"We are stardust..."-- Proverbs 8:21-31, Colossians 1:15-20-- Sept. 22, 2013

Did you notice the moon these past few nights? The full moon a few days ago and then slivers of it disappearing night by night? One of the blessings, I try to remind myself, of having a dog is the opportunity to get outside every night and look up. While Luna is thoroughly exploring every centimeter of grass and sidewalk, catching up on all her smell-mail on posts and branches and lawns, I try to remind myself to look up and notice the sky–the moon, if it’s up, and the stars, especially if the moon isn’t up yet. It’s an ancient human exercise, this looking up at the night sky, and from it have come some of our most profound thoughts.

"We had the sky, up there," Mark Twain wrote in Huckleberry Finn, "all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made, or only just happened." "Whether they was made or only just happened"–that’s been the debate between religion and science for centuries, hasn’t it? But from what was once an un-bridgeable chasm between the two is emerging a new respect and even compatibility.

Carl Feit, a biologist and practicing Jew, writes that "Religion and science are two ways of looking at the world, and each helps guide our search for understanding. Profoundly religious people are asking the same questions as science: Who are we? And what are we? What’s the purpose? What’s the end? Where do we come from? And where are we going?" (Cited in The Mind of God, ed. Michael Reagan, p. 28)

On this 4^th and final Sunday of this year’s Season of Creation, we celebrate "Cosmos Sunday." It doesn’t get much "bigger picture" than that. And it is particularly in the study of the universe’s origins and workings, what is called "cosmology," that some of the most profound discoveries and connections are being made. What cosmologists are discovering, writes Sharon Begley, is that the laws of nature do seem to be comprehensible and accessible to the human mind, and so we are somehow connected to or part of the cosmos, and secondly that the cosmos seems to be "fine-tuned for existence, in an almost-too-good-to-be-true manner." (Begley, in Mind of God, p. 16)

"The Lord created me as the beginning of his way [or work]," Wisdom says in the book of Proverbs, "the first of his acts of long ago. Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth." Wisdom emerges first and, as one scholar says, is the blueprint, the "dynamic design that inspires God and determines the various codes of creation." (Norman Habel , Seasons of the Spirit, Wk 4, Yr. C)

When God established the heavens, I was there,

[Wisdom says], when he drew a circle on the face of the deep, when he made firm the skies above, when he established the fountains of the deep, when he assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not transgress his command, when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside God, like a master worker/

architect/ playmate; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in his inhabited world and delighting in the human race.

"The living design that integrates the codes of the cosmos is not viewed as a passive, lifeless blueprint, but a vibrant, living, presence." (Habel, op cit.) Lady Wisdom, Sophia, which is the Greek word for wisdom, works and plays alongside Creator God in this "cosmological poem." Strongly feminine, Sophia permeates creation, delighting in it and celebrating God’s creativity. It is a rich, dynamic, fertile image.

Science’s Big Bang is also a rich, dynamic, and fertile image, and as Leah Schade writes, that original supernova "had life, death, and resurrection, in that it birthed the elements of the universe as it exploded. Its death brought new life–helium, hydrogen, the beginning of galaxies. This means that Nature itself contains this imprint of the crucified and resurrected Christ. It is in every place, in every creature." (Lutherans Restoring Creation, 4^th Sunday in Cration, Yr. C)

Many in the early church saw Jesus as the incarnation of Wisdom, Sophia, calling him the divine Word or logos. "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation [echoing back to Proverbs]; [Paul writes in Colossians] for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers–all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together." This imprint of life, death, and resurrection, this wisdom, this word or intention, is on all creation. "So spacious is he," Peterson puts it, "so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe–people and things, animals and atoms–get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies." (The Message)

The space probe Voyager has now left our solar system and entered into interstellar space, travelling further than anyone or anything in history. It takes our imaginations with it. The Hubble telescope has already sent back images of deep space that literally confound and inspire us with their images that come to us across both time and space. It is many of the scientists involved in these explorations and discoveries that are bridging the gaps between science and religion with their profound sense of awe and wonder at what they are finding.

I belong to the group of scientists

[writes Paul Davies] who do not subscribe to a conventional religion but nevertheless deny that the universe is a purposeless accident. Through my scientific work I have come to believe more and more strongly that the physical universe is put together with an ingenuity so astonishing that I cannot accept it merely as a brute fact. There must, it seems to me, be a deeper level of explanation. Whether one wishes to call that deeper level "God" is a matter of taste and definition." (Mind of God, p. 59)

"The Universe begins to look more like a great thought, than a great machine," writes Sir James Jeans. (Mind of God, p. 141)

Instead of picturing God as a medieval monarch on a marble throne,

[writes Tom Mahon in his book "The Spirit in Technology"] imagine God as the living awareness in the space between the atoms, "empty" space that makes up about 99.99 percent of the universe. Thinking of God that way gets us past some of the great theological divides of the past. Is God immanent or transcendent, internal or external, composed or compassionate? Like the question of whether the atom is wave or particle, the answer is: Yes." (Mind, p. 13)

The God of my early religious training

[writes Chet Raymo] pulled off tricks that are not beyond the powers of any competent conjuror; Harry Houdini or David Copperfield could turn a stick into a serpent or water into wine without batting an eye. But no Houdini or Copperfield can turn microscopic cells into a flock of birds and send them flying on their planet-spinning course. No Houdini or Copperfield can cause consciousness to flare out and embrace the eons and the galaxies. (Mind..., p. 80)

And the great agnostic, Carl Sagan, wrote:

I had an experience I can’t prove, I can’t even explain it, but everything that I know as a human being, everything that I am tells me that it was real. I was part of something wonderful, something that changed me forever; a vision of the Universe that tells us undeniably how tiny, and insignificant, and how rare and precious we all are. A vision that tells us we belong to something that is greater than ourselves. That we are not, that none of us, are alone.

(Mind, p. 56)

"

When God established the heavens, I was there," Wisdom says. "[Christ, the Logos, the Word] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation," Paul writes. A traditional Jewish Tale explains it this way–"God said to Abraham, ‘But for me, you would not be here.’ ‘I know that, Lord,’ Abraham answered, ‘but were I not here, there would be no one to think about you.’" We are made of the same elements as stardust, we belong in the universe, are a part of the universe, are the self-consciousness of the universe, and it is to our own peril that we continue to think we can behave otherwise.

The late great scholar of myth Joseph Campbell responded to journalist Bill Moyers’ statement that the future of the human race would not be determined from space but rather right here, in how we claim and care for our identity as creatures of this planet.

Well, it certainly is [Campbell said]. When you go out into space, what you’re carrying is your body, and if that hasn’t been transformed, space won’t transform you. But thinking about space may help you to realize something. There’s a two-page spread in a world atlas which shows our galaxy within many galaxies, and within our galaxy the solar system. And here you get a sense of the magnitude of this space that we’re now finding out about. What those pages opened to me was the vision of a universe of unimaginable magnitude and inconceivable violence. Billions upon billions of roaring thermonuclear furnaces scattering from each other. Each thermonuclear furnace a star, and our sun among them. Many of them actually blowing themselves to pieces, littering the outermost reaches of space with dust and gas out of which new stars with circling planets are being born right now. And then from still more remote distances beyond all these there come murmurs, microwaves that are echoes of the greatest cataclysmic explosion of all, namely the big bang of creation, which, according to some reckonings, may have occurred some eighteen billion years ago.

That’s where we are, kiddo, and to realize that, you realize how really important you are, you know–one little microbit in that great magnitude. And then must come the experience that you and that are in some sense one, and you partake of all of that.

And it begins here, [Moyers adds]. It begins here. [The Power of Myth, 1988, p. 183]

"The final mystery is oneself," wrote Oscar Wilde. "When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?’

That is the mystery left to us to explore, even as our brother and sister physicists continue to explore the many mysteries of the cosmos. So listen, finally, to the blessing that Wisdom offers at the end of chapter 8 of the book of Proverbs–

So, my dear friends, listen carefully: those who embrace my ways are most blessed. Mark a life of discipline and live wisely; don’t squander your precious life. Blessed the man, blessed the woman, who listens to me, awake and ready for me each morning, alert and responsive as I start my day’s work. When you find me, you find life, real life, to say nothing of God’s good pleasure. But if you wrong me, you damage your very soul, when you reject me, you’re flirting with death.

May we follow in Wisdom’s ways, and so may we find life, not only for ourselves, but for the whole creation. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"The voice in the storm" --Psalm 29, Luke 8:22-25-- Sept. 15, 2013

Our dog has been spending a lot of time in the bathroom this week. That’s where she goes when there’s a thunder and lightening storm, and we’ve had several this week. She goes into the bathroom, perhaps, because it’s got a relatively small window or is small enough to feel like a cave. Another one of our dogs used to climb into the bathtub during thunderstorms, which is actually probably not a great idea, but that’s where we would find her.

This Third Sunday in the Season of Creation this year is Storm Sunday. Lutheran preacher Stanley Saunders writes that "Humans are the only creatures on earth who have become weather-makers, to our own detriment and that of other living things around us. Over the last few decades, the storms we are creating have become more and more frequent, intense, and destructive. The consensus among scientists is that things are likely to get much, much wilder." (In Working preacher.com, 8/15/13)

One of the key facts of the 21^st century [writes Vermont author and environmental activist Bill McKibben] turns out to be that warm air holds more water vapor than cold; in arid areas this means increased evaporation and hence drought...Data shows dramatic increases–20% or more–in the most extreme weather events across the eastern United States, the kind of storms that drop many inches in a single day. [Writing in 2008, before Tropical Storm Irene, McKibben wrote,] Vermont saw three flood emergencies in the 1960's, 2 in the 1970's, 3 in the 1980's, and 10 in the 1990's and 10 so far in the first decade of the new century. (Eaarth, p. xii)

And, as we’ve seen already this summer, it’s not just here that we’re seeing changes and

it’s not just in floods–

Larger storms over land now create more lightening; every degree Celcius brings about 6% more lightening, according to the climate scientist Amanda Staudt. In just one day in June 2008, lightening sparked 1,700 different fires across California, burning a million acres and setting a new state record. These blazes burned on the new earth [Eaarth], not the old one. "We are in the mega-fire era," said Ken Frederick, a spokesman from the federal government.

