"New Paths!-- Genesis 9:8-17, Mark 1:9-15-- Feb. 22, 2015

 

Surely you have heard that well-known Lenten song played in stores this time of year–"It’s the most wonderful time of the year..." ! No? Fr. Tom Gaughan of Sacred Heart St. Francis–St. John the Baptist parish has a sign in his office saying, "Happy Lent!" He’s had it since his days of working at Notre Dame University, and he says he still gets e-mails from students at the beginning of the season, wishing him a "Happy Lent."

That may not be your association with this season. Maybe you have memories of enforced fish on Fridays, of somber faces, of hymns only in a minor key, admonitions to give up something you love, be anything but happy. This was not a season of "good news"–after all, it’s the journey to the cross. But let’s not get Jesus on the Cross too soon, and let’s see what "good news," or "gospel," might be found that is deeper than the bad news, more resilient than death, present even amidst the suffering. Maybe we could be less hellbent on sin and death, as one pastor puts it, and more heavenbent on discipleship. (Rachel Hackenberg, CPR webinar)

Mark doesn’t dwell too long with Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness. With typical brevity and dispatch, Mark merely tells us that after Jesus had been baptized, "the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him." 2 verses. It is the Holy Spirit who sends Jesus out into Satan’s capable hands for testing, and he has the company of the wild beast and angels.

It’s hard not to bring in what we know from other parts of the tradition, from Matthew’s and Luke’s versions, where Jesus is tempted with bread and power and miraculous safety. Mark just says Jesus was tempted, or tested. "At root, [one commentator writes] all temptation is to forget who one is." (Bob Stuhlman, Stories from a Priestly Life, 2/16/15) Since Jesus had just been told by the voice from heaven, "You are my beloved son, in whom I am well-pleased," Satan was making sure he knew what that meant–not just a miracle worker, not a political leader whose soul could be bought, not an exceptional human being for whom the laws of nature had no hold. Better to get those out in the open before getting caught up in the demands and adulation of the crowds.

Actually, maybe it’s helpful that Mark just says Jesus was tempted in the wilderness without any further elaboration, because it invites us to imagine not only what Jesus might have been tempted with, but what we are tempted by. I can’t remember the last time I was tempted to turn stone into bread, but I have been tempted to worry more about what other people think of me than what God thinks of me. I find running for public office to hold zero attraction for me, but I have wanted to be in total control of my life. I tend more to back away from high places, without the slightest urge to jump off and fly, but I can spend an inordinate amount of time worrying over the weather and what that will mean for travel plans. And that’s just the beginning of the publicly suitable list of temptations I experience. There are plenty more where they came from, and some definitely not publicly suitable. How about you? There are the easy ones, having to do with chocolate or alcohol or shopping, maybe, but what about that root temptation–to forget who you are? For that matter, how many of us really know who we are in the first place? It’s tempting not to go that deep, isn’t it?

Another writer says that the greatest temptation is to think that God is not present. (Karoline Lewis, workingpreacher.org, 2/22/15) When we are in pain, when we are afraid, when the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket, don’t we ask, "Where is God?" The real temptation is only to see God’s absence or God’s refusal to intervene–God has abandoned me–or forsaken me–which is why Jesus’ cry from the cross cuts through us so sharply. Yes, I know what that’s like. Where was God for those 21 Egyptian Christians beheaded by ISIS on the beach? Where was God when the bombs were flying between Gaza and Israel and the children were crying? Where was God in the Holocaust? On 9/11? Where was God when peaceful protesters were being bludgeoned and kicked on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama? Where is God in my depression? Where is God in my loved one’s battle with cancer? The greatest temptation is to think that God is not present.

So this Lent, let us take an honest look at who we are, and who we’ve allowed ourselves to become, not to simply wallow in guilt or regret, but as a way of getting back to our true Selves, or maybe to discover our true Selves for the very first time. Let us take the time of confession seriously, remembering that "confession" means "telling the truth." The written prayer may not reflect exactly who you are or what you have done, but it no doubt tells the truth of something of the human experience. In the silence that follows, sit in the truth of who you are and, perhaps, how you’ve wandered from that truth. That’s not the end of the service, of course, for we are always assured of God’s pardon, always given the chance to begin again, reminded that nothing in heaven or on earth can separate us from the love of God, which we know in Christ Jesus.

