"The leaves of the tree...for the healing of the nations..."-- Revelation 22:1-5 --May 5, 2013

It is that exquisite time of year when the leaves of the trees are just about to burst open or already have. I experience this time of year as incredibly beautiful to the eye, ear, and nose, but I realize that for many, including those near and dear to me, that while it may be a beautiful and song-filled time, it is also a time of extreme discomfort, with runny nose and itchy eyes. Allergy season is upon us.

Still, one only has to spend a few minutes quietly observing to notice the comings and goings, the callings and chatterings, the fluttering and scurrying that goes on in and around the trees. We have a huge old hemlock tree next to our house, probably at least as old as the house itself, so over 100 years old, that we’ve been told was at one time girdled, in an attempt to keep the two trunks from falling apart. Alas, that well-intentioned intervention will most likely mean the death of the old tree, as it is essentially being strangled. Nonetheless, we cannot bring ourselves to have the tree cut down. It is literally a skyscraper apartment complex for countless numbers of bird and squirrel couples, not to mention a landing zone for hundreds of others who swoop in to wait their turns at our feeders and bird bath.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.

John’s vision of the new heaven and the new earth, including the New Jerusalem, includes this wonderful image of the river of the water of life, flowing from the throne of God. "Shall we gather at the river, that flows from the throne of God?" asks the old spiritual. And then that equally wonderful and mind-blowing image of the tree of life, "on either side of the river," straddling it somehow, with its twelve kinds of fruit–the quintessential Fruit-of-the-Month Club–"and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."

The tree of life, the same tree of life from the second creation story in Genesis, that was in the middle of the garden of Eden, along with the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The first humans ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, as the story explains our sense of conscience, but God knew we were not ready to be immortal. So, the story goes, we were expelled from the Garden before we could eat of the Tree of Life.

But here we are, at the end of time, or at least at the end or goal of God’s intention for us, in John’s vision, in the New Jerusalem, through the middle of which flows the river of the water of life and on either side of the river is the tree of life. It seems that it is only after we’ve experienced what it means to be mortal, to know the preciousness and fragility of life, to have experienced love and loss, that we are even allowed to see once again that beautiful Tree of Life. And, caught up in the Spirit, as John was, immersed in the Spirit which is Love and Life, we recognize that it is healing we are in need of. "The leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."

Imagine–all the time, money, energy, lives–spent on weapons, Departments of Defense, aircraft, ships, tanks, drones, personnel, all to stop the nations, or defend the nations, or beef up the nations...and here in this vision, it is the leaves of the tree of life that are for the healing of the nations. How "simple." How green. How naive. Or is it?

The leaves of our trees are little microcosms of the whole planet. In them are found the pollutants that exist, even here in relatively pristine Vermont, in our air and water and soil. In the leaves of our trees are reflected the climactic conditions of drought or warming. The leaves of our trees share an amazing amount of genetic and organic material with us. We would do well to listen to the wisdom of the leaves of our trees.

And within the leaves and needles of our trees live whole communities–of birds and squirrels and chipmunks and insects, not to mention moss and other symbiotic plants. The trees themselves live within a community of organisms and elements, created in a balance that we have tampered with at not only their but our own peril. "The leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."

Mission 4/1 Earth is the denomination-wide effort of the United Church of Christ to witness to our commitment to take on our essential and urgent task of caring for the earth, by planting trees, spending hours in earthcare, and engaging in acts of advocacy for policies that will protect and honor the earth. We confess that for too long, western Christianity has sanctioned abuse and exploitation of the earth and its creatures in a tragic misunderstanding of our place in the scheme of things. Western industrialism and scientific rationalism have pushed us further away from our essential identity with the rest of nature, even going to extremes to prove that we are "other" than nature. We have literally changed the chemistry and structure of the earth to such an extent that we may indeed have gone too far.

There is no "going back to the garden," despite Joni Mitchell’s and Crosby, Stills, and Nash’s singing so sweetly that "we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden." There is only going ahead. Which is what John vision tells us...going on to the New Heaven and the New Earth which, even now, God is bringing forth. It is a vision of community, of inclusion, of restored harmony of humanity with nature, of restored communion between God and all of creation, including humanity, for "God is in the midst of them," John says.

Elsewhere, the vision of God’s intention for us is portrayed as a banquet table, flowing with food and wine, where everyone is welcome at the table and there is enough for all. This table to which we are about to come is a foretaste of that day, where all who wish to come are welcome. It is a vision and a memory. It is an infinite moment here and now. In Christ, God and humanity become one. Heaven and earth are united. God enters into the cells of our bodies and even into the leaves of the trees. That is our healing and our hope, not only for us, but for the nations and the whole world. "Take and eat. Take and drink." Let us keep the feast. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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“Imagine....” -- Revelation 21:1-6, John 13:31-34 -- April 28, 2013

The Book of The Revelation (only one) to John is to most of us UCC-types the stuff of eyeball rolling skepticism and even dismissal.  Of course, for others, it’s the most important book in the Bible, as Tim LeHay’s wildly popular Left Behind series can attest to.  For these folks, the Book of Revelation is a road map and guidebook for these final days of planet earth, and there is a certain amount of smug satisfaction in that they will be taken up in glory while we will be “left behind.”  Already there have been sightings of and speculations about the four horsemen of the apocalypse and just who the Beast and the Anti-Christ are.  I prefer a more agnostic perspective, leaving it up to an infinitely loving and just God to determine where we all are headed.

Still, it would be a shame to give up completely on this book which, despite a good deal of controversy, did make it into our canon (or authorized set of books of the Bible).  After all, it’s only since the 19th century that people began to take the Bible literally, so our ancient ancestors in faith knew that there was more to this book than terrifying beasts and puzzling numbers.  They also had experienced enough blood baths and terror to know that if God is totally uninterested and removed from our struggles and terrors, then we really are in trouble.

The passage which Andrea read for us this morning is one of the real jewels in the book and almost makes slogging through the rest of the book worth it.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.  And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.  And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals.  He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes.  Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’

As Biblical scholar Eugene Boring writes, “All of Revelation’s statements about ‘the End’ are really statements about God...[John gives] remarkable expression to the Christian conviction that at the End we meet not an event but a Person.” (Boring, Revelation, p. 215) And I would add that we meet not even a Person with a capital “P,” for God is more than a “person.”  As William Sloan Coffin put it in his memoir, “I don’t know what awaits me after death, I only know Who, and that is enough.” (Credo) Along with Coffin, the Book of Revelation affirms that “at the end,...God.”

You know that we’ve been “re-thinking church,” trying to open ourselves up to the possibilities of new forms, new ways of thinking and being and doing “church.”  We’re in the midst of this 500 year rummage sale, as Phyllis Tickle puts it, and we’re not really sure what we should throw out, what we should keep, or really, where we’re headed.  Another way of putting that is, we’re not sure what our “end” is, not so much in the sense of “the end,” “it’s over,” “there ain’t no mo’,” but rather, our end as our goal, where we’re headed, what fulfilling our destiny and purpose might look like.

And of course, the same could be said of any of our lives.  We may wonder, particularly as we begin to accumulate more and more birthdays, where we are headed, what lies ahead, maybe doing some wondering about what happens after we die, though Bill Coffin’s confession that we only know Who awaits us may just have to be enough.

So, for the early church, awaiting the end of the world, because everything was falling apart, for the church today, and for each of our lives, the Book of the Revelation to John holds wisdom for us–“in the end,....God.”

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.  And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. Again, Eugene Boring writes, “In John’s view, the new Jerusalem is the fulfillment of all human dreams for the community and security of life in an ideal city.” (214)

It is a dream of community.  This is not a vision of individuals holed up in their cells, each one communing one-on-one with God or Jesus, but rather an interdependent community, a city, “the concrete living out of interdependence as the essential nature of human life.” (Boring, 219)   It’s the African notion of ubuntu, as Archbishop Desmond Tutu explains it–“My well-being is wrapped up in your well-being.”

“And the sea was no more,” John notes.  The sea in Biblical usage often signifies chaos, so in this vision there is a deep order or at least harmony here.  “The sea” also separated John from the rest of his community, if, as he says, he is in exile on the island of Patmos.  “The sea was no more” means that all the barriers to human relationship and community will be gone.

“God will wipe every tear from their eyes[John continues]. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more...”  “All that now robs life from being fulfilled, joyful, vibrant life [Eugene Boring writes] will be absent from the transcendent reality to which [God] is leading history.” (217)    Isn’t that what we long for?  Isn’t that what we fear from death?  Pain and separation from loved ones?  “God will wipe every tear from their eyes, Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more...”  “The sea was no more...”

And not only all that separates us from loved ones will be removed but also all that separates us from God will be no more.  God is not one “item” in this new heaven and new earth, but God is all in all, God is in the midst of humanity.  There is no temple in the New Jerusalem –no church or mosque or shrine either–no place where people go to be in God’s presence because now God’s presence is everywhere.  We are in God and God is in us.  “See, the home of God is among mortals.”  “My Lord, what a morning!”