(Eaarth, p. 3 )

 

　

Colorado has gotten both flood and flame this summer.

"The voice of the Lord is over the waters," sings the psalmist. "The God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters. The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty...The Lord sits enthroned over the flood...." Even to this day, earthquakes, trees being ripped up from their roots and spun, lightening strikes, tornadoes and hurricanes and floods are referred to as "acts of God." Zeus, apparently, is alive and well on Mount Olympus and hasn’t lost his taste for hurling lightening bolts at hapless mortals. You can always count on some evangelical preacher to explain events like Superstorm Sandy as God’s punishment of the kinds of sin and perversion that are found in the big East Coast cities, "Sin Cities" one and all.

Beyond such public accusations, however, we also hear survivors of various natural disasters talking about God’s saving or sparing them, unlike their neighbors, which, of course, is an expression of gratitude, but the implication is that God chose not to save the neighbor. Is that what we are to make of the psalmist’s claims that "The Lord sits enthroned over the flood" and "the voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire"?

Psalm 29 is a warning against giving credit to idols. The psalmist was making a claim that it was indeed Yahweh God, not the Canaanites’ weather-god Baal, who was Lord of all creation. It took great courage to address such a god of overwhelming power. (Sarah Hinlicky Wilson, Christian Century, 12/28/04) In the book of Job, we read, "And God said to humankind, ‘Truly, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil is understanding.’" (Job 28:28) This is not the fear of capricious punishment, but rather an acknowledgment, a respect and reverence for One whose power is beyond our power or even our imagination. And the case could be made that since we apparently think we can change the earth’s balance without consequence, we might ask ourselves, "How’s that ‘Playing God’ working for you?" Robert Colin Morris writes, "We would be closer to the mark, I believe, if we read most references to the ‘wrath’ of God as part of the automatic response of violated nature, or human nature, rather than as some personal Divine vindictiveness. We go against the grain of reality at our peril." (Weavings, Sept./Oct 2008, p. 13)

The story in Luke of Jesus’ rebuking the wind and the waves is found in various versions in Matthew and Mark as well. On the surface, on the Sunday School level, it is a miracle story, another sign of Jesus’ divinity. But, like most other Biblical stories, this is not just simple, journalistic reporting of "what actually happened." It comes layered with ancient images and echoes, of God’s voice singing out over the waters of chaos and creating order, of God’s saving one righteous man and his family from the waters that destroyed the rest of the earth, of God’s providing a passageway for the people of Israel through the Red Sea waters, freeing them from bondage.

This is the same God who is present in the midst of this storm, the story tells us, present in Jesus, who, stunningly, almost endearingly, has fallen asleep in the back of the boat. It was his idea in the first place to go across to the other side of the lake, to the country of the Gerasenes, but once they were underway, "he fell asleep," Luke tells us, without the detail that Mark adds, that he fell asleep on a pillow in the stern. Peter Woods suggests that "The ones who truly know their identity and their destiny can allow themselves to be at peace in the midst of danger." (I am listening, 9/14/10) The psalmist confirms, "I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me lie down in safety."

This story of the crossing of Lake Genessaret, or the Sea of Galilee, is the story of all our crossings from one place, or one state, to another. This was a crossing from the known and comfortable, from home harbor, over to Gentile territory, where, in fact, their first encounter would be with a demoniac. Storms, for the most part, are due to changes–changes from low pressure to high pressure systems, from tectonic plate shifts, from movements of air masses.

Storms in our own lives, which often threaten to overwhelm us, may come from changes, from threats to what we perceive is our safety or comfort, from changes in our health or physical condition that threaten our independence, our mobility, our sense of well-being; from changes in relationships, when outside threats of job loss or other interests make us fearful of losing our bearings, when children move away, physically or emotionally, and we are overwhelmed with feelings of loss or anger or hurt or fear. Busy-ness and increasing demands on our time and resources and attention may swamp us with feelings of inadequacy or fear of losing our job or our sanity or dignity. World events may overwhelm us with their enormity and complexity and peril, until, along with the disciples, we cry out, "Master, master, we are perishing!" Wake up, God, and save us...save us from all that threatens to overwhelm us...save us from ourselves.

"Where is Wisdom to be found?" the book of Job asks. "Truly, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom," comes the response. It is wise to recognize that we are part of something much greater than ourselves, part of a great web of creation, as we spoke about last week, connected to each and every other part, able to impart repair and healing, or destruction and harm throughout that web. But we are not the whole piece. We are not in charge. A sense of reverence, of respect, of humility is the beginning of wisdom. When the Exxon Valdez ran aground in the Gulf of Alaska and threatened the pristine waters of the Denai Peninsula, Alaskan schoolchildren and elders went down to the shoreline and wrote notes of apology to the earth and sea in the sand. How many notes of apology do we need to write to the oceans and rivers, to the species now extinct, to the generations who will live after us? Where is wisdom to be found?

"Master, master, we are perishing!" "Where is the one who is wise?" the apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians. "Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?[he wrote]. For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe...[and] we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, both to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength." (1 Cor., 1: 20-25)

In this one sleeping in the back of the boat, in the middle of the storm, in this one headed for Gentile country and the man filled with the legion of demons, in this one who would empty himself so utterly on the cross that he would be filled with the glory of God, in this one is the wisdom and power of God. That’s what this favorite gospel story is about–that the God who is Lord over the winds and waves – we recognize that kind of dominating power, don’t we? – that God is also embodied in this one whose power does not come through overwhelming or dominating, but through emptying, through such deep trust that none of us are, ultimately, "perishing."

It is through turning to that true refuge in the midst of the storm that we are saved. So, in this era of "mega-fires" and super-storms, humility and sacrifice are called for. We do not tamper with our earth’s design and balance without consequences for ourselves and every other creature and ecosystem. We must stop pumping carbon dioxide and heat into the atmosphere; we must advocate to dramatically reduce our use of fossil fuels; we must find new–or maybe old–ways of feeding and clothing ourselves; we must stop amassing things that distract us from the true value and worth of our lives–our relationships, our connection with the earth, our service to those in need. We can also prepare ourselves and others to weather these storms [there’s a list of things to have on hand that can help during a storm in the insert], and help one another when those storms occur. We saw that so powerfully during Irene. That is the way of the one sleeping in the boat who is able to rebuke the storm.

And in the storms of our lives, we can turn to those ways as well; through meditation and prayer, where we return to the stillness and wisdom at the heart of our true selves–"I wish I could show you," wrote the poet Hafiz, "When you are lonely or in darkness, The astonishing light Of your own Being!" We can turn to the ways of the One sleeping in the back of the boat through participation in the community of others who like us, struggle with rocky crossings and yet can remind each other where our true refuge lies. With the psalmist, we too ask for the blessing and strength of God–"May the Lord give strength to God’s people, and may the Lord bless God’s people with peace!" Amen, and amen.

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

 

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"World-wide Web"-- Psalm 104:14-23, Luke 12:22-31-- Sept. 8, 2013

The poet Mary Oliver is the quintessential "observer" or "consider-er" of the lilies. Listen to her poem, "The Lily"–

Night after night/darkness/ enters the face of the lily

which, lightly, closes its five walls/ around itself,/ and its purse

of honey,/and its fragrance,/ and is content/to stand there

in the garden,/not quite sleeping,/and, maybe,/ saying in lily language/some small words/we can’t heart/even when there is no wind/anywhere,

its lips/are so secret,/its tongue/is so hidden–/or, maybe,/ it says nothing at all/but just stands there/with the patience

of vegetables/and saints/until the whole earth has turned around/and the silver moon

becomes the golden sun–/ as the lily absolutely knew it would,/ which is itself, isn’t it, /the perfect prayer?

(Mary Oliver, Why I Wake Early, pp. 24-25)

"Consider the lilies," Jesus said, "how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these."

This is the second Sunday in the Season of Creation, celebrated these first four weeks in September by churches throughout the world, as we in the northern hemisphere move toward fall and our brothers and sisters in the southern hemisphere move toward spring. Today is "Flora and Fauna Sunday," a rather quaint and fancy name for Plants and Animals.

I remember Flora and Fauna as the names of two of the fairies in Walt Disney’s movie of "Sleeping Beauty" who, along with their sister Meriweather, took care of the young princess and were able to mitigate the effects of the curse their sister fairy Maleficent had placed upon her. You remember that story, yes? Having been excluded from the party celebrating the birth of the infant princess, this 13^th fairy, Maleficent, crashed the party and put a curse on Princess Aurora, saying that when the princess grew up, she would prick her finger on a spinning wheel and would die. The one fairy who had not yet given her gift mitigated the curse by saying that the princess would not die, but rather would fall asleep for a 100 years.

Now that may sound like a rather random word association on this Flora and Fauna Sunday, but a case could be made that the plight of plants and animals and our not-so-merry weather are all indicators of the curse we have put ourselves under as our planet warms and sickens and struggles to throw off the toxins we have poured into it and its atmosphere.

"You cause the grass to grow for the cattle," the psalmist sings to God, "and plants for people to use, to bring forth food from the earth, and wine to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine, and bread to strengthen the human heart." Divine Wisdom has created an earth intricately woven together–grass for the cattle and plants for people to use, the high mountains for wild goats and rocks as refuge for the coneys. Rhythms of day and night, rain and dryness, work and rest; life and death; boundaries set for the waters; infinite variety; cycles of decay and renewal. And human beings as part of it all, given bread for strength and wine for gladness. God Himself/Herself delights in this creation.