And I invite you to take an honest look at who we are as a church, as a community, as a nation, as a planet. I invite you to write on the Joys and Concerns sheet the things in our church or our nation or our world that trouble you, that need to be spoken truly of, that need to be held up to God’s healing light. Our ongoing racial divide, the growing chasm between rich and poor, ISIS, climate change, whatever is out there in which we, as citizens of this community and nation and world, take part in, whether intentionally or not. Let us tell the truth about who we are so that we might also remember who God calls us to be, who we truly are.

After his 40 days in the wilderness, "after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news." "Let’s do this thing!" When you think about it, good news might not be the first thing that might be on our lips after we’ve been tempted and tested by Satan. But that was on Jesus’ lips. The gospel is, as one woman put it, "a word from God embarassingly and disturbingly thrust into the present, announcing the gift of freedom in a time of captivity, the gift of peace to a world of conflict, and joy even as the

lamenting continues." [Liz Goodman, Journal for Preachers, Lent 2015]

The systems and structures and myths of our world "so often hold us captive and prevent us from imagining alternatives to their deadly ways," she says, so each week in Lent we’ll hold up those systems and structures and myths to God’s transformative power, "open a space where the new creation can be perceived." (Ibid., p. 10) Jesus emerges from being tempted to forget who he was and putting God to the test, as though God couldn’t be counted on to be present. That is the same old, same old way of the world. What Jesus preached was good news, new paths that lead to real life. "Re-lent," our UCC Lenten devotional books are entitled, and they offer us ways to... Re-lease. Re-form. Re-member. Re-kindle. Re-start. Re-vive. Re-form. Re-bound. Re-open. Re-claim. Re-invent. Re-boot...40 different ways. Let go of what doesn’t serve you or God.

"Give up indifference for Lent," Pope Francis urges us."I have decided to stick with love," Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said. "Hate is too great a burden to bear." Give up hate for Lent. "Faith and discipleship look like courage, vitality, humility, community, and hospitality, along with death and sin," a young colleague of mine says. (Rachel Hackenberg, op cit.). "Let us be less hellbent on sin, more heavenbent on discipleship."

So the journey begins. We do not travel alone, and we are not left with only bad news. There is good news in the midst of the struggle. Happy Lent!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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“Epiphanies–So what?”-- Mark 9:2-9-- Feb. 15, 2015

Some weeks seem heavier than others. This week felt heavy, with the exception of a beautiful day on my birthday.

But there was word in the news of the death of Kayla Murray, the 26 year-old aid worker killed in the custody of ISIS, who wanted to serve and to alleviate the suffering of others. There was the tragic killing of 3 Muslim students in Chapel Hill, NC–Deah Shaddy Baraket, Yusor Mohammed Abu-Salha, and Razan Mohammed Abu-Salha; and the excruciating re-playing of Yusor’s conversation on StoryCorps with her 3rd grade teacher. How blessed she was to be able to grow up in the United States, she had said. The news business itself had shadows looming over it, not only as Brian Williams confessed to inflating the truth and Jon Stewart, understandably, announced his leaving from the Daily Show; but also the sad deaths of reporter Bob Simon and journalist David Carr. The snow and bitter cold didn’t help either, not only as travel plans were upset but as the homeless struggle for shelter and warmth.

And those were just some of the more public sorrows and heartbreaks. I daresay we might be able to gather up just as long a list of sorrows and disappointments known personally by us or by our friends and acquaintances. Wednesday I turned the age my brother Bob was when he died, just 8 months after he retired from the ministry. I’ve been thinking about him this week. What about you?

So here we are on the last Sunday in the season of Epiphany, Transfiguration Sunday, we sometimes call it, after the story in our gospel lesson today. “Six days later,” Mark begins his transfiguration story, 6 days after Jesus had told his disciples for the first time that he would be betrayed, rejected, would suffer, be killed, and 3 days later, raised. This mountaintop experience would change the way the disciples saw Jesus, and this epiphany of who he really was– radiant, beloved of God, not bound by death but able to keep company with those who had died–this epiphany would need to sustain them through the heartbreak of those terrible events that he predicted truly would come.

