“Home Again”-- Nehemiah 8:1-3,5-6,8-10, Luke 4:14-21 -- Jan. 27, 2013

The lesson from Hebrew scripture and the Gospel lesson that have been paired together today describe what has become a familiar scene for us–the reading of Scripture to a gathered community and an interpretation or teaching of it.  Ezra the priest reads the law of Moses to the people of Israel, recently returned from exile, who have gathered in the square facing the Water Gate.  Jesus returns to his home synagogue, after being baptized and tested in the wilderness, and is handed the scroll with the prophet Isaiah on it, a portion of which he reads to them, concluding with “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

It’s what we do every Sunday morning here–someone reads a portion of our tradition’s Scriptures–usually one from our Hebrew tradition and one from the Christian testament–and they often conclude that reading by saying, “May God add understanding to the hearing of this word” or “This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, and this is good news!” or “Listen to what the Spirit is saying to the church.”  Our more liturgical brothers and sisters say, “This is the word of the Lord.” And the response is,   “Thanks be to God!” and, after the gospel reading, “This is the Gospel of Jesus Christ,” with the response, “Praise be to you, Lord Jesus Christ.”

For Jews, Christians, and Muslims, there are certain written words that are considered sacred, or scripture–the Torah, the Bible, the Koran.  Other traditions have texts and sacred writings which illustrate eternal truths, but for the Abrahamic faiths, God is somehow present in the words on the page.  We differ across and within traditions as to how we understand that Presence--  Is it word for word, dictated by God, or are the words “God-breathed,” as Eugene Peterson says, through their human authors in their very concrete human contexts?  Did “God say it, we believe it, that settles it”? Or, as we say in the United Church of Christ, is God “still speaking”?

Wrestling with the texts is a time-honored Jewish tradition.  In fact, Israel’s name means “one who has wrestled with God.”  (You may recall the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel.) Students of the Torah sit across from one another and literally go back and forth, debating, arguing, examining all sides of the text.  The Talmud is a collection of stories and commentaries of the rabbis who have imaginatively expanded the text.  Faithful Muslims memorize the Koran–
the whole thing–so one must immerse oneself in that text, understand what you’re saying, if you are to be able to hold such a body of work in your heart and mind.

We Christians, on the other hand, especially those of us in the more “liberal” traditions, are more likely to regard our bibles as holy but prefer to keep them at arm’s length.  We may know or recognize a few passages–we recognize the shepherds and angels in the Christmas story, for example, or the creation story in Genesis, but do we know that there are two different creation stories there?  How many of us can really find our way around our Bibles, and when we happen upon one of those bizarre or especially troubling or violent passages, do we know what to do with them, except slam our bibles shut and exclaim, “That’s why I don’t read the Bible!”  You may have grown up in a different time and with a different approach to the bible, but I can tell you that more and more people have no training or experience at all in reading, let alone wrestling, with the bible, and the public exploitation of biblical texts to condemn or exclude people is becoming many people’s only exposure to this sacred text.  That’s why one of the 3 main goals of the UCC is to educate about and immerse our members in this text so that we can offer a different understanding and living out of its truth.

In the story from Nehemiah which David read for us this morning, the people wept when they heard the law and had it interpreted for them.  (From the very beginning, the texts have been explained and interpreted.)  We are not told why they wept, but I imagine that after being in exile for a couple generations, and coming to understand their exile as the consequence of their having turned away from God and God’s law, that it was a bittersweet homecoming to their Truth.  This is how God wants us to live, this is who we are meant to be, this is our true identity...and look how far we’ve gone astray from that.  The recognition of that and the deep understanding of the pain that wandering and turning away had caused them dropped them to their knees.  That is what a recognition of guilt–what we’ve done or haven’t done that has caused harm to ourselves or others–can do, but it should not leave us there, on our knees, weeping.  As long as we can recognize those actions or thoughts that have taken us away from our true center, we can get up off our knees and continue the journey, wiser to the pitfalls that await us and that have tripped us up before.

“This day is holy to the Lord your God,”Nehemiah and Ezra and the Levites say to the people. “Do not mourn or weep...go your way..” Eat and drink and share what you have with those who don’t have anything... “and do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”

“The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,” Jesus read from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, “because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”  Even Jesus picked and chose verses from Scripture, or at least Luke does as he tells this story.  These words are actually from a couple of different chapters in Isaiah, and Jesus leaves out, “to proclaim the day of vengeance of our God.”

Here in this season of inaugurals, we might think of this as Jesus’ inaugural address.  This is his vision for his ministry, this is how he understands his calling–anointed by God to bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of God’s favor.  This is what the kingdom of God looks like.  It has arrived and it is still coming.

But just as some Americans heard President Obama’s second inaugural speech as visionary, hopeful, empowering and others heard it as a power grab, a frightening liberal rant; so too the people in the synagogue in Nazareth had different responses.  Our assigned reading for today ends at a rather deceptive point, for next week we’ll read that while some thought Jesus spoke remarkably well, especially for a carpenter’s son, others thought he had become too big for his britches, and in fact, by the end of the scene, the crowd turns into a mob trying to throw Jesus off a cliff.  “What child is this?!” indeed!

Good news to the poor, release of the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed, and God’s kingdom come sound like good news in the abstract.  But when you start to get real, the news sounds less good–you mean, good news for the poor means I have to share? You mean, I’m actually holding some of the chains of those prisoners?  You mean, my eyes are the ones that need to be opened to the truth?  You mean, the structures that oppress some people actually benefit me?  You mean, God’s kingdom come means my comfortable world will get shaken up?  This is the “good news”?  And for Jesus’ neighbors, who were some of those who were oppressed, where was that phrase about ‘the day of  the vengeance of God’?

Abraham Lincoln’s second inaugural address was, like Barack Obama’s, relatively brief as inaugural speeches go, but it was actually critical of the nation, it named slavery as one of the sins of the nation.  Like Obama’s speech, like Jesus’ reading and interpretation, it too engendered wildly different and emotionally charged responses.  Jesus’ choice of text and his interpretation of it are good news only to those who acknowledge that all is not right, that too many people are hearing and living only the bad news of shame, of oppression, of exclusion.  This isn’t some “new age” thinking that Jesus has come up with–he reaches back into the tradition, back to ancient notion of “jubilee,” “the year of God’s favor,” where every 50 years, all debts are forgiven, the land returns to the original owner (who, by the way, is God) and all slaves and prisoners are released.  It is an old hope given new life.

Leslie Cooke writes, “Too long we have been concerned that our gospel should give offense; it is time we were concerned that it is not giving offense enough.  Our condemnation is not that [people] sometimes oppose the gospel but that so many ignore it.  If people paid us the tribute of their antagonism, we should have less cause for concern.”  (Faith Stakes a Claim, cited in Vt. Conference e-Kit, 1/24/13)   Are people criticizing and staying away from our churches because we are setting too many people free from the prisons of self-hatred and doubt and fear?  Are our numbers dwindling because we feed too many hungry people or house too many homeless people?  Or are we just too easy to ignore?  Does anybody notice what we do?

“The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,” Jesus read, ““because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”   The story of that reading in the Nazareth synagogue is not over yet–we’ll read what comes next next Sunday, and Jesus’ vision continues to guide us as live into God’s future for us.  In the meantime, I offer these words which echo those of Jesus and Martin Luther King Jr. and all those who throughout the ages, have called us to come home to our Truth–

Within the belljar of your heart let freedom ring...
And if that means one gesture today of permission to love your self or another a bit more kindly so be it...
And if that means a clarion call against oppression in your own backyard so be it...
And if that means a shofar blast of awakening to the potential within each of us to care for one another so be it...
And if that means a resonant voice in front of a crowd naming a shining future that is possible in a time that is dangerous then so be it.
What ever it looks like, however it sounds, however small or grand the shift, let freedom ring.
We must wear this mantle and carry this staff as if it was gifted to us...and it was...and we must.
(Maria Sirois, Daily Inspiration, 1/25/13)

May it be so.  Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Awash in Abundance"-- 1 Cor. 12:1-11, John 2:1-11-- Jan. 20, 2013

John’s Gospel is anything but a free-flowing journal or documentary. It is, rather, a carefully constructed, even poetic, statement of faith, beginning "in the beginning"–back before time even began–"In the beginning was the Word"--and ending–or rather, trailing off–into eternity–"But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written."

John’s Jesus is cosmic, totally in control, intentional, and, frankly, a little obtuse in some of his discourses. So, when we come fairly early on to the story of the wedding at Cana, we might be tempted to think, "Oh, ok, Jesus and his friends did do normal things like attend weddings." And wouldn’t it be funny, if as some have suggested, that Jesus and his buddies were such partyers, such big wine-drinkers, that they are, in fact, the reason why the wine ran out early?

It might be tempting to think that, but we’d be missing John’s point. "On the third day,"John begins the story. The third day after what? Jesus has just finished calling his first disciples–the third day after that? Or is it like, "On the third day after Jesus was crucified..." More likely that. We should keep our eyes open for resurrection life here.