In his book, Darwin, Divinity, and the Dance of the Cosmos, Bruce Sanguin writes,

"In the last 300 years, during the age of scientific rationalism, human beings have stepped out of the flow of creation. We have extricated ourselves from the story of the life of the planet, and have assumed the position of outside observers, of beings who live on the earth, but who are not of it." (P. 13) Bill McKibben entitled his book Eaarth, spelled with 2 a’s, as it’s no longer the planet earth that has sustained life as we know it up until now. A 2005 United Nations Millenium Ecosystem Assessment found that two-thirds of the earth’s ecosystems were seriously degraded; 90% of the earth’s fish stocks depleted. Species die-off has accelerated, largely due to human activity and overpopulation. We may think we are above or outside the web of creation, but, alas, we are really proving what an integral part of the whole web we are and are poisoning our own home.

In Nov. 2004, the Gallup organization put this statement to 1000 Americans: "God created human beings pretty much in their present form at one time within the last 10,000 years or so." 45% agreed with that statement. If that percentage were projected out into the whole human population, that would mean, writes Bruce Sanguin, "that approximately 100 million people are walking around with no sense that we have any biological connection to the rest of creation! One wonders how that impacts lifestyle choices and environmental policy-making." (Op cit. 102)

The two stories at the beginning of the book of Genesis–and there are two different stories–are some of the most beautiful prose and poetry ever written–the first story: "In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, "Let there be light!" and there was light." Day after day, in succession, God creates the heavens and the earth, each day declaring it all "good," until the 6^th day, when God creates human beings, male and female, in God’s image, and God looked upon it all and said, "That’s very good!" And then God rested.

The second story begins in a garden, and the Lord God scooped mud up out of the riverbank and fashioned an earth creature–adamah– which literally means, of the earth. That is our original name–Earth Creature–and we are enlivened by the breath of God. But both scientific rationalism and Biblical literalism have dis-enchanted our story, either consigning the story of the universe to sheer chance or, in the case of Biblical literalism, ignoring the incredible, awe-some discoveries of scientists about the nature of the universe and of life on our planet, and choosing instead to cling to a 2500 year old creation story never meant to scientifically explain anything.

What mathematical physicists and cosmologists like Brian Swimme have discovered about the unfolding of the universe over 14 billion years is as awesome as any fairy tale, and while Swimme does not refer to God or Spirit, he does talk about the Heart of the universe. From the original Big Bang or "Flaring Forth, " the universe burst forth from "the void," as Genesis put it, sending sub-atomic particles forth at incredible speed and temperatures, not going into space, but creating both time and space as they expanded. As the poet Hafiz wrote, "the secret One, slowly growing a body." (Sanguin, 80)

Over billions of years, through violent explosions, waves of destruction and creation, supernovas and negative spaces, starfields and galaxies formed and re-formed. On our tiny planet, one grain of sand in a universal shoreline, atoms came together, eventually differentiated, organized, learned to renew themselves. From bacteria to higher organisms, emerging from the water onto land, coming together, evolving, until creatures able to reflect upon themselves– human beings-- emerged. Our bodies share the same elements as the stars, and as Barbara Brown Taylor puts it, "the only difference between us and trees or rocks and chickens is the way in which these elements are arranged." (Cited in Sanguin, p. 85)

Some people–notably some Christian people–are offended that we are related to apes and monkeys, let alone chickens and crysanthemums, but it is in fact that very kinship, or at least reclaiming and re-membering that kinship, that may finally wake us out of our disenchanted sleep and return us to the Wisdom built into creation in the first place. The emerging field of biomimicry looks to the designs and functioning of nature to learn about energy-efficiency, locally derived materials, non-toxic to the environment. Lily-like impellers have been designed for cooling systems and pumps. Velcro got its design from the hooks on the burr plant. Consider the lilies...

The stories our culture tells us–the story of consumerism, where the more you have, the happier you’ll be; or the story of Not-Good-Enough–you need to be more, do more, be something or someone you’re not; or the story of celebrity–that the glitter and lights of celebrity will warm your heart and light your way–these stories have led us to this place of estrangement from our true selves as earth creatures infused with the breath of God. And, of course, it’s more than estrangement from but also endangerment to the rest of the planet. The Sacred Story of the universe’s unfolding, connecting us with all that ever was and all that ever will be, has the power to restore us to our true selves and to turn us away from the distraction of those cultural stories to the Great Work, as Thomas Berry puts it, of healing the planet.

This web that we are part of, which quantum physics now describes for us as energy, as light, as connection far beyond our imagining, is both our blessing and our curse. It is a curse because, as we’ve seen, when one part of the web is destroyed or weakened, we all are made weaker, part of us dies. We are vulnerable. The blessing is that we each can make a difference, we each can send energy and healing throughout the web, infused as it is with God’s own being. When we practice meditation and go beneath the surface clutter and busyness, we tap into that deep Wisdom. When we engage with others in sacred rituals to re-enchant or remind ourselves of the sacredness of all things, when we celebrate, lament, encourage, empower one another to begin again, we strengthen the web. When we act and speak together for protecting and restoring the environment and its creatures, we strengthen the web. "Taking up one’s cross in an ecological age," writes Bruce Sanguin, "means exiting the culture of convenience." (Op cit., p. 175). "To make holy or sacred" is the deep meaning of the word "sacrifice." We need to return to knowing where our food comes from, supporting local farmers, growing gardens, living closer to the seasons of the earth. When we gather to pray for the earth, for the people of Syria, for the rainforests in the Amazon, for the poor and the homeless and the sick, we send our energy along the threads of the web. It makes a difference.

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow... Do not be anxious, but rather strive for the kingdom–the kin-dom– of God, the kin-dom that includes all the peoples of the world, the plants and animals of the earth, even the sun and moon and the stars. "Where does the temple begin, and where does it end?" asks Mary Oliver....

There are things you can’t reach. But/ you can reach out to them, and all day long.

The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.

And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.

The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily/out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing/from the unreachable top of the tree.

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around/as though with your arms open.

And thinking: maybe something will come, some/ shining coil of wind,/ or a few leaves from any old tree–/they are all in this too.

And now I will tell you the truth./ Everything in the world/ comes.

At least, closer.

And, cordially.

Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake./Like goldfinches, little dolls of gold/fluttering around the corner of the sky

of God, the blue air.

(Oliver, op cit., pp. 8-9)

Where does the Temple begin, and where does it end?

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Put out into deep water"-- Job 38:1-18, Luke 5:1-11-- Sept. 1, 2013

If Jesus were to instruct a modern-day Peter and his fellow fishermen to "Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch," chances are that along with fish they would bring up a horrifying tangle of plastic bags, six-pack rings, articles of clothing, tires, and bottles. All you have to do is type in "trash in the ocean" in Google Images on a computer, and you will see picture after stomach-turning picture of marine life caught in plastic nooses, islands of trash as big as many cities, beaches strewn with piles of human refuse. "Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch."

This story that Luke tells about the calling of the first disciples is a Sunday-school favorite. Here is Jesus, walking along the lake, or elsewhere, "the sea." Luke calls it Lake Gennesaret, a fresh-water lake, and elsewhere in the gospels it’s identified as the Sea of Galilee; but as one commentator explains, "in antiquity, both bodies of water–salt seas and freshwater lakes–were viewed as a part of the same great subterranean reservoir that fed springs, rivers, lakes, and oceans." (Theodore Hiebert, "The Living Ocean," workingpreacher.org, 8/1/13)

Jesus sees the fishermen, washing their nets, having failed to catch anything overnight, and asks one of them, Simon, to take him out a ways so that he might teach the people pressing against him on the shore from out on the water. When he’s done speaking, he tells Simon and his companions to set out again and "Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch." Against the protest of an experienced fisherman who knew that sometimes you come in with nothing, Simon does what Jesus tells him and the catch is so huge he has to call his partners to come out quickly to help them bring in the haul.

When Simon finally has a chance to catch his breath upon safely reaching shore, he realizes that this stranger has access to wisdom far deeper than his own experience, which completely unsettles his sense of what is what, makes him question whether 2 plus 2 always equals 4, whether the constants and truths he relies on are all that constant. And so he is afraid, and tells Jesus to get away from him. Jesus just laughs at him and tells him, "From now on you’ll be catching people," or, as many of us learned, "I’ll teach you to become fishers of men." And Luke tells us, "they left everything and followed him."

It was Sir Francis Bacon who first said that "God has in fact written two books–...the Bible... and creation." And it could be argued that the first book–the Bible–was written–or, "God-breathed through people," as some put it–largely in response to human beings’ experience of creation, which was, like they perceived God, beyond their control, beautiful, terrifying, awe-inspiring, more complex and varied than they could ever understand. From the very first lines of the Bible, God is involved with creation, God’s spirit brooding over the face of the deep.

We now know that life on earth most likely emerged from the oceans, and not only does Scripture say that the sea is God’s, but the ocean has been a primordial archetype or image for God, the primary giver of life. "The most widespread cultural image for EL, a major title of God in the Hebrew Bible, [one writer explains] was as the Father of Waters, dwelling at the root and spring of the worlds." (Weavings,Mar/Apr 2001, pp. 13-14)

The oceans contain more than 97% of the earth’s water and more than 95% of the earth’s living space. They literally make the earth more habitable for us by absorbing about a third of the carbon dioxide emitted by humans.

"The living ocean

[writes Sylvia Earle, Chief Scientist of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration from 1990-92] drives planetary chemistry, governs climate and weather, and otherwise provides the corner-stone of the life-support system for all creatures on our planet, from deep-sea starfish to desert sagebrush. That’s why the ocean matters. If the sea is sick, we’ll feel it. If it dies, we die. Our future and the state of the oceans are one."

Alas, we know that the state of the oceans is not good.

[Earle goes on,]"Due to indifference, ignorance, and greed, we’ve placed our oceans under extreme stress and compromised their ability to sustain a healthy planet." (Cited by Hiebert, op cit.)

We’ve overfished, upset the fragile balance of animal life; dumped our trash, put out more CO2 so that as the oceans have absorbed more they’ve become more acidic, becoming hostile to marine ecology. And of course as the oceans have become warmer, they’ve spawned more violent storms, accelerated the melting of the polar ice caps, and their levels have risen at an alarming rate. "The sea is God’s," the psalmist declares, and with concerned scientists across the planet, we affirm, the ocean matters.

