Second Congregational Church

“God-Colors and -Flavors” -- Isaiah 58:1-9, Matthew 5:13-20 -- Feb. 9, 2014

In what seems to be our typical fashion, we have taken too much of a good thing and made it too much. We have taken salt–a natural flavoring and preservative and component of our bodies–and put tons of it in our food, especially our processed food, so that millions of us now have to avoid salt. It raises our blood pressure, causes us to retain fluid, opens up our taste buds so spices are enhanced but also whets our appetites for more salty foods. Too much of a good thing.

Salt has been a part of human life for as long as we’ve been around. Not only is it a component of our bodies, as I said, but some even say it allowed for human civilization. It was a seasoning and a preservative. It was a commodity–our word “salary” comes from the root word for “salt.” It was used in rituals, “used to seal covenants, sprinkled on sacrifices, and understood as a metaphor for wisdom.” (Kate Huey, Weekly Seeds, 2/9/14) In the Orthodox Church today, newborns are rubbed with salt along with the blessing, “May you be preserved for eternal life.” (Nancy Rockwell, Bite in the Apple, 2/9/14)

“You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus told his disciples, the ones upon whom he had just delivered the blessings, or beatitudes–the poor in spirit, the meek, those who mourn, the peacemakers, the merciful, those reviled and persecuted for righteousness’ sake– you are the salt of the earth. When we say that about someone– she’s the salt of the earth, or he’s the salt of the earth– we mean that person is deeply good, dependable, nothing fancy or showy about them, but someone you want to have around and can count on. “You are the salt of the earth.”

Peterson puts it this way–
“Let me tell you why you are here. You’re here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You’ve lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage. Here’s another way to put it [Jesus said]: You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. [You are the light of the world.] God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand–shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God...” [Eugene Peterson, The Message]

You are salt and light, Jesus says to his disciples. That’s who you are, but when you aren’t who you really are–when you try to be someone or something else–you lose your purpose for being here. Are we–21st century disciples–are we still salt and light? Do we bring out the God-flavors and God-colors in the world? And in a world that suffers from salt overkill and 24-7 artificial light, what does it mean to be salt and light in a good way, in a life-giving way?

Preaching professor Tom Long puts the problem for the church this way–
The church, for all of its vision, is overpowered, outnumbered, and often overlooked; the challenge is indeed formidable for a small group trying with mixed results to live out an alternative life, set down in the midst of a teeming, fast-changing culture that neither appreciates nor understands them...The hardest part is not in being Christ for a day, but being faithful day after day, maintaining confidence in what, for all the world, appears to be a losing cause. (Cited in Huey, op cit.)

You are the salt of the earth...the light of the world. This is who we are and what we are called to do. But this is not about institutional survival. This identity and this call is much larger than that.

In Jesus’ time, “each village had a common [clay] oven,” explains Biblical scholar John Pilch. The common fuel for the oven was something more plentiful than wood: camel or donkey
dung. One of the duties each young girl had to learn was to collect the dung, mix salt in it, and mold it into patties to be left in the sun to dry. [This is still a common fuel source in the Middle East and many 3rd world countries.] A slab of salt was placed at the base of the oven and upon it the salted dung patty. Salt has catalytic properties which cause the dung to burn. Eventually the salt slab loses its catalytic ability and becomes useless. Or as Jesus says, ‘It is good for nothing but to be thrown outside where it can still provide sure footing in a muddy road [or, trampled underfoot]. (Pilch, The Cultural World of Jesus, Year A, p. 31)

“You are the salt of the earth.” In Hebrew and Aramaic, the language of Jesus, the same word is used for “earth” and “clay oven.” “You are the salt of the clay oven.” You are what causes the fire to burn, that allows the food to be cooked, to feed the people, to make life possible. You are the catalyst for ignition. Do we think of ourselves this way? Do we even want to? What fires have you or we set lately? What might that even look like?–demanding more resources for the neediest among us and giving sacrificially of our own resources? Inviting a methadone clinic or a halfway house for ex-prisoners to use our building or our property? I’m just brainstorming here, thinking of “incendiary” options–I’m sure we could come up with a few others. But my guess is, most of us would rather not get burned that way. We all appreciate a good stepping stone during mud season, so maybe there’s value in being used that way. “You are the salt of the earth.” Who knew that Jesus could be such a trouble-maker?

You’re here to be light, he also said, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. But most of the time, we do, don’t we? Keep God a secret? Once again in yesterday’s paper, we were reminded that Vermont is the #1 least religious state in the union. Sshh...be very quiet...we don’t want to bother anyone...don’t want to challenge anyone else’s business of the idols they worship, whether they call them idols or not, but whatever they devote their time, talent, money, and energies to, wherever they look for confirmation of their worth. Even if it’s killing them, even it leaves them in despair and debt, we don’t want to intrude or shine a light on an alternative way to be. We don’t want to appear “too religious.”

“We’re going public with this,” Jesus says in Peterson’s version. “Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop–or a hillside–on a light stand–shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God....”

We do keep open house, by and large, which has risks of its own. Items disappear from our walls and our cupboards. But there is no such thing as risk-free Christianity. How might we go even more public? Some have urged us to broadcast our worship services on CAT-TV, to “go public” that way. We’ve got t-shirts, bumper stickers. So many members of this church family are “generous with your lives.” But let us continue to think about ways that each of us might bring out the God-colors, be windows of God’s light, in the world–epiphany moments in ourselves–prompting others to open up to and with God.

These are dynamic, ever-changing metaphors, not static, etched in stone commands. We are salt and light. How we are to live out that identity is an ever-changing, fluid challenge. But it is clear that simply going through the motions of the old ways–of fasting for the sake of quarrelling and humbling ourselves for the sake of being noticed, as Isaiah accused Israel–going through the “religious” motions is worse than useless. “Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high,” Isaiah says.

Is not this the fast that I choose [God asks]: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly...

We’re not just talking about making the world a little tastier or a little prettier, although living with all our senses is part of being “fully alive,” which, as Irenaeus said, “is the glory of God.” But just as salt and light are essential for life, so is our witness to the good news of God’s reign essential to life on earth. Day after day, the news is relentless about the devastating effects of not living in God’s Way. Look at what living without it results in–without a reverence and faithful stewardship of the earth and its creatures, the earth is poisoned, depleted, warmed, and destroyed; without a sense of connection and oneness with all our neighbors, all our brothers and sisters, wars and violence ravage the planet; without a sense of justice and righteousness, the systems and structures within we live continue to keep people oppressed, held captive in poverty, despair, hopelessness, ignorance; without compassion and a willingness to suffer and sacrifice, human beings are discarded and used as objects, suffering needlessly and in isolation; without a sense of the Reality of Love that is at the heart of the universe and our very lives, people feel worthless, seek meaning and escape in substances, habits, and enterprises that are ultimately unsatisfactory and destructive.

You are salt and light. That is who we are. All around us are God-flavors and God-colors waiting to be brought out, revealed, enjoyed, shared. And all around us, the fires of justice and healing and hope are waiting to be ignited. “One enkindled soul can set hundreds on fire,” a wise man once pointed out (William Danforth). Let the fire begin with us.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Super Blessing"--Micah 6:1-8, Matthew 5:1-12--February 2, 2014

Not only is the clash in this evening’s Super Bowl between the Seattle Seahawks and the Denver Broncos; there also couldn’t be a more clear clash of values between the Super Bowl and the Beatitudes, which happen to be the reading from Matthew’s gospel this morning.