Metamorphothe is the Greek word Mark uses to describe what happened to Jesus. Transfigured, it usually gets translated here and in the other story Mark tells about this mountaintop experience, but in the only 2 other times it’s used in the New Testament, it’s translated, transformed. In Romans 12:2, Paul writes, “Do not be conformed to this world; but be transformed by the renewing of your minds...” And in 2Corinthians 3:18, he writes, “...and all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of God as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” It’s not just something that happens to Jesus. It can happen to any of us. In fact, one commentator notes that “we need transfiguration,” (Karoline Lewis, workingpreacher.org, 2/15/15) and we long for our own sense of glory, not in the narcissistic sense, but in that deep recognition that that radiance [which is what glory is] is in us as well.

This is a story about change and how we struggle with it, resist it–thus Peter’s blurting out, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Let’s just stay here. This is a story about changing the way we see the world, one another, ourselves, and so transfiguration means exposure, vulnerability. Jesus is utterly lit up. Think of the light over an examining table in your doctor or dentist’s office. Exposed. Vulnerable.

But, as sociologist Brene Brown discovered in her research on shame and vulnerability, vulnerability is “absolutely essential for wholehearted living.” Vulnerability is not weakness, she says, but rather is the most accurate measurement of courage, the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change. Connection is why we’re here, she says, and out of thousands of stories of heartbreak and disconnection, what emerged in her research was that a willingness to be vulnerable was the essential factor for wholehearted living and reconnection. “If we’re going to get back to each other,” Brown says, “vulnerability is the only way.” (TEDx Houston)

Transfiguration, transformation, vulnerability, as opposed to certainty and security, “seem absolutely essential for life and thus for a life of faith,” one Biblical commentator writes. (Lewis, op cit.) “Transfiguration means a new way of seeing the world. And replacing the lenses of our lives is a lot more complicated than picking out new fashionable frames. Because at the heart of the matter is that transfiguration not only signals change, but alters life’s direction.”

Ever since the beginning of January, we’ve been sharing “Epiphany moments” with each other–glimpses of God’s radiance or realm showing forth in the midst of our lives. We’ve heard about the surprising presence of loved ones who have died and yet are still very much present, even guiding us. We’ve heard stories of dreams, stories of connections with co-workers after listening to their grief, stories of seeing our children’s faces in new, fresh ways; and lots of stories of birds and experiences out in nature.

The poet Mary Oliver has spent her life finding epiphanies in nature. “I don’t like buildings,” she told Krista Tippett in a rare interview. “The world [though, meaning, the natural world] is: fun, and familiar, and healthful, and unbelievably refreshing, and lovely. And it is the theater of the spiritual; it is multiform utterly obedient to a mystery.” (Onbeing.org, 2/8/15) What do you pay attention to? Oliver asks us. Good question. Paying attention to the possibility of God’s showing forth in the ordinary, everyday events and places of our lives takes the focus off ourselves and puts it on God.

"I go down to the shore in the morning [Oliver writes in the poem of that name] and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out, and I say, oh, I am miserable, what shall– what should I do? And the sea says in its lovely voice: Excuse me, I have work to do."

“Attention without feeling is only a report,” Oliver says. “Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

Another pastor gave her congregation the Lenten assignment of looking for parables, which, as it turns out, are quite a bit like Epiphany moments. “Parable literally means “thrown alongside,” Anna Carter Florence says. As in, boom, now you don’t see it, now you do. One minute you’re just humming along, everything’s normal, and then, without warning, you just collide with some flash of insight, and you know for sure that the kingdom of God has come near and you just saw a piece of it. You don’t know why. You don’t know how. You’re just glad you happened to be paying attention in the moment it broke.” [Journal for Preachers, Lent 2015, p. 3] She goes on to tell her congregation, “When you see something, say something. [That’s the sign that’s all over public transportation stations in big cities.] That’s what being a disciple is about–when you see something, say something.” [Carter, op cit., p. 8] Homeland Security wants us to pay attention to potential danger. The Gospel calls us to pay attention to God, which can also be potentially dangerous!

So maybe this practice of looking for Epiphany moments, or looking for parables, should become one of our Lenten practices as well. Keep looking for signs, for glimpses, that the kingdom of God has come near, is coming near, because if you don’t pay attention to that, it’s so easy to become overwhelmed by all the heartache and heartbreak in the world, all the signs that the worst in human beings and random evil have won the day, that the cold grip of this arctic air mass is a metaphor for the icy hold that fear, insanity, cruelty, and greed have over us. “The only remedy for love,” wrote Henry David Thoreau, the only for love’s inevitable heartache and heartbreak, “is to love more.”

