortress that is our God.

In your own life, what firm foundations can you stand on? The danger, of course, is not going deep enough, below the shifting sands of social currents and trends, below the latest scientific finding. Or the danger of assuming another person can be your bedrock. Alas, that is not deep enough either.

"On Christ, the solid rock I stand," we’ll sing in a minute., "all other ground is sinking sand." How do we "stand on Christ"? "Jesus’ blood and righteousness" is not language that most of us usually use. But grounding ourselves in the deep and merciful love of God is something we can practice–through regular, daily times of prayer and meditation, in your room or over your first cup of coffee, in the woods, on a mountain. Through regular body prayer, like yoga or walking or skiing or playing music or singing–letting your mind air out. Through regular gathering with a community of faith like this one–larger than any single individual.

"For there is still a vision for the appointed time," Habbakuk hears. "Hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today," Jesus calls up to Zacchaeus. We must root to rise, and rise we will, into ministries and witness re-imagined for a new day. "Authentic grace...is the stamina for sacrifice," yes, and it is also amazing. "The righteous–those who are right with God–live by their faith, their trust in God." And the Son of Humanity–the Divine coming to inhabit human flesh–came to seek out and to save the lost." With faith, with stamina, with vision, there is no limit to what God can do through us. Thanks be to God!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Shame No More, Humility Always"- Joel 2:23-32, Luke 18:9-14--Oct. 23, 2016

Dan Clendenin was in Oxford, England, researching a paper, when he decided one Sunday morning to go to St. Aldate’s Church. "As I walked into St. Aldate’s," he writes, "the usher handed me a bulletin and enthusiastically greeted me, ‘We welcome all sinners!’" [journeywithjesus, 10/16/16] "It was just what I needed at the time," Clendenin says, but how do you suppose such a greeting would go over here? "Welcome to Second Congregational Church! Here’s a bulletin for you. We welcome all sinners."

"We welcome all sinners!" That’s what they said about Jesus, of course, and not in a good way. "He welcomes sinners!" And they pointed to the usual suspects–tax collectors, prostitutes, people with questionable histories and reputations. You know, those people. Jesus knew they said this about him, and in fact, they were right. He did welcome sinners, and he said that God does too.

So, he told them a story–like he often did–so that they could see themselves a little better.

Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you,[Jesus said] this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.

The original impact of this story is lost on us, because we’ve been denigrating the Pharisees for so long, we expect the Pharisee to be the "bad example." But that is unfair. The Pharisees of Jesus’ time were actually the ones who kept the faith together, in the midst of occupation, who dedicated their lives to trying to live God’s way. Tax collectors–the Publicans--, on the other hand, were much more morally suspect. They were agents of the enemy, the occupying Empire, who made their living not only by collecting the mandated taxes but adding their own cut, which was how they raised their own salaries.

To see the Publican [or tax collector] as honorable [writes Paul D. Duke] and the Pharisee as a creep makes the story false, curdles it to a dishonest (and easily anti-Semitic) morality tale and sends us straight into the trap of saying, ‘God, we thank you that we are not like this Pharisee!’ Better to see him as he is–a thoroughly decent, generous, committed man–and to see the Publican as a compromised, certified stinker... [The Christian Century, Oct. 1995]

Two prayers: "God, I thank you that I am not like other people...the sinners, who do bad things, like that tax collector." and "God, be merciful to me, a sinner." The one man–the Pharisee–judges his worth, and other people’s worth, by what he does or doesn’t do, what they do or don’t do. The other man–the tax collector–knows what he does–collects taxes, colludes with the enemy–and defines himself that way–"a sinner." Yet, he goes home "justified," or "right with God," Jesus says, because he throws himself on the mercy of God, who sees his worth beneath his deeds, this God who "welcomes sinners."

The Pharisee, like so many of us, thinks that he has to justify himself by what he does. He has to earn his worth. His self-worth is built on how well he obeys the laws, what he does, where he spends his time, who he associates with. Don’t get me wrong–our deeds do matter. We must walk the walk and not just talk the talk. But our essential worth? God knows that that is deeper than our deeds. The Pharisee thinks he can "get right with God," that he can earn God’s love and approval, by his deeds, and, conversely, that God does NOT love those who don’t follow the law. The tax collector knows that he’s not "right with God," and so throws himself into the mysterious, counterintuitive mercy and love of God, and Jesus says he went home "justified."

In a way, this story is a perfect description of the difference between "guilt" and "shame." We may experience guilt when we have done something wrong, when a transgression has occurred. Guilt can actually be productive and constructive, if it prompts us to get back on track, to make amends, to change our ways. Those "transgressions" or breaches which so many of us could name and write down a couple Sundays ago were expressions of our guilt.