Consider this: I read that the average ticket price at today’s game in the Meadowlands is $4,084. The average weekly salary in the U.S. is $831. The current going rate for a level 3 suite @ the Metlife Stadium is $800,270. The average cost of a new home in the U.S. is $340,300. Last year, an estimated 3.9 million people bought new furniture for Super Bowl parties. Over 3.5 million people experienced homelessness. A 30-sec. Ad spot for the Super Bowl goes for an average of $4 million, for a total ad revenue of $300 million. $300 million could educate 272,727 kids for a year. As one commentator wrote, "Enjoy the Super Bowl. Be suspicious of its values." (Matthew Skinner, Odyssey Networks, 2/2/14)

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."

This sounds more like the Super Bowl of Losers. "Christianity for Dummies," somebody has called these beatitudes, after the series of books that "make intimidating subjects approachable." (David Sellery, This Week’s Focus, Epiphany, Year A) And, I don’t know about you, but there are times when I’m trying to live out this way laid out for Jesus, that I feel like a loser or a dummy. I remember reflecting on a situation I’d been in when I said to myself (I thought): "I feel like a chump." And then the words came to me, "Yes, but you’re my chump."

Blessed are all these people, Jesus said, and yet we can hardly imagine a less blessed group of people–the poor (as Luke has it) or poor in spirit? Those who mourn? The meek? Those who are persecuted and reviled? In our Super Bowl culture, these are the least blessed. The word translated as "blessed" here is the Greek word makarios, which means blessed, or happy, as our pew Bibles translate it. The Rev. Robert Schuller famously called these the "Be Happy Attitudes." To be blessed means to be "fortunate," or "well-off." Another source says it also means to have special favor, unique standing, empowerment, endowment. That’s what it means, maybe, but what does being "blessed" feel like?

Lutheran preacher David Lose suggests, "To be blessed feels like you have someone’s unconditional regard...like you are not and will not be alone...like you will be accompanied wherever you go... Being blessed feels like you have the capacity to rise above the present circumstances, like you are more than the sum of your parts or past experiences. Being blessed feels like you have worth–not because of something you did or might do, but simply because of who you are..." (Working Preacher, 1/26/14)

Another writer defines "beatitude" as an "enduring, existential state of serenity found only in harmony with the will of God." (David Sellery, This Week’s Focus, Epiph. Yr. A) Being blessed then isn’t the adrenaline rush of a victory lap. It doesn’t necessarily produce celebrity or adulation. In a culture of honor and shame, Jesus offered blessing. Someone has suggested that we live in a culture of affirmation and blame[Lose, op cit.] , of empty praise in service of "self-esteem," or of blame–it’s always someone else’s fault, as the current state of our politics demonstrates. These beatitudes of Jesus come to those considered least blessed by our culture, and they may be the ones most open to the blessing. There is nothing we can do to be blessed like this. Blessing is sheer gift and grace.

Several years ago, Fred Rogers, the Presbyterian minister known to most of us as "Mr. Rogers," was invited to Hollywood to receive a special Emmy honoring his lifetime of work.

When Fred Rogers stood up to speak, he said that he knew the room was filled with so many stars and celebrities

, men and women who had achieved much. [people whom our culture would consider "blessed."] Rogers then took out a pocket watch and announced that he was going to keep thirty seconds of silence, and he invited everybody in the room to remember people in their past–parents, teachers, coaches, friends, and others–who had helped them along the way, who had paid the price for their success, who had made them into the people they were today. It was a call to a particular testimony of steadfast love. And then Mister Rogers stood there looking at his watch and saying nothing. The room grew quiet as the seconds ticked away, and before Fred Rogers tucked away his watch, one could hear all around the room people sniffling as they were moved by the memories of those who had made sacrifices on their behalf and who had given each of them many gifts. [ that is, all the people who had blessed them]. [cited by Mark Ramsey in Journal for Preachers, Lent 2014, p. 36]

Blessed are the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, those who are persecuted for Christ’s sake, who are reviled falsely.

"The Beatitudes draw our hearts out of themselves into a new way of understanding our lives," writes Brendan Freeman, a Trappist monk from Iowa. "They are deliberately incomplete [he says. Who are these people? The poor in spirit...the meek...the pure in heart...those who hunger and thirst for righteousness...? and when do they receive the blessing?]. They await the inclusion of our lives. Each person fills in the blank space with the details of his or her own life situation." (Cited by Patricia Farris, Christian Century, 1/26/05) Where do we fit into these verses? Do we even want to fit in, other than feeling blessed? Who of us wants to mourn or to be poor, in spirit or otherwise? Who of us wants to be persecuted or reviled? This is not necessarily a call to seek out persecution or pain or sorrow, but it does assure us that when we find ourselves in these situations, and when we are in relationship to people who are in these situations, that the steadfast love of God will be with us, and we will experience that blessing, if we are able to be open to it.

"What of us," asks Bruce’s and my seminary classmate the Rev. Patricia Farris, "What of us, we who would be disciples of Jesus Christ and servants of the kingdom in this time of war and violence, of hunger and homelessness and greed, of death in war abroad and in our streets at home?...What gestures are we to make now to accompany these words? What commitments? What risks? What dreams?"

She turns to a prayer of the late William Sloan Coffin for answer–

Because we love the world, we pray now, O [God], for grace to quarrel with it, O thou whose lover’s quarrel with the world is the history of the world...Lord, grant us grace to quarrel with the worship of success and power...to quarrel with all that profanes and trivializes [people] and separates them...Number us, we beseech Thee, in the ranks of those who went forth from this place longing only for those things for which Thou dost make us long, ‘those for whom the complexity of the issues only served to renew their zeal to deal with them, [those] who alleviated pain by sharing it, and [those] who were always willing to risk something big for something good...O God, take our minds and think through them, take our lips and speak through them. Take our hearts and set them on fire.

[Farris, op cit.]

May this be our prayer as we come to the table, as lovers of the world and yet who are engaged in a lover’s quarrel with the world. May this be our prayer as we come to the table to share the Bread of Life and the Cup of Blessing. And so may we be blessed.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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

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

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

So here’s the letter–

Dear Erin and Mark,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,
Aunt Mary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jump into experience while you are alive!

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

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

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

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

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

A New Year Begins

(by Alden Solovy)

Every moment a new year begins.

Something lost.

Something gained.

Every day, a new challenge.

Every hour, a new choice.

Every second, a new chance.

G-d of Old,

In this moment, a baby will be born,

And a child will die.

In this moment, lovers will marry,

And others will split.

In this moment, someone will hear

That their medical treatments succeeded,

And others will be told

To prepare to die.

Every moment a new year begins.

Something lost.

Something gained.

Let me love gently in the morning

And ferociously at night.

Let me dance wildly at dawn

And slowly at dusk.

At midnight, let me sing quietly,

And at midday I will croon, full voice.

I will breathe in a soul of compassion

And breathe out a soul of peace.

Creator of All,

Every moment a new year begins.

The flow of fresh light from heaven

Touches our hearts.

Something lost.

Something gained.

Let it be for blessing.

Let it be for healing.

Let it be for shelter.

Let it be for wisdom and strength.

Let us be, in this moment,

Your messengers of kindness on earth.