"On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee..." The setting is a celebration of love. Marriage and weddings are over and over used in the Bible as symbols of the love between God and humanity, full-bodied, sensual, energetic. The Song of Songs is an erotic love poem tucked in the middle of our Bible, devoted to just this kind of love. This wedding at Cana is the setting for the first of Jesus’ signs, John tells us, a sign telling us about the nature of Love. It is to be celebrated. As one commentator writes, "God does not want our religion to be too holy to be happy in." (Robert Brearley, cited by Kate Matthews Huey in Weekly Seeds, 1/20/13)

We read that "the mother of Jesus was there." She is not named, and we have not met her before, as John’s gospel has no infancy narrative. If we’re looking for an insight into their family dynamics, neither of them comes off particularly well–Mary is a little nagging, maybe even the stereotypical Jewish mother–"They have no wine"–and Jesus’ response seems a little short and even disrespectful–"Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." As one commentator suggested, "If I said that to my mother, I’d be in need of a healing after that." Like a People Magazine article, we may be hoping for some insight into the mother-son relationship, but John is not interested in that. In fact, this is the first of just two appearances of the mother of Jesus (she is never named) in this gospel–here, at the first of the signs that Jesus did–and at the cross, the final sign, when Jesus commends her to John’s care and she to his, creating the new community, literally with his blood. She is present at both times when, as John says, "Jesus revealed his glory."

So, here in the story of the wedding at Cana, Mary (we can name her) moves the story along, rather than being fleshed out as a real person. "They have no wine," she tells her son. "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." From a Positive Psychology standpoint, we might say that Mary is focusing on the negative, on the lack. Jesus deflects her concern, and then moves to reveal the positive, the abundance that is hidden within this situation.

We are talking about a lot of water being changed into wine here–something like 150 gallons. This is in-your-face abundance and excellence, not just a slight improvement. It’s a miracle, of course, but Jesus is the one so open to the energy and power of God that he could channel it in all sorts of ways. He was an infinitely clear vessel for that channeling, but we know that all of us and all of nature are vibrating with the same energy. "Cleave the wood and I am there," Jesus teaches in the Gospel of Thomas. God is in the wood-- and beyond the wood, of course–but all the miracles of Jesus reveal an interrelationship–a luminous web, as Barbara Brown Taylor calls it–between everyone and everything. And so the water is transformed into wine, and good wine at that. "In turning water into wine," Dan Clendenin writes, "Jesus offers us excess for our emptiness." (Journey with Jesus, 1/20/13) Then of course there’s Soren Kierkegaard’s cryptic observation back in the 19^th c.–"Christ turned water into wine, but the church has succeeded in doing something even more difficult: it has turned wine into water." Ah yes, "too holy to be happy..."

"Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk, " the steward says to the bridegroom, who had been perilously close to being shamed for not having enough wine, "but you have kept the good wine until now." The first wine served, perhaps like love at its beginning, is savored and enjoyed. But as time goes on, it’s easy to have our senses dulled, to become numb to the beauty and rich flavor that love can bring to our lives. "The thrill is gone," as the song goes. And not just from love, but, for so many people, the thrill is gone from life. There is a lot of pain–even trauma–present in our society, and we have become a culture of self-medicators. This past week’s drug raid revealed not only a surprising number of sellers and possessors of drugs in our community, but, as the hospital’s emergency room displayed, a large number of users whose supply had suddenly been dammed up. And that’s just the illegal drug users. That doesn’t begin to address the number of legal abusers of alcohol. We are a society full of pain, seeking to numb it by any number of means.

"You have kept the good wine until now." Jesus reveals, in this first of his signs, that not only is love abundant, it is to be savored, paid attention to, nurtured, not taken for granted. And it takes work. Imagine those workers lugging the water up and down the ladders to fill the stone jars, the "drably dutiful," as one commentator wrote (Robert Brearley, op cit.) They were involved in a miracle of abundance, and they had no idea. When we’re washing the dishes or wiping the tables after Sunday Supper, are we aware that we’re involved in a miracle of abundance, as hungry people are fed and welcomed?

"They have no wine," the mother of Jesus tells him. "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." Jesus seems reluctant to act at first, and indeed, Carol Lakey Hess points out the "scandal of divine reluctance–God’s seeming absence or inaction in the face of human suffering and need in any age or place....In a world where for so many there is not clean water–let alone fine wine–where is the extravagance of God? In a world where children play in bomb craters the size of thirty-gallon wine jugs, why the divine reluctance? Like Mary,[she suggests] perhaps we have a role in the story, if we truly believe in God’s goodness and generosity, for we can ‘nudge God with our observation; they have no wine.’" (cited by Kate Huey, op cit.) Perhaps like Mary as well, we can lift our observation to God and at the same time, prepare for God to act–"Do whatever he tells you," she tells the servants.

"When human resources are at an end," (Alyce McKenzie, Edgy Exegesis, Patheos, 1/13/13) Jesus’ "signs" show us, God is able to pour wine into our water jars and life into our lifeless forms. Four years ago, the United States was filled with more hope about its future than I have experienced in my lifetime. Millions of people gathered into Washington DC to witness the inauguration of Barack Obama without a single incidence of violence. The hope seemed to infuse even the criminals. Four years later, the level of hope is considerably lower. As one African American preacher said, to a great extent,"promises remain unfulfilled, hopes have been dashed, dreams shattered." (Rev. Dr. Alvin O’Neal Jackson, Odyssey Network, "A Vision for America," 1/20/13) "We have not quite run out of money yet, [he says] but we are running low on courage, vision and leadership." Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream of the Beloved Community is not yet realized.

Like the mother of Jesus, we can acknowledge the situation. There are too many without the basic necessities of life–food, shelter, health care, education–let alone the less tangible necessities–hope, dignity, justice. The jars are empty for too many of our neighbors, for many of us as well. But we must not just focus on the lack. Jug by jugful, even spoonful by spoonful, we can begin to fill the jars with the full expectation that God can transform our labors and our longings into abundance beyond our imagination.

Is it "our hour" as a church, as we come to our Annual Meeting, to be transformed into something truly remarkable, something that can save our neighbors and loved ones from shame, offering life that is not just existence but even flourishing and thriving? "Now there are varieties of gifts," Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, "but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good." We are blessed with an abundance of gifts. How can we share or reveal our abundance with the world and with future generations, even to the 7^th generation, as Ernie commended to us last week? Henry David Thoreau said, "It’s not what you look at that matters. It’s what you see." Do we see water or wine? Deficit or abundance? Decline or possibility?

"You have kept the good wine until now. Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory." May God’s glory be revealed in us. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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2012 Giving Tree

Every year our Mission Team works with local agencies to provide gifts for families in Bennington County.  This picture is of the tree crafted by Andrea Lampron and all the wrapped gifts collected.

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"Called by Name"-- Isaiah 43:1-7, Luke 3:15-16, 21-22-- Jan. 13, 2013

 

My brief meditation this morning is really just the introduction to, and underpinning of, Ernie’s presentation a little later on about the challenges and opportunities we face today in the life of our church. And as we all become part of "the church" when we are baptized, it is fitting that we should look at the story of Jesus’ baptism which he shares with us.

All four gospels tell the story of Jesus’ baptism, but each has their own unique perspective. In some, the whole crowd hears the Voice from heaven, which some take to be thunder, saying that this Jesus is God’s beloved son. Others, like the one we read in Luke, have the Voice speaking only and directly to Jesus–"You are my beloved son; with you I am well pleased." The Spirit descends like a dove–"in bodily form," Luke tells us–and this tangible, feathered Presence alights on Jesus’ river-drenched body. Baptism happens in the midst of embodied life, in the presence of earthly elements. It’s not just an abstract, heavenly symbol.

"I have called you by name; you are mine," God says to Israel through the prophet Isaiah."Do not fear for I am with you...–everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made." Jesus was not and is not the only the only "beloved." God calls each of us by name, calls each of us "beloved," but our response to that claiming is "personal and situational," as Bruce Epperly writes. (The Adventurous Lectionary, 1/13/13) We are free to ignore that claim upon our lives, free to refuse to believe that God is able to love even us–as unworthy, or as flawed, or as confused as we may be or have been taught that we are. Even Jesus had to choose whether or not to accept the affirmation of the Voice–his public ministry lay before him, and he had to be tested in the wilderness to see whether this was a path he was going to take. But, as Epperly writes, "Fully alive, Jesus was fully open to embodying God’s vision in his own unique way, sharing God’s vision, energy, and power for the wholeness and salvation of humankind." (Ibid.) When and if we are "fully alive," God is able to work God’s vision through our unique selves, and we become part of God’s transforming wholeness and salvation of humankind.

Some of us were baptized as infants, and so "remembering our baptisms" may be a pretty fruitless enterprise. Others of us do remember our baptisms, as we were baptized as young or older adults in what is often called ‘believers’ baptism." Still others of us may not yet have been baptized, but for whatever reasons, consider ourselves part of the church community. It is said that Martin Luther, on particularly bad days, would look at the sign he had written for himself near his desk–"Remember your baptism." It’s not the sprinkling or the immersing in water that we are to remember. It is the affirmation and claiming that happens when we are baptized–"You are my beloved child," God says to each of us. Baptism doesn’t make us or our lives holy or sacred or mistake-proof, but it affirms, acknowledges, recognizes that we are, indeed, sacred beings, called by God, "created for God’s glory, formed and made by God," as Isaiah said.

Baptism is not just private and personal. It is a "powerful bonding experience," as UCC pastor Kate Huey writes, in which we understand ourselves as belonging to a community that is "engaged with God in the transformation of the world, in bringing a new world to reality at long last." (Samuel, 1/13/13) That’s why we yearn for and pray for God’s kingdom to come–"Thy kingdom come"--it has already been ushered in by Jesus but it is not yet fully revealed. Baptism "connects people with promises too big to fit into the world as it is presently constituted," as another commentator puts it (Richard Swanson, cited by Huey, op cit.)