As we move from the season of Epiphany on this Valentine’s Day weekend and move into the season for Lent, let us keep our eyes and ears and hearts and minds open, to glimpses of grace, to signs of God’s kindom drawn near, to the presence of more Love which is the only remedy for heartbreak. And for that heartbreak, here, too, is a blessing--

Jan Richardson, whose images and blessings have been a blessing to me, wrote of finding all the cards and notes she had written to him in her husband’s things, as she gradually, painfully, goes through them after his death last year. After finding a handmade card with a heart on it, she recalls–“Looking at the card now, I think of the nurse’s words just after Gary died. I had placed my hand on his chest and remarked on how strange it was to feel a heartbeat and know it was only my own pulse. ‘His heart beats in you now,’ she said to me.” [http://paintedprayerbook.com/2014/02/10] “If you’re living with a broken heart right now, [Jan writes] or know someone who is, this blessing is for you. In the midst of the breaking, may our hearts never cease to open.

"A Blessing for the Brokenhearted( There is no remedy for love but to love more. – Henry David Thorea)

Let us agree for now that we will not say the breaking makes us stronger or that it is better to have this pain than to have done without this love. Let us promise we will not tell ourselves time will heal the wound when every day our waking opens it anew. Perhaps for now it can be enough to simply marvel at the mystery of how a heart so broken can go on beating, as if it were made for precisely this— as if it knows the only cure for love is more of it as if it sees the heart’s sole remedy for breaking is to love still as if it trusts that its own stubborn and persistent pulse is the rhythm of a blessing we cannot begin to fathom but will save us nonetheless." – Jan Richardson [op cit.]

May it be so. Amen.                                                                     Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Rhythms of Grace"-- Isaiah 40:21-31, Mark 1:29-39--Feb. 8, 2015

 

In these days of the Great 500-year Rummage Sale that the Church is going through, when what isn’t working and needs to be let go of is often clearer than what needs to be held onto and what needs to emerge, there is a lot of hand-wringing and wondering what we in the church are supposed to be doing right now, while "the sale" is going on. I was at a meeting this week where such a conversation took place, and someone remarked, "Boy, you know, as we’re reading the Gospel of Mark now, it seems like Jesus is just preaching and healing, preaching and healing. And people seemed to flock to him. Of course, he had the advantage of being able to actually heal people." We may have the preaching thing down, but the miraculous healing part–not so much maybe.

I’ve been inspired this week by the commentary of Mark Davis, an Episcopal priest and scholar, who writes,

Mark 1:29-39 is a story that poses an enormous problem for me. In this reading, it seems like everyone in sight who is sick or oppressed by demons come to Jesus and he heals them right and left. It all seems instantaneous and complete. The lame walk, the deaf hear, and those who are oppressed by destructive forces are suddenly no longer struggling. The Easter message of the Christian Church is that the spirit of the Risen Christ continues to be present with us today. But, our lame limp, our deaf sign, and those of us who are oppressed by destructive forces cope and seek help. It seems like those stories are either untrue or that if the Spirit of the Risen Christ is present among us–if–then Christ is among us in a way quite different from how the body of the living Christ once walked among us..." [Left Behind and Loving It, 2/1/15]

I am sure that is true–that Christ is among us in a way quite different from how the body of the living Christ – how the body of Jesus– once walked among us. That has been the challenge and problem for the followers of Jesus from the first Good Friday on– how do we continue without him, at least in the way we’d come to know him? That’s why all the Easter stories are different; that’s why they all struggle to describe how they experienced Jesus’ presence after he died. He was really there; but then he wasn’t. We were all locked in that upper room, and then he was there among us. We didn’t recognize him on the road, but then he sat with us at table and broke the bread...and then he was gone.

Neale Donald Wasch, author of the Conversations with God books, transmits this message from an inspired place–"Honor the tradition but expand the understanding. That’s what religions must do right now if they hope to be helpful to humans in the years ahead." [cited by Kate Huey in sermonseeds, 2/8/15] Honor the tradition but expand the understanding.

Make no mistake about it. There are churches where the stories of healing are remark- able, and it’s not just the pentecostal, evangelical type of churches who claim this. Up at Grace Congregational Church in Rutland, the Rev. Bob Boutwell has a healing ministry that he’s been engaged in throughout his entire ministry career. Though now retired from parish ministry, Bob continues his healing ministry in regular healing services at Grace, in which at least one woman has been healed of her cancer. The doctors have no other explanation for it. The Healing Com-mittee of the Vermont Conference, of which Bob has been an important member, continue to present newly ordained and installed pastors with the bottle of healing oil for anointing the sick. Our own Jane Norrie has had a wonderful healing ministry among us, using her gifts of Reiki and listening to be bring comfort and healing.