“I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away.  And I saw the New Jerusalem...”  The voice from the One seated on the throne does not say, “See, I make all new things,” but rather, “See, I make all things new.”  Heaven and earth and we are not obliterated; rather, we are renewed, made new.  Jerusalem was where the story of God’s dealing with humanity took place, and there is continuity.  This is the New Jerusalem.  “We shall not all die,” Paul wrote, “but we shall all be changed.”  Boring writes that this is “a world in which nothing human is lost.  Salvation is beyond but not without this world.” (221).  This world, right now, in the present moment, is where “salvation” begins. The new heaven and new earth are coming and already are in our midst.  This is not a world-abandoning vision.  We are called to “love one another, as Jesus loved us,” right now.  The New Jerusalem comes out of heaven from God, but that does not mean we can give up all our responsibility.  “The present moment is the decisive one,” calling us–commanding us–to “love one another.”

And despite the desire of some to be part of the exclusive club, this is an inclusive vision.  They will be my peoples, God says.  The vision of the New Jerusalem that the writer sets out does have gates to the city, so there are those outside the walls, but the gates are always open. The choice is always ours–to come in, or to stay out.

And then, there is the image of the city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.  This is a vision of beauty.  I love Robin Meyers’ working definition of beauty as “the effortless manifestation of inner peace.”  (The Underground Church).  I wish I’d known that as an adolescent girl, holding Seventeen magazine in one hand and looking into the mirror.  That was a very different image of “beauty.”

Eugene Boring sums up John’s vision this way–“If this is where the world, under the sovereign grace of God, is finally going, then every thought, move, deed in some other direction is out of step with reality and is finally wasted.”  (224) If God’s intention, God’s dream, for the world, for the church, for each of us, is community, deep harmony, interdependence, beauty, inclusion, communion, if that is, indeed, the ultimate Reality, then all other thoughts, moves, deeds are a waste of time.

So perhaps some questions might guide our thinking and acting and dreaming in the days and weeks and months, even years, ahead.
–How and where are you, are we, most likely to encounter God, right now and in the future?
–What in my life, what in our church’s life, is no longer vibrant and alive and could be turned over to God for renewal?
–What in my life, what in our church’s life, is full of greenness and potential and might be brought to blossom and bear fruit in God’s dream for me, for us?
–Who have I–we–thought we were separated from, and how might we be re-connected through God?
–What might I–we–do to find the deep harmony and inner peace that manifests itself in beauty? –How would I live my life if I knew that nothing, ultimately, would be able to separate me from God?   How would that translate into the life of our church?
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.  And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.  And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘See, the home of God is among mortals.  He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes.  Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’ And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’
This is good news!  Amen.                                                  — Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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“You are my beloved” April 14, 2013

"You are my beloved"–What the church might learn from Positive Psychology

Final Project for the Certificate in Positive Psychology by Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Imagine a place where, no matter where you’ve been or what you’ve done, no matter how old or young or inbetween, you are welcome and reminded that you are a beloved child of God, precious in God’s sight. – That is my dream for Second Congregational Church, and I believe that insights and practices from Positive Psychology could help us become more of such a place.

The field of Positive Psychology is a relatively new–or newly revived–discipline within the wider field of psychology. Rather than focusing only on mental illness and dysfunction, what happens when things go wrong, Positive Psychology focuses on what helps human beings flourish, what contributes to well-being, what "works." It asks questions like, Why do some kids succeed and flourish in incredibly challenging environments and situations? not just, why do so many others fail? How could my day go 5% better? What gives life meaning? How can I be happier–not "happy" all the time, but generally experience a higher level of well-being? What makes some people more resilient, able to weather the real crises and challenges of life? What difference could all of this make to our experience of community and relationships, in our families and most intimate relationships, in our communities, in our world?

Just as Paul writes in Galatians about the fruit of the Spirit as "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control" (5:22), so Positive Psychology researches and helps us to develop gratitude, grace, joy, kindness, health, courage, vulnerability, discipline, ritual, relationships, service, connection, healing. Indeed, the vocabulary of Positive Psychology may very well communicate the concept of "abundant life" which Jesus said he came to bring, as well if not better than the traditional language of the church, which is no longer the native tongue of growing numbers of people in our culture.

So perhaps one entry point–to pick just one-- for discovering where Positive Psychology might be infused into the church is where we enter into the Christian community. Baptism is the initiation rite into that community of people who seek to follow in the Way of Jesus. It’s an experience that we share with Jesus who, as tradition tells us, was also baptized. The story in Mark’s gospel says,

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased."

(Mark 1: 9-11)

For Christians, baptism is our reminder that we are beloved sons and daughters of God. Just as Jesus was marked but still had to affirm and live out his identity as the beloved Child of God, so do we all need to claim and live out our identity as beloved children of God.

Listen to this baptism story from Preaching Professor Heather Murray Elkins, who tells of

a young man on a clergy retreat she was leading.

As a part of the retreat, Elkins had asked the pastors to spend some time to find their story, and their name, in scripture. On the last day of the retreat, the pastors gathered in a circle, with a chair in the middle. Then, one by one, they took their turn to sit in the chair in the middle of the circle, and told the story they had found, and the name they had found, and how they knew it was theirs.

The final gathering was going well, and the preachers were telling profound and moving stories. And then, one young man took his place in the center. But he just sat there, and said nothing. And at first, the others waited, but still, the young man said nothing. Then folks began to get a little nervous and a little fidgety. Some were looking at their watches. Finally, Elkins said to the young man, "Is there something you would like to share with us?"

"I spent all three days looking through the bible," he said. "And I saw many names there that I wanted to have. I read many stories that I wanted to claim. But none of the names were strong enough to overcome the name I already have. My father gave me this name when I was very little. And there was nothing I found in these last three days that is strong enough to change that name."

Then the man fell silent again.

So Elkins waited a bit, and then asked, "Would you be willing to share your name with us?"

And the young pastor answered, "My name, that my father gave me when I was very small, is ‘Not good enough.’" And the man put his head in his hands and began to sob. It was as if he was drowning there before them. And there they were, a room full of life guards, and no one knew what to do.

But then, as if the Holy Spirit was descending like a dove right there in that room, one by one the others rose and went to the man. Then a few others rose, and then more. They surrounded him, and they laid their hands on him, and in one voice they said, "You are my beloved son. In you I am well pleased."

Elkins says that at the end of the retreat, she saw the young pastor packing up his car and she just had to go over to him and ask him, "Do you think what happened in that circle will make a difference?"

"I don’t know," he said. "But it does feel that something inside me that was broken somehow isn’t broken anymore. And I do know this. From now on, every time I hold a baby, and dip my hand into the water to name that child before the congregation, I will remember this moment, and I will remember who I am." (Grateful to the Rev. Catherine Foote, University Congregational UCC, Seattle, WA, for transcribing story told by HME, Living the Questions...)

This is the "What" of the intersection of Positive Psychology and the church. What and Who are we really? "Know thyself" say all the sages from Aristotle to Buddha to Jesus. ("Love your neighbor as you love yourself.") "Not good enough." How many of us have been given that name, or claimed it as our own? "Not good enough." Is that your name? Not pretty enough, not thin enough, not successful enough, not smart enough; your house isn’t clean enough, your golf score not low enough....not good enough? If I asked you for a list of your faults, could you stop at one or two, or do we not have time for the whole list? We all know people, like the young pastor’s father, who are always finding fault, who focus on what’s wrong, what’s not quite right, the glass that is half empty. Fault-finders. The church has a reputation for being full of them. Finger-waggers. Sin-seekers.

Perfectionism has its own deadly self-reinforcing feedback loop–no matter how hard we strive to be perfect, we inevitably fail or fall short of the ideal, which then makes us think that if we had just tried harder, we would have made it; so we continue to drive ourselves, and continue to fail...because we are human. "Permission to be human" is a theme of Positive Psychology. What if instead of perfectionists, we became Optimalists–doing our best at any moment, taking into consideration all we’ve got available to us at the time, our human limitations, the circumstances? What if we saw failure not as a catastrophe but as an opportunity to learn?

Not good enough. Shame says we’re not good enough, we’re not worthy of connection, which, actually, is "why we’re here." (B. Brown) Sociologist and Pos. Psychologist Brene Brown found in her research that those who feel that they are worthy of connection have more resilience to shame. What if the church taught shame resilience instead of just shame? A sense of worthiness despite our vulnerability? A sense of belovedness, of unconditional acceptance?

This, of course, does not mean that whatever we do or say is ok. Our children–and we-- need to be taught what is acceptable behavior and what isn’t, that what we do actually does affect other people, and that we value our God-given connection with all other people and creatures. There are things for which a sense of guilt is not only necessary but helpful. We need to be able to recognize when we have betrayed our true selves, when we have hurt others, when we have failed to act when our actions or words might have helped another. We need to be able to say we’re sorry and make amends when that happens.

The kingdom of God that Jesus spoke about has not fully arrived. There is evil and there is injustice and an infinite number of ways that we wander from our best selves and end up doing things we regret or that harm ourselves or others. And yet we know from research that those who focus on the full half of the glass, who identify and build on their strengths instead of focusing on their weaknesses, who look upon failure as an opportunity to grow and learn, who are "Benefit finders" instead of "Fault finders"–we know that these people experience more well-being, are physically healthier, and in fact, contribute more to the well-being of others. When we appreciate the good, the good appreciates, i.e. it grows.

"You are my beloved child, in whom I am well pleased," rather than, "Not good enough." Imagine if we in the church help people discover their true name, instead of adding to the shame and sense of failure.