Which is where we as a church community come in, where our discussions and prayerful discernment of our future come in. What we shall be has not yet been revealed. What shape or form the church will evolve into is still unknown. But by our baptism, each one of us has a part, has a stake, in what that future will be like. Our unique, individual gifts, and the gift of this particular, unique church community, are called into service by God for the transformation of the world. We can choose to respond to that call or we can ignore it. But the difference between those responses is literally the difference between life and death. "Choose life," God begs us. What will be our response?

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"More Light" --Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12-- Jan. 6, 2013

 

The Gospel writer we call Matthew is the most Jewish of all the gospel writers. He’s the one who most often puts the story of Jesus in the context of Hebrew scripture–"Thus, as it was written...," Matthew often says. He begins his gospel with a genealogy, tracing Jesus’ ancestry back to Abraham, the father of the Jews, through David and the various grandmothers and grandfathers of Jesus, down through "Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah."

As we heard in the reading from the prophet Isaiah, there is a universal stream in the Jewish tradition-- "nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn." The Jewish people, at their best and brightest, are a light to the nations, not just a parochial, exclusive, tribal sect, and phrases from Isaiah’s prophecy infuse Matthew’s story of Jesus’ birth– "A multitude of camels shall cover you....they shall bring gold and frankincense, and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord."

So, according to Matthew, after Jesus was born, it was not Jewish shepherds but foreign astrologers from the East who came to find the Child. These wise men, or magi, were quite possibly Zoroastrians, followers of the ancient Persian religion that read signs and patterns in the stars and sky, who were simply doing what they were called to do–studying the stars–when they discovered something worth exploring more deeply, something worth moving out of their usual patterns and routines to check out, something worth the risk of a journey to an unknown destination.

They come to the political and religious center of Judaism–Jerusalem–where they assume those on the "inside" have surely seen the same thing they have observed–signs that a "child born king of the Jews has been born." These outsiders then discover that, whereas they have come to pay homage to this new-born King, the current man with the title King wants to murder the child. So, after giving their auspicious gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, they go home by another way.

We are not told–and we have no reason to believe–that the magi gave up their Zoroastrianism, but no doubt they never looked upon it or the world in the same way after their journey. More light had been shed on their ancient wisdom. The light of Christ was integrated into their worldview.

The word epiphany, as we’ve said, means a "showing forth," a "manifestation." But more than that, it’s like the last piece of a puzzle when, put in place, reveals a deeper, broader meaning. So there’s a sudden realization or comprehension about what the whole thing means. This new information or experience, insignificant by itself, now illuminates a foundation or structure that had previously been hidden. An epiphany is an "ah ha!" moment.

The journey of the magi enlightened their understanding of the bigger picture that their study of the stars and planets had led them to but had been inadequate on its own. And just so, by including this story of these exotic visitors from the east in his story of the birth of Christ, Matthew adds a piece of the puzzle that turns on the Light, so to speak, for his community of Jewish Christians: It’s not just about us. This Light is meant not just for the Jews but for everyone. In fact, our Establishment tried to put the Light out. God is perfectly able to use whatever instruments God wants to fulfill the Divine Intention for the world. Don’t be too quick about judging someone by the crown or turban on their head or by the signs tattooed on their bodies or the cars or camels they drive.

Christians have historically looked upon other religious traditions in a variety of ways. One, that still has plenty of currency, is the exclusive one-- that ours is the only true religion. The only way to experience God is through Jesus. Another is that ours is the superior understanding, but recognizing that other traditions have value. Still another is the inclusive perspective–that from the same Source there are many paths, all leading to one destination. One expression of this says that all people, then, are "anonymous Christians," just as there is a Hindu saying, "all people are Hindus."

A fourth perspective, which I tend to prefer, is the pluralist one–there are different visions of reality, with different understandings, different values, and there is no need for uniformity. What we need is dialogue. We can remain "Christian," but deepen and widen our spirituality through understanding the wisdom and perspectives of other traditions. Through them God sheds more light on our own tradition.

The story of the visit of the Magi to the Christ Child is a critical piece in the bigger puzzle, especially in our world of instant communication, ready access to the teachings of other traditions, and constant interaction with people from every part of the world. God has ways of reaching and illuminating people of all cultures and traditions, and those ways are multiple, complex, and specific to those cultures and traditions. God’s revelation to humankind is ongoing and evolving–God is still speaking, if you will–and how that revelation is communicated and understood depends on the specific culture and vocabulary of the people receiving the revelation.

This applies not only to different religious traditions but also to different generations and different cultures. The digital generation may look for and receive God’s light in very different ways and places than those of older generations. Pastor John Robinson told the Pilgrims setting off for the New World that "God has yet more light and truth to be revealed from his holy Word," and that is as true today as it was then.

The magi, after finding and experiencing the Christ Child, went home by another way, "warned in a dream," Matthew says, not to return to Herod. There is real and present danger in clutching too tightly to the understandings and privileges of our own tradition. It’s too easy to lose our perspective, to develop blind spots that keep us from seeing the shadows that may have developed in our own understandings.

One of the real gifts for me of my various times spent at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health is the interplay and enrichment of different religious traditions. Hindu, Buddhist, Jewish, Sufi, and Christian traditions offer their wisdom and practices, and I find my own Christian perspective enhanced, enlightened, and refined, rather than threatened.

John Philip Newell, the wonderful Scottish poet and theologian, says that Epiphany is not just about the appearance of God but rather the transparence of God–God’s Light is at the heart of and in everything.[Day1.org] That Light shines beyond the boundaries of our traditions and our assumptions, enlightening the path forward.

That Light radiates from within the bread and the cup, and as we take the bread and juice into our bodies, so we take in the Light and become vessels of it. May this blessing be ours as we join the magi on the journey home this Epiphany day–

May the angels of light glisten for us this day.

May the sparks of God’s beauty dance in the eyes of those we love.

May the universe be on fire with Presence for us this day.

May the new sun’s rising grace us with gratitude.

Let earth’s greenness shine and its waters breathe with Spirit.

Let heaven’s winds stir the soil of our soul and fresh awakenings rise within us.

May the mighty angels of light glisten in all things this day.

May they summon us to reverence, may they call us to life. (Newell, Praying with the Earth, p.4)

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Early Christmas Eve, 2012

Even if we haven’t heard the story for a long time, we at least vaguely remember the characters– Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the kings or the Wise Men (we rarely remember the word "magi"), and the angels. Then, of course, there’s Jesus, the one whom all the fuss is about.

You can Google all these characters and spend hours and hours reading all kinds of interesting and crazy stuff about them. But then, you’d miss the point of the story.

Because the point of the story is not just about Jesus, certainly not about "facts" about how he was born. The story is too important and too true for "facts." The point of the story is that God, or whatever you want to call the Life Force, the Energy that lights and runs and radiates through everything that is, was, and ever will be, your Higher Power, Love, with a capital "L" or Light, with a capital "L" –God came to inhabit human flesh, most clearly and fully in Jesus of Nazareth, but that was to make the point. God lived not only in Jesus but God lives in you and me and all around us. The fact of the matter is that lots of time we’ve got so much stuff and baggage and fear and busyness built up around us that we don’t even pay attention to the God who was born in us. Children often have less accumulations built up in and around them, so we see God more clearly in them. But just as we keep searching for God-- somewhere, out there, in the sky and stars, in holy places-- God in fact is searching for us, poking us gently from the inside sometimes, sometimes knocking us over to get our attention.

The really good news is that nothing–all our silly searching in all the wrong places, all our wanderings in the wrong directions, no failure or flaw, not even death itself–nothing ultimately can separate us from God, whose love and light we know in Christ Jesus. That Love and Light is being born–in us and all over the world–this night, this moment. Glory to God in the highest and on earth. Peace. Amen.

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Late Christmas Eve 2012

The late Roman Catholic Archbishop Christophe Munzihirwa said, "There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried." Bishop Munzihirwa was martyred in 2001 in the war in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

"There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried." JK Rowling tried to communicate that to children in her Harry Potter books, where only those who had seen death could see thestrals, a strange, dinosaur-type creature. Harry Potter, whose parents had both been killed, and Luna Lovegood, whose mom had died, could both see them, while other children couldn’t.

The eyes of the people of Newtown, CT must be weary with crying this Christmas Eve night. They have been joined by millions of others, from the President on down, weeping over the slaughter of innocents this month. A commentator on NPR quietly reminded us of other eyes that have been crying, when, after reading the names of the 20 children and 6 adults who had been killed in the Sandy Hook Elementary School, he said, "We do not know the names of the 10 or 11 children in Afghanistan who died this week when they happened to walk along the edge of a field that had been mined."

"There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried."

This story that we read tonight–about the young mother and her not-yet-husband, about shepherds and angels, about a baby born and laid in the feeding trough of animals–can be heard as simply a lovely miracle story, a story for children, a story without blood or pain or messiness; and it is a beautiful story about God’s sending a child into the world to teach and show people about God.

But "there are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried.." The story also has power for those eyes–through tears the story reminds us of how close birth comes to death, as childbirth was the foremost cause of death for women in Mary’s time and still is in many parts of the world; through tears the story tells us how God works through circumstances that are not at all how we would have liked them to be–an untimely pregnancy, a necessary journey at the worst possible time, rejection by people who can see only money or status or success. Through tears, the story tells us that it is often far away from the center of the news media, on the edges of society, that God sends messengers to tell of hope, and birth–to shepherds and peasants and those who frequent soup kitchens and homeless shelters. Through tears, the story reminds us that the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The story may make us nostalgic, but we should not be naive about its power.