Honor the tradition; expand the understanding. The story of Jesus’ raising of Peter’s mother-in-law [notice that Peter, the one who became the first bishop of Rome, was married, but that’s a topic for another time] –this story is one of those "troubling stories" as Mark Davis put it. Jesus heals her on the sabbath, first of all, which is only the beginning of his teaching about what the sabbath is for, and he simply takes her by the hand and "raises her up" from her sick bed, where she has been feverish and apparently gravely ill. So simple, yet so profound; and then there’s the note that once the fever left her, "she began to serve them." Some find this troubling too–that she didn’t even have time to recover or rest, but immediately begins to serve Jesus and the men with her.

But Peter’s mother-in-law was the head of this household. Her ministry of hospitality was what she was known for; it gave her dignity and worth. "What if resurrection [–being raised up] is being raised up to be who you always were and were always meant to be?" asks NT scholar Karoline Lewis. What if cooling this woman’s fever was just one aspect of her total healing, which was being restored to her place of belonging in the community? Jesus’ touch and taking her hand was an expression of or metaphor for love and presence, of relationship and intimacy, all of which are essential for real healing to take place. Whether or not any of us have a particular gift of healing, we can all offer the gift of presence, of touch, if it’s appropriate, of relationship. Honor the tradition; expand the understanding.

At sundown, that is, when the sabbath was over, "people brought those who were sick or possessed with demons to Jesus." Mark Davis thinks a better translation is "those who were demonized," that is, those who had been cut off from fully engaging in community. "And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons..." Day of Rest officially over! I imagine this going on late into the night.

And then we are told that while it was still very dark–is that an echo of an Easter morning story?–"while it was still dark, Jesus got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed." This was the necessary in-filling of power and grace for one who had been poured out and emptied the day before. "While it was still dark, Jesus got up and went out a deserted place, and there he prayed." This pattern is what made Marcus Borg, of blessed memory, as someone has put it so well, describe Jesus as a mystic with deep prayer habits. [Davis, ibid.] I wonder, in fact, if our neglect of these "deep prayer habits" is what limits our ability to heal.

Was this time in prayer, out in a deserted place, merely quiet contemplation, or did Jesus wrestle with God as to what he should do, where he should go next, should he set up shop, so to speak, in one place, and let people come to him, or should he keep moving? My guess is it was all of the above. And the guidance Jesus received was that he was to bring his message of God’s power and love to all the towns in Galilee, to all the "gaggles of gathering," as those early synagogues might be called [Davis] , away from the center of purity and holiness in the "Holy City." "Let us go on to the neighboring towns," Jesus told Simon and his companions after they had hunted him down, "so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do."

So what might this mean for those us asking what we are to do in this inbetween time, in this time of evolving and devolving? What would Jesus do in this time? Honor the tradition; expand the understanding. The spirit of the Risen Christ is present among us in a way different from those days before the first Easter; but people are still demonized, still broken or wounded in body, mind, and spirit the way that human beings have always been. Preaching with our words and our lives the good news of God’s love is still our calling. As is healing. But wholeness, as Davis says, "is not measured by physical or psychological perfection, but by connection to human community," any more than it was in Jesus’ day. Those whom Jesus cleansed of leprosy were most importantly restored to their place in community. Peter’s mother-in-law was "raised to do the things that gave her purpose and meaning... The person who carried a sick one to Jesus walked home arm-in-arm with that one. Those are not stories of magic, [Davis contends]; they are stories of human community being healed from the brokeness that sickness, disease, and mental illness can bring." [ibid.]

So we too can offer a place of healing, a place of welcome without regard to age, race, sex, economic condition, disability or sexual orientation, as our Open and Affirming statement says. And remember, that if the spirit of the Risen Christ, the presence of the Living God is truly among us and within us, you may be the only Jesus some people will ever meet. This touching, listening, healing presence is more than a little outside the comfort zone for many of us New Englanders. That may be why New England is the least religious region in the country, unless you consider sports a religion, in which case New England is quite religious. We don’t think we need –let alone want–touching, sharing, listening, healing. We’re just fine, thank you very much. Go, Patriots! Go, Red Sox!