Another baptism story–this one from Janet Wolf, a United Methodist pastor who used to serve the Hobson United Methodist Church in Nashville, TN.

Years ago, a woman named Fayette found her way to Hobson. Fayette lived with mental illness and lupus and without a home. She joined the new member class. The conversation about baptism–‘This holy moment when we are named by God’s grace with such power it won’t come undone,’ as Janet puts it–especially grabbed Fayette’s imagination. Janet tells of how, during the class, Fayette would ask again and again, ‘And when I’m baptized, I am...?’ ‘The class,’ Janet writes, ‘learned to respond, ‘Beloved, precious child of God, and beautiful to behold.’ "Oh, yes!’ she’d say, and then we could go back to our discussion.

The day of Fayette’s baptism came. This is how Janet describes it:

Fayette went under, came up spluttering, and cried, ‘And now I am...?’ And we all sang, ‘Beloved, precious child of God, and beautiful to behold.’ ‘Oh, yes!’ she shouted as she danced all around the fellowship hall.

Two months later, Janet received a phone call. Fayette had been beaten and raped and was at the county hospital. So I went [Janet says]. I could see her from a distance, pacing back and forth. When I got to the door, I heard, ‘I am beloved....’ She turned, saw me, and said, "I am beloved, precious child of God, and....’ Catching sight of herself in the mirror–hair sticking up, blood and tears streaking her face, dress torn, dirty, and rebuttoned askew, she started again, ‘I am beloved, precious child of God, and...’ She looked in the mirror again and declared, ‘....and God is still working on me. If you come back tomorrow, I’ll be so beautiful I’ll take your breath away!’

(Janet Wolf’s story is from The Upper Room Disciplines 1999[Nashville: The Upper Room] and cited by Jan Richardson in her blog, paintedprayerbook.com, Dec. 31, 2009)

This, in a sense, is the "how" that Positive Psychology can help us with. Being positive doesn’t mean bad or negative things don’t happen. Being a beloved child of God doesn’t mean you won’t get beat up or sick or crucified. We’ve been through enough funerals together, been driven to our knees over tragedies that left us feeling helpless and hopeless. Positive psychology does not tell us, "Don’t worry. Be Happy." It is important to be as present to the negative emotions and experiences as we are to the positive, for, in fact, fully experiencing the negative emotions allows us also to experience the positive emotions more fully-- The "happy" life is not "happy" all the time. The only people who don’t experience negative emotions, our professor reminds us, are the sociopaths and the dead.

The more present and mindful we can be in our negative experiences–to allow grief, or anger or sadness or frustration to be real, the more likely we will be able to return to a sense of well-being, to see the negative as temporary–"This too shall pass." "If you come back tomorrow," Fayette said, "I’ll be so beautiful I’ll take your breath away....God is still working on me."

To be able to return to that core identity, that seed of greatness, even in the midst of turmoil and tragedy, is such a gift–and such a skill. Over and over, every day. We can create daily rituals that remind us who we are and Whose we are. As you know, I actually do say this baptismal affirmation everyday–"I too am beloved, a precious child of God, beautiful to behold, and [I add] I serve the God of Love and Light." And daily rituals that include mindful breathing, some kind of physical movement, some kind of intentional affirmation of our core identity can literally begin to re-wire our brains, no matter how old we are.

A third and final baptism story is not really a baptism story per se, but it is related and comes from the great preaching professor Fred Craddock.

Fred and his wife had stopped to eat in a little restaurant in the Smokey Mountains. Now, Fred is a quiet, unassuming man, but is not an unknown figure in that part of the country

. An elderly gentleman came over to the Craddocks’ table and introduced himself. [His name vaguely rang a bell.] He said that his mom was not married when she had given birth to him, and the community directed shame toward her and her child. He often ate alone at school; he sat alone at church, which for some reason he felt drawn to, but he always left early. One day, as he was trying to slip out, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find the minister looking down at him. "He looked closely at my face," the gentleman said, "and I knew he was trying to figure out whose features I shared. I knew he was trying to guess who my father was." "Well, boy," the minister said, "you are a child of...." and then he paused. When he spoke again, he said, "Boy, you are a child of God. I see a striking resemblance." Then he swatted me on the bottom and said, "Now you go on and claim your inheritance."

I left church that day a different person," the now-elderly man said. "In fact, that was the beginning of my life."

Fred Craddock said that when he told his dad this story, his father recalled that the two-term governor of Tennessee

[that’s who the gentleman was] had been born to an unwed mother. (Told by Joanna Adams, Day1.org., 1/10/10)

This is the "So what?" The man who eventually became the governor of Tennessee was reminded of his true self and it changed his life. And not only did it change his life, it also changed the lives of countless other citizens of Tennessee. Tending to the seed of greatness planted within us has endless ripple effects out into our family, our community, the world. When we know that we are worthy of connection, when we recognize that not only we, but every other person, is a beloved child of God, then we will engage in acts to advocate for justice and alleviate suffering. That’s part of who we are.

So, imagine our church–this place and this community-- where those seeds of greatness, that spark of divinity and true humanity, are tended to in a garden of care, accountability, challenge, nurture, joy, celebration, shared sorrow and struggle, and in acts of justice and compassion; where all around you are reminders of your true identity– Reminders of who we are and Whose we are, to post on our doorways, wear around our necks and wrists, to write upon our hearts, even, to tattoo on the palms of our hands.

Jesus wasn’t the only or first to be named and claimed and loved by God. The prophet Isaiah, in the midst of exile in the 6^th century BCE, sent a love letter from God to the people of Israel. The love letter is to us as well.—[If you’d like to see the video I showed here, go to saltproject.org, and to their video section where you’ll find Tattooed.]

What a privilege and joy my immersion in Positive Psychology has been, not only taking me into new places and learning new skills, but also helping me to go deeper into the well of living water that the Way of Jesus has offered me. I’ve made a list of some of my imaginings of how positive psychology might help us to transform lives, which I invite you to pick up on the way out and see what you think. I am so grateful for your support and your companionship on this amazing journey into life in all its fullness. Let the journey continue!

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"On the Road Again"-- Luke 24:13-35-- April 7, 2013

So, Christ is risen. Now what? "He’s gone on ahead of you to Galilee, where you will see him," the men in dazzling white told the visitors to the empty tomb. All the post-resurrection stories are different. They did see him there in Galilee, –on the lakeshore, barbequing fish. And we know the story of the disciples who’d locked themselves in that upper room, when Jesus suddenly appeared in the their midst and breathed the Holy Spirit on them. And then he came back when Thomas was with them, and offered Thomas his hands and his side with their gaping wounds, so that he could get over his obsession with not seeing Jesus and get on with living in the Way of Jesus.

And then this story that we read this morning about what happened on the road to Emmaus–the two disciples, one named, the other not, walking home after the horrible events in Jerusalem and the unlikely tale of the women; and then the stranger coming up behind them, asking what was going on, and his walking them through the scriptures which indicated that the Messiah must suffer before entering into glory. Who was this man? And then their arriving home, and pressing the stranger to stay with them for supper and the night. It was then–when he took and broke the bread and gave it to them–that their eyes were opened, and they recognized Jesus. And he was gone.

John Dominic Crossan says that this story is the story of what happened to Jesus’ followers after his death, somewhere in the early 30's, until the time that Paul noticed them and had his own encounter with the risen Christ, somewhere in the 50's. This story of what happened on the road to Emmaus, and especially what happened when they sat around the table at the end of that journey, is a summary of how the message and movement of Jesus was spread in the early years after Jesus’ death.

Jesus had sent them out before, two by two. Remember that? Take nothing with you, he’d told them, and if someone invites you in, go in and eat there. If they don’t accept you, wipe the dust off your feet, and move on. And when all the pairs came back, they told Jesus about all the things they’d been able to do. "You’ll do all that I’ve done and more," Jesus had said to them.

So here in this Emmaus story, are two disciples traveling together, one named Clopas, so obviously a male, and the other one unnamed, quite possibly female, as that is often how the early Jesus followers traveled. They are talking about Jesus, still trying to figure out the meaning of his death and the strange tales of his resurrection. When they study the scriptures, they get a sense that Jesus is part of the meaning and movement of God’s intentions, but it’s not perfectly clear. It is only when they invite the stranger in to their homes, offer shelter and food, that they recognize the Risen Christ in their midst. And note, they invite him, he doesn’t invite them.

"When he was at table with them, he took the bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened." Bread that is blessed and broken is shared bread. Wine that is poured into a cup and given is shared wine. Shared meals were at the heart of what Jesus was about, not just because all sorts of people ate together, which they did–tax collectors, prostitutes, "sinners"–but because anyone could come and have something to eat.

The Roman occupation had increasingly wrung dry any and all resources for the poor to rely upon. In fact, many of the poor were absolutely destitute, having next to nothing to feed their families. Many existed on the edge of starvation. Those who have been truly hungry, hungry with no idea when they will ever eat again, are marked by that experience. So the meals that Jesus and his movement centered around were not just symbolic meals, with a piece of bread and a sip of wine; these were actual meals, potlucks really, where everyone brought whatever it was they had to share, or themselves, if they had nothing, and then everyone had enough to eat. Enough to eat and a place in the community. That was Jesus’ definition of Justice, and God was above all, a God of justice.