This is power that doesn’t need to speak in halls of power. This is power that disregards society’s infatuation with celebrity. This is power that is at work even now, deep in the earth as seeds lie dormant, at work on the edges of our vision, in the spaces inbetween our cells and leaping over the walls and boundaries we have carefully constructed. This is power that, even now, is giving birth to new life, new dreams, in young people and old who dare to dream dreams and be open to God’s wonder-working power. This is power that even death cannot stop.

 

"There are things that can be seen only with eyes that have cried." Through the vision of tears we see not only great sorrow and suffering, but also deep joy and hope.

To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic,"

wrote historian Howard Zinn, it is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places–and there are so many–where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory."

The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. May we be part of the light. Amen.

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Wed., Dec. 19, 2012 – The Light shines in the darkness...

The sanctuary at Second Congregational Church was full this past Sunday of folks who had come for our annual Christmas pageant and Jesus’ birthday party, but also of folks who needed to come together, maybe longing for a word or a reason or some way to understand the tragic events that took place in Newtown, CT last Friday.  I know any number of colleagues who ripped up their prepared sermons to directly address those events and others like them, to give voice to the pain, sorrow, anger and confusion that many people were experiencing.

Just before the service, a number of parents of young children had come up to me and said, “We haven’t told our child about what happened in Newtown, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it directly.”  Ahh....it’s been awhile since my children were in first grade, and that was 20 years ago.  How to honor those parents’ decisions and be sensitive to the wide range of needs and abilities of our church family?

Looking out on the congregation as I stood up to welcome everyone, I saw all those beautiful faces, some atop angel and shepherd costumes, some older and more reflective, and it seemed so good and right that we should all be there together–children in our midst, sitting with their parents or beloved adults, teens and adults in various groupings.  Just gathering together in that place was healing.  Lighting the Advent candles, even–perhaps especially–the candle of Joy, which, in the words Tom read, is both like an underground stream and a choice–lighting those candles was sign and symbol of the Light that shines in the darkness.  Seeing the green ferns and trailing vines emerging from what 2 weeks ago had been a bare root on the communion table reminded us of the Life that emerges even from the most desolate settings.  And the children ministered to us with their pageant–Mary and Joseph both responding so quickly and matter-of-factly to the angel’s news that they were to be parents of this God-child – “okay,” they said simply, the shepherd bowing with her lamb, the three wise men gallantly climbing the steps, King Herod’s bluster and then dramatic death, surrounded by the cutest thugs ever....”and all because of just a little Christmas.”

It is the middle of the darkest week of the year here, in so many ways.  Rain and thick cloud cover make it even darker. Sadness and ache as we watch Newtown bury its children and fallen heroes.  So more than ever, we long for the Light.

Here’s the advice my friend Maria Sirois, who’s one of the adjunct faculty of my Positive Psychology course as well as a psychotherapist, shared with us–

When tragedy strikes, here’s what we can do–
–Feel what we feel, so that neither grief nor anger become poison within us and so that others have permission to feel all that they feel.
–Bear witness without flinching from the darkness.
–Tell the truth.
–Honor the ordinary heroes among us and those who do the difficult work of holding the story in all its despair and desolation and those who begin the long, hard job of clearing and cleaning, uncovering and naming as much as can be uncovered and named.
–Hold onto the bits of light that emerge wherever they do so and from whomever.
–And surround those who grieve with care that is authentic and wholehearted. Love them up, feed them, show up and show up again. Bake if you can, drive if you can, buy them milk, share your memories if they are ready and however possible, be as a sequoia, rooted in your conviction that none of us need go through this alone and certain that every limb, every twig, every arm holds the promise of spring even as it anchors the ice of winter.

Mr. Rogers said to tell children to “Look for the helpers,” and indeed we lift up and remember the helpers–the teachers and staff, the first responders, the fire department, and police, the ministers, priests, and rabbis, the counselors, the funeral directors and personnel.  Remember them in your prayers.

The Rev. Matt Crebbin is the senior minister of the UCC Church in Newtown, who was interviewed on the Today Show this morning. (If you missed it, check it out on Today.com.)  He did a beautiful job of conveying the complexity and richness of our faith that is based on joy that is deeper than “happiness,”/happenstance.

The UCC and Pilgrim Press are donating 1000 copies of “Waterbugs and Dragonflies: Explaining Death to Small Children”.  You can send $1 donation to https://secure3.convio.net/ucc/site/Ecommerce, although my guess is the $1000 was quickly raised.  We have copies of this book in our church library (and I have one in my office).  Feel free to borrow it.

The time for advocacy for safer gun laws will surely come, though that journey is complicated and fraught with difficulty.  Support of mental health services and research is long overdue, and we need to have conversations about both.  Our nation’s culture of violence is pervasive and destructive, and we must begin that long, hard self-examination sooner rather than later.

I welcome further conversation about how we as individuals and we as a church family might respond to events like Newtown, which, alas, will surely not be the last.  We need to be the change we long to see, as Gandhi said.  We need to hold on to the Light that is within and around us, being born into the world at every moment. “ The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”  Thanks be to God!
–Mary

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"...Into the Ways of Peace" --Luke 1:68-79, Luke 3:1-6 -- Dec. 9, 2012

After turning our attention last week to cosmic matters like the end of the world, when the sun, moon and stars would fall and people would be distressed by the rising of the seas, Advent–and Luke in particular–zooms into the particular this week. Like a Google Earth camera, panning through the layers of the atmosphere, Luke zeroes in on a very particular time and place:

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Anna and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.

You couldn’t hear the word of God in any of the zillion political ads this fall. You can’t hear it in any of the statements released by the White House or the leaders of Congress. Maybe it’s even unlikely to be heard from any of the pulpits or chancels or soapboxes of the church or other religious establishments. "The word of God came – not to any of the political or religious leaders of the time – but the word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness."

And John went all around that region around the Jordan, "proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." A baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan write that "repentance means to ‘go beyond the mind that you have.’" (cited by Mary Ann McKibben Dana, in Journal for Preachers, Advent 2012, p. 5) Much of what we know today goes way beyond the mind that those who heard John’s message might have had, but the call to "repentance," the call to go beyond the mind we have is as urgent today as ever. We would do well to consider the ways we’ve become captive to outmoded ways of thinking–about God, about ourselves, about life–and Advent is an opportunity to do just that. That’s why, instead of being coddled and cooed around the manger from the get-go, in the texts of Advent we are shaken out of our comfort zones with end-of-the-world talk and this sharp-edged character of John the Baptist, crying out in the wilderness.

After all, we and the world are still waiting. Still waiting for ... what? Surely waiting for more than the latest iPhone, or the latest winner of the The Voice or American Idol; surely waiting for more than some political leader to solve all our problems..

Advent puts us in feeling-touch with what [one commentator] describes as ‘an unquenchable fire, a restlessness, a longing, a disquiet, a hunger, a loneliness, a gnawing nostalgia, a wildness that cannot be tamed, a congenital all-embracing ache that lies at the center of human experience.’ [Ronald Rolheiser, The Holy Longing, cited by Guy Sayles in JP, op cit., p. 13] That ache includes a yearning for hope, a hunger for meaning, a thirst for joy, a need for mystery, a craving for ecstasy, and, most of all, a desire to be known and loved. [Sayles, ibid.]

In the midst of our busyness, in the midst of all our decorations and gifts piled up in closets and attics, it’s all too easy to miss the One we’re waiting for. We’re paying attention to so many other things, trying just to keep up, trying not to disappoint anyone, trying to do what our culture keeps telling us we should be doing this time of year. So we don’t really have time to pay attention to that ache, that other hunger, and if we do manage to get it together to come to church on Sundays, we might be reminded–maybe we perceive it as a rather rude reminder–of just what that ache might be about.

"[John] went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins..." Even now, this morning, John is calling us to go beyond the mind we have, the mind that may tell us we’re woefully inadequate, God is so far away, God is making a list and checking it twice... Go beyond the mind you have [–repent], be immersed in the assurance and knowledge that God is everywhere, even inside you [the forgiveness of sins is about removing the separation between you and God]. Pay attention. Be made new.

Poet Mary Oliver is a consummate observer, quintessentially paying attention, and she writes, "Everyday I’m still looking for God and I’m still finding him everywhere, in the dust..." The news that God is everywhere, lovingly, searingly, powerfully present everywhere–that news is "garbled," as one writer puts it, "garbled almost everywhere except the wilderness." (Sayles, ibid.) It rings true, doesn’t it? that the word of God would come to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness, not to the pomp and proceedings of the political or religious establishments.

Zechariah, like almost any father, looked into his infant son’s eyes and saw there infinite possibility–so new, so longed-for, so yet untouched by the world’s brutality. "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel," Zechariah sang, "for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them....He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David....And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways..."

Some thought John was the long-awaited mighty savior, but here in Zechariah’s song the church affirms that he was the messenger announcing the coming savior. But John’s message is no less a saving message–"Repent, and be baptized for the forgiveness of sins. Go beyond the mind you have, be immersed in the assurance and knowledge that God is everywhere, even inside you. Pay attention. Be made new." John may have a saving message to the church, as Walter Brueggemann suggests, a church who may need to be called back to the basics, a church whose heart may have been compromised, a church who may have lost our critical edge, softened the gospel, accommodated to consumerism, become cynically accepting of social violence and developed a casual indifference to the poor. "Altogether," Brueggemann writes, " [this may have led to ]a dulled faith that cannot well receive the Christmas gift of newness. John, the carrier of costly readiness, is a wake-up call to Christians to get back to the basics of faith, to recover our initial resolve, and to be in a mode of hungry receptiveness." (Sojourners, Dec. 2009)

That is the gift of John the Baptist, this once Man-child to whom his aged father sang, "And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."