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

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

Here’s to the new year and life!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

“Dreams and Visions” -- Isaiah 7:10-16, Matthew 1:18-25 -- Dec. 22, 2013

Apparently there was always some question about Jesus’ parentage. That was one of those “givens” that the Christian tradition had to deal with in telling the story of Jesus, and when they looked to the culture around them, one solution was to contend that he was born miraculously, specifically, born of a virgin. That’s what was said about Alexander the Great–that he was born of a virgin, was the son of god, and, by the way, he died when he was 33.

When the writer of Matthew’s gospel began to tell the story of who Jesus was, he began, like many other ancient biographies, with a genealogy–“An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham,” this gospel begins. We hardly ever read these first 17 verses of Matthew–name after difficult name, 14 generations from Abraham to David, [Matthew explains] and 14 generations from David to the deportation to Babylon, and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, 14 generations. In that list of names are 5 women, 5 great-great, however-many-great-grandmothers of Jesus, and all of them women of, shall we say? questionable reputation–Tamar, the madame of a brothal; Rahab, a prostitute; Ruth, a foreigner who, frankly, seduced Boaz, a relative of her mother-in-law; Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, whom David had an affair with; and Mary, the mother of Jesus, who was found to be “with child” before she and Joseph were married. Matthew says it was through Joseph that Jesus was of the lineage of David, for the Messiah would come from that line.

“Only Matthew speaks about Joseph,” Nancy Rockwell writes, “acknowledging his doubts about the marriage, about Mary’s unexpected pregnancy, how he struggles in his mind and is disturbed in his sleep.” (The Bite in the Apple, 12/14/13) We often hear the phrase, “gentle Mary, meek and mild”–and remember, “meek” doesn’t mean milquetoast, it means totally open to be used by God. Gentle Mary, meek and mild. But similar words could be used for Joseph–gentle Joseph, allowing himself to be used by God. He was a “righteous man,” Matthew says, trying to be faithful to the law, but when he learned of Mary’s pregnancy, he knew that life didn’t always fit neatly into the law. The law said that Mary should be stoned to death. But, Matthew tells us, “unwilling to expose her to public disgrace [or death, we might add], [Joseph] planned to dismiss her quietly.” One gets the sense that his heart was broken.

“It is easy to be smitten by the goodness of Joseph,” one commentator observes (Rockwell, op cit.). We can see a reflection of Joseph in Jesus’ later refusal to condemn the woman caught in adultery. Joseph was Jesus’ father in many real ways. He also reverses the role of husband in that patriarchal culture, at least as tradition tells it, in that he was servant to his wife, taking care of her in all sorts of situations, taking her and her infant son away to Egypt to escape Herod’s rage, providing for her behind the scenes and disappearing from view. We don’t know what happens to Joseph, though it appears that he is dead by the time Jesus begins his public ministry.

Yet here at the beginning, in Matthew’s version of the birth of Jesus, it is to Joseph that the angel comes, in a dream, to announce that the child in Mary’s womb is a holy child, a child from God, and he, Joseph, is to have an important part in this child’s life. “You are to name him,” the angel tells Joseph-- an important role in a child’s life– “you are to name him Jesus,” which in Hebrew means “saves.”
“There were many babies in the Old Testament with the name Save,” Walter Brueggemann points out [Day 1, 12/19/04]– Joshua, Isaiah, Hosea. “You are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins,” the angel says. He will show his people that they don’t have to be separated from God, which is another way of thinking about sin. And in fact, that’s the other name the angel gave Joseph for the child to be born–Emmanuel, God with us–just like that child the prophet Isaiah told King Ahaz about, back before the exile.

Ahaz, king of the southern kingdom Judah, is worried about the military alliance that the northern kingdom Israel has formed with Assyria, but Isaiah assures him that God has other plans for that alliance. If the king of Israel thinks that Assyria will save him, he has put his trust in the wrong savior. So, God says to Ahaz through Isaiah, “Ask a sign of the Lord your God: let it be deep as Sheol or as high as heaven.” Ahaz goes all pious on Isaiah and says he won’t put God to the test, but Isaiah knows that the king has barely any relationship at all with God.

So he says, OK, since you won’t ask for a sign, here’s the sign that God will give anyway: [and remember: this is not an intelligence report. This is poetry, to get Ahaz to consider bigger possibilities, to open up his mind] “Look, a young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel. He shall eat curds and honey[typical peasant diet], and by the time he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, [maybe in 3years? 4?] “the land before whose two kings you are in dread will be destroyed.” Who is Isaiah talking about? Who knows? Probably not Jesus. But Isaiah is almost surely not worried about the circumstances of this birth, whether it is miraculous or not. The Hebrew word here for young woman is ‘admah, which usually means young woman . It can mean virgin, but Hebrew has another word for that – bethulah –which is usually used. When the Hebrew got translated into Greek and then into Latin, the word virgine was used, so when Christian scholars looked into the ancient texts to understand who Jesus was, this is one of the texts they turned to. But, a case could be made that what both Isaiah and Matthew were trying to say was that God is with us in the midst of the direst situations.

“All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.”

“The name, Jesus,...[one writer says] is [Joseph’s] gift to the Child. Matthew says, the angel whispered it to him.” (Rockwell, op cit.) Joseph named Mary’s child Saves-- Jesus-- and knows him as God with us-- Emmanuel. This husband of Mary, known more by his wife’s name than his own, chooses to be part of God’s story, part of God’s plan for “saving” us–from our sin or separation from God, from our fear of death, from our alienation from our true selves and each other, as well as from God.

It is up to us to decide what we will name this Child. Do we see in him, in his way, in his life, death, and resurrection, do we see in him the way out of our darkness and despair? Or do we see in him another foolish dreamer, who gets mown down by the people who have the real power. Do we see God with us in him? Or is he God-above/beyond-us, having very little to do with our lives here and now, but only after we die? Do we see in him God’s only dabbling in incarnation, in becoming flesh, or do we see in him the fullness but also the beginning of God’s incarnation in all of us, what we all might become? Is God still speaking? Is God’s Word still becoming flesh in us? Are we saved by that one death, or/and are we saved at any moment when we choose to follow in that Way, when we open ourselves up to being filled with God, so that God is with us too?

Consider Joseph, the carpenter, the dreamer, gentle Joseph, meek and strong.

Sin fractures the Vision, not the Fact [wrote W.H. Auden in his Christmas oratorio, For the Time Being]; for
The Exceptional is always usual
And the usual Exceptional.
To choose what is difficult all one’s days
As if it were easy, that is faith. Joseph, praise.”