But let’s get back to this story by the lakeshore, or seaside. "Put out into the deep water," Jesus told Simon, "and let down your nets for a catch." The Sunday School version says that Jesus performed a miracle and the disciples followed this miracle-worker. But on another level, "This story [as one pastor writes] says that God breaks down walls (or breaks open the nets) of what we think is possible, and points us toward a future we think is impossible...and that future is the new reign of God." (Linda Pepe, Theological Stew.com) We can either keep doing what we’ve always done, holding on to the same equations that we’ve always relied upon–2 + 2=4, or success = happiness, or bigger=better, or more=better; or we can stop long enough to ask, "How’s this working for us?" And not just for us, as individuals, of course, but for the wider community, and really, for the world.

Isn’t it interesting that when the fishermen had brought their haul onto shore, their nets bursting with the catch, a professional fisherfolks’ dream come true, that "they left everything and followed Jesus." "So," as one woman put it, "having all we can, ...all we want,...all we think we need...perhaps that’s not all there is..." So, we might ask, What really matters? "What would your net need to be filled with that would blow your mind enough to leave it all behind and follow?" (Pepe, op cit.) And then, of course, we need to figure out, what does it mean to "follow Jesus"?

"Put out into the deep waters and let your nets down for a catch." In dreams, the sea or ocean waters often symbolize everything that is overwhelming. Robert Morris, an Episcopal priest and observer of his dreams, affirms that "the sea is God’s, and like the ocean, God is not always manifest as a comforting, personal presence, but as unknown, immense, and deep, to be approached with due respect...Mystics and saints warn that deepening skills of humility, compassion, faithfulness, self-control, and courage are needed for the pilgrimage into God." (Weavings, op cit., p. 12)–and we might even say, for the pilgrimage into our future.

The image that seems appropriate for many of us right now is the experience of being adrift–in our personal lives, the life of the church, the state of our nation, and the state of the planet. It’s a state of not knowing. "Being adrift comes after the storm and before landfall," one writer says, [Stephen Doughty, Weavings, ...] It’s not a state we choose. So here we are, actually probably more likely in the midst of the storms, that will no doubt be coming more frequently and more violently, in the weather, in the political climate of our country and the nations of the world, and it’s hard to imagine where we’ll end up. Or rather, all the places we can imagine are pretty scary. Who knows where the ship of the Church is headed?

Those deepening skills that saints and mystics teach us–of meditation, of humility, compassion, faithful-ness, self-control, and courage–are not the most valued in our world, but they may be the most necessary as we drift along. One sage advises, "Watch for what quickens your spirit." In the midst of so many things that would overwhelm us, when much of the time we are simply swept along and need to wait, we must stay alert for what quickens our spirit, what opportunities appear before us for action and response, grounding those actions in the depths of God.

Judy Cannato, in her important book Field of Compassion, tells the story of Nate Sears, which may well be the model of how we are to "put out into the deep waters and let down our nets for a catch" in this fearful, yet potentially awesome, world in which we live.--

One of the responsibilities of Nate Sears, a landscaper working at a housing complex on Cape Cod, is to check the piers at the adjacent beach for storm damage. One morning he was doing just that when he spotted a 10-foot pilot whale coming toward shore. He watched for a moment. He then saw a second whale, then a third, each one heading for land. Stunned at first, Nate watched the approach of the whales with awe. Then his concern took over. Since it is not unusual for whales to beach themselves on Cape Cod, Nate knew that this was probably intent of these large, gentle mammals. He summoned a neighbor, who ran to call the National Sea Shore Service. Knowing that the whales were coming so fast they would be on the beach before help could arrive, Nate quickly threw off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pant legs, and waded out in the direction of the first whale. He caught up with it in waist-deep water on a sand bar. The whale was thrashing about, and he could see cuts on its body from its batter with the sand. Moved solely by instinct, Nate placed his hands on the whale and held them there. The thrashing stopped. The whale became completely still. Nate said in that moment he became aware that this was the whale’s first encounter with the human species. It seems that both human and whale were operating on instinct, each trusting the other in an encounter that neither had experienced before.

After the whale had grown calm, Nate gently turned it around and pointed it away from shore. The whale began to swim back out to sea. Losing no time, Nate approached the second whale. Again, he simply placed his hands on the creature and its thrashing stopped. Once this second whale grew still, Nate turned it away from shore. It too began to swim out. By this time members of the National Sea Shore Service arrived, and they helped Nate turn the third whale back.

Frequently, whales that threaten to beach themselves and are rescued come ashore in another location. That does not seem to be the case here. For whatever reason, the whales returned to their natural habitat without further incident. Although there is no proof, I think it was their encounter with Nate’s energy and his willingness to simply hold them in their travail that made the difference.

...We find ourselves in a world with whale-sized issues,

[Cannato writes], huge matters that seem unrestrained, threatening to not only go out of control, but take us down as well...Set in this context, Nate’s story is instructive. Finding himself in an unfamiliar and unique situation, nate responded in the moment, acting out of his own experience, following his instincts, intuitively doing the next right thing. Recognizing that time was of the essence, he trusted his ability to respond to the unknown in a way that was not only life-saving, but life-giving, both for himself and the whale. [Judy Cannato, Field of Compassion, pp. 1-4, sel.]

We do have immense resources, both technological and material, available to us, but also, perhaps like at no other time in human history, we have resources of expanded consciousness and creativity, as Cannato says, the ability to connect with one another and work together. We are part of the problem, yes, but we can also be part of the solution, opening ourselves up the One who is deep and wide, ever creative, full of mystery beyond our imagining. We can each become energy fields of compassion, joining with others to spread that field of compassion throughout creation.

Following Jesus in this day and age may mean "going out into the deep," as Nate did–"wading out to the cusp of the known/unknown, responding in care and kindness to the challenge of the moment, holding the tangible manifestations of the challenge in [our] hands, imparting [our] energy, and redirecting the movement" (Cannato, pp. 4-5) of the forces that would take us and our world closer and closer to destruction. Following Jesus includes becoming his body, taking his consciousness into ours. In this bread is the whole loaf, in this cup the whole cup. We are part of it, part of everything, so let us take and eat, take and drink. Amen, and amen.

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Aligned with Joy"-- Isaiah 58:9b-14, Luke 13:10-17-- Aug. 25, 2013

It hadn’t happened all of a sudden. At first it was just hard to stand up straight in the morning when she got out of bed. Morning stiffness, you know; totally understandable considering what she slept on-- a thin mat on the floor, which didn’t offer much padding or support. Then she couldn’t stand up after she bent over to knead the bread. Pain shot up her back and down her legs. Steadily, relentlessly, day after day it got worse. "Watch where you’re going, old woman!" people would shout at her, as she bumped into them or their carts. "I wish I could," she’d mutter, but by now her field of vision was only about 2 feet in front of her. She couldn’t really take in a deep breath any more, because her chest was all caved in, and food barely had a chance to make it all the way down, so scrunched up were her inner organs. "And behold a woman having a spirit of infirmity 18 years, even was bent together and not able to bend up into all-fullness." That’s how Luke’s Greek literally describes her (Mark Davis, Left Behind and Loving it, 8/25/13) "... was bent together and not able to bend up into all-fullness..."

All-fullness–that’s what the Sabbath was supposed to let you feel–all full (of God,) complete, just perfect. Sabbath-keeping is the jewel of Judaism. "If you refrain from trampling the sabbath," Isaiah writes, "from pursuing your own interests on my holy day; if you call the sabbath a delight and the holy day of the Lord honorable; if you honor it, not going your own ways, serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs; then you shall take delight in the Lord, and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth..."

A day of rest is good news to those who must work hard the other 6 days of the week. Shabbat (Sabbath) is life-giving to those who are worked to death. It is a gift to simply take delight in God, to rest in the care of God, knowing that you are made in God’s image, beautiful to behold. We’ve lost that sense of delight, can barely imagine what that "all-fullness" would feel like. Who has time for Sabbath? Who has the temperament to simply "rest in the Lord"? How boring! our kids say, and we must confess that we agree with them. And then there’s the dour, legalistic, anything but delightful history of Sabbath-keeping in the Protestant tradition, full of "no’s"–no dancing, no drinking, no card-playing, no fun, no playing, no nothing but church.

Sabbath arrives by the Presence of God,

[writes Nancy Rockwell] the Indwelling Spirit, in Hebrew, called "Shekinah." She is the Sabbath Bride, the transformational Spirit of God, source of prophecy, Wisdom, the feminine Presence of God.

So every week the Bride arrives.

...There is much mysticism about Shekinah in Judaism

[Rockwell continues]: it is said that she enters Jerusalem through the Beautiful Gate. It is said that the Messiah will enter through that very gate with her. This is the gate tradition says Jesus used to enter the city on Palm Sunday. This gate has been walled up for nearly a thousand years, and was walled up for fear those sayings might be true....Still, she comes, all over the world, to tables with lit candles where Sabbath bread is blessed by women bending over it. (Rockwell, Bite in the Apple, 8/18/13)

So the woman came to the synagogue that day, hoping against hope that Shekinah would enter through the doorway with her and that at last she too would be able to delight in Shabbat and praise God from her "all-fullness." And that day, Shekinah was there and, more than that, recognized her as sister. "Sister," he said, "Mother, Daughter of Abraham, you have been loosed from your bonds." It was as though he was pronouncing her healing rather than performing it. "You have been loosed"–already; past tense. He just touched her to make her feel her body and its energy. "Go ahead, you can stand up." And "immediately she stood up and began praising God."

"But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, ‘There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day." To give him the benefit of the doubt, the leader of the synagogue was trying to be faithful too. He was trying to follow the law, but he had forgotten the delight which God intended for the sabbath, the realignment to joy that the sabbath was meant to help us return to. In his duty-bound, legalistic framework, healing and restoring to wholeness were merely work, which was prohibited. When Jesus pointed out that even he, the synagogue leader, would untie his donkey or ox to lead it away to water on the sabbath, those who grumbled against Jesus were "put to shame." They could see the truth, the rightness, of what Jesus said. The law for them had gotten out of alignment with the spirit within it. Shabbat was meant for delight, for joy. Jesus didn’t set aside the law; he merely offered a different interpretation of it, and knew that it must always bend to grace. (David Lose, Working Preacher, 8/25/13) "Ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?" Wasn’t she bound to be loosed?