But might it be that there are some in our community – maybe even ourselves--who have been made to feel shame, not for what they’ve done but for who they are? Might it be that there are some in our community–maybe even ourselves–who are weary from the running and working and striving, weary from feeling like they have to do everything by themselves? Might it be that there are some in our community–maybe even ourselves–whose bodies are broken or diseased or worn out and wonder if they are of any value anymore? Might it be that there are some in our community–and our community in Christ extends throughout the world, remember–might it be that there are some who are tired of war and violence and cruelty and ostracism? Is the need for healing any less here and now than it was there and then?

Honor the tradition; expand the understanding. There is preaching and healing still to be done. There is returning to the Source in prayer and meditation for guidance, courage, and renewal. There is "power in being part of a community that acknowledges our weaknesses, our fragility, and our brokeness."[Davis] So that even if we aren’t a center of miraculous healing waters, where piles of discarded crutches and eyeglasses litter the lawn, we might still be part of God’s healing in the world. "When our lame limp, [Mark Davis suggests] we will slow our gait to walk together. When our deaf sign, we will sign back, to communicate. When our oppressed seek help, we will provide space for counseling, for meetings, for ways to live in hope. And for those who are too far gone physically to walk, too far gone mentally to converse, too far gone psychically to engage, we will be gathered at their door, so they will not be alone. That’s healing and wholeness."

Honor the tradition; but expand the understanding. So may we offer healing and hope to a broken and weary world. So may we keep returning to the Source of grace and renewal, both now and in the days to come. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Wow! That’s power!"-- Mark 1:21-28-- Feb. 1, 2015

There is something special and memorable about "your first time." I’m talking, of course, about your first time at a new church, although you may now be thinking about other "first times." Go ahead–I’ll leave you to your memories and fantasies. Catch up with us whenever you can.

My "first time" here at this church was my candidating sermon back on Memorial Day weekend of 1995. I barely remember the sermon, of course, but what I do remember is 2 little girls who made me feel extraordinarily welcome–one was Lauren Beckerman, who, at the age of 10 back then, came up to me and gave me one of her sweet, loving hugs. The other little girl, whose family has long since moved away, came up to me after the service and after the vote, took my hand and pulled me toward Webster Hall. "Come, on. You’d better get in there before all the cookies are gone," she told me. Ah, how right she was!

So we should pay attention to how the four gospel writers describe Jesus’ "first time," how we see him as he begins his ministry. In Matthew, Jesus climbs up a mountain and begins to teach–Jesus is teacher and new law-giver. In Luke, he goes to his home synagogue, reads from the scroll of Isaiah about God’s spirit being upon him to preach good news to the poor and oppressed–and Luke’s Jesus continues to lift up the poor, has women in his ministry circles. Jesus’ first public appearance in John’s Gospel has him changing lots of water into wine at a wedding feast. He brings abundance. He is the gateway to God.

And here in Mark, Jesus begins his public ministry with confrontation. He is a boundary breaker, as one commentator writes [Karoline Lewis, workingpreacher.org, 1/25/15] The heavens are torn apart at his baptism, breaking through the boundary of heaven and earth; he breaks the boundaries between clean and unclean as he exorcises the demon from the man who appears in the synagogue; he will even break the boundary of death, going to all those places where God is not expected to be.

So, here in the very first chapter of Mark’s gospel, Jesus is teaching in a synagogue in Capernaum, and the people remark about the "authority" with which he preaches, not like the scribes. The scribes had "authority" of their own, by means of their position, their credentials; but the authority of this "newbie" rabbi was different. An unjust judge or public official can have authority, by means of their office. A police officer has a certain authority, with the expectation that his or her orders will be obeyed. But there is another kind of "authority" that anyone can have. It has to do with the root of that word–"author." "The simplest, poorest person in the world," writes one woman, "can speak with a different kind of authority if they embody wisdom and integrity that others find compelling." (Kate Huey, sermonseeds, 2/1/15) Who is the "author" of your words or actions? Is it from your truest self, or are you trying to borrow someone else’s "authority"? It’s the same root as the word "authentic."

"They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority; and not as the scribes."