The time is drawing near. Now is the moment to choose to be part of the story. Places,
everyone!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

For 12/14/13 “Speaking of Religion” page–

“The poor you will always have with you,” Jesus said. Pure statement of fact. There will always be those who lack the physical, mental, social, or emotional resources to provide for themselves in any given economic system, so “deal with it,” Jesus says. “Deal with it,” not by condemning them, or sending them away, or treating them as worthy of any less dignity and respect and kindness than you’d deal with me, he said. In fact, whenever you feed or house or visit or bind up the wounds of any of these, my brothers and sisters, Jesus said, you’ve done it to me. Deal with it. The poor are part of every community that’s remotely open, i.e. not gated or walled in or protected by 24-7 security guards.
The ongoing community discussion about the Panhandling Ordinance passed by the Select Board is an opportunity for us to “deal with it.” Some tourists have said that they’re made “uncomfortable” by the presence of “panhandlers” outside of local businesses. While safety is a legitimate concern, “discomfort” can be a helpful thing. We all should be “uncomfortable” with the fact that there are those in our community who do not have enough to eat or adequate housing or sufficient support for their physical or mental needs. The ones who are out on Main St. are simply the obvious ones, but there are dozens– hundreds actually- of our neighbors who consistently hungry, lack decent housing, are numbing the pain of their depression, discouragement, hopelessness, illness with a variety of various substances. We know that at least a quarter of the families in Bennington rely upon the Kitchen Cupboard for food each month. The Free Clinic is full to overflowing. Good Shepherd Shelter can house 6 people on any given night, leaving dozens without a place to sleep or even find shelter from the elements, with or without the ban on sleeping in cars.
There are many good and compassionate people working everyday to assist the poor and those down on their luck in our community. Agencies from the Department of Human Services to Sunrise to BROC to the Homeless Coalition to PAVE to the Greater Bennington Interfaith Community Services to any number of faith communities work tirelessly–and even “tiredly”!–to be of assistance, to stand in solidarity, to work through systems with those who find themselves in need. But too often it can feel like sticking fingers in the dike, holding back the flood of human need that any day might overwhelm us.
This is an issue that demands a wider discussion, greater creativity and imagination, more sectors of our community involved in coming to the table. Pope Francis, in his recent Apostolic Exhortation, called on the people of faith to address the structures that keep people in poverty.
Those structures include tax codes, educational systems, distribution of resources, advertising that defines us as consumers only, social systems that separate people into permanent different economic classes, health care systems, economic systems that put profits over people. Addressing the structures that keep people in poverty is neither simple nor easy. But “deal with it” we must.
While many people’s experience of life is one of scarcity–scarcity of resources, of hope, of safety, of health, of joy–the underlying principle of the two religious holidays we celebrate in this season–Christmas and Hanukkah–is abundance. Out of the fullness of God’s grace and love, Jesus came to live among us, to preach good news to the poor, to embody the truth that Love and Light are in fact all around and within each human being. Hanukkah celebrates the abundance of oil which allowed the flame in the Temple to continue burning, symbolizing the abundance of God’s faithfulness and care for God’s people.
So may we acknowledge that abundance and together work toward making our community one in which all have enough, all are treated with dignity and respect, children and youth can grow up with hope, adults are empowered to contribute to the common good, and visitors will marvel at how we live together.
Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
Pastor, Second Congregational Church, UCC

"Something’s Not Right"-- Isaiah 11:1-10, Matthew 3:1-12-- Dec. 8, 2013

Though we light the 2^nd Advent candle this week–the Candle of Peace–I like to think of this second Sunday in Advent, particularly when we’ve got today’s gospel reading from Matthews, as "Brood of Vipers Sunday." Good ol’ John the Baptist, cutting through all the pre-Christmas glitter and sweetness with a healthy dose of telling it like it is. "You brood of viper!" he yells at the Sadducees and Pharisees who had come out into the wilderness to see him, "Who told you to flee from the wrath to come?!" Wow, don’t hold back, John! Tell us what you really think!

"The people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to [John], and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins." You could say John was the anti-celebrity, in his clothing of camel’s hair and leather belt around his waist, eating locusts and wild honey, and screaming at the top of his lungs–"Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." And yet people streamed out into the wilderness to hear him and be baptized by him. Maybe they were tired of living their lives the way they were. Maybe John’s call to change, or get back on the right path, was actually refreshing. "Perhaps," as one commentator suggests, to know that "there is a God who holds us accountable–that the world is not amoral" is actually "good news." It affirms that gnawing feeling that something’s not right here. "To be confronted by such a holy God [this commentator says]...is to discover who one really is, which though it may be painful, may also be a relief." (Texts for Preaching, Year A, p. 17)

It was clear that something wasn’t right when Isaiah prophesied to Israel. This familiar passage about the shoot coming out of the stump of Jesse is set in the context of a whole lot of stumps. The Lord God will clear cut Israel, in fact, Isaiah says just before our text. "Look," he says, "the Sovereign, the Lord of hosts, will lop the boughs with terrifying power; the tallest trees will be cut down, and the lofty will be brought low. God will hack down the thickets of the forest with an ax, and Lebanon with its majestic trees will fall."

In the midst of this devastation, "a shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse [David’s father], 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...with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth.." Is he talking about Jesus? we Christians assume. Or maybe talking about a leader like Nelson Mandela became.

But what’s wrong with Isaiah’s vision? The wolf living with the lamb, the leopard lying down with the kid, the calf and lion and fatling together? The cow and bear grazing together, the lion eating straw like the ox–how long do you suppose the lion will be satisfied with that?! And throughout this portrait, images of the little child–"A little child shall lead them..." "The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den." What’s wrong with this picture? There was no more vulnerable or powerless figure in Isaiah’s–or Jesus’–time than a little child. So many died in childbirth or infancy, they were the last to get fed. This utterly vulnerable one shall lead the nation? Shall play in the midst of very real dangers and threats? Surely this is only the stuff of children’s paintings and fairytales. And yet....and yet...

This vision of the "peaceable kingdom," as Edward Hicks’ famous painting of the scene is entitled, this portrayal of shalom –of peace, of wholeness, of harmony– is a vision of creation time, as Walter Brueggemann puts it (cited by Kate Huey in Sermon Seeds, 12/9/13). "The big ones eating the little ones is not the wave of the future...The leader who upends the strong over the weak is himself vulnerable and humble." What is normal or abnormal? This is the promise of something better than what we’ve gotten used to as "normal."

In his book, The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know Is Possible, Charles Eisenstein talks about his nostalgia for the cultural myths of his childhood, when "everything worked"–

"a world in which there was nothing wrong with soda pop, in which the Super Bowl was important, in which America was bringing democracy to the world, in which the doctor could fix you, in which science was going to make life better and better, and they just put a man on the moon."

If you worked hard, you would succeed, he recalls.

[But] as my horizons widened [he says] I knew that millions were not supposed to be starving, that nuclear weapons were not supposed to be hanging over our heads, that the rainforests were not supposed to be shrinking, or the fish dying, or the condors and eagles disappearing. I could not accept the way the dominant narrative of my culture handled these things: as fragmentary problems to be solved, as unfortunate facts of life to be regretted, or as unmentionable taboo subjects to be simply ignored. On some level, we all know better.

We’re reluctant or afraid to give voice to that knowledge or feeling though.

Addiction, self-sabotage, procrastination, laziness, rage, chronic fatigue, and depression are all ways that we withhold our full participation in the program of life we are offered. When the conscious mind cannot find a reason to say no, the unconscious says no in its own way. More and more of us cannot bear to stay in the ‘old normal’ any longer.

(Excerpted from Dec. Kripalu Compass online)

"The wolf shall live with 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." Is that the "new normal"? And if Isaiah wrote this 2500 years ago, when is this "new normal" going to appear?

Isn’t it interesting that at the center of this vision of the "new normal" promised by God is the figure of vulnerability. Who of us wants to be vulnerable? How risky and naive is that? The world eats up the vulnerable, we say, we know.

And yet, in her research on shame and vulnerability, sociologist Brene Brown has found that the willingness to be vulnerable is an essential quality of what she calls "wholehearted living." Vulnerability, in fact, is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. (Brown, Daring Greatly, pp. 33-34)

You may have heard Krista Tippett’s interview with Brene Brown this morning on VPR’s

OnBeing. Krista asked Brene to explain a statement she had made: "Vulnerability is the core, the heart, the center, of meaningful human experience." So explain that sentence to me, Krista said to Brene.