Luke makes clear that this bondage is spirit-driven, bound by Satan, but the woman may have had arthritis or scoliosis, osteoporosis, or any number of degenerative bone diseases. "She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight." But there are many things that make our shoulders droop and our backs bend over. What burdens are weighing you down, causing your body or spirit to bend over, rather than bending up to all-fullness? It may be concerns about your own health or the health of a loved one; it may be a relationship that is weighing you down, twisting up your insides so that you can barely eat; it may be fear that barely allows you to take a full breath and narrows your vision. It may be a dream deferred or squashed altogether; it may be a sense of shame or guilt. Humiliation causes our heads to drop and our shoulders to curve. Discouragement weighs down our steps. Schedules that are crammed from morning to night can crush us with their weight. The sadness and horror of the world’s events, the plight of our planet, may cause us to be "bent together and not able to bend up into all-fullness."

This story opens the door to possibility, offers a window into the all-fullness that is actually already in our midst. It is the story of a coming together, to hear the stories, to open up to the Indwelling Spirit of God, Shekinah, Wisdom. It gives us a glimpse of the kingdom, where we catch a vision of the image in which we were made and which calls us to realign our lives to that original intention. It is a taste of the messianic banquet already set before us. Telling the story itself, letting the story get inside us, can help with that realignment, that healing.

Jesus was quintessentially a story-teller, weaving words and melodies that were the very energy and vibrations of the "kingdom," the holy realm, that was coming and was and is already in our midst. Those stories continue to weave their wonder-working powers, told in many places in many ways. Where are you in this story?--

On a day long ago it came to pass as the Seanchai

[the story-teller] was taking his journey along the rivers and trails of Cúige Mumhan, he heard faint sounds of sean-nos [melodies] wafting along the soft waves of an early evening breeze. It came from the little village of Caiseal. His heart was drawn by the warm spirit of what was surely an especial cilidh* (gathering). During a cilidh old people and young would come together around the hearth of a village home and there would be music and dancing.

If a Seanchai was present there would also be the telling of stories and ofttimes, if the energy was just so, it was said that an extraordinary Seanchai would become a weaver of stories and music and people. In this way of working with tales the Seanchai is a weaver of energy and words; and sometimes healing will break forth in the gathered people. This cilidh is a sacred space of words and people’s hearts. Some say it is in this sacred space that Tír na nÓg, the blessed realm,

[the kingdom of God] can be known.

The sun is setting very late one evening and lengthening shadows of ancient trees cast a ghostly specter through the mist. A dusty trail leads to an old stone house where candles send a welcome to all who approach. Music and laughter can be heard and the Seanchai comes to the doorway of a large room where a fire burns in the aged hearth. Young and old are clapping and singing. They open a path in the crowded room as though they know this is one who tells tales, sings the music of the blessed realm and weaves wonder into longing hearts.

As he sits, the crowd grows quiet. The Seanchai closes his eyes and softly begins to sing a tale of new worlds and renewal of human hearts. An old woman stands in the back of the room, bent over with age and soft bones. She comes to listen, tucked away in a corner where she is no bother to those who dance. She has not danced for over two hundred moons and her heart has grown heavier with lack of hope at the passing of each season of the falling leaves.

The Seanchai, eyes still closed begins the haunting lines of ancient Sean-nos. Within him the music and the tale weaves its way into a place of dark where hope has not dwelt for much time. The crowd is quiet as all are transported to a new place. A heavy weight seems to rise from the room and floats as smoke to a place of light.

The old woman feels the words and the music; her eyes turn to the Seanchai and for the first time in many years she lifts her head ever so slightly. She has not gazed into another’s eyes since hope began to flow from her heart.

"Dance!" The Seanchai cries with a loud voice. Guests are startled and energy fills the room.

"But Seanchai," the old woman protests, "I cannot stand…" Her words of objection die in her throat as she begins to straighten.

"Dance!" He commands.

The room breaks out with joyous shouts; all are astonished and celebrate with much clapping and dancing. The guests flow apart like water as the old woman slowly makes her way to the center of the room and begins to move – sinew and bones – as in the time when her years were few.

The house is filled with rejoicing. Great love flows to the old woman who danced. Timeless wonder, love and praise so enfolds the cilidh that no one noticed the Seanchai quietly making his way out the door and into the damp night air. Though one later said he thought he heard the storyteller singing softly as he made his way along the dark trail.

You cannot go
To Tír na nÓg
Yea hosts have tried
And all have failed
Not by land
And not by sea
You cannot go
To Tír na nÓg

If the song
Of Tír na nÓg
Should fill your ears
And then your soul
Then not by land
And not by sea
You will surely come to Tír na nÓg
You cannot go
To Tír na nÓg
You can only come
A heart set free

(–John Jewell, Lectionary Tales, Aug. 25, 2013)

May the song of Tir na nOg, the blessed realm, the kingdom of God, fill our souls, and so may our hearts be set free. So may we bend up to all -fullness. Amen, and amen.

　

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Will the circle be unbroken?"-- Hebrews 11:29-12:2--Aug. 18, 2013

This passage from Hebrews which Tom read for us this morning could be the outline for a year’s worth of Sunday school lessons. Do you know all those stories? The story of the Israelites crossing the Red Sea as if it were dry land, the story of Joshua and the battle of Jericho, when the walls came a-tumblin’ down, the story of Rahab the prostitute and the spies whom she sheltered? How about those other names–Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets? Great names in the pantheon of faith. And then there are others whose names have come down to us in stories– those who shut the mouths of lions (remember Daniel in the lions’ den?), quenched the raging fire (Shadrach, Mishach, Abednigo), those like Stephen who were stoned to death, and the nameless ones–most of the women, of course, but those who suffered mocking and flogging and even chains and imprisonment, ones who were sawn in two, killed by the sword, those who went about in sheep and goat skins, destitute, tormented, persecuted. "By faith" they were able to do these things, the writer of Hebrews says; "yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect."

That’s really quite an extraordinary statement. All these people–some famous, most not so famous–didn’t "receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect." Peterson puts it this way–"Not one of these people, even though their lives of faith were exemplary, got their hands on what was promised. God had a better plan for us: that their faith and our faith would come together to make one completed whole, their lives of faith not complete apart from ours."

We are connected to all these people, our lives integrally woven together with theirs. "We are surrounded," the writer says, "by so great a cloud of witnesses..." "All these pioneers [Peterson puts it] who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on!" And, of course, it’s not just Biblical figures. It’s all those lives after the backcover of our Bibles was put on–Julian of Norwich, Martin Luther, John Wesley, Hildegaard of Bingen, Francis of Assissi, along with those other saints, whom we could spend the rest of the morning naming–Pat Haines, Pepper and John Morrison, Rose Tobias, Steve Green, Max and Mary Webster, Sue Dana, Estelle Atwood, Kelly Wright, Mary Madkour, Ginny Irwin, my brother Bob, my dad, Russ and June Clark, my grandmother, ....Call out a few names of the cloud of witnesses who surround us here, whether human or animal....

"God had a better plan for us: that their faith and our faith would come together to make one completed whole, their lives of faith not complete apart from ours." You may have recognized the title of the song from which I took the title for my sermon today–"Will the circle be unbroken?" Do you know it? "Will the circle be unbroken, by and by, Lord, by and by; there’s a better home awaiting in the sky, Lord, in the sky." But it’s not just "by and by...in the sky". It’s right here and now. Their energy is as present with us as the energy within and between us. It surrounds us, infuses us.

Christian Wyman, whose book My Bright Abyss I told you about last week, writes to his twin daughters, now 6 or 7, who will have to deal with their father’s death if –and when–his incurable cancer finally wins over his body–

My loves

[he writes], I will be with you, even if I am not with you...My loves, I love you with all the volatility and expansiveness of spirit that you have taught me to feel, and I feel your futures opening out from you, and in those futures I know my own. I will be with you. I will comfort you in your despair and I will share in your joy. They need not be only grief, only pain, these black holes in our lives. If we can learn to live not merely with them but by means of them, if we can let them be part of the works of sacred art that we in fact are, then these apparent weaknesses can be the very things that strengthen us. Life tears us apart, but through those wounds, if we have tended them, love may enter us. It may be the love of someone you have lost. It may be the love of your own spirit for the self that at times you think you hate. However it comes though, in all these–of all these and yet more than they, so much more–there burns the abiding love of God. But if you find that you cannot believe in God, then do not worry yourself with it. No one can say what names or forms God might take, nor gauge the intensity of unbelief we may need to wake up our souls. My love is still true, my children, still with you, still straining through your ambitions and your disappointments, your frenzies and forgetfulness, through all the glints and gulfs of implacable matter –to reach you, to help you, to heal you. [My Bright Abyss, p. 161]

"We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses..." "...their faith and our faith... come together to make one completed whole, their lives of faith not complete apart from ours..."

And "since–because–we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith..." Looking to Jesus, who has run this race before us. All these others–Abraham, Moses, Gideon, Rahab, David, Samuel, Mary, apostles, martyrs, disciples–we know they were flawed human beings who inspite of their flaws–maybe even because of their flaws–were used by God to do great things. Somehow, often through no particular choice but maybe even because there was no choice left–somehow they trusted in God–which is what faith is-- and were able to persevere. And those modern day saints–those whose names we lifted up–we know they were flawed human beings, as much as we loved them, none were perfect. So we can look to them, perhaps, for strength, as models of how we might also overcome obstacles or hindrances. If they could do it, perhaps so can we.