"Just then there was in the synagogue a man with an unclean spirit." In this place that’s supposed to be so "holy," so "clean," there (already) was a man with an unclean spirit. People sometimes say, "Oh, I’m afraid the walls would cave in if I entered the church," as though only "the perfect" go to church. Dare I point out that you and I are here within these walls, and other than that explosion back in the ‘60's, the walls haven’t caved in. People sometimes accuse us churchgoers for being hypocritical because we don’t always do what we say we believe. That may be true, but that is precisely why we need to gather with other folks struggling to line up their actions with their beliefs. "Just then in the synagogue, in the church, there was a man, there was a woman–or two or three or a hundred–with an unclean spirit."

So Jesus is confronted, first thing, with a man with–or "in"–an unclean spirit. I give thanks that it was a couple of little girls and not a demon who confronted me when I first came to this church! Nonetheless, as Bruce Epperly points out, this "unclean spirit" is more perceptive than the synagogue crowd in recognizing who Jesus is. [processandfaith.org. 2/1/15] "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God."

John Pilch says that our ancestors in faith believed spirits were more powerful than humans but not as powerful as God. [Cultural World of Jesus, Year B] This story, then, shows that Jesus has more power than ordinary human beings. We have more control over our lives and more power to effect change in them than did our ancestors, and so we are likely to dismiss stories of demons and spirits as irrelevant to our modern lives, a primitive way of explaining mental illness or epilepsy. But is that really true? We may not speak of them as "demons," but are there not forces that too often we seem to be at the mercy of ? The first of the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous states that "we admitted we were powerless over alcohol." Demon Rum is what the prohibitionists used to call it. We are the most in debt, obese, addicted , and medicated adult cohort in U.S. history, sociologist Brene Brown reports.(TEDx Talk, Houston) Dianne Bergant talks about "demons of dysfunction and sin, ...of mistaken expectations that we find ourselves caught up in before we know it." (Cited by Huey, op cit.) In his book Engaging the Powers, the late Walter Wink wrote of ours as a society that is possessed by violence, by sex, by money, by drugs. You might want to test that out as you watch the Super Bowl this evening.

"What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God." Mark Davis translates this passage, "Just then there was in their synagogue a man in an unclean spirit, and it squawked out..." [Left Behind and Loving It, 1/26/15) He refers to a recent NY Times article by Johann Kari entitled, "The Likely Cause of Addiction...and It’s Not What We Thought." The "likely cause," the article claims, appears not to be simply chemical dependency, but rather the need for connection. It’s a fascinating article worth reading, but one of the things it does is separate persons with addictions from their addictions. "It’s not you," the author says. "It’s your cage."

So this man is in the cage of unclean spirit which squawked at Jesus. "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? ...I know who you are." This mix of us and I, plural and singular, gives a sense of the complexity of mental illness and addiction. Was the spirit afraid of being destroyed or hopeful of being healed? Neither mental illness nor addiction are outside God’s loving touch and healing.

Pseudo-Dionysius, writing in the late 5^th to early 6^th centuries, said that the demons come from their source as Good. However, he wrote, "They are evil insofar as they have fallen away from the virtues proper to them. They have changed in the domain of what was permanent in them. A weakness has appeared in the angelic perfection suitable to them." "He could be writing about me," Episcopal priest and author Suzanne Guthrie wrote last week. He could be writing about any of us.

I know that some of you find our prayers of confession to be needlessly remorseful and oftentimes not true to your reality. Amen. AND (not "but," AND) it is important that we check in every now and then to see if we, like those 6^th c. demons, have "fallen away from the virtues" that were given to us, have distorted what is inherently good in us, have wandered off the path toward our true selves that was set before us. How else will we be authentic?

Thomas Merton wrote about the early Desert Fathers and Mothers in the 4^th and 5^th centuries–

What the Fathers [and Mothers]sought most of all was their own true self, in Christ. And in order to do this, they had to reject completely the false, formal self, fabricated under social compulsion in ‘the world’....The simple men [and women] who lived their lives out to a good old age among the rocks and sands only did so because they had come into the desert to be themselves, their ordinary selves, and to forget a world that divided them from themselves....We cannot do exactly as they did, but we must be as thorough and as ruthless in our determination to break all spiritual chains, and cast off the dominion of alien compulsions, and to find our true selves, to discover and develop our inalienable spiritual liberty and use it to build, on earth, the Kingdom of God." [The Wisdom of the Desert]

Jesus has been in the wilderness for 40 days and nights, being tested, honing who he really is–where his true authority lies and who his authentic self really is. He begins his public ministry here in Mark with a confrontation, which he can only survive if he stays grounded in the truth of who he is, and which will set the tone for the whole rest of his ministry. He "comes to oppose all those forces that keep the children of God from the abundant life God desires for all us, David Lose points out (inthemeantime, 2/1/15).