"Prepare the way of the Lord," John would later cry, echoing the prophet Isaiah. "Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God."

...Prepare, prepare [writes Jan Richardson of John’s message].

It may feel like

the world is leveling you

emptying you

as it asks you

to give up

what you have known.

It is impolite

and hardly tame

but when it falls

upon your lips

you will wonder at the sweetness

like honey

that finds its way

into the hunger

you had not known

was there.

["The Advent Door," Advent 2, 2012]

Pay attention to the hunger. Watch for gratitude. Take time to breathe deeply and be still. Walk

in the way of peace. Go beyond the mind you have. Prepare the way.

　

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Drawing near..." --Jeremiah 33:14-16, Luke 21:25-36-- Dec. 2, 2012

The church year begins by shoving us off balance. Instead of looking to the skies for a hint of gathering angel choirs, we read this–"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken." Welcome, Advent!

Joanna Adams wrote of Advent a few years ago–and it rings true today–"This Advent I feel an urgent need for the light that comes from God, and I do not think I am the only one....The clouds of anxiety about the future are hovering so low and close that you can barely see your hand in front of your face." (Cited by Kate Huey in Weekly Seeds, 12/2/12) She finds herself "holding on for dear life to the reassurance that God intends to make the world right again." I know how she feels.

I daresay we could quickly come up with a list of things and events that make up that low-hanging cloud of anxiety–the impending "fiscal cliff" and on-going recession, the ice shelf melting into the sea, the rising of sea levels and the resulting extreme devastation of storms like Sandy, worries over our children or aging parents, nagging worries over changes in our bodies or financial situations, the struggles and concerns of those near and dear to us. And we’re among the most fortunate ones–imagine the anxiety of our neighbors who begin this month with a paltry sum for food and shelter, let alone any extra to buy Christmas presents for their children; or residents of the Rockaways or Staten Island or the Jersey shore whose homes were washed away; or refugees from the world’s wars–in Syria and the Congo, in Turkey and Jordan; those still living in the midst of war and violence. "People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken."

"The stories of Advent," writes one commentator, "are dug from the harsh soil of human struggle and the littered landscape of dashed dreams. They are told from the vista where sin still reigns supreme and hope has gone on vacation." (Gary W. Charles, cited by Huey, op cit.) "Now when these things begin to take place," Jesus tells his followers in Luke’s gospel, "stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." He doesn’t say, "When the Son of Humanity comes in a cloud with great power and great glory, then you can stand up and raise your heads," but rather, "when these things begin to take place, stand up...for your redemption is drawing near." The question is, "How do we remain faithful when these fear-filled and foreboding signs begin to happen? What do we do when the chaos begins?" (Mark Davis, Left Behind and Loving It, 11/27/12) Stand up and lift up your heads, Jesus says. One translator calls this "the imperative of expectation." (Davis, ibid.)

I thought of that this week in the midst of the chaos here. I have infinite admiration for all those who kept facing into the chaos, who received each additional donation of "stuff" with good nature and thanks, who, after only very brief respites of sitting down and weeping, stood up and lifted up their heads, in expectation that Friday evening would indeed come, and the Snowball Bazaar would yet again open its doors to eager customers. The Imperative of Expectation. It was the expectation that kept them going. That’s what Advent helps us do.

Jeremiah looked out on the devastation of his own landscape–after shouting himself hoarse and warning the people and their leaders of the consequences of turning away from God and relying on other sources for their security. The Babylonian armies had marched and torched through and taken the leaders off into exile, leaving not only the cities but all the old ways of life destroyed. It is then, as one commentator describes it, that "the prophet looks out on the wasted landscape and begins to fill it with images of beauty, peace, and wholeness." (Amy Erickson, Odyssey Network, 11/27/12, "After the Chaos Ends") Jeremiah speaks of a "righteous branch," drawing on the image of trees that is deeply rooted in the Old Testament tradition. "The tree of life in the Garden of Eden story links trees with ideas of abundance, fertility, and renewal," (Erickson), and just rulers are often referred to as a "righteous branch." With great imagination and drawing deeply on his call to proclaim God’s intention for, and even present making of, the future, Jeremiah points to the small green shoot of life in the gray landscape of death and destruction. "What is happening underneath, what we cannot see, is nevertheless real," he says. (Huey)

Jesus points to another tree–"Look at the fig tree and all the trees," he says. "As soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near." The kingdom is already in our midst, already beginning to blossom, so be alert. Pay attention not only to the signs around you, but also to yourselves. What are you doing in this twilight time between times? Between the failures of the past and the emerging of who you are meant to be, who we all are meant to be? Are you numbing yourself with "dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life," as Jesus says? It’s a question for our time and culture, as we are the most overweight, addicted, drugged, busy generation in our history. There’s a whole lot of numbing going on. "Be on guard," Jesus said, "so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap."

"The dreadful and terrible day, according to Jesus, will be known by its fruitfulness and its blooming as much as by its distress. And this, said Jesus, is how redemption draws near." (Nancy Rockwell, Bite in the Apple, 11/25/12) ... " known by its fruitfulness and its blooming as much as by its distress." It is understandable, even easy, to look upon Advent with a certain amount of skepticism. We’ve been to this movie before. Every year we start hoping again, hoping that this year, there really will be a new beginning, –for us, for our families, for our nation, for our world--that this year a child will be born among us who will make a difference in the life of the world, that this year, God will make the world right.

Nancy Rockwell interviewed perspective students for her alma mater. She was particularly touched by two of these bright 17-year-olds.

One young woman, who had been studying the classics, said she had responded to the Arab spring by deciding she could use her facility with languages and alphabets to learn Arabic. She found a summer program that took her to Jordan where she lived with an Arab family and learned a lot about the culture and the history as well as learning the language. Now she wants to become a diplomat. Urgently.

One young man, a jock through and through, captain of the crew, the swim team, the water polo team, has plunged into environmental sciences. Summers he is working in wetlands conservation, and this fall he’s written a paper on the pollution of the oceans. He wants to become an engineer who works to restore the now-endangered ocean waters. ‘All my pleasures come from water,’ he says, ‘and I need to give back. The planet needs a healthy ocean to survive." (Bite in the Apple

, 11/25/12)

The temptation to give in to frustration, despair, and fear, Rockwell writes, "will always be overcome by the light of those who pick up the pieces they know they can handle, and give the brief candle of their own lifetime to lighting the common way. There is something personal, something individual about the great and terrible–and fruitful day. It does come to each of us as a choice, what hope and expectation we bring to the world and how we use our lives."

"Now when these things begin to take place," Jesus said, "stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." The "imperative of expectation" calls us to order our lives so that we live each day as though the day when God makes all things right is already here, the green shoot of the righteous branch is already emerging, there already is enough for all and each of us is enough. We are all part of the same loaf, the same cup. That is what this table reminds us of. The sap of the righteous branch is running through us, the lifeblood of Jesus is flowing through our veins, and even now, new life is sprouting all around us. Let us keep the feast. Amen.

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

 

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"Like the Morning Light..." --2 Samuel 23:1-7, John 18:33-37 -- Nov. 25, 2012

 

I was working here alone on Friday morning, my Thanksgiving dinner still pleasantly digesting as I was pondering what I should have done to make the turkey a little less dry. I haven’t had to cook the turkey for several years now, as we’ve been accustomed to traveling up to Potsdam to be with Bruce’s parents and aunt, and someone else always took care of the turkey. So, I wondered–next year should I use a baking bag, or wrap the bird up tightly in aluminum foil, or maybe just cook it a little slower, but for less time.

I heard the door into Webster Hall open, listened to the footsteps approaching, and a middle-aged gentleman, whom I had seen before, stood in my doorway and said, "I wondered if I might get a gas voucher." As I was getting the folder with the vouchers, he asked me, "How was your Thanksgiving?" I told him it was good, though a little different this year without a number of family members, who had died this year. "Yes," he said, "I lost two of my close friends in just these last few weeks. And I didn’t know about the programs here–I went to BROC for help with Thanksgiving, and they told me I was too late. I hadn’t signed up. So I had spaghetti with butter, since I didn’t have any sauce."

Suddenly I wasn’t worried about whether I’d use more aluminum foil or lower the oven temperature next year. Spaghetti with butter for Thanksgiving? Why wasn’t this man sitting at our dining room table, eating some of our abundant, albeit a little dry, turkey?! If Jesus really was Sovereign of the World, nobody would have to eat spaghetti with butter, alone, for Thanksgiving, unless that’s what they wanted to do.

Delores Williams is a theologian at Union Seminary. "She grew up in the south and remembers Sunday mornings when the minister shouted out: "Who is Jesus?’ The choir responded in voices loud and strong: "King of kings and Lord Almighty!’ Then, [she said] little Miss Huff, in a voice so fragile and soft you could hardly hear, would sing her own answer: "Poor little Mary’s boy." Back and forth they sang–King of Kings...poor little Mary’s boy. Delores said, "It was the Black church doing theology." Who is Jesus? ‘King of Kings’ cannot be the answer without seeing, ‘poor little Mary’s boy.’" (told by Barbara Lundblad, Odyssey Network, "A Different King od King," 11/20/12)

On this last Sunday of the Christian year, we celebrate Reign of Christ Sunday, which used to be "Christ the King Sunday," when we affirm that Christ is sovereign over all the earth, the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. It’s kind of a grandiose concept, easily slipping into triumphalism, rolling over all other faith traditions. Our own "God is still speaking" United Church of Christ has for its symbol a globe with a crown and cross on top. When poor little Mary’s boy is eating spaghetti with butter for Thanksgiving, what do we mean when we talk about the "reign of Christ"? For that matter what does "Jesus is my Lord and Savior" mean?