But "let us look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith"? What kind of model is a God-man for us mere mortals? Our forebears in faith knew that if Jesus was only God in human guise, he could blaze no path for us. So they insisted that he was "fully human" and "fully divine." But so much of Christian tradition pulls away from that humanity, that incarnation – that embodiment in human flesh – and talks only of the miracle man, or the shimmering figure of the Trinity who is enthroned within the Godhead. "Let us look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith"? Jesus, if his Way is to be our way, had to be fully human, and what he was able to "perfect" was that utter trust in God, which is faith. It’s still a daunting standard, but remember that our faith is part of the circle that includes his faith. All flesh shall see it together.

You know, as we read this list of names of faithful ones, each one is set in the context of struggle and even despair. This is not a gospel of easy living, of prosperity and fame and fortune. Many thought the world was coming to an end. Many were pretty sure that their lives–the world as they knew it–were coming to an end. Their lives of faith were set in a context not so very different from our own. I’ll spare you the litany of dangers and calamities and tragedies that are part of our lives today, but there are plenty of dire, end-of-the-world scenarios out there to "shake our faith." The title of Bill McKibben’s book that many of us are reading–Eaarth–spells Eaarth with 2 "a’s" because it’s no longer the earth that human beings have inhabited for so many years.

But instead of steeling our hearts, instead of closing ourselves off from the pain and sorrow, we are called to "lay aside every weight and the sin–or separation from God–that clings so closely." We are called to open our hearts, open our entire selves, to God, to empty ourselves of everything but God, as Jesus did, in radical trust in that Love and Power. Again, it is that trust, not some list of "things to believe," that is faith.

The wise Buddhist teacher Pema Chodrin puts it this way–

These days the world really needs people who are willing to let their hearts...ripen. There’s such widespread devastation and suffering: people are being run over by tanks or their houses are being blown up or soldiers are knocking on their doors in the middle of the night and taking them away and torturing them and killing their children and their loved ones. People are starving. It’s a hard time. We who are living in the lap of luxury with our pitiful little psychological problems have a tremendous responsibility to let our clarity and our heart, our warmth, and our ability ripen, to open up and let go, because it’s so contagious.

We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, cheering us on, tugging at our hearts, assuring us that no matter how deeply we feel–the pain or the joy–nothing can separate us from them or the love of God which envelopes all of us. The circle will not be broken. Loren McGrail, the missionary from Palestine who spoke to us on Wednesday afternoon, told of a video conference with Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who suffered through the agony of apartheid. He spoke by Skype to a gathering of Palestinians and urged them on, and then in his high, joyful, yet quiet voice, she said, he told them, "We win! In the end, we win! Evil will be defeated."

"Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us..." The circle will not be broken. In life, in death, in life beyond death, God – and this great cloud of witnesses – is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Are we there yet?"-- Hebrew 11:1-3, 8-16, Luke 12:32-40 -- August 11, 2013

 

The first time I came to Vermont was in the 1950's and there were no interstate highways. Our family set out early in the morning from New Jersey for Greensboro, up in the Northeast Kingdom, with a mailed, written confirmation of our reservations at a lodge there and a colorful brochure, showing simple white cottages, a shimmering blue lake with sailboats and canoes, and a dining room full of happy people eating stacks of fluffy pancakes dripping with Vermont maple syrup. For a while we traveled on the Garden State Parkway, then the Northway section of the NYS Thruway. Then we headed east to Whitehall, following my father’s carefully laid out route, up through Rutland, and on up into Killington, squirreling along Rts. 100 and 107 to Bethel and then, not onto Route I-89, which didn’t exist then, but simply on and on, around endless twists and curves, trees and more trees. I don’t remember when I started asking, "Are we there yet?" but I have a feeling it wasn’t much beyond our Northway exit. By the afternoon, my dad introduced us to the game where you would count the number of cows you saw on your side of the car (back when there were lots of cows to count), a white horse doubled your count, and a cemetery wiped out your numbers. That was fun for a little while. But the route kept going and going. It got so that every time I caught a glimpse of blue–what I thought surely must be Caspian Lake–I would ask, "Is that it?"

I realize now, having been the driver with kids in the backseat on a few similar journeys, what an incredible test of my parents’ patience that drive must have been. If they hadn’t had that brochure, if they hadn’t had been assured by friends who had been there that it was a wonderful place, if they hadn’t paid that deposit, it would have been sorely tempting to pull over at any number of spots, turn around and head for the Jersey shore, a familiar place less than 2 hours from home. Of course, I’m glad they kept on. We ended up vacationing at Highland Lodge in Greensboro year after year, and both my brother and I worked there during college summers. I fell in love with Vermont, ended up going to college here, and, lo and behold, moving here 18 years ago this week to become the pastor of Second Congregational Church.

But if my parents hadn’t ventured forth, assured that those white cottages and stacks of pancakes were real, my life might have taken a very different path.

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen...By faith, Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance, and he set out, not knowing where he was going..." So says the writer of the letter, which is really more of a sermon, to the Hebrews, who really aren’t Jews but rather a young Christian community. "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."

What is it you hope for? That makes a difference, doesn’t it? in the direction you travel, in the path you take. It makes a real difference if your hope is more than just wishful thinking. If what you hope for is, say, fame and fortune, you’ll make certain decisions about what you’ll do, where you’ll live and work, the kind of people you’ll associate with. If what you hope for is good health, you’ll make certain decisions about what you eat, how you exercise, what you do with and for your body. If only, alas, you could choose your genes, which may be possible some day, because that has a huge effect on our health. If what you hope for is a comfortable life, with enough money to pay your bills, a few friends or family to keep you company, then that too determines the kinds of decisions you will make about what you do with your time, where you’ll live, what you’ll spend your time thinking about.

All of these hopes, at least initially, chart our course. The thing about any kind of travel or journey, of course, is the unexpected. "Life is what happens when you’ve made other plans," right? What if fame and fortune don’t come, or maybe they do, and you discover you’re absolutely miserable? What if, despite all your best efforts, no matter how many green smoothies you drink, no matter how many aerobics or yoga classes you attend or miles you run, a lump still appears in your breast or your PSA comes back elevated? What if, despite the beautiful house and brilliant children, your partner decides to leave or one of your kids starts to smoke pot? What about the "assurance of things hoped for? The conviction of things not seen?"

"Where your treasure is," Jesus said, "there your heart will be also." Where is your heart invested?

It’s faith that the writer of Hebrews says is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen. Faith. Too often, and in fact for generations of Christians, "faith" has been a thing, a list of propositions to give your assent to, a creed to memorize.

When my life broke open seven years ago [writes poet Christian Wyman of his diagnosis of an incurable cancer], I knew very well that I believed in something. Exactly what I believed, however, was considerably less clear. So I set out to answer that question, though I have come to realize that the real question–the real difficulty–is how, not what. How do you answer that burn of being? What might it mean for your life–and for your death–to acknowledge that insistent, persistent ghost? [My Bright Abyss, p. x.]

It’s the how, not the what, of faith that is the real question. Faith as list of agreed to propositions can sit on the shelf and not make a whole lot of difference in your life. It is possible to go about your business and not let that kind of faith impede your progress too much.

But faith that is more than a head trip, that wraps around your heart, where your treasure is, faith as trust rather than intellectual belief, that can change your life. That kind of faith can re-route not only your life path but your neural pathways as well. "The opposite of faith is not doubt," wrote the great holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, "the opposite of faith is not doubt, but indifference." (Cited by Kate Huey in Weekly Seeds, 8/11/13)

There is no way to ‘return to the faith of your childhood,’ [writes Christian Wyman], not really, not unless you’ve just woken from a decades-long and absolutely literal coma. ...No... Whatever faith you emerge with at the end of your life is going to be not simply affected by that life but intimately dependent upon it, for faith in God is, in the deepest sense, faith in life–which means that even the staunchest life of faith is a life of great change. It follows that if you believe at fifty what you believed at fifteen, then you have not lived–or have denied the reality of your life. [Wyman, op cit., p. 7]

"Where your treasure is," Jesus said, "there your heart will be also." Faith, in the sense of trust, in the sense of "ultimate concern," the center of gravity of our lives, the longing of our hearts, that is our treasure. Jesus spoke of the kingdom or reign of God as that treasure, the kingdom that was both far-country and in our midst. "Do not be afraid, little flock, [he told them] for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom." Jesus opened the door for the kingdom to come into our midst, and we’re not there yet. As long as there are people living in their vans, we’re not there yet. As long as there are children who must witness unspeakable acts of violence and depravity, we’re not there yet. As long as the earth’s air and water are polluted and the seas warm and rise, we’re not there yet. As long as some have more than they can possibly ever use while many more do not have enough, we’re not there yet. "All of these, the writer of Hebrews says, all of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them." "Not yet...."

"Don’t be afraid, little flock," Jesus said. It is indeed fear that steals the treasure of faith away, and there’s plenty to be afraid of. Look around, turn on the news, read the paper, feel the change in the weather. "The madness and lostness we see all around us and within us," writes author/preacher Frederick Buechner, " are not the last truth about the world but only the next to last truth." "Like the writer of Hebrews, Buechner knows that faith, that is trust, is a thing of the heart that helps us see the truth hidden sometimes beneath appearances, ‘the last truth of the world,’ the truth of God’s love, and God’s peace," (Kate Huey, op cit.)

If we were to miraculously find a pair of "kingdom glasses" [John Jewell, Lectionary Tales, 8/11/13] that would provide lenses through which we could see the kingdom in our midst–the real last truth about the world–what would we see? Would we see Christ sleeping next to the homeless man and his cat? Would we see small groups of people taking up rakes and mops and scrubbers, cleaning up parks and highways and vacant lots? Would we see "angels" sitting beside us at death beds, holding us and gently leading our loved ones off to the dance? Would we see artists and musicians and dancers connected by rainbow musical scores and weaving threads of light through all creation? Research tells us that what we focus our attention on grows. Appreciate the good and the good appreciates. What do you hope the kingdom of God, here in our midst, is like? "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen..."