It was not uncommon in the ancient world to hear stories of visions of dead men raised. That Jesus’ followers said they had seen him resurrected would have been received by others as interesting but not unheard of. It was the content of their vision that was intriguing. You mean, when you take in strangers, when you sit down and share bread and wine together in his memory, that’s when he appears? You mean, I could come and join in such a meal? I would be fed? That’s right. Come and see. We gather around 10 and eat around 11 or 11:15 on Sunday mornings. We gather at 5 on Sunday afternoons.

Our Sunday Socials. Sunday Suppers. Dinners for 8 or 80. We may each experience the Risen Christ in many different ways, but he promised that wherever two or three were gathered in his name, there he’d be in the midst of them. When bread is taken, blessed, and broken, the Risen Christ is present. When the wine is blessed and poured out and the cup is shared, the Risen Christ is present.

"Resurrected life and risen vision," Dom Crossan says, "appear as offered shelter and shared meal. Resurrection is not enough. You still need scripture and eucharist, tradition and table, community and justice; otherwise, divine presence remains unrecognized and human eyes remain unopened.... "Emmaus never happened," he writes. "Emmaus always happens." [Crossan, The Birth of Christianity, p. xi We are still on the road to Emmaus. And look, here is bread and drink for the journey. Let us share it with one another and the Risen Christ. Amen and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Why are you looking for the living among the dead?"-- Luke 24:1-12 Easter 2013

Jesus had told them it would happen this way. "The Son of Humanity must undergo great suffering, [he’d said] and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised." Actually, as they remembered it later, he had told them that a number of times. It’s just that they usually zoned out at the word "killed." How could that be possible? Trauma has a way of erasing memory and hope. They never really heard him say, "and on the third day be raised."

So when they went into the tomb and didn’t find his body, and when the two men in dazzling white appeared and asked them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen"–the women didn’t say to each other, "I knew it! Just like he said!" And when they ran back to tell the eleven and all the rest what had happened, they didn’t believe it either. In fact, they thought the women were crazy. "It seemed to them an idle tale"–"idle" is a tame, polite way of translating, "crazy," "delerious," "out of the their minds."

But really, as one writer says, "If you don’t find resurrection at least a little hard to believe, you probably aren’t taking it very seriously!" (David Lose, workingpreacher.com) This was an entirely new reality, not just the resuscitation of a dead body. And, as someone else has written, "If the dead don’t stay dead, what can you count on?" (Florence Carter, cited by Lose) So, let’s not be too blase about this resurrection stuff–"Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed!" we say, as though of course we know what that means, of course Jesus rose from the dead, of course... Indeed! You might want to tone down that certainty, just a smidge. On the other hand, if you don’t buy it at all, if you’re certain that it’s "an idle tale," you might want to leave just a crack open for possibility. It’s ok to have faith wrapped up with doubt and skepticism. In fact, it’s probably a good thing. Brene Brown says that "Faith minus vulnerability and mystery equals extremism." (Interview on OWN, 3/24/13)

Now, a very good case could be made that we live in a Good Friday world, not an Easter world, so the Easter story may indeed seem like no more than an "idle tale." Death and the Powers and Principalities seem to be in charge–the innocent are gunned down in schools and movie theaters and city blocks, blown up along roadsides and minefields, discarded with plant closings and downsizings, millions are hungry and homeless and hopeless. It wasn’t so different in Jesus’ time. How do we tell the Easter story in a Good Friday world?

Unlike our day, when reporters and TV cameras would be relied on to explain things, these early followers of Jesus turned to story. Anne Howard says that in trying to find words for Easter in a Good Friday world, the "first storytellers told the story of that empty tomb. They talked about being afraid and looking into that dark place and seeing light. They talked about not seeing Jesus in that tomb and about learning that he was already running ahead of them, out in Galilee...They found Easter when they dared talk about Jesus’ alternative way, when they carried out his practices, of sharing what they had, welcoming the stranger, caring for the least among them." (A Word in Time, 3/31/13)

Other storytellers use different images. The power of life over death was "deeper magic from before the dawn of time," C.S. Lewis wrote in the Narnia tales. "It was so new that the evil powers knew nothing about it....When [the great lion] Aslan rises, he cracks the altar stone and it crumbles into pieces so that it could never be used again, ending all bloodshed."

Still others describe resurrection – all resurrections – as "bursts of divine energy."

I believe Jesus’ resurrection is part of a deeper energetic and synergetic divine presence, [writes one pastor] missed because [it’s everywhere, all the time]. God resurrects each dying moment and moves to heal each past trauma in a world where pain, tragedy, conflict, and death are all too real. I believe that Jesus’ resurrection revealed a deeper law of nature, a greater influx of energy, [like] the energies of the universe that brought forth the ‘big bang’ and the birth of galaxies and planets. Surely, it was a quantum leap–this energy of life and love–gathering up the powers residing already in Jesus’ healing touch and words.."natural," but not tame, disorienting, transformative.

(Bruce Epperly, Adventurous Lectionary, 3/31/13)

Former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams says of Easter, "We are really standing in the middle of a second "Big Bang," a tumultuous surge of divine energy as fiery and intense as the very beginning of the universe." (Cited by Dan Clendenin, journeyswithjesus.net, 3/31/13)

The proof of the resurrection, however, does not lie in the past, but in the present. It’s all too common for the church to say, as the rock musician Sting puts it in one of his songs, "It’s just too hard thinking about the future, so let’s just get on with the past." ("Forget About the Future," on Sacred Love) "If the tomb wasn’t empty, if there was no bodily resurrection, the whole thing falls apart..." "If archaeologists find the bones, Christianity is done for." What actually happened back then? We’re looking for the living among the dead.

As my brother Bob used to say, "The proof of the resurrection does not lie in the past, but in the present. It’s also not just waiting for us in the future." (Bob Lee, The Carpenter’s Apprentice) The proof happens everyday. It’s all around us, if we have eyes to see and ears to hear. Like the first storytellers who found the Risen Christ when they talked about Jesus’ alternative way and carried out his practices, so is Christ Risen in our Sunday Suppers and the Free Clinic and Kitchen Cupboard. So is Christ Risen in lives restored to health and hope after being written off as "hopeless." So is Christ Risen in teams of volunteers cleaning up trashed city lots, planting trees, even gardens, that then feed the neighborhood with fresh fruits and vegetables. So is Christ Risen when those who have suffered great loss find new life in helping others who have suddenly found themselves in that same condition. So is Christ Risen when in the depths of shame and humiliation, we see a hand extended to us in solidarity and strength. Seeing may be believing, but to "believe in" resurrection, to have that truth at the core of one’s life is to see resurrection all around us.

Which isn’t to say that resurrection is "business as usual." Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed. Ho hum. It is to say that at any moment, we should be prepared to be caught off guard by resurrection, disoriented, stopped in our tracks. In fact, one writer says, "Today we need to be disoriented and deconstructed to let resurrection break through. We need to open our eyes to God’s bursts of energy locally and globally, intimately and universally at work in our world, and we need to get on board, with resurrection life, practicing resurrection by awakening to it and opening our eyes to wonders of new life." (Bruce Epperly, op cit.)

In a weary, spent world (Brueggemann), weighed down by Good Friday expectations, the Easter story reveals the world-and-life-changing-deconstructing- recreating energy that is always and everywhere at work. Nothing is safe, but everything, ultimately, will be well. The deeper magic before time, the fiery, intense energy that set off the Big Bang, the luminous surge of power that pulses through all our veins, even after our hearts have stopped beating, the music that sings deeper than our hearing and beautiful beyond words, the Holy One whom death could not contain, is loose in the world. Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Passing Through Deep Waters"-- Isaiah 43:1-2, 16-21, John 12:1-8-- March 17, 2013

The big ecclesiastical news this week, of course, was the election of a new pope– Habemus papam! And this pope from a new part of the world chose a new name for himself, new at least for popes–Francis, recalling the saint who lived in solidarity with the poor and the creatures of the earth. That is a hopeful sign, I think, and from what I’ve been able to tell from reports about the new pope’s words and actions this week, as well as from reports of his tenure as Archbishop in Buenos Aires, I am hopeful that he will be able to reach across the growing chasm between rich and poor and to bring the Vatican into a place of more integrity, at least in regards to its finances. I do not expect married priests or same-gender marriages or women priests in the Roman Catholic Church anytime soon, but I wish our brother Francis well. He will need all the wisdom, strength, and compassion from God he can get.

"Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old," God says through the prophet Isaiah. "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" Isaiah was prophet in the time of Israel’s exile in Babylon some 2500 years ago, but these words ring down through the centuries to us today in the church–the United Church of Christ as well as the Roman Catholic Church. "Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?"

Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann says of these verses that they are "that most remarkable of all texts, that we should not speak until we decide if we trust it." (Cited by Kate Huey in Weekly Seeds, 3/17/13) For such a prolific scholar to single this text out as "most remarkable of all texts" should give us pause. "We should not speak [it] until we decide if we trust it." Do we?

Isaiah has indeed remembered the former things–God’s bringing the children of Israel out of slavery in Egypt and through the waters of the Red Sea, leaving horse and chariot, army and warrior to drown. God formed this ragtag bunch of former slaves into a people, marked by God’s love. God led them safely through the deep waters across the Jordan River, into the Promised Land. And now here in the exile, where their souls have been wounded, cut off from home and culture, they have almost forgotten who they are. [This, by the way, is why most of what we know of Hebrew scriptures–the Torah, the law–was pulled together and written down during the exile–so that all the generations wouldn’t forget who they were, and Whose they were.] Here in Babylon, it was all too easy to buy into the values of the culture around them, to worship the gods whose images and temples were all around them, whose customs reinforced another way of living.