Pilate wondered that too. "Are you king of the Jews?" he asked Jesus. And Jesus eventually answered, "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. [That’s what rulers of this world do–they have armies. They get their point across with weapons. They back up their claims with artillary.] But as it is, [Jesus said] my kingdom is not from here." Pilate asked him, "So you are a king?" Jesus answered, "You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." Pilate asked him, "What is truth?" That’s the real question, isn’t it? What is truth?

In John’s gospel, Jesus doesn’t talk so much about the "kingdom of God" or the "kingdom of heaven." John’s Jesus, as we see here, isn’t really interested in "kingdoms." What he talks about, what he reveals,–what he is–is the truth, the truth about God. "Jesus’ followers [writes John Pilch] are not subjects in a kingdom but persons who hear the truth and respond to it." (The Cultural World of Jesus, Year B, p. 167) It was the Truth about God who was standing before Pilate. No wonder Pilate couldn’t make up his mind–all his old categories and definitions of "king" didn’t fit into the mystery facing him.

Br. Curtis Almquist says, "If your former experience of ‘God’ no longer has any meaning for you, if it’s too small, too pedestrian, too local, then translate it. Find some new language to speak out of the depths of your life. Get in touch with your ultimate concern, what you take seriously and without reservation." (Cited by Lundblad, op cit.) Again, what do we mean when we talk about the "reign of Christ" What does it mean to say "Jesus is my Lord and Savior"? Two days after Black Friday (and Gray Thursday), when the rulers of the world, the Magnates of Consumerism, the experts on the economy tell us that we and our children and grandchildren will only be worthy of respect and honor and love if we have the latest mobile device, flat screen TV, video game, sweater with sparkle, swag with style, what does it mean to say "Jesus is Lord"?

We each have to come to terms with that for ourselves; find what speaks to the depth of our experience, what we can take seriously and without reservation. That’s the only unifying theology in the UCC–Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior–each one of us has to figure out what that means for us. For me, to say that Jesus is Lord of my life means that I try to live my life out of a Christ-consciousness–that dinvine-infused humanity that says "I am beloved, a precious child of God. I am enough." Who I am–without buying or receiving one single thing–who I am is enough. I am worthy of love and honor and respect. And to say that Jesus reveals the truth about God for the world means that every single person, every single creature, is enough, worthy of love and honor and respect. It means that there are other forces and powers competing for my loyalty, even my life, that present themselves beautifully, compellingly, seductively, and if I don’t "know Jesus" well enough, that is, if I’m not grounded in the truth about God that Jesus revealed, I can easily get convinced that lots of other things are more important, that they will make me enough, worthy of love and respect and honor.

Pilate wields his ability to have Jesus put to death over him, but even that doesn’t even register on Jesus’ radar of truth. That, of course, is the real challenge to us who wrestle with what it means for Jesus Christ to be Lord and Savior. Do we trust the Truth he revealed enough to entrust our loved ones to it when they die, let alone when we die? Just as Br. Almquist urged us to find new language to speak out of the depth of our lives, so Robert Roth "re-envisions providence"–"God will take care of us," he writes in Sojourners Magazine (Nov. 2006) "Beyond what we can see–or are willing to see–God is taking care of us already. There is loving, tender guardianship going on. If only we would be more trusting, if only we would let go and see what God is already doing."

That is easier said than done, isn’t it? Be more trusting, let go and see what God is already doing, when we or our loved ones face ominous diagnoses, when bills pile up or tensions at work or at home get more and more unbearable..."Be more trusting, let go and see what God is already doing..." when the "fiscal cliff" looms, and sea levels rise, when thousands of people die in heatwaves and droughts, and millions in wars and famines. "Brothers and sisters," begins a recent New Yorker magazine piece by David Remnick) –Brothers and Sisters, before we open our hymnals and sing the many grim verses of ‘Now Cometh the Hard Part,’...the congregation is kindly requested to indulge in a brief interlude of soul-replenishing joy." (11/19/12) Here at the end of church year, on Reign of Christ Sunday, is the upcoming season of Advent just a "brief interlude of soul-replenishing joy" before we sing the many grim verses of ‘Now Cometh the Hard Part’? If Jesus is Sovereign over all the world, if Christ reveals the truth about God, about who we are and Whose we are, then even in the midst of the "hard part"–even in the midst of death and grief and fear and pain and anxiety–we can trust that we and our loves ones–and everyone else--are being taken care of.

"Ooh, is He safe?" Lucy asks when she see the mighty lion Aslan in C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. "No," replies Mrs. Squirrel. "He is not safe, but He is good." Can we trust that God’s goodness transcends our safety?

Who is Jesus? King of Kings and Lord Almighty. Poor little Mary’s boy. Jesus’ great-great-great-great grandfather David, in one of his wiser moments, is reported to have said, "One who rules over people justly...is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land." That is a sovereign worthy of our allegiance and our lives. May we live into that Truth, may we kneel in gratitude and humility before that Truth, and may we allow that Truth to come and live in us this day and every day to come.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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“Birth Pangs”--1 Samuel 1:4-20, Mark 13:1-8 --Nov. 18, 2012

You may or may not know that the world is supposed to be coming to an end on December 21, 2012.  That’s the cyberspace and tabloid buzz around the date on which the ancient Mayan “Long Count” calendar ends. The Mayans were a central American culture which thrived between 250 and 950 of the Common Era, who were known for their skills in astronomy and elaborate calendars. 12/21/12, or the winter solstice of 2012, is the date when our planet is aligned with the center of the Milky Way in such a way that cosmic energy is supposed to stream over us.  It is the end of the so-called  4th Age–the age of Materialism, and the beginning of the 5th age, the age of Spirituality.  An incredible percentage of the world’s peoples, at some point, believe that the end of the world will come in their lifetime.  From all we know, Jesus too was one of those people.

Not surprisingly, real live Mayan elders have a different take on this doomsday prediction.  Felippe Gomez protests the commercialization and distortion of this ancient prophecy and says that they are “turning us into folklore-for-profit.” (Huffington Post, 10/31/12) December 21 is actually the beginning of a new time cycle on the Mayan calendar, he says, and it “means there will be big changes on the personal, family, and community level, so that there is harmony and balance between [hu-]mankind and nature.”

Carlos Barrios, another Mayan Elder and ceremonial priest of the Eagle Clan, explains further–
“We are disturbed [“we” meaning the inhabitants of planet Earth]–we can’t play anymore.  Our planet can be renewed or ravaged.  Now is the time to awaken and take action.  Everyone is needed.  You are not here for no reason.  Everyone who is here now has an important purpose.  This is a hard but a special time.  We have the opportunity for growth, but we must be ready for this moment in history.”  (SERI-Worldwide. org)

“Tell us,” Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked Jesus privately, after he had said that not one of the massive stones of the Temple would be left standing, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?”

Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray.  Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray.  When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come.  For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines.  This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.”

Mark’s community lived in the 60's or early 70's of the Common Era, a time when the Temple was about to be, or had already been, destroyed.  The Roman armies marched through Jerusalem following yet another Jewish revolt, and essentially bull-dozed the Temple, tore down the Holy of Holies, the place where God Himself was said to reside, and slaughtered all the inhabitants of the city.  Blood was literally flowing in the streets.  It’s as powerful an image of the end-time as you could get.

“There is wistfulness and grief in Jesus’ words,” writes one commentator.  “He is for life, not destruction” (Bruce Epperly, The Adventurous Lectionary, 11/12/12).  This passage follows immediately upon Jesus’ observation of the poor widow putting her last two coins into the Temple treasury and his lament over the corruption and injustice of the Temple hierarchy.  “Beware the scribes,” he said, “for [among other things] they devour widows’ houses...”  In Mark’s–and maybe Jesus’–imagining of the end time, the great upheaval, the apocalypse, the Temple and a whole complex of events around it loom large.  (Russell Pregeant, Process and Faith website, for 11/18/12)

But Jesus’ advice to his followers here is not to look for signs to figure out the end-time timetable, but rather to keep awake, to beware of being led astray, for persecutions and distortions come not only from without but also from within.  “Beware that no one leads you astray,” he told them.  “Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am’ [which is God’s name, or] I am he!’ and they will lead many astray.”

In our day, there are some who have warned that progressive or liberal Christians, for whom God is still speaking, who believe God’s revelation didn’t end with the Book of Revelation but is still unfolding, some warn that we are leading people astray.  But it could also be said that those who preach a prosperity gospel–that God simply wants you to have more cars and houses and to wear the finest clothes–are leading people away from the gospel that Jesus preached and away from his spirit.  It could be said that those who preach a gospel of hatred–who demonstrate at soldiers’ funerals saying God is punishing the U.S. for sanctioning homosexuality and feminism and abortion–it could be said that they are leading people astray in the name of Jesus.  It could be said that those who preach disdain for the poor, who preach God’s preference for one nation over all others, who preach carelessness or exploitation of the earth are all leading people astray in the name of Jesus, going against the spirit of Jesus. “Beware that no one leads you astray,” Jesus warned. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come.  For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines.  This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.”