Again, Christian Wyman, writing from the perspective of one who is actively wrestling with pain and death, but also with hope and life, says,

Perhaps it is never disbelief, which at least is active and conscious, that destroys a person, but unacknowledged belief, or a need for belief so strong that it is continually and silently crucified on the crosses of science, humanism, art, or

(to name the thing that poisons all these gifts of God) the overweening self. [p. 12]...Faith is not some hard, unchanging thing you cling to through the vicissitudes of life [he writes]. Those who try to make it into this are destined to become brittle, shatterable creatures. Faith never grows harder, never so deviates from its nature and becomes actually destructive, than in the person who refuses to admit that faith is change...faith is folded into change, is the mutable and messy process of our lives rather than any fixed, mental product...[p. 18]

What you must realize, [writes Wyman] what you must even come to praise, is the fact that there is no right way that is going to become apparent to you once and for all...Wisdom is accepting the truth of this. Courage is persisting with life in spite of it. And faith is finding yourself, in the deepest part of your soul, in the very heart of who you are, moved to praise it. (Pp. 29-30)

"My Bright Abyss" is the title of Christian Wyman’s book and is what calls God, that homeland toward which he longs. "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." We’ve all set out on this journey called life, and our faith is intimately wrapped up in the journey. It’s not a "what" but more of a "how." We’re not only headed to a far country, but are daily, in every moment, surrounded by it, it’s in the cells of our bodies. The kingdom is coming and now is. "Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit." Pay attention. Notice your life. Live it, don’t just phone it in. "Don’t be afraid, little flock, for it is God’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom."

A woman was talking about the stresses of modern life with her doctor, who happens to be Hindu. "Live in the past," he said, "and you will be depressed. Live in the future, and you will be anxious. Live in the present with gratitude and you will be at peace." (Alyce McKenzie, patheos, 8/8/10) Live with gratitude. Live with God’s promise in your heart. So may we live with wisdom, courage, and faith. Amen, and amen.

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

 

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"Treasure Investment" --Hosea 11:1-11, Luke 12:13-21-- August 4, 2013

 

The heading in many of our Bibles for this morning’s Gospel reading is "The Parable of the Rich Fool." Now, the thing about the parables of Jesus is they’re like Trojan horses–they sound like quaint little folk stories–you know, something to entertain folks before there was television,-- but what they actually do is get inside you and keep working on you long after they’re done. They might even creep up on you on a Tuesday afternoon, long after you’ve heard the parable on a Sunday morning. So, there should be a warning issued before we read these things. In fact, in this morning’s reading, Jesus does just that. He says, "Watch out! Be on guard! Be very certain...."

The other ruse about this particular parable is that the title makes it seem like it’s not about us. I’m not rich, and I’d rather not think of myself as a fool, so I can listen to the parable with a certain amount of distance and objectivity...until on Tuesday afternoon it occurs to me that that story that I heard on Sunday morning may actually have been about me. What was it about storing stuff away in my barn, or basement, or attic, or garage that Jesus was talking about?

So, a landowner’s farm had a bumper crop, a very good year, not necessarily because he did anything in particular to make it grow, but because the weather happened to cooperate–not too much rain, just enough heat and sun. But it produced more than he could use and even more than he could store. So he has this little conversation with himself, as Peterson translates it–

"‘What can I do? My barn isn’t big enough for this harvest.’ Then he said, ‘Here’s what I’ll do: I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones. Then I’ll gather in all my grain and goods, and I’ll say to myself, ‘Self, you’ve done well! You’ve got it made and can now retire. Take it easy and have the time of your life!’"

But in the only one of Jesus’ parables where God speaks directly, "God showed up, and said, ‘Fool! Tonight you die. And your barnful of goods–who gets it?’" (The Message)

The landowner isn’t evil. This isn’t ill-gotten gain. He’s just all wrapped up in himself. There’s not a single other being who he takes into consideration. He even talks to himself, answers his own questions. Until God breaks into the conversation with the ultimate reality test–"Tonight you will die."–and makes his little building project seem rather short-sighted. "And your barnful of goods–who gets it?"

Here’s how this little Trojan horse of a parable has been working on me this week since I re-read it Tuesday morning. One of the things I did over vacation was re-do our back room– stripped the wallpaper, painted it, took out the loveseat that our cats had trashed, and moved in some bookshelves and a loveseat that we had taken out of Bruce’s parents house in getting it ready for sale. But, alas, there’s plenty more where that came from. We’re not building bigger barns, we’re just stuffing more things into our current barn, and garage, and basement. For all sorts of reasons,–the least of which is, I don’t know what we’ll do with her stuff-- I’m hoping my mom lives many more years. And when I’m tempted to buy one more thing–that we’re not going to eat or use up in the next week–this harmless little story bubbles up and says, "Really?"

And that’s not even touching the challenge of being responsible–and faithful–about the stuff that I will leave behind, if I die tonight or in 40 years. Do I want to burden my children with disposing of all my stuff, or do I want to pass on to them a blessing?

Here’s an alternative version of this parable, suggested by Rev. John Jewell, which I think faithful to the spirit of the one told by Jesus–

Once there was a man who was richly blessed by God... After receiving word that he had received yet another windfall, he said to himself ‘What in the world am I going to do with all this money?! ‘ He thought long and hard about what he should do and he finally came up with how to invest his money in a way that would bring even more to his richly blessed life. He summoned his accountants and managers and said to them, ‘I have been blessed above most people I know, [and certainly most people in the world,] and now I have more money than I even dreamed of. I’ve decided how I want to invest this money to make even more. I want to put everything I own–except for enough to live on in a simple way–into a charitable foundation. Each year half the money is to be given to organizations that feed the hungry and the other half to assist prisoners who desire to transition to a life free from crime.’ Then the rich man who became poor to become rich said to himself, ‘I have been blessed beyond anything I ever imagined and now I am blessed even more." And God said to him, ‘My child, you have many good things stored up, come now and rest in the joy of your God.’" (JP Jewell, "Lectionary Tales," 8/4/13)

Now most of us don’t consider ourselves rich, with more money than we know what to do with. Some of us struggle every month to pay our bills and to provide for our families. An unexpected windfall, or winning the lottery, or finding out we’ve been named in a rich uncle’s will sounds like an answer to prayer. The thing is, unless you’re on the extreme end of survival, where receiving more money would be a matter of life and death, more money has been shown not to essentially change people’s level of happiness and well-being. There are more than enough nightmare stories from people who have won the lottery. For many, it’s ruined their lives. If you were miserable before you received an influx of money, chances are after a brief spike, you’ll be miserable again.

I’d like my life to be a version of this revised parable of abundance and letting go to become a blessing to others. I know that I have been blessed above many people, certainly above the majority of people in the world, and so I need to keep asking myself, "What am I storing up in my barn?" What am I teaching my children and others to store up?

One woman who, like most of us, was accustomed to buying Christmas gifts for her 3 children and several grandchildren, decided one year, after participating in her church’s mission festival, to give each of the families $200 and asked them to decide, with the children, how they’d like to spend the money–on people who really needed it. The kids in one family noticed that some of the kids at school couldn’t go out for recess because they didn’t have warm coats. They went to the Goodwill Store and bought several coats in perfect condition to take to school. Another family bought food for the homeless shelter. What if, instead of saying, "I’d like one of those," our children said, "I wonder who could use one of those?" (Jewell, op cit.)

This parable asks, "What is the ‘good life’?" What makes us truly happy? What is the ultimate currency in your life? Would you rather have a million bucks or a close, loving relationship? What would it mean to be "rich toward God"? Is blessing or abundance to be hoarded and stored up or shared with the community? Not only would the rich man have had the additional blessing of experiencing the joy of seeing others in his community have enough to eat or have adequate housing or education or health care–while he was alive–; he also wouldn’t have spent his last day alive on a building project that was ultimately doomed to failure. Who needs a barn or silo full of rotting grain? We need to share what we have now–as well as think about how we can share after we’re gone. As one sage put it, "You can’t take it with you, but, my friends, you can send it on ahead!" (Jewell, op cit.) Do you have a will? Are the people and causes important to you included in it?

And there’s that other sage, Miss Piggy, who said, "Many people think money is something to be set aside for a rainy day. But honestly, how much money do you really need for a dozen or so hours of inclement weather?" (Cited by Kate Huey, Weekly Seeds, 8/4/13)

Jesus was not afraid to talk about money. In fact, he talked about that and what we do with our resources more than any other single topic. So does the rest of the Bible. So we too might begin a conversation with each other; after all, we’re all in this together. What do our checkbooks and credit card statements say about our lives and what we value? How much do we need to live "the good life"? We might practice counting our blessings, which are many, and supporting one another in our struggles to "be on guard," as Jesus said, "against all kinds of greed."

Sharing the one loaf and one cup is a good place to start, reminding us that sometimes just a morsel and a sip are all you need, especially when it connects to the endless, abundant Source of Love and Life. So, take and eat. Take and drink. Let us keep the feast. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Photo Directory

Click to make an appointment

We are making a new Church Family Photo Directory. There will be two sets of photo shoots, August 22-24th and then October 8-10th.   The Deacons will be in Webster Hall on Sundays after service to set up appointments beginning July 14th  through August 19th. 

 

In late July, everyone listed in the church family telephone directory will receive an automated call from Mary.  This call will contain instructions on how to schedule your photo sitting online if you have not scheduled in person already.

 

To be sure we don't have double bookings, the access to this site to make your own appointments will be turned off from Friday through Monday so that the folks who schedule after Sunday service can be entered into the system.

 

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"Don’t Look Back!"-- Galatians 5:1, 13-25, Luke 9:51-62-- June 30, 2013

In March of 1965, I was in the 7^th grade, barely a month into being 13 years old. I was painfully insecure, had a mouth full of braces, and was anxiously anticipating freshman cheerleading tryouts, which was the only junior varsity sport available to girls. I was absorbed in what I thought were the important things in life–fitting in, figuring out what table to sit at during lunch, finding my way around the huge junior high.