Vulnerability, I think, you know, when I ask people what is vulnerability, the answers were things like sitting with my wife who has Stage III breast cancer and trying to make plans for our children, my first date after my divorce, saying I love you first, asking for a raise, sending my child to school being enthusiastic and supportive of him and knowing how excited he is about orchestra tryouts and how much he wants to make first chair and encouraging him and supporting him and knowing that's not going to happen. To me, vulnerability is courage. It's about the willingness to show up and be seen in our lives. And in those moments when we show up, I think those are the most powerful meaning-making moments of our lives even if they don't go well. I think they define who we are.

And further, Dr. Brown says:

And I can tell you as a researcher, 11,000 pieces of data, I cannot find a single example of courage, moral courage, spiritual courage, leadership courage, relational courage, I cannot find a single example of courage in my research that was not born completely of vulnerability. And so I think we buy into some mythology about vulnerability being weakness and being gullibility and being frailty because it gives us permission not to do it.

(Transcript, OnBeing.org)

If we define vulnerability as uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure, as Brown does, then think about love. Surely love involves uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure. No vulnerability, no love. Are we willing to pay that price? And the products of vulnerability–

creativity, imagination, empathy, courage–can you think of any more essential qualities we need in our leadership, our common life, our family and individual lives right now?

"A little child shall lead them," Isaiah says of God’s vision for us. Vulnerability is at the heart of this vision. Love is at the center. The arms of the cross intersect in the middle of this vision. John the Baptist saw the ax at the root of the tree, Isaiah saw a shoot growing out of the stump. Jesus came as a little child.

"O tidings of comfort and joy!" the carol sings out. It’s what we all want. But to get to comfort and joy we must be willing to go through the discomfort and risk of vulnerability. We have to allow ourselves to feel, not to numb, all those feelings of discomfort and sorrow– our fears of being exposed or failing or being imperfect–we have to allow ourselves to feel those uncomfortable things if we are also to feel the things we want to feel–like joy and love and courage and belonging. There is no such thing as selectively numbing just the unwanted feelings. We end up numbing all feelings, even the good ones.

We can risk all this because the Love that came (down) at Christmas is also not selective. It is for all of us. Each one of us is worthy to be loved. Even those whom some would call a "brood of vipers." "The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, [Isaiah said], and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den." That’s where the vipers live! We are–all of us-- loved. That’s the old and the new normal for God. "O, tidings of comfort and joy!" Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

At any moment...."-- Isaiah 2:1-5, Romans 13:11-14, Matthew 24:36-44 -- Dec. 1, 2013

There is a wisdom in learning how to meditate which teaches that when you notice your mind has wandered to your grocery list or what you might have said to your teenage son when he came in late last night, when you notice that your mind is no longer focused on your breath or the word you had chosen to repeat, then you are simply to "begin again"...to come back to your breath or your word without judgment; no need to beat yourself up, the mind is just doing what the mind does, just begin again.

Advent is the time for us to begin again; but the Scripture lessons for this first Sunday in Advent, let us know that this is not just a baby shower. This is not your typical New Year’s Day party. There is a decided "wake up and smell the coffee" tone about Advent. "Now is the moment to wake up," Paul says, "the night is far gone, the day is near." "Therefore you also must be ready," Jesus says, "for the Son of Humanity is coming at an unexpected hour." It’s a promise, but also a warning.

Surely there is no more challenging time for us than December to "begin again" on any sort of intention to get our act together, to pay attention to our lives, to be more mindful of the people and moments of our lives, to get our priorities right. This is the time, at least in the West, for the full press offense of the Powers That Be to convince us that the most important thing in our lives is Consuming. In fact, it’s our patriotic duty to support the economy, to provide jobs, to measure our worth by how much stuff is under our tree.

Maybe Paul’s advice to "put on the armor of light" isn’t such a bad idea. We can use all the help we can get.

When my husband Bruce was working in Syracuse with clients who were HIV-positive or had AIDS, he heard from many of them that knowing that your days are numbered has a way of clarifying things, a way of changing the way you live your life. That’s what Jesus and Paul were talking about. That’s the wisdom of these Advent texts. "The night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light. Let us live honorably, then, as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ...."

How would you live if you knew your days were numbered, that the time left for you to live was short? How would you look at your loved one’s face? How would you regard the sunlight coming through your kitchen window?

One of the rare moments of grace during the Civil War came during the surrender negotiations at Appomatox. General Grant told General Lee to be sure that all the horses be sent home with his men because they would need them for plowing the fields, for it was April, and the time for planting crops was growing short. And each man was to be allowed one rifle to take home, for hunting, for feeding his family. "They shall beat their swords into ploughshares," Isaiah saw.

On the plaza in front of Marsh Chapel at Boston University is a monument to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who got his doctorate at Boston University School of Theology. It’s a sculpture of 50 abstract doves, one for each state, whose wings are decidedly swordlike, taking flight. It’s entitled, "Free at last," giving shape to Dr.King’s vision of freedom, based in Isaiah’s vision of swords being turned into ploughshares, symbols of peace, where each one would live in freedom and dignity. Walter Brueggemann compares Isaiah’s vision where nation shall not rise up against nation and beating their swords into ploughshares to Dr. King’s "I Have a Dream" speech. It’s important to enter into Advent, to begin again, with these visions in our heads, rather than merely visions of sugarplums.

"The night is far gone, the day is near.... Now is the moment for you to wake from sleep." In his recent Apostolic Exhortation, Pope Francis urged his priests to preach the Gospel of joy–don’t be sourpusses, he said. He also proclaimed the necessity for embracing change and letting go of "we’ve always done it this way." And finally, Pope Francis urged the church to take seriously the poor and to get at the structures which keep people in poverty.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I find myself listening to Francis as a spokesperson for the Church which has even the remotest claim to being the Body of Christ. "The night is far gone, the day is near...Now is the moment to wake up from sleep." Joy. Change. Poverty. Now there are priorities worth setting. Wake up. Keep alert.

We may hear these scriptures as dire warnings and miss the promise they contain. "Therefore you also must be ready [Jesus said], for the Son of Humanity is coming at an unexpected hour." Though there are plenty of texts that see the Son of Man or the Son of Humanity as ushering in violent end times, that see him as what is called "an apocalyptic figure," we might also see the Son of Humanity or the Fully Human One as a different kind of "end" or purpose--as the intention and fulfilment of our creation. "Eschatology" talks about the end times less as a battle or explosion and more as the goal or fulfillment. "Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Humanity is coming at an unexpected hour." At any moment, an opportunity to act like fully realized human beings might arise. At any moment, a decision might be made to do the right thing, to live out of our best selves, rather than our worst. At any moment, a flash mob could form that would bring beauty and music and meaning to an otherwise ordinary moment.

Would you be ready? Would you notice? Right now, how close are you to being the fully realized human being God created you to be?

Here at the beginning of Advent, as calendars are filling up, even as Snowball Bazaar Frenzy is beginning, what if you carved out 10 minutes every day–preferably at the same time every day–first thing in the morning, 4 o’clock in the afternoon, just before supper or just before bed–and simply paid attention...attention to your breath, to the sounds around you, "nowhere to go, nothing to do," is how the sages describe it. Talk about a radical idea, subversive even. Pay attention to your life. Wake up.