Alfred North Whitehead, the great process theologian, wrote, “The pure conservative is fighting against the essence of the universe,” [cited by Pregeant, op cit.) and that essence is change.  Those who wish to return to some pure, golden time, who want to conserve the way things were, are fighting a losing battle, which is what makes their tactics and their rhetoric so often violent and full of vitriole.  There are some in the Roman Catholic Church hierarchy, the Tea Party, fundamentalists of Islam, Christianity, Judaism, and Hinduism who all share a deep longing to return to the way they imagine things once were, but the current of history flows on.

The ancient Greeks said, “All things must pass. The river flows and life is brief.” As one commentator writes, “Our greatest achievements and the institutions we love (church, country) are finite, mortal, and temporary.  This can lead to anxiety and acquisitiveness, it can also lead to gratitude and appreciation for this day that God has made.” (Epperly, op cit.)  Another says, “Our job is thus not to impede change but to enable creative transformation...The God of the biblical tradition is...[not] tied to established patterns but rather a dynamic creator who continually re-shapes those patterns to meet new situations; and the church should honor that process of constant revolution.”  (Pregeant, op cit.)

At our Re-think Church Task Force meeting this week, we acknowledged that the river of Change for the church is already flowing.  We could decide to climb out onto the bank and be left high and dry, or to keep paddling.  We acknowledged that the incontrovertible statistics about church decline and disenfranchisement toward institutions like the church are scary, as we think about our own church here and all that it means to us.  But we also acknowledged that it is exciting.  The image of the white water river raft captured that fear and that thrill.  None of us know where the river is headed, but we do know that looking back is not the way to go!  The best we can do is keep paddling, keep looking forward, keep our heads above water, give a shout out to the others paddling down the river with us, keep alert.  That way, when we do finally arrive, when the new birth finally takes place, we will be able to climb ashore with our companions on the journey, look around, and see then what new thing God has brought forth.

The image of the church as a ship or an ark, self-contained and closed in, is not the image for these times, thinking we can ride out the storm and emerge unchanged.  There are others riding these waves with us, toward that hopeful future:  allies in other faith traditions, allies in other spiritual if not religious communities, allies in the environmental and social justice movements, allies in positive psychology and yoga communities, allies in artists, dancers, musicians, architects of the new creation.  “I have sheep that are not of this fold,” Jesus reminds us.

So, if so much is changing, including our own beloved Second Congregational Church, why at this time of year should we pledge or commit some portion of our financial treasure to its future?  Why should we contribute to or invest our time, talent and treasure in this current incarnation if the river of change is carrying us to an as yet unknown destination? This is the craft we’ve been given for the journey.  Have you ever tried rowing or steering a raft all by yourself?  We still need and want companions on this journey, this journey not only to some new incarnation of the church but this journey that each of us is traveling toward who God wants us to be.  We can be reminders to one another of who we are and Whose we are; together we can help others who are drowning.  “We are called to support one another to live in joyful hope of what we can’t yet see.” (Brian Volck, Living into the Mystery, Ekklesia Project, 11/14/12) Perhaps the former age is coming to an end, but the new age is being born.  God is always doing a new thing.  Thanks be to God!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"On the edge"-- Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17; Mark 12:38-44-- Nov. 11, 2012

The word for widow in Hebrew means "one who is silent." It reflected the status of widows in ancient culture, which was utterly dependent, having no voice of their own, having no home of their own other than their husband’s nearest male relative, if he would take her in, and who might fulfill his obligation to give her a son, though it wasn’t thought of "her" son, rather his dead brother’s son, if he had had none before he died.

So taking care of the widows and orphans is over and over lifted up as an obligation of the community of faith, and it was certainly one of the marks of the early Christian community. Their common meals and sharing of resources saved many an otherwise destitute person from utter misery and abandonment.

Ruth and Naomi lived on the edge of their patriarchal culture, which had made some provisions for them (Kate Huey, Weekly Seeds, 11/11/12). The poor were allowed to glean on the edges of fields, entitled to the unpicked or dropped harvest. There was also the levirate marriage, allowing a widow to be married or "acquired" by her dead husband’s nearest male relative as part of his estate. Those were Ruth and Naomi’s institutional options, but their story reflects a much richer and more creative set of possibilities. They take care of and show concern for one another. They become "safe harbor" for one another, as Martin Copenhaver puts it, (Cited by Huey, op cit.) and in that caring and concern, discover a way where there appeared to be no way, and they give life not only to their community but also to generations to come.

There isn’t a lot of "God-talk" in the book of Ruth, other than saying after the fact that God must have intended either the bitterness of Naomi’s losing of her husbands and sons (which we read about last week) or, in the end, the blessing and restoration of Naomi’s fortune, when her daughter-in-law marries Boaz and produces a son–and a future-- for her. But beneath the surface, in much more subtle ways, God is at work, creating a future not only for Ruth and Naomi, but for all of Israel as well. God’s actions, though, depend upon the courage and creativity of these two women, who had been written off by their culture as hopeless cases, living, as it were, on a fiscal cliff, on the edge of ruin.

In a recent interview with World Ark, the magazine of Heifer Project International, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton talks about the importance of supporting and empowering women throughout the world as a primary and effective way of raising the standard of living and well-being of the world’s people.

We know that investing in women’s employment, health and education levels leads to greater economic growth across a broad spectrum

[she says]. It also leads to healthier children and a better educated population overall. We know that political systems that are open to full participation by women produce more effective institutions and more representative governments...

 

...Women have shown time and again that they will seize opportunities to improve their own and their families’ lives. And even when it seems that no opportunity exists, they still find a way... [World Ark, Holiday 2012, pp. 7-8]

Secretary Clinton could have been describing Ruth and Naomi. If you’ve never done it, I urge you to read the whole story of Ruth–it’s only 4 chapters, less than 4 pages in your Bible–and totally worth it. It’s got intrigue–even sexual intrigue–humor, courage, and daring. It’s even got a happy ending, which we all could use these days, so give it a read–you’ve even got an extra day off this week, and this will only take you a few minutes.

In the snippet we have extracted from the story which we read this morning, "Naomi her mother-in-law said to [Ruth], ‘My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well for you. [Remember Sec. Clinton’s remarks–"Women have shown time and again that they will seize opportunities to improve their own and their families’ lives."?] ‘My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well for you. Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor;; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.’ She said to her, ‘All that you tell me I will do.’ So she went down to the threshing floor and did just as her mother-in-law had instructed her."

See what I mean? Intrigue? Double intendre? Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann writes that this story, which is the basis for the Jewish Festival of Weeks, is written with subtlety and sophistication, pointing out that "the primary action occurs on the threshing floor...It may...be...that in the imaginative horizon of the narrator the threshing floor, the defining venue for the festival, is understood as a most generative arena in which radical newness is given that opens futures for Israel." (Brueggemann, An Introduction to the Old Testament, p. 322) It is that "divinely given newness" that is celebrated each Festival of Weeks.

Our readings this morning don’t include the additional potential barrier of another, closer male relative, but Boaz quickly and honorably negotiates the passing of his right of redemption, and when our reading picks up, we know that "Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife. When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son...They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David." God has indeed acted in what appeared to be a hopeless case, but not out of the blue–not without the courage, kindness, initiative, and risk-taking of Ruth & Naomi.

Jesus points to another widow living on the edge in our reading from Mark this morning. Jesus sits opposite the treasury and watches the crowd putting money into the offering box. "Many rich people put in large sums, [but] a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny." Jesus calls his disciples and says to them, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."

This story is often read this time of year, when many churches are engaged in their stewardship campaigns, and the widow is lifted up as a model of sacrificial giving. But is Jesus praising her or lamenting her situation? Just before this, Jesus has pointed to the scribes, "who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets...They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation."

Is Jesus perhaps pointing to the widow’s giving of her last two coins to the Temple treasury as an example of the "devouring of widow’s houses"? As a condemnation of an institution which drains people’s resources and then ushers them out the door? I have come to insert my own revision of Mark’s manuscript here. Before the next verse, when Jesus is coming out of the Temple, I imagine Jesus’ saying to one of his disciples, "Go over to that widow and invite her to our supper tonight. And see if there isn’t room in Martha’s house for her."

"Jesus didn’t allow his listeners to forget about the poor," writes one commentator (Greg Carey, Odyssey Network, 11/6/12, "Chump Change"). "It would have been impossible anyway. Nearly everyone in the ancient world lived in poverty, often dire. Jesus’ world included a very few wildly wealthy people, a few people finding ways to make money and accumulate wealth, lots of people scratching a living off the land, and lots of people living on the margins of the economy."

It doesn’t sound all that different from our world, although most people don’t live close enough to the land to scratch a living off it. And we still don’t like to talk about the poor, as I’ve said before. We and our politicians prefer to focus on the middle-class. We still think poverty is shameful–not just for what the poor do or don’t do, but for who they are. They are largely invisible in our midst, but Jesus saw the widow.

"The widow’s generosity places the reality of poverty before our eyes," that same commentator goes on. "It reminds us that the poor do not represent parasites who drain society of its resources. This story reminds us that we live in an economy that siphons its resources upward and leaves the vulnerable to face destitution on the own." (Carey, op cit.)