But here is God, not only promising to make a way through the desert back home, but to "do a new thing." Don’t even remember the former days, of glory or of judgment, God says. Even now the new "thing" is springing forth-- do you not perceive it?–new things like making rivers in the desert, infusing all creation so that the jackals and ostriches pay God homage.

"Let go of the past and its pain," God says to Israel. How about that for a Lenten discipline? "Let go of the past and its pain." (Margaret Aymer, cited in Huey, op cit.) Might you do that in your family? Might we do that as a nation? Move on from the pain and humiliation and anger from the events of Sept. 11, 2001, and even entertain the possibility of looking at the world through a different lens? "Do not remember the former things," says God. "Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" What former things in your life might you let go of, and what new thing might god be doing in your life?

And what about in church? For some of us, the "former things" were packed sanctuaries almost every Sunday (and absolutely on Christmas and Easter), overflowing Sunday Schools, people vying for positions on the Church Council. But we are getting farther and farther away from those times. We look around and see fewer families with young children and more and more, admittedly remarkable, gray-heads. What’s happening to our committees and boards? Who’s going to chair the Snowball Bazaar? John C. Holbert suggests, "We are like those who define madness; we do the same things again and again and expect different results." (Patheos, 2/10/13)

....Which is why, of course, we are in the process of "re-thinking church." How can we let go of the past, while still honoring it, and truly be open to the new thing God is doing? For it is God who will do it. It’s tempting to think that it’s simply a matter of our coming up with the right set of by-laws, of creating a structure that will revitalize us, but Brueggemann reminds us that this newness is not something we can generate ourselves. We can only receive it. (Ibid.) God is doing this new thing. In some sense, we just need to get out of God’s–and our own–way.

So there is no need for fear. God has been with us when we’ve passed through deep waters before, when we’ve wandered in the wilderness, even when we’ve tried to turn our backs on God, God has not abandoned us. Bruce Epperly [Adventurous Lectionary, 3/17/13] reminds us that there’s a reason the rearview mirror in our cars is smaller than the front windshield. We need to be facing forward, not backward. We need to be opening ourselves up to God’s guidance, taking the time to listen, to discern, to trust, to welcome God’s "new thing" that even now is springing forth.

Dare we speak this text–"Behold, I am doing a new thing." Have we decided that we trust it? Or, as someone has asked, "Have we practiced a meager economy of expectations?" (Huey, op cit.) What about great expectations?! Again, Brueggemann tells us–"Biblical faith is geared to the future. It moves always to God’s coming miracle that pushes past old treasured miracles and old suffered judgments." God is with us, not only in the glory days of the past, but also in our present, and in an utterly new future. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Youth Group Potato Brunch, March 17,2013

The Youth Group baked and then prepared potatoes for the congregation on Sunday morning, March 17th.  The brunch included a salad, potato with choice of toppings, dessert and drinks.

Everyone was very pleased with the food and the service.  Due to the generosity of the congregation, enough funds were raised to send two teams to the Big Brothers Big Sisters of Bennington Bowl a Thon.

Please click the "Find Us on FaceBook" link at the bottom of this page to view the full album of the days events.

 

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"So Spacious..."-- Luke 15:1-3, 11-32-- March 10, 2013

Martin Copenhaver tells the story of two old friends who "meet in the park. Upon seeing each other they don't say a word. They sit on a park bench in silence for the longest time. Then one finally breaks the silence by saying, ‘Oy.’ The other responds, ‘Oy.’ To which the first replies, ‘Well, enough about the children."’ We may not know the details, [Martin adds] but we know this: family relationships are perhaps the most challenging of all." (God is still speaking, 3/9/13)

Where to start – or end – with this rich, well-known and well-loved parable that has come to be known as the Story of the Prodigal Son? It’s not a helpful title, really, as the word "prodigal" doesn’t appear anywhere in it, and if prodigal means "extravagantly wasteful" or "profusely giving,"as the dictionary says, it could apply to both the father and the younger son. And then there’s the elder brother, who-- an argument could be made–the parable is really about. "A man had two sons" would probably be the best way to refer to this story, as it leaves open all the possibilities.

The choir anthem told about the inner story–the story of the younger son and his father. It’s the heart-warming part of the story–the rebellious, younger son, feeling stifled and constrained at home, with wanderlust in his bones, asks his father for his portion of the inheritance. By rights, the first-born son would get 2/3 of his father’s estate, leaving one-third to be distributed to the remaining children. But to ask for one’s inheritance while the father is still alive is to say, in essence, "Father, I wish you were dead." Right there the young man has broken the commandment to "Honor your mother and your father."

Furthermore, the law also says,

If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, ‘This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all of the men of the town shall stone him to death. So shall you purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel will hear, and be afraid."

(Deut. 21:18-21)

Those listening to Jesus tell this story would not have identified at all with the father, but would have thought of him, as one commentator suggests, as "stupidly lax to pamper his immoral son." (Stan Duncan, If You Lived Here..., 3/7/13)

But the younger son is an American hero, isn’t he? "Go west, young man!" we encourage him. Make a name for yourself. See the world. Drink the finest wines, see the sights, gather your rosebuds while ye may...

But his story is also the American story...of thinking that money can buy happiness, that the more thrilling experiences I can wrack up–make sure I complete my bucket list–I will be happy. If I just consume enough–stuff, food, drugs, alcohol, success, power–I’ll be great, I’ll be happy. I’m entitled to the freedom to do what I want–without responsibility to anyone else. Alas, ending up slopping pigs is also too frequently where this American dream ends. All that "stuff" doesn’t buy us happiness. Instead of "finding"ourselves, we discover that we have lost ourselves. Not only do we find that we are starving for food that truly nourishes us, we find that we are starving for relationships that nourish us, for work that is meaningful and humane, for a way to get through the day that doesn’t involve a bottle or a pill. "When he came to himself," is how Jesus describes the younger brother’s realization. He came to himself.

Patriarchs did not run. It was not a dignified or honorable thing to do, to lift up the bottom of one’s robe to free up the feet, to move one’s aged body more quickly than it had moved in years, let alone to do all that to rush down the road to greet one’s good-for-nothing son. The townspeople would have come out to witness this errant, shameful boy drag himself with his tail between his legs and grovel in the dirt before his father, but this father runs through the gauntlet himself to greet and embrace his son. "Quickly, bring out a robe–the best one–and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!" Talk about prodigal–"extravagantly wasteful," "profusely giving"!

All of that, it could be said–this whole inner story–is just a set up for what happens next. You’ll recall that David read the beginning of this chapter, the comments that prompted this story in the first place–"Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes, the reverends and the good people of the church, were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’ So he told them this parable...."

If the younger son’s story is the American dream gone bad, the elder brother’s story is the established church’s sorrow and challenge. Of course we love the stories of people who’ve been "redeemed," who have found themselves, by the grace of God, and turned their lives around. That is the story of some of you sitting here. "Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!"–written by a redeemed slave trader. It’s a story told over and over in testimonies in storefront churches, at AA meetings, in prisons, in support groups. We want to be part of that story–maybe part of helping people to find themselves, providing space in our buildings for meetings, wearing our t-shirts–"Second Congregational Church–Changing lives since 1865".

But how many of us are the elder brother or sister, not able to hear these stories of transformation without pursing our lips, just a little bit? How many of us are the elder brother or sister–the obedient, faithful ones who’ve been keeping the building open, who’ve sat in more meetings than there are hairs left on our heads, who look upon all the drama with more than a little skepticism and, may I confess? more than a little judgment? "It must be nice,..." we mutter as the story of journeys to exciting-sounding places unfold. "Yeah, while you were sipping bordeaux, I was pouring grape juice into tiny little cups." "Nobody knows half the things I’ve done for this church, while you get your face on the front page of the newspaper as part of a great ‘turn-around story.’"

How many of us elder brother and sister types find that we too have ended up in a "far country," estranged from joy, estranged from our best selves, estranged from those who would love us as we are, let alone estranged from any kind of a loving God?

Father Greg Boyle is a Jesuit priest who works in some of the roughest neighborhoods in Los Angeles, and is the founder of Homeboy Industries. Homeboy Industries works with and hires gang members, teaches them skills, provides them with therapists, gives them hope, blesses them, loves them. Last Sunday morning he was on Christa Tippett’s public radio program, "On Being," and if you missed it, I urge you to listen to it or read the manuscript at onbeing.org, or read Fr. Boyle’s book "Tattooes on the Heart."

"The measure of our compassion," Fr. Boyle said, "lies not in our service of those on the margins, but in our willingness to see ourselves in kinship. [Here we go–family again!] So that means the decided movement towards awe and giant steps away from judgment." The decided movement towards awe and giant steps away from judgment. "So how can we seek really a compassion that can stand in awe at what people have to carry rather than stand in judgment at how they carry it?" That, Fr. Boyle says, is the measure of health of any community, church community or otherwise. When we take the time to really listen to people’s stories, to allow them to unfold in our presence, it has certainly been my experience that I am more often than not in awe of how much people are carrying around, and you’d never guess.