Shame, on the other hand, is a feeling of unworthiness or regret because of who we are. Shame goes to our essential value or worth. It’s not about what we’ve done but about who we are. How do you change that? How do you change the parents you were born to, or the place where you were born, or the color of your skin, or the sexual identity or orientation you were born with, the number of years you’ve lived or the way your body is put together? There really is no recourse for shame, if it’s about who you are. And that’s a terrifying, enraging, destructive place to put someone in, or to find yourself.

But we all do, says shame researcher Brene Brown. "We all have it," she writes. "Shame is universal and one of the most primitive human emotions that we experience. The only people who don’t experience shame lack the capacity for empathy and human connection. Here’s your choice: Fess up to experiencing shame or admit that you’re a sociopath. Quick note: This is the only time that shame seems like a good option." [Daring Greatly, p. 68] Shame, Brown defines it, "is the fear of not being worthy of real connection," not ever being worthy of belonging [Daring Greatly, p. 8] but of course, we human beings, as she puts it, are "psychologically, emotionally, cognitively, and spiritually hard-wired for connection, love, and belonging... It’s why we’re here... What gives life purpose and meaning." [Ibid., p. 68] So, to fear that we can never be worthy of belonging, of connecting, that is the seed and source of all kinds of destructive behavior.

"God, have mercy on me, a sinner," the tax collector cries. Who I am is a sinner. In his cry for mercy, the tax collector desperately hopes that there is something in him that God can find worthy of connecting to, and, Jesus says, yes, he is worthy of connection. He went home "justified," right with God.

"God, I thank you that I am not like other people," the Pharisee prayed...those people not worthy of connection with me. Oddly enough, such a statement is also based in shame, for the Pharisee thinks we are made worthy of connection by what we do, not who we are; that we have to prove our worth, that we have to justify ourselves.

The 4^th c. desert saint John the Dwarf said, "We have put aside the easy burden, which is self-accusation, and weighed ourselves down with the heavy one, self-justification." [cited by Dan Clendenin, op cit.] The heavy burden is having to prove ourselves worthy of connection, instead of simply believing we are worthy. Those who do so believe – that they are worthy of connection – are what Brene Brown calls Wholehearted people, those who engage in life from a place of worthiness, resilient to shame, in other words. This means living a life of courage, compassion, and connection, which conversely, means being vulnerable. Living wholeheartedly, reaching out to connect with others, believing that we are worthy of love and connection, makes us vulnerable to rejection, hurt, failure, and criticism, but it also makes us resilient to shame, able to move from that temporary sense of unworthiness to a deeper, more resilient place of worthiness and connection.

When you start looking for it, it’s amazing how pervasive shame is in our culture. In the last 10 years, Jean Twenge and Keith Campbell write in their study, Narcissism Epidemic, the number of diagnoses of narcissistic personality disorder has more than doubled, and underlying every level of this diagnosis is shame [Brown, op cit. , p. 21] There is a fear of being ordinary, so grandiosity is perceived to give some kind of protection against ordinariness and shame. You may have noticed this syndrome at some of the highest levels of our society. It’s devastating–to the people with it and all the people in their orbits. All based in the fear that "I’m not enough. There’s not enough. I’ll never have enough."

"Worrying about scarcity," Brene Brown writes, "is our culture’s version of post-

traumatic stress disorder. It happens when we’ve been through too much, and rather than coming together to heal (which requires vulnerability), we’re angry and scared and at each other’s throats." [Daring Greatly, p. 27] That pretty much sums up the 2016 presidential campaign. The opposite of scarcity is enough, I am enough, there is enough, wholehearted living.

"God, I thank you that I am not like other people, like those people," those Trump supporters, those Hillary supporters. "Our capacity for smugness is astonishing," wrote Paul D. Duke, back in 1995.

In the nation and in the churches, what a rage is on to assure ourselves and define ourselves by who we are not like. Could there be a better indicator that we have no idea who we are? When our eyes move away from our own shadowy hearts, there is no place else to look but at someone else, and no comfort but in claiming: Well, I’m not like that! [in Clendenin, op cit.]

1995. 2016. A rage is on and we still don’t know who we really are.

"You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied," God says through the prophet Joel, "and praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you. And my people shall never again be put to shame." Shame–that fear of not being worthy of connection-- does not come from God. In fact, God put the lie of separation to rest by coming to live among us, as one of us. There is nothing you can do–deny, abandon, run away–that can forever separate you from God–unless you choose to. That’s how I understand hell–separation by our own choice, not God’s condemnation. "My people shall never again be put to shame."

"I tell you," Jesus said, "this man went down to this home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted." All who humble themselves–not accuse themselves of being worthless or worms, but rather who can empty themselves enough to be filled with God–they will be exalted.