"The night is far gone, the day is near...Now is the moment for you to wake from sleep." "Therefore you also must be ready [Jesus said], for the Son of Humanity–the Fully Realized Human Being-- is coming at an unexpected hour." Maybe this one. You might begin by really tasting this bite of bread, this sip of juice; notice how it feels on your tongue and in your mouth. Picture it going down your throat, becoming part of your body and blood, you becoming more of the Body of Christ. Notice. Pay attention. You never know when you might just become who you are supposed to be. You never know when God will turn up as a word of kindness, an act of courage, a change in history, a moment of grace. Wake up. Get ready. Let us keep the feast.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"All Are Safely Gathered In" --Psalm 46, Colossians 1:11-20-- Nov. 24, 2013

It is the end of the church year–the omega point, if you will, the culmination of the alphabet from alpha to omega, a to z. "I am the alpha and omega," Christ says, the beginning and the end. The love of God which we know in Christ Jesus reigns over all creation, so we celebrate this Reign of Christ Sunday, what used to be called "Christ the King Sunday."

But if the image of a monarch or sovereign reigning over a kingdom doesn’t seem to resonate with anything in our lives here in Bennington, VT in the year 2013, if it all seems too abstract and heady, we might do well to turn to the ever-helpful Dr. Suess. Now, you might be thinking that we’re heading into the time of year where Dr. Suess’ classic "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" will soon be featured on tv’s and dvd’s, but I’m thinking of another Dr. Suess book, "On Beyond Zebra."

The narrator in "On Beyond Zebra" takes the reader through the alphabet, which we all know ends with Z, for Zebra. You can stop there if you want, he says to Conrad Cornelius o’Donald o’Dell, but then you’ll miss out on all the other great and useful letters, like Yuzz, which you use to spell Yuzz-z-ma-tuzz. And Wum, as in Wumbus. It’s the perfect Easter book, I think, and I did read it here one Easter. You may think that the crucifixion was the end of Jesus and the Jesus movement. That’s what Herod and the high priests and Pilate assumed. That’s what the world assumes about death. It’s The End. But God’s alphabet is not limited to 26 English letters. God is still speaking, and there are so many different ways for God to speak. God’s vocabulary fills up words and goes beyond them. God’s fullness isn’t even emptied by death.

In that one Word, which became flesh and dwelt among us, the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, the letter to the Colossians says. "So spacious is he, [Peterson suggests] so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding." Just like that very first, primordial particle that exploded in the Big Bang, everything in the universe–and maybe in other universes–was contained. "In the beginning," God and God’s intention for everything. Wow. Mind-blowing.

But still maybe a little heady, a little too abstract. For whether we know on a certain level that endings are not endings for God, whether we get that God’s alphabet goes on beyond zebra, still the experience, the gut feeling, the tearing and sundering of our hearts knows that endings also involve pain. Grief is not to be trifled with. It will take its time to work through our bodies, surprising us sometimes by its power, by its almost cat-and-mouse game–one day you think you’re doing ok, and the next day the littlest thing will unleash a flood of tears. Grief is the gift of endings–is it possible to think of it as a gift?!–as it takes us through the tearing of familiar bonds and attachments and then slowly, eventually constructs new and even stronger threads that allow us to heal and move on to the previously unimaginable ways we remain connected.

That time

[writes poet Mary Oliver]

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hands in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent

and my laughter,

as the poet said,

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

"It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it -

books, bricks, grief -

it’s all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot and would not,

put it down."

(Mary Oliver, in Thirst)

"So spacious is [Christ], so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe–people and things, animals and atoms–get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the Cross."

Why "because of his death"? Because in that act Jesus willingly emptied himself, gave himself over to be the channel through which our lives could freely flow through death into Life and Love itself, so that Death was no longer a barrier between us and God, between us and our loved ones who are now in God. In him–so utterly empty on the Cross–the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.

All is safely gathered in, we sang of the harvest. All are safely gathered in. Our loved ones. The children of Newtown, Connecticut. President John F. Kennedy. All those whose deaths we remember and feel so deeply, especially today, at this time of year. All are safely gathered in, but not just swept up like so many grains of wheat. There is a "heartbreak at the heart of things," as one poet writes-- The heartbreak of the Cross at the heart of things, we might say–but it is heartbreak mixed with joy and hope and meaning and love–

In the quiet before cockcrow

[writes John Hall Wheelock] when the cricket’s

Mandolin falters, when the light of the past

Falling from the high stars yet haunts the earth

And the east quickens, I think of those I love–

Dear men and women no longer with us.

And not in grief or regret merely but rather

With a love that is almost joy I think of them,

Of whom I am part, as they of me, and through whom

I am made more wholly one with the pain and the glory,

The heartbreak at the heart of things.

I have learned it from them at last, who am now grown old

A happy man, that the nature of things is tragic

And meaningful beyond words, that to have lived

Even if once only, once and no more,

Will have been–oh, how truly–worth it..."

("Dear Men and Women [in memory of Van Wyck Brooks]" (abridged) by John Hall Wheelock, from An Almanac for the Soul, by Marv and Nancy Hiles, p. 222)

"So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe–people and things, animals and atoms–get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the Cross."

"All are safely gathered in." Thanks be to God! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Good News! Bad News!"-- Isaiah 65: 17-25, Luke 21:5-19-- Nov. 17, 2013

Scenes from the Philippines this week almost look tragically familiar–they look all too much like other pictures we’ve seen–from hurricanes in Haiti, from an earthquake and then tsunami in Japan, from the Christmas tsunami in southeast Asia, too much like bombed out areas in Kabul, Baghdad, Dresden, London, Hiroshima. Not one stone left standing on another, unless thrown on top of each other by earth’s upheaval or the ravage of wind or wave. Utter devastation.

Two weeks ago, the houses and buildings in Tacloban, Philippines simply made up the street scene of home for thousands of people; they were part of the landscape seen everyday, giving structure to their lives, sheltering them from rain, gathering their family and friends around tables and celebrations. Inside babies were born, illnesses were endured...or not, and people died. In other words, life as they’d come to know it. Until the storm came. Then, in a matter of hours, nothing was the same.

"Look at these beautiful stones and memorial gifts, Rabbi," they said to Jesus as they talked in the Temple courtyard. "All this you’re admiring so much--" Jesus replied, "the time is coming when every stone in that building will end up in a heap of rubble." It was unthinkable– this massive edifice and complex, the very symbol of power and authority, the seat of the Holy One. Unshakeable. Guarded with ruthless power.

And yet, Luke’s community knew that Jesus’ words had come true. Scattered far from Jerusalem, probably sometime around 80 or 85, after the Judean revolt against Rome from 66-70, Luke’s community knew that both the city of Jerusalem and the Temple itself were in ruins, "a heap of rubble," not unlike the rubble that the exiles had found upon their return from Babylon, 500 years earlier. Luke’s community also knew that many of their number were being arrested and brought before governors and magistrates. Family members had turned against them; many had been put to death.

So, in fact, these predictions on Jesus’ lips were actually good news, comforting even, for he knew what they were going through. He had gone through it himself, and even now was giving them words and wisdom to speak in court, assuring them that every hair on their heads was counted and known by God and more than that, that their very souls were held in the power and protection of God.

In the midst of every upheaval–of cities and temples and churches, through storm and wind and bomb and fire, even the upheaval of death–God remains, with intimate knowledge of each cell and bone and hair of our bodies, loving us, body and soul, and infinitely beyond us, with knowledge too deep and wide for us to ever fathom. John Riddle and all of us who grieve Cindy’s death are held in that infinite knowledge and love. And because it is infinite, that knowledge and love also embrace Cindy, and all our loved ones, all those swept away and buried by typhoon and tsunami, hurricane and fire and disease.