"If you presume [Fr. Boyle said] that God is compassionate, lovingkindness [and that’s a big IF–do you?], all we’re asked to do in the world is be in the world who God is." As Christa Tippett remarked, "But that’s huge!" To which Father Boyle replied, "Yeah, so you’re trying to imitate the kind of God you believe in. You want to move away from whatever is tiny-spirited and judgmental...you want to be as spacious as you can be [so] that you can have room for stuff and love is all there is and love is all you are, you know. And [he said] you want people to recognize the truth of who they are, that they’re exactly what God had in mind when God made them." He went on to say, "Alice Miller, who’s the late great child psychologist, talked about [how] we’re called to be enlightened witnesses...people who through your kindness and tenderness and focused attempt of love return people to themselves and in the process, you’re returned to yourself, you know." "And when he came to himself..."

Fr. Boyle then told the story of Louie, an exasperating, whiny, difficult kid who "works" for Homeboy Industries, "though work may be too strong a verb," Fr. Boyle says. On Louie’s 18^th birthday, he came to Fr. Boyle’s office and asked him for a blessing, as many of the homeboys and homegirls do. "Hey, G [Greg]–give me a bless, yeah?" they say. "Hey, G–give me a bless, yeah?" Louie asked. So, Father Boyle put his hand on Louie’s bowed head and said, "You know, Louie, I’m proud to know you. When you were born, you know, the world became a better place and I’m proud to call you my son, even though–and I don’t know why I decided to add this part–at times you can be a huge pain in the [butt].’ and he looks up at me and says, ‘The feeling’s mutual.’ And, you know [Fr. Boyle said] you’re not sort of this delivery system,...but maybe I return him to himself. But there is no doubt that he returned me to myself."

So spacious. God is so spacious, so vast, so "great and wild," as the poet Hafiz says. So prodigal. Always greater than we can imagine. "Whenever you land on a God who’s tiny or judgmental or exacting or concerned with some kind of purity code," as Fr. Boyle says, this sense of God as spacious and vast and always greater "sort of blows it wide open and knowing that there’s a need to have this blown wide open all the time."

Where do we begin and where do we end mining the depths of this brilliant, amazingly rich story of the father and his two sons that Jesus told? We are not told what happens next–whether the younger brother returned to being manipulative and selfish after he got some of that fatted calf in his stomach, or whether the elder brother ever came in to the party, or whether the father ever had his honor restored in the village. We don’t know. We can only choose the next steps in our story, whether or not we will come home, to who we are and Whose we are. But, what I know for sure is, there is a party going on.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Tales of a Life- Changing Foursome by Jane Norrie

Jane Norrie has been a member of Second Congregational Church since 1977.  Her late husband was a UCC Pastor and Jane’s life work has included medical office management, technical support, as well as 15 years of experience as a therapeutic equine assisted activities instructor and director of the Ride and Shine Special Equestrians Program in Shaftsbury, VT.  Now retired, Jane continues to be active as a mentor for aspiring equine therapy professionals and as a coordinator of healing ministry activities at Second Congregational Church.

 

TALES OF A LIFE-CHANGING FOURSOME

 

Everyone loves a story, and my story today is in four chapters about four life-changing events in my life since 1977 – all of them associated with members of  our Second Congregational church family.  It was very difficult to limit myself to only four chapters, as many, many wonderful people and events flooded me with memories.  It’s a good thing I had Tom Steffen as my sermon writing coach as he is very good at insisting on staying within a 15 minute time limit.  Left to my own devices I might have gone on for at least an hour!

 

To set some historical context, we might take note that there was a somewhat revolutionary movement toward de-institutionalizing Brandon State Training School and placing its former residents within local communities near their families of origin.  In the early spring of l977 my husband David, recently semi-retired from parish pastorate due to health problems, received a phone call from Vermont State Conference Minister Charles Chamberlain informing us that UCS in Bennington was recruiting group home staff for a community care home for developmentally disabled adults transferring from Brandon.  Charles thought we might be interested in applying for this position.  We did apply and were hired to begin work on preparing a house at 215 Union St. to receive 7 residents, all young adults, 5 of whom had spent most of their life in Brandon State Training School.

Of course we immediately transferred our church membership to Second Congregational and were more or less settled into our new position just in time to celebrate the Bicentennial of the Battle of Bennington with the greatest ever Battle Day Weekend parade and all the fixin’s!  A short time thereafter enter Tom and Nancy Jean Steffen for chapter one of the life-changing foursome.

 

The stresses of our 24/7 residential staff position soon proved to be overwhelming for David.  In the early winter of 1977 he was admitted to Putnam Memorial Hospital’s ICU with gastrointestinal bleeding.  When I went to visit him early in the morning of his first hospital day I found him in a state of delirium, in 4-point restraints, unable to recognize me.  His nurse was handing me a telephone and telling me that Dr. Guerrero was on the line to speak with me.  I was on the verge of going to pieces when someone came up behind me, put his arm around my shoulders, took the phone and started speaking  with the doctor on my behalf.  That someone was Tom Steffen.  Later when I asked Tom what he was doing at the hospital so early in the day he told me he just “had a feeling” that he ought to go visit David.  I am very glad he listened to that inner guidance and came to my rescue, not only ministering to David’s and my spiritual needs but also insisting that I take time off from the residential job and stay at the parsonage for a few days until David’s health stabilized and we could see our way clear to re-adjusting our living situation in Bennington.  Tom and Nancy Jean’s hospitality was like a harbor in a storm for me.  While I was given respite in their home I also came to know Nancy Jean as a role model of a pastor’s wife like none I had ever known before, seeing her in action as a successful business owner in her own right as well as wife, mother and faithful leader in church life.

 

This was not to be the last time that Tom and Nancy Jean would come to my rescue as over the next ten years I learned to cope with being the main wage earner and caregiver to my husband who became increasingly disabled by severe heart disease and diabetes. David died in November, 1987, just 2 days before our 26^th wedding anniversary, at what had by then become Southwestern Vermont Medical Center’s new West Wing ICU.   Tom was there waiting for me when the staff asked me to leave David’s bedside as they began cardiac resuscitation.  Again Tom supported me as Dr. Guerrero told us that David had never regained consciousness.  And yet again Tom and Nancy Jean opened their home, now having moved to Margaret Lane, to me, my family and friends who came to attend David’s memorial service.  In the years since then both Nancy Jean and Tom have helped me to find out who I was as a pastor’s widow and ultimately who I am as a single woman, a person who continually learns and grows and who is very different from the young woman who moved to Bennington in 1977.

 

Chapter two of four tells of an influential woman by the name of Claire Santway.  Since 1977 Claire and I have become dear friends, perhaps even to be described as what Celtic tradition calls “anam cara” – soul friends.  Claire gave me a love of Yoga practice which she facilitated for a few of us in her sunny living room.  An especially important message for me would come through when, after guiding us in practice of several poses, Claire would tell us to lie still on our back for a few minutes to “relax and absorb the benefits”.  How often even now I need to remind myself to relax in order to absorb the benefits for my well-being which are offered in many surprising ways.  Even more important, however, is that Claire was the very first person to tell me about Reiki energy therapy and to demonstrate its benefits as a hands on healing modality which she learned through attunement to Reiki level I. This took place in the mid 1980’s at a gathering in a Manhattan city apartment where Claire’s teacher was a Reiki Master just one generation removed from Japanese Dr. Usui who promulgated a method of Reiki practice which has since spread throughout the world.  Eventually that introduction provided by Claire led me to use of Reiki for relief of  multiple sclerosis symptoms in my own body, and after a few years to my initiation as a Reiki Teaching Master as a student of Nancy Edwards here in Bennington.

 

Third chapter in historical progression tells of the family of David McMullen and Desmond Clohossey who moved from Staten Island to Bennington around 1987. They were attracted to Second Congregational and soon became active members.  They were men of varied talents- gardening, music, carpentry, home decorating to name a few.  Desmond was almost totally deaf so of course he and Dave were fluent in American Sign Language.  They lived in the neighborhood of the farm where I boarded my horse – a wonderful thoroughbred named Calypso Kid.  Desmond loved the horses, dogs, cats and other  animals at the farm and wanted to learn horseback riding.  So in exchange for sign language lessons I gave him riding lessons.  He learned to ride a whole lot faster than I learned how to sign!  In the course of our friendship both Dave and Desmond taught me many life lessons.  One of the most outstanding for me was a new way of understanding the KISS slogan which was popular at the time.  Keep it simple, stupid was the common usage, but Dave taught me to change that to “Keep it simple, sweetheart”, insisting that one should never call oneself stupid.  Many’s the time this turn of phrase has helped me deal gently with myself in difficult circumstances.  So it was that Desmond became my first equine assisted therapy student and Dave became another dear friend of the Celtic anam-cara sort.  You may have guessed by now that Dave and Desmond were homosexual partners.  It was the beginning of the AIDS epidemic, and while they lived their lives with us they helped our congregation work through the process of becoming Vermont’s first Open and Affirming congregation.  Towards the end of his life Desmond still came to visit Calypso Kid, now unable to ride but still loving to touch and groom The Kid and to delight in the fact that he could hear the barking of  Jesse the Golden Retriever who came to play fetch the stick.  Dave’s last lessons to me and others in a circle of caring friends from 2CC were about how to provide end of life hospice care when hospice care was still a rudimentary idea to most folks.  As many of you know, I went on to become a professional in equine assisted therapy programs, and of course I still often remember Dave when I tell myself to keep it simple sweetheart.