Humility is typically a hard thing for us to grasp, [Paul Duke writes]. It involves being able to see the truth about who we really are and accept others as they are. And more than that; it leaves room for us to see the grandeur that is God. It allows us to be who we were called to be in God’s order, rather than who we envision ourselves to be. It enables us to prepare to receive God into our lives–not the God we want or the God we think we need, but God–Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, who loves us more than we can even fathom, on the days when we are sinners and the days when we get it right and the days (which is mot of them) when we don’t even know which we are."

We are loved by an unending Love. We are worthy of connection, of belonging, and so is everyone else. "Whoever you are, wherever you are life’s journey, you are welcome here." "No judgments, just Jesus," as the Wisconsin church featured on the back of our bulletin says. There is nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of God, which we know in Christ Jesus, as Paul wrote. This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, and this is really good news.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Prayer Warriors"-- Jeremiah 31:27-34, Luke 18:1-8 --Oct. 16, 2016

Clergy are prohibited by law from making partisan political speeches from the pulpit. It puts their congregation’s tax-exempt status into jeopardy, though some have argued that it’s a limit on their freedom of religion. Other than to urge you to vote in this November’s election–a right people have died for--, I will not be delivering any partisan, political sermons today or in the weeks to come, but I have to confess that I don’t think ignoring the political context in which we gather for worship each Sunday and live our lives the rest of the week is particularly helpful or even possible. Unless you watch only the Weather Channel or Home Improvement shows, you can’t turn on your television without hearing or seeing something about the political campaigns. You certainly can’t go on Facebook or any of the other social media outlets without seeing at least one post about some candidate. It’s almost as though it’s in the air we breathe, and I don’t have to tell you, the air has gotten pretty toxic. It has gotten into our bloodstreams, our bodies have absorbed the brutality and ugliness of the rhetoric, old and new traumas have been unearthed. One can barely imagine such a thing as a "purple state," because red and blue seem so irreconcilable. Without downplaying or denigrating the horror and trauma of bomb-and-blast places of war, like Aleppo or Mosul, it feels at times as though we are living in a war zone.

Nancy Rockwell, a UCC pastor and blogger in Exeter, NH, writes about a friend of hers who is a professor of theology at So. Methodist University and who is an active member of her Methodist Church. She’s also African American. When asked if she thought a Catholic priest should be sent in to do an exorcism on one or both of the campaigns, she jokingly replied that in her church, the Prayer Warriors would be on top of this.

"African Americans, in my opinion," Rev. Rockwell writes, "have learned more about the power of prayer and its practices than any other Christian group." You’ll recall the powerful witness of the people of Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston, SC after the shooting of 9 members of their congregation by a white supremacist. "No liturgy, moving and eloquent as they can be," Rev. Rockwell writes, "no silence, profound and revealing; no beloved Book of Prayers can come close to being surrounded by a group of black women who have put on the armor of faith and are operating as prayer warriors." [biteintheapple, 10/9/16]

If you have been prayed over by a group of faithful prayers, maybe even had hands laid upon you in prayer, you’ve had a taste of this power. Or maybe in the midst of a health or other crisis, when you’ve thought to ask for prayer or your community has simply known you needed to be held in prayer, you may have experienced an inexplicable sense of being held, or loved, or being at peace. Rev. Rockwell writes, "Too often, this power [of prayer] gets focused on small personal details in individual lives. These deserve prayer. But not a war of praying."

"Where is the circle of Prayer Warriors surrounding Donald Trump for the sake of the 40% of the nation who believe in him? [she asks, and then laments, ] No powerful evangelical has taken on the position of Campaign Chaplain....Doesn’t he need their support,... to heal his campaign?" And what about Hillary? we might ask. Doesn’t she need a circle of Prayer Warriors surrounding her, healing her campaign?

"While I’m on the subject," Rev. Rockwell writes, "I’d like to see a gang of African American prayer warriors march into Hillary’s HQ, surround Bill, and promise to keep him occupied from now until the election, anytime he isn’t giving a campaign speech," (and also while he’s giving a campaign speech, I might add). "Who more than Prayer Warriors believe in redemption? Believe that a man [or woman] can change? Believe that God can use the worst of us, to bring out the best in us? Believe that justice can, at last, be won?" (Ibid.)

Isn’t it time to send in the Prayer Warriors?

The widow who kept pestering and waling on the unjust judge was a prayer warrior. The word in Hebrew for "widow" means "silent one," "one unable to speak." [John Pilch, Cultural World of the Gospels] Jesus uses this person on the margins of society as a model for persistence in prayer, and prayer here is the relentless demand for justice. She is anything but silent.