"For I am about to create–or, even now I am creating–new heavens and a new earth," God says through the Third Isaiah, speaking to a people who have lived in the midst of the rubble for a while and are overwhelmed by the enormity of the task of rebuilding and getting back to any sense of life as they’ve known it. "The former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight....no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress..."

Naive words? Pie in the sky by and by? Is this just airy fairy theology, holding out hope for the next life because this life is so unbearable? 2500 years ago, and then 2000 years ago, just promises, promises? Look at the mess right now, not only in the Philippines and other storm- and war-ravaged places, but in our own country, our government, as some would say, in ruin, millions of people without adequate food, shelter, or employment; our own community wounded with poverty and hopelessness and substance abuse.

"I am about to create new heavens and a new earth." Any time now, God, any time. "Bad news is easy to believe," writes one commentator. "It’s the gospel that’s unimaginable to most [of us]." (Kyle Childress, Ekklesia Project blog, 11-13-13) Gospel–"good news." Is it just four little books in an ancient and dusty tome? Are there any images or sounds or tastes or smells associated with it? Is the gospel to be believed or trusted?

Jim Wallis tells the story from some years ago of volunteering in a church homeless shelter around Christmas time. The church basement was decorated with banners and Christmas decorations, "Good news! Christ is born!" "Glory to God in the Highest" and so on. One of the men who lived each day out on the streets looked around the room and asked, "What is the good news anyway?" Jim said there was a long pause; no one knew what to say. Finally someone spoke up from the back of the line, "The good news is that it doesn’t have to be like this."

(Childress, op cit.)

It doesn’t have to be like this. What the prophet Isaiah and Jesus were both doing was painting the picture of what an alternate reality might look like. If it doesn’t have to be like this, what might it be? "For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind," God says through Isaiah. "Not one stone will be left upon another," Jesus says through Luke. But of course, he also painted so many other pictures of the new heavens and new earth–"the kingdom/reign of God," he called it....where no walls would keep people away from God and where, in fact, God couldn’t be contained in a building. The kingdom is in you, he said, in your midst, still coming. Leaders are servants in this kingdom. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female–all have equal standing. There’s a banquet table with enough delicious, healthy food for everyone. The choir’s made up of birds and angels and all God’s critters; sun and moon and stars even sing. All the variety of skin colors and dress and music and dance glorify God. Death does not end life–it transforms it into new life–and Love continues to hold us and connect us to loved ones.

This is not a shuffling of the pieces on the board. This is a whole new board and brand new pieces. From death shall come new life, not just the old life resuscitated. "Doxology [or praise] is the ultimate challenge to the language of managed reality," Walter Brueggemann writes (Prophetic Imagination), and it is only when we are open to the possibility of a truly new reality that we can be re-energized, given the strength and hope to even become part of God’s new creation. "By your endurance," Jesus said, "you will gain your souls."

And despite what the powers that be would have us believe, truly experiencing our grief– our grief over the loss of loved ones, our grief over the poisoning and poaching of our planet, our grief over the loss of the dream we may have had for our country–truly experiencing our grief can break through the numbness that would keep us powerless and merely reactive. Our discouragement, our despair, our "what difference could I possibly make?" only serve the status quo, not God. We must not be afraid of the upheaval, of our world’s being turned upside down. It just may be God’s Holy Spirit stirring things up, shaking things down so that we will finally empty our pockets of all the stuff that’s weighing us down, that we will let go our grip of all to which we so tightly cling as being essential for our lives, and finally let go into God, whose radical freedom and creativity are in fact our hope, here and now, as well as in the future.

Imagine! "The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox...they shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord." Might we begin by an act of imagining new heavens and a new earth? "Any church that stops leaning toward ‘new heavens and new earth," writes one sage, " any church which no longer keeps taut the tension between the world as it is and the world as God intends it to be, is a sadly compromised and accommodated church." (Childress, op cit.)

What if we were lean into joy? Into a whole new earth? What if we were to invest our money, our time, our imaginations into this new "thing" that God is bringing to birth, even now, in our midst, even through us? Imagine!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Praise, praise, praise!?"-- Psalm 145:1-5, 17-21-- Nov. 10, 2013

The Church has its own secret language. Walter Brueggeman calls it "odd." We use words that only make sense here–sacrament, salvation, atonement, confession, doxology, benediction, and my personal favorite – "hermeneutic" (which means, how we interpret the Bible). These words may sneak into outside useage occasionally, but they are at their most authentic in the context of the Church’s life and worship, which means they are increasingly becoming extinct, no longer many people’s native tongue.

One of the words that permeates the Bible and our worship is "praise"–"praise the Lord!" Our first hymn is almost always a "hymn of praise"–"Praise, My Soul, the God of Heaven." There are some psalms that use "PRAISE" in every line, like Psalm 150–"Praise the Lord! Praise God in the sanctuary; praise God in the mighty firmament! Praise God for his mighty deeds; praise God according to his surpassing greatness! Praise God with trumpet sound... with lute and harp! ...with tamborine and dance...with strings and pipe! ...with clanging cymbals; ...with loud clashing cymbals! Let everything that breathes praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!" "We just wanna praise you, Lord!" sing the evangelicals in Praise choruses. "I will extol you [there’s one of those "odd" words], my God and King," begins Psalm 145 which David read for us this morning, "and bless your name forever and ever. Every day I will bless you, and praise your name forever and ever."

Yikes! That’s a whole lotta praising going on!

But does God "need" our praise? Is God so insecure that the Holy One just needs perpetual praise and reinforcement? What does it mean, really, to "praise God" night and day, and whatever can it mean to have rocks and hills "praise God"?

"Do we know what it means to praise? To adore? To give glory?" the Trappist monk and author Thomas Merton asked in his book Praying the Psalms.

Praise is cheap today,

[Merton wrote in 1956]. Everything is praised. Soap, beer, toothpaste, clothing, mouthwash, movie stars, all the latest gadgets that are supposed to make life more comfortable–everything is constantly being ‘praised.’ Praise is now so overdone that everybody is sick of it, and since everything is ‘praised’ with the official hollow enthusiasm of the radio announcer, it turns out in the end that nothing is praised. Praise has become empty. No one really wants to use it...

So,

[Merton says][because we don’t want to "praise God,"] we go to [God] to ask help and to get out of being punished, and to mumble that we need a better job, more money, more of the things that are praised by advertisements. And we wonder why our prayer is so often dead.

Merton wrote that the psalms–these ancients songs of Israel’s worship-- lead naturally to contemplation. He recommended choosing one at a time and making it the heart of one’s morning and evening meditation or prayer. (If you do that sort of thing). Spend time with it. "Praise the Lord, O my soul...and all that is within me, praise God’s holy name." Morning and evening...maybe at noon. See what it does to you. Let it do its work on you.

When my father died, I decided to take on the Jewish practice of saying the Mourners’ Kaddish every day for one year after he died. It’s a prayer that never mentions the loved one’s name or anything really about death; it simply praises God, who made the universe and life as it is.