Before we urge widows or anyone else to give all they have to the church or any other institution, we should rather make sure that we are taking care of their basic human needs, that we are acting as a "family of choice" for all those without families who can care for them, caring for one another, becoming safe harbor for one another. Jesus may be suggesting that the widow who put her two coins in the offering is giving out of her love for and gratitude to God, not the Temple per se. What we can learn from her is that we are all dependent upon God for all that we have and are, not independent, self-sufficient individuals, which our culture is more likely to lift up as the model to be copied. In as much as we as a church community live up to the community of caring that Jesus creates, we are worthy of sacrificial giving, not only of our treasure, but also our time and talent, so that we can continue to be such a community.

No matter what we might be "on the edge of"–financial ruin, a new stage of life, the end of independent living, on the cusp of a new way of thinking and acting, a new way of being "church"–we can look to the models of these widows who became vessels for God’s radical newness, who dared greatly, who trusted in God boldly, who cared for one another, and who, in the end, became part of the story of God’s people transforming the world, no longer silent, but becoming the Word made flesh. This is Good News indeed!

 

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

 

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"Of princes, widows, and orphans..."11 Ruth 1:1-18, Psalm 146 -- November 4, 2012

"In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land, and a certain man of Bethlehem in Judah went to live in the country of Moab, he and his wife and two sons." The story of Ruth begins like the story of so many other people, who find themselves displaced, adrift, at a loss, through no fault of their own. "In the days when Barack Obama was President, there was a hurricane named Sandy, a tropical storm named Irene, and they were left without power or heat, their homes were swept away, they lost everything they had."

It’s a story repeated over and over again, in our country and around the world. "In the days when Bashir el Asad was President, a civil war arose in Syria, and thousands of refugees fled their country to Jordan, to Turkey, taking with them their families and the few belongings they could carry." "In the days when Peter Shumlin was Governor, Louise could no longer take care of herself or stay in her own home, and so she moved to a community care home, all the while longing to go back to her ‘own’ home." "In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness."

Over and over, set against the background of rulers and people in power who come and go, the lives of the children of God go on, up against the forces of nature, up against the natural processes of aging and disability, up against the powers and principalities that seem to sweep all the "little ones" up in their path. "Do not put your trust in princes," warns the psalmist," in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day, their plans perish."

However, the psalmist goes on to say, "Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God, who is making heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them; who is keeping faith forever; who executes, who is making, justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry." The God who is still creating the heavens and the earth is at the same time the One who is executing justice for the oppressed, who is lifting up those who are bowed down. "God watches over the strangers; upholds the orphan and the widow."

In all these stories of displacement and hopelessness, there is a glimmer of hope, a hint of what is at work beneath the surface. "There was a certain man from Bethlehem of Judah...." Ruth travels with her mother-in-law back to Bethlehem, where she ends up marrying Naomi’s kinsman, Boaz, and becomes one of the grandmothers of David and thus of Jesus. In the midst of the devastation along the east coast, there are countless acts of courage and kindness, as people help one another and as engineers and reconstruction teams bring knowledge, ingenuity, and skill to the rebuilding and re-visioning process. The reality of rising sea levels due to climate change becomes an unavoidable fact, perhaps alerting us to take a serious look at how we might be contributing to it and how we might do things differently. Families find new families and allies that support and assist them in taking care of loved ones, and we all realize how dependent we actually are on one another.

In the kingdom of God, Jesus said,-- if God truly were ruler of the nations, of the world-- the hungry would be fed, the homeless housed, the widows and orphans taken care of, the prisoners set free, those who are bowed down would be lifted up, the eyes of the blind would be opened, the refugees and sojourners would find a home. But the kingdom, or the reign, of God is not just some future time, Jesus said. It’s coming and now is, he said. You are to live in that realm as well, feeding the hungry, taking care of the widows and orphans, finding homes for the strangers and aliens in your midst, executing justice. You are to be-friend the friendless. You are to stand with those who are going through troubles.

You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin–to the bitter end. [said his friends to Frodo, the Hobbit in JRR Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring] And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours–closer than you yourself keep it. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is."

"I have called you my friends," Jesus said to his followers. Can we not be as good a friend

as Hobbits to the least of Jesus’ brothers and sisters, whom he said were his surrogates? "Whatever you have done to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you have done to me."

"Do not put your trust in princes," the psalmist said, but the reign of God is not only coming but now is. Regardless of who wins the elections on Tuesday, we are called as friends of Jesus to look out for the widow and orphan, the powerless, the sick, the homeless, and so to be concerned about how we as a community and a nation choose to live together. The personal is political for so many of us, particularly for those who through no fault of their own find themselves in need. God is executing justice for the oppressed, as the psalmist says, God is "powerfully partisan," as one Biblical scholar writes, (Texts for Preaching, Year B, p. 570) and we are to align ourselves with that ongoing process.

"I vote because I am a citizen," writes the Rev. James Moos, Executive Minister of the UCC Wider Church Ministries and Co-executive for Global Ministries, in a press release entitled, "Our Faith, Our Vote, God’s World"--

I vote because I am a citizen. Yes, I am a citizen of the Untied States and I take civic responsibilities seriously. More importantly, however, I am a citizen of

God’s realm; as such I am called to live out my faith in the public arena. This means casting my vote not out of economic self-interest, but for the sake of all of God’s people and all of creation, and especially on behalf of the vulnerable and powerless.

I vote because of a little Palestinian girl named Siham in East Jerusalem who my wife and I sponsor through Global Ministries’ Child sponsorship program. Siham’s future and the prospects for peace in the Middle East will be deeply impacted by U.S. foreign policy. Siham cannot hold our nations’ leadership accountable, but we can.

I vote because I live in Cleveland, OH, a city where 44 out of every 100 adults over the age of 16 lack basic literacy skills. They cannot read a bus schedule, or write a letter explaining a credit card billing error. Through elections we both demand better educational systems and we support them.

I vote because 15% of households in the wealthiest country on earth lack food security. At some point in the past year, they had insufficient nutritional food to lead healthy, active lives. While private generosity is good and necessary in addressing these needs, the structural inequities that underlie them are a matter of public policy.

I vote

because, as a former military chaplain, I know all too well the grief and trauma inflicted upon the innocent and suffered by veterans and their families during unjust and seemingly never-ending wars. On Nov. 6^thwe will choose the next Commander-in-Chief.

I vote because the first eight months of 2012 were hottest on record. South Pacific islanders are being swamped by rising sea levels due to global warming. The legislators we choose will decide on whether we take bold action, or continue on the path of environmental catastrophe.

I vote because nearly 50 million Americans lack health insurance, some of them are close friends and family members. Access to quality health care is not a privilege, it is a human right. The future of that access will be determined on Election Day.

I vote because I affirm marriage equality. In the land where the constitution guarantees equal protection to all citizens, same gender loving people are entitled to all the rights and responsibilities of marriage. Elected officials and ballot measures are keys to attaining and maintaining marriage equality.

I vote because while faith is intensely personal, it is never purely private. In his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," Martin Luther King chastised this contemporaries who were ‘....more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.’ Faith that is nurtured in the church must be boldly lived out in the world. In a democracy, the ballot box is one place for us to live out that faith. Please join me in voting."

"Do not put your trust in princes...Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God, who is making heaven and earth, who is executing justice and lifting up those who are bowed down." Because God’s reign is coming and now is, we who are Friends of Jesus (FOJ?) know that we are bound together with all God’s children, both here and around the world. We know that God sets a welcome table for all people who would come to it, and so we come to this table this morning, affirming that we are One Body in Christ Jesus. We are fed and nourished, that we too might become food and drink for a hungry and thirsty world. In faith, in hope, in courage, then, let us keep the feast. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Wed., Oct. 31, 2012

I’ve decided to use this blog to share with you some of my weekly learnings from my

Positive Psychology course. I welcome conversation around any of this material and hope that you find it helpful.

The current "module" we’re in has to do with Change, and this week I’ve been reading about some of the latest findings in brain research, which have real implications for how change is possible.

Up until the past few years, it was thought that our brains pretty much finished growing and changing by the time we were 3 years old, with a few alterations up through puberty. Now we know that the brain is, in fact, "plastic," that is, it is possible to build new neural pathways up until we die. In a fascinating book by Doidge, called The Brain That Changes Itself, story after story is told about how seemingly hopeless cases–people with brain injuries or diseases–were able to re-route neural pathways from injured areas of their brain to other areas, which took up the functions of the injured areas, through persistent therapies and exercises.

In the context of Positive Psychology, this offers real hope in the possibility of not only dealing with conditions, like depression, even schizophrenia, without the use of pharmaceuticals, but also reinforces the effectiveness of certain behaviors that can bring about real change. Research has shown that our level of happiness is about 50% due to genetics, 10% to our environment or situation, and 40% to the choices we make in our thinking and our behavior. That means we can intentionally make a big difference in our level of happiness by choosing certain behaviors and ways of thinking over others AND by doing so, can actually change the neural pathways in our brains.

For example, I may be prone to being a "fault-finder" or seeing the glass half-empty. By writing down 3 or 4 or 5 things that I’m grateful for every night for a month, I can actually begin to re-wire my brain so that I may become more of a "benefit-finder," and begin to see the glass as half-full. I begin to notice things during the day that I’m grateful for, notice not only the things that bother me about a person or situation, but also the things that I appreciate and find hopeful.

As I get older, I find this research to be especially hopeful, as I do not have to resign myself to a steady downhill decline in brain function! Maybe this means that even though I forget names and even words occasionally, there’s a good chance that with exercise and the other behaviors I choose to engage in, [and with genes from my 93-year-old-still-walking-6-miles-a-day mom] I may very well be able to carry on a fairly intelligent conversation for many more years.

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