 

KISS may also stand for keep it short sweetheart.  Thus I have arrived at my fourth of the life-changing foursome – Estelle Bennett Atwood.  In a way she ties together my beginning years in Bennington with my present life because it was her legacy which made it possible for UCS to open the Atwood Center for Services to Developmentally Disabled Adults.  Many of the folks whom I first knew when they moved into the community from Brandon State Training School are today served by the Atwood Center Programs which make it possible for them to live up to their highest potential in the community.  It has been a joy and a privilege for me to remain connected with this population in several ways over the years and to see amazing changes in their lives as they have learned to hold jobs, to live independently and find great satisfaction in life through the mentoring and social skills development programs available through the Atwood Center.  I remember Estelle as an amazing woman who was a stalwart of our congregation and legend has it that she was still going to the gym to pump iron well up into her 70’s.  I in particular thank God for Estelle’s wisdom, compassion and generosity which inspired her to endow the Atwood Center as a place where special people find safe haven to discover and nurture the goodness within each one.

 

I rejoice in the imagery from Rev. 22 of the beautiful river flowing from the throne of God with the Tree of Life growing on its banks – the tree which bears fruit for 12 months of the year – the tree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, for the healing of people.  As with many stories, mine has a prologue in which I was a horse crazy kid, my dog at my side or (best yet!) trail riding on horseback.  Even then I knew that I wanted to be a teacher, and somehow I did know about the reality of healing touch.  My epilogue is yet to be but I’m sure it will be strongly influenced by the amazing place that is Second Congregational Church, Bennington, Vermont.  You as a congregation have given me formal affirmation to pursue healing ministry.  You support me in adventures of learning about dowsing, labyrinths, healing with sound (oh my!).  You pull me back to being reasonably well balanced when I’m on the brink of becoming wild-eyed revolutionary activist.  Now I live cautiously in the world of internet communication and I sometimes fear that with all our social media we have opened a Pandora’s box the contents of which is way beyond control.  With the development of the Hadron Collider and discovery of the Higgs-Bosson particle I fear we may be in danger, like Icarus, of flying too clos to the sun and falling back into the sea of chaos.  Yet God is in that Higgs-Bosson particle and God seeks a wholesome, holy and healing relationship with all creatures, with all creation.  I am a Vermonter by choice, sure that there are saints and angels hovering round to help guide us into ways of living wisdom.  So always I strive to rejoice in the words of Psalm 121 – “The Lord will protect you from all danger; He will keep you safe.  He will protect you as you come and go, now and forever.”  Amen.

 

Message shared in worship.

Scripture- Psalm 121 and Revelation 22:1-6

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"Come to the table"-- Isaiah 55:1-9, Luke 13:1-9-- March 3, 2013

Some of you may know that I was born in Oklahoma, but because we moved from there when I was 3, my memories of that time and place are pretty limited, just sensory memories mainly– primarily that of being carried down into the backyard storm cellar to escape from tornados, and the smell of melting tar from the streets on hot summer days. Beyond those very early years, I’ve never been back to the southwest, though would love to sometime, but I marvel at the almost unbelievable temperatures that get reported from there in the summer–well over 100 degrees for days and days. "It’s a dry heat," some explain, but it’s still hot, and recent years of drought have only worsened the situation.

I understand that there are signs now throughout Grand Canyon National Park that say, "Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not." Stop! Take a break from snapping pictures or taking videos. You could be eating dust before you know it if you don’t drink some water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not.

"Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters [reads the sign in the wilderness of exile]; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; listen so that you may live."

Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not. Do you know that you are thirsty? Have you been laboring for that which does not satisfy–working more and enjoying it less? Spending your time and money on that which doesn’t deeply nourish you? In the midst of a national and global climate that is obsessed with scarcity and debt, marked by rancor and frustration, this invitation through the prophet Isaiah sounds like sweet music or perhaps, as our rampant cynicism might say, "too good to be true." "Buy wine and milk without money and without price?" How good can that wine or milk be? And who’s giving it away? What’s in it for them?

UCC pastor Kate Huey wonders whether we are "settled so comfortably into a routine and worldview that keep us busy and distracted that we’ve lost touch with our deepest selves, made in the image of God, and our spirits may be thirsty, starving, and homesick, even if we can’t name those feelings on our own." (Weekly Seeds, 3/3/13) Have you noticed how hungry and thirsty and homesick you are?

Last Sunday’s magazine section of the NY Times featured a cover story about the processed food industry and how it has researched, engineered, and invested in producing food and drink "products"that we are literally addicted to. "I feel so sorry for the public," said a former chief scientist for Frito-Lay. We don’t stand a chance as our palates become accustomed to and then crave the sugar, fat, and salt these items contain. Cheetos, as it turns out, "is one of the most marvelously constructed foods on the planet, in terms of pure pleasure," one food scientist said, and then focused on "the puff’s uncanny ability to melt in the mouth. ‘It’s called vanishing caloric density,’ [he] said. ‘If something melts down quickly, your brain thinks that there’s no calories in it...you can just keep eating it forever.’" (NY Times Magazine, 2/24/13, p. 47) I don’t know about you, but I’m salivating a little right now. Let’s hope there are Cheetos on the food table for Sunday Social. "Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?"

"Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters..." Isaiah issues an invitation from One who loves us, who offers us what we most deeply yearn for, though we may have become distracted with sugar, fat, and salt, let alone home improvement shows, or the latest exercise kick, or yet another health concern, or a car or home repair, or, or.... Come to the table, he calls, set with a rich feast of food and drink that satisfies our deepest hunger and thirst. Come home, to a community of love and meaning, committed to making the world a better place, to being a blessing to ourselves, our neighbors, near and far. It’s an invitation to stop, drink water. You are thirsty whether you realize it or not.

Jesus said the same thing essentially, when some people told him about recent disasters in which a number of people had been killed. Were they worse sinners or offenders than others? they implied, but Jesus dismissed that line of arguing and said, "No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did." In other words, Stop. Drink water. You are thirsty whether you realize it or not. Disasters happen to the good and the bad, can happen to any of us. To focus on them–and it’s hard not to, since we are fed a steady diet in our 24-7 news cycle–to focus on one disaster after another and all the bad news is to become fearful, hopeless, and uncertain. You will always be tossed about, able only to react to whatever comes along.

The important point, Jesus said, is to orient your life toward the source of Real Life, the source of living water, the source of the feast that satisfies our deepest hunger. That’s what "repent" means–re-orient your life toward God. Rather than blaming God for disasters as punishment, know that you can experience God in the midst of hardship and suffering, an ever-present help in times of trouble, as the psalmist says.

These practices along the way, these "disciplines," if you will, that we’ve been looking at and perhaps trying during this season of Lent, are meant to help us orient our lives toward God– building reminders into your environment to remind you of the sacred in the midst of the ordinary–a candle, a bowl of salt on the coffee table, perhaps, reminding you that you are to be the saltiness of the earth, not just consume salt; daily prayer–whether simply noticing your breath and taking the time to breathe deeply, or longer periods of sitting or moving meditation; being aware of our bodies as temples of the Holy Spirit and so tending to them, through exercise and healthy eating and rest. These are ways to practice everyday, when things are humming along, and when things screech to a halt, or we are thrown for a loop by illness or disaster or death, we have some handholds, or footholds, or soulholds to hang on to, keeping us centered in our true center.

Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not. Isaiah and Jesus call us away from wanderings and distractions not because they are to be condemned but because they ultimately do not get us anywhere, they’re unsatisfying, except for the briefest of times– "vanishing caloric density" in all sorts of ways.

Come to the table, they invite us. Come eat and drink food and wine that is infinitely satisfying and nourishing, come and experience community. The church, in whatever form it finally or even transitionally takes, is centered around the table. What if we as a church community not only provided and served the food for the 4^th Sunday of the month’s Sunday Supper, but also came and filled out the community around the tables? (Don’t worry, Tom. We’d help with setting up the tables.) Come to the table. Come to this table. This is the bread of life and the cup of blessing. All are invited. Let us keep the feast. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Wed., Feb. 27, 2013--For "Speaking of Religion," Bennington Banner, March 2, 2013 — This I (Don’t) Believe

A while back, National Public Radio sponsored a series of reflections entitled, "This I Believe," in which people from a variety of walks of life spoke and wrote about what they trust in, "what they know for sure," as Oprah puts it, what they have concluded is true from their experience of living. These reflections were less a series of statements like, "I believe that...the world is round,...Pluto should be called a ‘planet,’...blondes have more fun...." but rather, "I believe in...the power of kindness to transform ... the necessity of expanding our notion of ‘family,’....the importance of immersing children in nature... " In other words, "belief" less as an assent to a list of facts or declarations or propositions, and more as "trust in" conclusions drawn from experiences, a deeply-held sense or knowledge or intuition that seems to hold true.