The judge in the story, translator Mark Davis says, is a man with power who is living as if there is no moral order to the universe and as if life has no divine purpose, meaning, or consequences. [leftbehindandlovingit, 10/9/16] The widow keeps coming, day after day, demanding that he "grant [her] justice against [her] opponent, [her] adversary," which literally means, "anti-justice." She is not only annoying, she is fully in his face, not only "wearing him out," but "making him black and blue." She is focused, determined, fearless.

"Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart," Luke sets up the story. But again, we have to be careful about too neatly assigning roles here. Is God really like the unjust judge whom we have to keep pestering to grant us our prayers? Or is God more like the widow, relentlessly seeking justice, never giving up?

Tracy Farmer, a physician who has worked tirelessly to bring health care to the poor of Haiti and who wrote the book Mountains beyond Mountains, picks up a term from JRR Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring Trilogy, in which the Elves of Lothlorien admit they are losing their battle for their forest lands; yet they are committed to staying in the "long defeat." Farmer acknowledges that his efforts too are a "long defeat"–"I have fought the long defeat [he writes] and brought other people on to fight the long defeat, and I’m not going to stop because we keep losing. Now I actually think sometimes we may win. [that was before this last hurricane which devastated Haiti] I don’t dislike victory...We want to be on the winning team, but at the risk of turning our backs on the losers, no, it’s not worth it. So you fight the long defeat." [cited by Dan Clendenin, journeywithjesus, 10/16/13]

Glennon Doyle Melton, whose blog momastery and her books Carry On, Warrior and Love Warrior, have inspired and given hope to many women, states that we need to stop pretending life, parenthood, and friendships aren’t hard. Like M. Scott Peck’s book The Road Less Travelled which was a best-seller back in the 1970's, and which began with the revolutionary sentence, "Life is hard," we have too often been led to believe that life should be easy. That bad things shouldn’t happen to good people. That life should be fair. So, it’s tempting to misunderstand, minimize, or explain away the things that don’t go well or easily or fairly.

"We are born to be warriors," Doyle Melton writes, "strong, powerful, and brave; able to confront the pain and claim the love that exists for us all." Words not often enough directed to or believed by women especially. The challenge, she says, is "how to use crisis as a springboard to truer identity and a better life....how to enter the fire of our lives and transform it into fuel to light the world..." to become "Love Warriors."

"The days are surely coming, says the Lord [through Jeremiah], when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah...[and] this is the covenant that I will make...: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more."

Jeremiah prophesied in a time not so unlike ours as you might think. The nations were in turmoil, the leaders making alliances with almost anyone but God, a gap of literally hundreds of desert miles between the elite in exile and the poor left behind in the rubble of cities and villages.

"The days are surely coming, says the Lord" Jeremiah cries, "when I will make a new covenant with the people....and I will put my law within them, and I will write it–etch it–on their hearts." God’s law, which, as Bruce Epperly says, is not oppressive or rigid, but "liberating, encouraging creativity and care for each other, transformative, present as our deepest reality," written on our hearts. God’s law–not our own, self-centered, my way or the highway law; God’s law–not some imposed, dictated, outside law; but God’s law–in which I discover my truest self, my deepest joy, my own well-being aligned with the well-being of the planet.

"Jesus told them this parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart." The widow who kept pestering the unjust judge – "Grant me justice against my adversary"– this woman who was supposed to be the "silent one, the one unable to speak"– she spoke what was in her heart day after day, over and over, "because [as Barbara Brown Taylor puts it] saying it was how she remembered who she was. It was how she remembered the shape of her heart." [The Long Way Home, cited in Weekly Seeds, UCC, 10/19/13] The law of God had been written on her heart, had shaped her heart. And courage, by the way, originally meant, "telling the true story of your heart." [Brene Brown] "Jesus told them this parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart."

It is that courage, that persistence, that hunger for justice, that love for God and this achingly beautiful world and incredibly blessed country that we desperately need at this critical time. We need people who are called to be Prayer Warriors to keep Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton and every other person running for offices of leadership and responsibility surrounded and infused with the fierce love of God. We need Prayer Warriors to pray over our fragile planet. We need Prayer Warriors to pray our community rife with addiction and despair. Can you imagine if those Prayer Warriors devoted themselves and trained themselves like the men and women who are called to be warriors in our nation’s armed services do? Can we even imagine what such a training and devotion would look like?

Even those of us not called to such a commitment can still add our energies and intentions to the healing and guiding of our nation, can still refuse to add to the ugliness and hatred and deceit being offered up, can send love and compassion toward those whose opinions and positions differ so profoundly from ours, for our own sake as well as ours. For though prayer is a mystery, it changes the prayer if not the prayed for. For the truth is, we must live together, or we shall die together, at least die to the vision that once formed the nation. May the fire of our lives and the crisis of our times be transformed into the fuel that can light the world and remind us of our true identities. In this battle, whether it is the long defeat or the ultimate victory, may we be found strong and brave and true.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Second Congregational Church

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