On March 7, 1965, 600 people gathered in Brown Chapel AME Church in Selma, Alabama, to pray before their march to Montgomery to demand equal rights and an end to racial segregation. On what would be known as Bloody Sunday, the marchers were met at Edmund Pettits Bridge by police and police dogs and citizens brandishing inner tubes studded with nails. Many were wounded and hospitalized. 2 days later, 1500 people began the march again, this time led by Martin Luther King, Jr., and once again met the line of police and dogs and citizens. King knelt in prayer, and the marchers returned to Brown Chapel to avoid violence. On March 21, thousands gathered in Selma. Responding to outcries from the nation, President Johnson had ordered the National Guard to accompany the marchers, though only 300 were allowed on the road to Montgomery. They walked for three days, averaging about 12 mi. a day, in unusually cold temperatures. It was below freezing some nights. They slept in farmers’ fields and local churches brought food and blankets. It rained almost every day.

On March 25, 1965, 25,000 people from around the nation, and others around the world, listened to the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

They told us we wouldn’t get here.

[he said] And there were those who said we would get here only over their dead bodies, but all the world today knows that we are here and we are standing before the forces of power in the state of Alabama saying, ‘We ain’t goin’ let nobody turn us around!’ [As one writer describes it, "King’s words brought the crowd to a mountaintop of determination as he continued:] and as we go away this afternoon, let us go away more than ever before committed to this struggle and committed to non-violence. I must admit to you that there are still some difficult days ahead. We are still in for a season of suffering in many of the black belt counties of Alabama, many areas of Mississippi, many areas of Louisiana. I must admit to you that there are still jail cells waiting for us, and dark and difficult moments. But if we will go on with the faith that non-violence and its power can transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows, we will be able to change all these conditions." [cited by John Jewell, Lectionary Tales, 6/30/13]

And I was worried about making the cheerleading squad.

"When the days drew near for him to be taken up, Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem." The next several chapters of the gospel of Luke all take place on this march to Jerusalem. Jesus knows what confrontation will take place there–it was inevitable, as the forces of domination awaited the forces of non-violent Love. But Jesus "set his face to go to Jerusalem." James and John apparently think it’s all about force and domination–"Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?" they ask about the inhospitable Samaritan village. Jesus will have nothing of it. It’s not that kind of a march.

When others along the way want to join in, Jesus is brutally honest. To the one who said he’d follow Jesus wherever he went, Jesus said, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Humanity has nowhere to lay his head." To another person Jesus said, "Follow me." But that one said, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." Seems eminently reasonable. But Jesus said to him, "let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God." And another man said, "I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home." After all, honor your mother and father, right? But Jesus said to him, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God."

"Life is what happens when you’ve made other plans," they say. I’m a big planner, but I wonder, how many times has Life come to me but I had other plans? As one commentator asks, "Does Jesus make a noticeable difference in our lives? Do we try to shape our faith to fit the lives we’ve already planned?" (Michael Rogness, cited by David Lose in Working Preacher, 6/30/13)

I received a phone call Thursday noon from a member of the Bennington Homeless Coalition. It seems that the budget that our state legislature passed this past month has cut 75% of the money used for motel vouchers for homeless individuals and families. That goes into effect July 1, tomorrow. Here in Bennington, that means that upwards of 50 people, including men, women, and children, who have been living in temporary housing in area motels, will no longer have any housing. The area Director of Human Services, Sadie Fischesser, is desperately trying to find housing or alternatives for these people, and one of the options being explored is housing them in faith communities. The National Guard has offered sleeping bags.

"Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Humanity has nowhere to lay his head." I don’t know about you, but that strikes me as an ironically appropriate text for today. And, I’ll admit, it scares me. This is just the beginning, at least for us, as the effects of the federal sequester begin to reach us, as the appalling gap between the haves and have nots in our country grows wider and wider. Some of us have been frustrated that our resident homeless man, who lives in his maroon van, can’t find somewhere else to live besides our parking lot or the street out front. Imagine Mike times 50 or 100. Where will they go? Who should we send them to? To human service agencies? They’ve all been cut. What jobs are available for folks with these limited resources and skills? "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Humanity has nowhere to lay his head."

Remember that story of the monastery whose rule included hospitality to all who came to them, and the one monk who confessed, "When I see another person coming up the walk, I say, ‘Jesus Christ, is that you again?’" I’ve reminded myself of that many times.

And then there are those other two seemingly reasonable explanations for hesitating in our discipleship–"Lord, first let me bury my father" and "Lord, first let me say good-by to those at home." In Jesus’ time and culture, even more so than ours perhaps, family was everything–

status, identity, vocation, security, survival even. And Jesus said that following the path to God’s kingdom took precedence over all that. We all are your family. Seek life, not death.

Yup, this is a text we’d just as soon skip over. But you’ve got to admit, it keeps working at you. At least it does to me, here as I’m getting ready to go on vacation.

And remember that month of March 1965 when I was worried about braces and cheerleading, and others were being attacked with billie clubs and dogs? I know we’re not responsible for where we’re born and in what situation we grow up, so I’m not beating myself up for not being more aware of, let alone joining in, the march from Selma to Montgomery. But now that I am aware, not only of that monumental effort that literally cost blood, sweat and tears, even lives, but am also aware of the situation that literally millions of our brothers and sisters find themselves in today–still denied the right to vote in some parts of the country, still discriminated against because of race or religion or sexual orientation or ethnic background, still unable to find decent housing or health care or employment–then this text begins to get under my skin. Can I really just turn away? Do I have the luxury to give up and say, "Wow, that’s just such a huge problem!"

"Not everybody has that luxury to give up," one writer reminds me. She cites ethicist Sharon Welch, who says "that the temptation to cynicism and despair when problems are seen as intransigent is a temptation that takes a particular form for the middle class. The despair of the affluent, the middle class, has a particular tone: it is a despair cushioned by privilege and grounded in privilege. It is easier to give up on long-term social change when one is comfortable in the present–when it is possible to have challenging work, excellent health care and housing, and access to the fine arts. When the good life is present or within reach, it is tempting to despair of its ever being in reach for others and resort to merely enjoying it for oneself and one’s family...Becoming so easily discouraged is the privilege of those accustomed to too much power, accustomed to having needs met without negotiation and work, accustomed to having a political and economic system that responds to their needs." (Welch, A Feminist Ethic of Risk, cited by Alyce McKenzie in Edgy Exegesis, 6/30/13) Ouch. I don’t know about you, but that cuts pretty close to the bone for me. So do Jesus’ responses to the would-be followers.

This is a call to prophetic ministry. It isn’t everyone’s calling, but as Bruce Epperly writes, "Prophetic ministry is not for those who think small; it is for adventurers who ask much of themselves and more of God to achieve God’s and their greatest dreams...Everything that shrinks your world, imprisons you in the past, and ties you to habitual reactions must be jettisoned for the value of God’s realm." (Adventurous Lectionary, 6/30 13) Talk about "re-thinking church"!

There is an old proverb that says, "When you’re at your wit’s end, remember that God lives there." Martin Luther King, Jr., praying in his kitchen late one night, in the midst of threatening phone calls, sheer exhaustion, deep self-doubt, said that at one point, when he had laid out all his despair and fear and doubt before God, "it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me, ‘Martin, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo I will be with you, even until the end of the world. I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me alone." "When you’re at your wit’s end, remember that God lives there."

What would we do if we knew that ultimately we could not fail, because God will be with us to the end of the world? What would happen if we let ourselves be used by God to usher in God’s realm in ways that stretched us and rearranged us? What if Life showed up at our doorsteps and instead of burrowing into our plans, we opened up the door? We’re none of us in this alone, you know. None of us have to do this all by ourselves. "Wherever two or three are gathered in my name," Jesus said, "there am I in the midst of you." "Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering," wrote a preacher to another group of would-be disciples, "for the One who has promised is faithful." (Hebrews 10:23)

Finally, hear these affirmations from Margaret Wheatley’s book, So Far from Home. She calls this "A Path for Warriors"--

...--We embody values and practices that offer us meaningful lives now. We let go of needing to impact the future.

–We refrain from adding to the aggression, fear, and confusion of this time.

–We welcome every opportunity to practice our skills of compassion and insight, even very challenging ones.

–We resist seeking the illusory comfort of certainty and stability...

–We know that all problems have complex causes. We do not place blame on any one person or cause, including ourselves and colleagues.

–We are vigilant with our relationships, mindful to counteract the polarizing dynamics of this time.

–Our actions embody our confidence that humans can get through anything as long as we’re together.

–We stay present to the world as it is with open minds and hearts, knowing this cultivates our gentleness, decency, and bravery.

–We care for ourselves as tenderly as we care for others, taking time for rest, reflection, and renewal...

The One who has promised to be with us is faithful. In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God.

 

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Profile: Dara Lindley

Dara K. Lindley is one of our faithful members who joined us in 2001.  She drives up from Pownal to attend church and the activities in which she is involved.  Though quiet and unassuming, Dara is a great addition to our membership with her attendance at services and using her skills to assist in other activities.

Dara was born in Noakind, Thailand and has been in the United States since 1980.  She came with her parents who wanted her to have United States citizenship, and to learn the English language.  So she attended Woodrow Wilson High School in San Francisco to accomplish this goal which she has done admirably.

She became apprenticed at this school taking pastry courses and others in chocolate works.

Dara is married to Peter T. Lindley who is employed in Williamstown.  They have a daughter, Jennifer K. who often attends services with Dara.

To prepare herself for her specialty courses in chocolate working, Dara served apprenticeships in San Francisco.  Since coming to the area she has been employed at the Williams Inn as the pastry chef baking and cake decorating for 20 years.  She also has worked at the Orchard Hotel as the pastry chef and at Mother Myricks in Manchester for ten years.  Presently she is employed at Tunnel City coffee shop as pastry chef in Williamstown where she has worked for ten years.

As a personal testimonial of her art I must tell you that she baked the most beautifully decorated birthday cake for my 100^th celebration.  She has taught Sunday School in the past and also served on the Christian Ed Board.  She also contributes her skill and help at the Snowball Bazaar at the food table where you can find her specialties.

Speaking fluent English Dara is a delight to know.  She uses her talents to add to other activities in the church.  She also likes to garden at their home on Puddingstone Road in Pownal.

We salute this pleasant person who came to us from another country.

Submitted by Harriette Leidich.

 

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