Many people seem to think that Christianity is a set of "beliefs"–that it is a matter of saying "yes" to a series of statements of doctrine–"I believe this, this, and this... and if I believe this, this, and this, I am guaranteed to go to heaven." THIS I DON’T BELIEVE. While creeds and doctrines can be useful to teach about and try to put into words that which is essentially beyond words, I do not believe that they are the end or purpose of faith. If people’s lives are not tranformed by their faith, if their "beliefs" do not make a difference in how they live, then the words may be beautiful but inadequate. The United Church of Christ, of which Second Congregational Church is a member church, proclaims that, while we affirm the historic creeds, it is the task of every generation to articulate its own "statement of faith" that has meaning and power for its day and age. "God is still speaking," we say. "Preach the gospel always. If necessary, use words."

Christianity, from its very beginnings, has been a diverse and multi-voiced religion–that’s why there are four gospels instead of one. That is as true today as it ever was, despite what many people think when they hear the word "Christian." Frankly, I do not even recognize some of what gets labeled "Christian" as anything I know about what it means to be a follower of Jesus the Christ. When Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist folk from Kansas demonstrate at funerals of soldiers or gunned-down Newtown children with signs saying, "God hates [homosexuals]," "This is punishment for America’s sins," "Burn in hell," it’s all I can do not to want to return their evil with evil. But that, of course, would not be following the Way of Jesus. When, as was reported in this paper a couple weeks ago, the Newtown, CT Missouri Synod Lutheran pastor offered the benediction at the interfaith service for the slain children and teachers there, he was reprimanded by his church leaders for appearing to condone the doctrinal differences between the participating faith communities, and he apologized. That is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my United Church of Christ–and many other mainline Christian denominations–who seek whenever possible to work and witness together for justice and compassion with other people of faith. Our local Greater Bennington Interfaith Council and the Greater Bennington Interfaith Community Services are examples of people of faith working together to make our little part of the world a better place.

I do not believe that Jesus was only interested in the kingdom of heaven as a future, after-death, reality, but rather in the kingdom of heaven, or the kingdom of God, that he said "is in your midst," "it’s coming and now is." I do not believe that science threatens faith; rather, it is a different language seeking to understand the mystery. As Rabbi Harold Kushner said, "I take the Bible too seriously to take it literally." I believe the Bible is a collection of writings by inspired human beings, that speak of truths better spoken of in story, metaphor, poetry, and whose light and truth shine through the filter of particular contexts of time and place. We as a community of faith need to wrestle with what is light and truth and what is filter. Some people may conclude that because I do not believe these things (or because I do), that I am not a "real" Christian.

Many people assume that a Christian is "someone who believes that faith is primarily a belief system mediated by an infallible Bible. The reward for believing the right things is forgiveness of sins and certain knowledge of eternal life." Rev. Robin Meyers (a UCC pastor), in his book The Underground Church, explains that that may describe a "religious conservative," but there are also "religious liberals, [and many folks in between] who believe that faith is primarily about the transformation of self and society through the wisdom of spiritual truth. Liberals emphasize inclusion, social justice, and transformation over individual salvation, and resist all exclusive religious claims." I would simply beg to let that word "Christian" breathe and be embodied in lives rather only in words. It means–and has always meant–more than one "party line."

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Pastor, Second Congregational Church, UCC, Bennington

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"I’m going on anyway..." --Gen. 15:1-12,17-18, Luke 13:31-35-- Feb. 24, 2013

There is a small chapel on one of the hills overlooking Jerusalem which, tradition says, is on the spot where Jesus wept over the city. The wall behind the altar is made of glass, and so there is a beautiful view of the city. On the front of the altar, one observer writes, is the image of a rooster, "a bright, fierce-looking bird made out of colored tiles with a flock of little chicks under his wings." (Barbara Brown Taylor, Bread of Angels, "Chicken and Foxes," P. 124)

Now, a rooster has spikes and talons–you do not want to get in a fight with a rooster–though some people apparently love to watch cock fights. Hens can be pretty fierce too–that’s where we get the term "henpecked," after all–but a hen’s main defense is fluffing herself up, pecking, and getting in the way of a fox who is after her chicks. By literally offering her body to the attacker, she can hope to satisfy his hunger with her large body so that he will leave her chicks alone.

"Get away from here," some Pharisees warned Jesus as he headed toward Jerusalem, "for Herod wants to kill you." "Go and tell that fox for me," Jesus replied, "...that I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem. Jerusalem, Jerusalem," he cried, "the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" "How do you like that image of God?" one preacher asks. "If you are like me [she says] it is fine in terms of comfort, but in terms of protection, it leaves something to be desired." (BBT, Ibid., p. 125)

"I’d turn back if I wuz you," the Cowardly Lion reads on the sign as he, Dorothy, Scarecrow & Tin Man enter the enchanted forest surrounding the Wicked Witch of the West’s castle. Sounds like a good idea to him, to all of them, really, but they lock arms and press forward. "Get away from here," some Pharisees warned Jesus as he headed toward Jerusalem, "for Herod wants to kill you." Wings outstretched, breast exposed, is the most vulnerable position, but Mother Hen Jesus presses on toward Herod the Fox.

Like the prophets before him, Jesus takes the path of most resistance, telling us not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear. (Robin Meyers, The Underground Church, p. 113) Courage and commitment are our only defenses, but love is a fierce defensive weapon, stronger than death, as it turns out, though it never looks it at the time. Who would draw that conclusion from the cross? Who would draw that conclusion from the bodies piled up before the lines of British soldiers in Gandhi’s famous salt march? Who would draw that conclusion from the bullet-riddled bodies of children and teachers lying on classroom and hallway floors in Newtown, CT? Who would draw that conclusion as the fox licks his lips and picks a feather out of his paws? Love is stronger than death?

"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it?" Don’t you think Jesus is still weeping over Jerusalem, and Washington, and Baghdad, and Kabul? "How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing?"

"Most of our churches are friendly, comfortable, and well appointed," writes Rev. Robin Meyers, author of the book a number of us are reading this Lent–The Underground Church. "But who goes there expecting to be ‘undone’? Who expects to weep at recognizing the world as it really is, or to shudder at the certain knowledge that until we start taking risks it is likely to stay that way?" (P. 4) We are warned not to mix religion and politics, but who does not weep at the deadly foolishness that is being engineered in Washington? We’re all madly driving off a cliff, indiscriminately taking everyone we can with us–men, women, and children, young, old, everybody’s in this Sequester Bus–giving new meaning to the wisdom that an eye for an eye eventually makes the whole world blind. "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Washington, Washington, city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to you!" Who wouldn’t weep?

What’s a would-be follower of Jesus to do? If "I’d turn back if I wuz you" isn’t an option, what is? At the very least, it seems to me, every one of us can pray for our leaders in Washington and in Montpelier. While that may sound like something of a cop-out, a religious trifle, you may not have allowed yourself to be immersed in prayer enough. When we lift someone up into the powerful, even searing, presence of God and simply turn them over to God’s care and attention, praying that they be open to divine wisdom and direction and healing rather than directing God to have them vote "yay" or "nay" on some particular piece of legislation, we unleash a power that is far beyond our imagination or manipulation. And, by the way, this is not an entirely "safe" option–we may find ourselves caught up in the force of this power, and might even find that we need to contact our legislator, to express our views and opinions. And then we might find that we want to join with others working toward a new vision of the common good, either here in our community or maybe on a national or even international level. You just never know where a little prayer is going to lead you, so watch out for this second "Practice for the Way" whose candle we lit this morning. Courage and commitment may be our only defenses but daring greatly for Love is mighty armor indeed, as Paul referred to the "whole armor of God."

"Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you." "I’d turn back if I wuz you." We may wish that Jesus had chosen a mother lion or bear instead of a mother hen to describe God’s love and protection. We may wish that God hadn’t chosen a cross as a symbol of the extent to which God would go to save us and stay in solidarity with us through every evil and heartache and struggle and suffering life throws at us. But we know that sometimes love requires that we keep going on anyway.

What fox are you facing? Is it a relationship that you know will kill you–or at least sap all the life out of you? Is it illness or anxiety? Is it a person at work who makes your life miserable? Is it your own self-image that is eating you away from the inside? "I may be knocked down now," the southern expression goes, " but I’m goin’ on anyway. I may be scared out of my mind, but I’m goin’ on anyway... I’m goin’ on, because there is One who goes on with me. Jesus may have had to walk that lonesome valley all by himself, but we don’t have to. God has walked every valley we’ve been through and is with us now. Tears may be in both our eyes, but I feel his elbow locked in mine, I feel her strong wing gathering me in. The cross is not the end of the story. That’s just the first day. But the cross can give us courage and strength nonetheless. Hear this poem by Roger Courtney, entitled, "I am standing before the cross"--

I am standing before the cross in all its brutality

and feel overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.

Why could the church not have a nice

life-affirming symbol instead of a cross?

Something to remind us to love each other and

that love will always triumph in the end.

But perhaps that would be just too easy.

Perhaps we need reminding

that to love unconditionally often comes at a cost

when we cross the barriers of prejudice and exclusion

that society puts up to separate us from the poor and despised,

from our traditional enemies;

when we truly stand up for what is right

we too may be rejected and ridiculed.

The cross reminds us that love has no boundaries, no limitations.

We must keep loving, regardless of the consequences.

The cross is not a symbol of defeat

but a symbol of the victory of unconditional selfless love

which should support and inspire us to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.

(Roger Courtney, on progressivechristianity.org)

"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it?...How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing?" It gives a whole new meaning to the word "chicken," doesn’t it? Let us be on our way, or rather, "the Way." Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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