Let God’s name be made great and holy in the world that was created as God willed. May God complete the holy realm in your own lifetime, in your days, and in the days of all the house of Israel, quickly and soon. And say: Amen. May God’s great name be blessed, forever and as long as worlds endure. May it be blessed, and praised, and glorified, and held in honor, viewed with awe, embellished, and revered; and may the blessed name of holiness be hailed, though it be higher than all the blessings, songs, praises, and consolations that we utter in this world. And say: Amen. May Heaven grant a universal peace, and life for us, and for all Israel. And say: Amen. May the one who creates harmony above, make peace for us and for all Israel, and for all who dwell on earth. And say: Amen. [Prayers for a House of Mourning]

Over and over. Night after night. Some nights it was all I could to keep my eyes open. Some nights the words were meaningless. But it became part of me. It reminded me that life is as it is, that there is a deeper wisdom and blessing in life than always appears, that I and my father were part of something much greater than both of us, that deeper than my meager imagination was a harmony and radiance and love which permeates the universe. Praise God. Bless God’s holy name.

I’ve spoken before about thanksgiving–that if the only prayer you offer is "thank you," that’s enough. It still is. But my friend and colleague, Marshall Hudson-Knapp–a former member of this congregation and pastor of the Fair Haven Congregational Church for the last 35 years or so–and I have had an ongoing conversation about the difference between thanksgiving and praise. Praise is slightly different from thanksgiving, Marsh maintains. Thanksgiving has a subtle thread that refers back to us. "Thank you, God, for this thing that somehow makes or has made my life fuller, more beautiful, more peaceful"–whether it’s God’s presence with me or the one whose well-being is on my heart, whether it’s for the food or the view or the company which nourishes me... Thanksgiving is always somehow self-referential.

But praise-- as I’ve come to learn from Marsh–praise seems one-directional–it just goes out there. It’s just about God, not about me. "So does that mean God is ultimately transcendent," I asked Marsh, "ultimately other?" "And inescapably imminent," Marsh nodded. "Inescapably inside of us." [This is the kind of conversation clergy have when they get together!] Praise, at the very least, gets us out of ourselves. It affirms that we are part of something much greater than ourselves. It’s not all about us. That’s why music is often a much more effective form of praise than words, not for God’s sake, [although maybe God prefers music] but for ours–it’s too easy for us to get caught up on the words, whereas music–if it’s truly great music-- has the power to transport us beyond ourselves. And, some would argue, music speaks more truly the language of the soul.

Another way to get beyond ourselves is service, of course. Tending to another’s need instead of ruminating on our own is a time-honored way of healing mild depression or of just being in a "funk." To praise God by serving another is a deeply wise practice, and sometimes may have more integrity than going through the motions of ritual or "worship"--

I hate, I despise your festivals,

[God says through the prophet Amos] and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream. (5:21-24)

"Every day I will bless you, [God], and praise your name forever and ever." While praise takes us out of ourselves, it also connects us to our true Selves. In the act of praising, we enter into ongoing creative activity of God, we align ourselves with God’s being and with the ultimate truth of our lives. What we focus on is what we give our attention to; we might even say that we become what we focus on. God’s presence becomes larger in our awareness. We become more generous when we focus on God’s generosity; we become more compassionate when we meditate on God’s compassion. Rather than focusing on our faults, our blemishes, like the minister with the radiated facial deformity that Maria Sirois told us about, we can focus on what is beautiful and good and true within us. That doesn’t mean ignoring our faults and blemishes, it simply enfolds them into a larger picture.

In the praise psalms, praising the God of creation, the source of all abundance, Walter Brueggemann says that "Israel’s song of ‘exuberant trust’ praises the way God set things up, the way God established ‘a coherent, viable, life-giving, life-permitted order–a place for life." (Cited by Kate Huey in Sermon Seeds, 11/10/13) "Exuberant trust"–I like that. "The Lord watches over all who love God," the psalmist says in v.20, but then we read that jarring statement, "but all the wicked God will destroy." Is this the God we trust in, exuberantly or otherwise?

"The happiness or prosperity of the righteous, "writes Clinton McCann, "is not so much a reward as it is their experience of being connected to the true source of life–God." [That’s what praise does–it connects us to God.] Similarly [he says] the destruction of the wicked is not so much a punishment as it is the result of their own choice to cut themselves off from the source of life. The compassionate God does not will to destroy the wicked, but their own autonomy gives God no choice." (Cited by Huey, op cit.) Or, I would say, "their own autonomy chooses for them their own result, which is disconnection to God, which is ultimately destruction."

So we praise God....which connects us to God...which puts our lives in such a vast, mysterious, wondrous context that, in the midst of-- and at the end of-- such a life of praise, we can let go, knowing that we are connected by so many threads to God that nothing can separate us from the love of God, which we know in Christ Jesus. To praise God is to align ourselves with the Truth of the universe, including ourselves–which rocks and hills and trees automatically do, so they "praise God." To praise God is to notice, be aware of, the wonder and beauty and mystery all around us, not so hard in this season now passing, but possible in every season. To praise God is to notice, be aware of, the wonder and beauty and mystery within–"I praise you, God, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made"–how amazing that our bodies work the way they do! That they heal and re-route pathways, that they are built for pleasure and given pain to notify us that something’s wrong, that they are able to express love and caring and solidarity.

And even in the midst of times when praise seems the farthest thing from our minds– when we are confronted with injustice or cruelty or pain or illness or even death–the psalms provide models for us as well. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" one psalm well-known to Jesus begins. We can express any and all emotions in God’s presence–anger, despair, vengeance, grief– as many of the psalms do--but there’s always an "And yet," or "still...I will praise you...my ancestors trusted in you...You are my God." The threads of praise still connecting us.

Help, Thanks, Wow is the title of Anne LaMott’s book on prayer–a slight modification on the claim that "thanks" is the only prayer you need. "Wow" is praise. "Oh, wow, oh wow, oh wow!" are the last words Apple founder Steve Jobs is said to have uttered as he died.

Finally, Walter Brueggemann offers this guide to prayer–

...these words that tell our truth bind us to you, and to your passionate truthfulness. While the words linger sweetly on our lips, we are summoned beyond ourselves–as we always are–summoned to you, in awe and doxology, and exuberance. Summoned past ourselves to you...only to say...

Alleluia...God of heaven;

alleluia....still the same forever;

alleluia...slow to chide,

swift to bless;

alleluia...gladly all our burdens bearing.

When we sound these ancient cadences, we know ourselves to be at the threshold with all your creatures in heaven and on earth, everyone from rabbits and parrots to angels and seraphim...alleluia...angels teaching us how to adore you.

And then in the middle of our praise which causes us to float very light, we are jarred and sobered:

Dwellers [as we are] in time and space

...

In time–the beginning of winter, as so many will not have enough to heat their homes...alleluia;

In time-- as flu season begins, and we cannot figure out a way to provide healthcare for all...alleluia;

In place–in the Philippines, where thousands are lost to wind and waves; in Syria, in Afghanistan, in Iraq, where cars explode and children are gassed...alleluia;

In place–in Washington, where the rich are given seats and the poor are forgotten; here, where escape and pleasure are sought through drugs, where lines form at the Kitchen Cupboard...alleluia;

That is how it is when we praise you. We join the angels in praise, and we keep our feet in time and place...awed to heaven, rooted in earth. We are daily stretched between communion with you and our bodied lives, spent but alive, summoned and cherished but stretched between. And we are reminded that before us there has been this One truly divine (at ease with the angels) truly human...dwellers in time and space. We are thankful for him, and glad to be in his missional company. Alleluia. Amen. (Brueggemann, Awed to heaven, Rooted in Earth, pp. 85-6)

And amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Second Congregational Church

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