What forces keep you from the abundant life God desires for you? What is keeping you from being authentic, with your own authority? What are the demons that possess you, or at least flit around in your head suggesting any number of distortedly truthful things? Anger? Fear? Workaholism? Substance abuse? Peer pressure? Affluenza, thinking that having all sorts of material things will bring you happiness? "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us...or to heal us?" Is the demon searching for the Author of his life?

The image of Jesus as exorcist [writes Rita Nakashima Brock] is someone who has experienced his own demons...The temptation stories point to the image of a wounded healer, to an image of one who by his own experience understands vulnerability and internalized oppression. In having recovered their own hearts, healers have some understanding of the suffering of others.

Naming the demons means knowing the demons....The Gospels imply that anyone who exorcizes cannot be a stranger to demons...To have faced our demons is never to forget their power to hurt and never to forget the power to heal that lies in touching brokenheartedness.... Jesus hears, below the demon noises, an anguished cry for deliverance. Through...mutual touching, community is co-created as a continuing, liberating, redemptive reality." [in Imaging the Word, Vol. 3, p. 130]

"Our God is a God of the needy," someone else has said, "and our church is a fellowship of the needy...What it takes is for you to recognize your deep need and trust that God [in Jesus] is able to meet it." That was where the power of Jesus resided–in his own deep need and trust in God, the Author of his–and our-- life. If we are to follow him, that’s not a bad place to start.

So come, as if it were the first time, come to the table. In bread broken and shared, in the cup poured out and emptied, we are made whole and given new life. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Mary's notice for Benn Banner

Come, Seek, Pray, Learn..

"I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” wrote the great poet and author Maya Angelou. At Second Congregational Church, on this last Sunday in June, 2 weeks after the killings in Charleston, SC, Rev. Mary Lee-Clark will reflect on our response to that tragedy and the long-standing wounds of our nation, in her sermon entitled, “The Caged Bird.” Worship begins at 10 a.m., and all people of faith or in search of faith are welcome. Scripture readings include King David’s lament over Saul and Jonathan in 2 Samuel and two healing stories from Mark’s gospel. New members will be received.

Second Congregational Church is an Open and Affirming congregation of the United Church of Christ. We welcome all to our work and worship, without regard to age, race, economic condition, disability, or sexual orientation. Our building is located at 115 Hillside St. and is wheelchair-accessible. Nursery care is provided. For further information, call the church office at 442-2559.

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"Now?!"- Psalm 62:5-12, Mark 1:14-20-- Jan. 25, 2015

There are some things that you have to respond to immediately–a fire alarm, for example, a tornado alert, labor pains coming 2 minutes apart. As one mom reported, "My son was born 10 weeks early. I hadn’t even finished What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Hey, I hadn’t even taken any childbirth classes." But "immediately," she and her husband called the doctor, and her son was born not too long after.

Mark launches into Jesus’ ministry "immediately"–no pause to talk about his birth or growing up, just 8 quick verses to introduce us to John the Baptist and then Jesus appears on the scene to be baptized. "And [then] immediately the Spirit drove him out into the wilderness." Jesus returns from that wilderness testing just after John is arrested, and Jesus takes up John’s message, "proclaiming the good news of God and saying , ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.’"

Jesus walks along the shoreline and, seeing Simon and Andrew casting their fishing nets, calls them to follow him and become fishers of people. "And immediately, [Mark says] they left their nets and followed him." Same thing with James and John–"Immediately he called them; and they left their father and the hired men and followed him."

"Mark begins like an alarm clock," Ted Smith comments, "persistently declaring the time and demanding some response." (Cited by Kate Huey in weekly seeds, 1/25/15) "God is on the march in the ministry of Jesus," another remarks (William Abraham, in Huey) and as usual, Eugene Peterson sums it up bluntly with "Time’s up!" (The Message) The time is now.

It’s tempting to focus on the response of the fishermen. On one level, it sounds like "The Invasion of the Body-Snatchers"–"IMMEDIATELY THEY DROPPED THEIR NETS AND FOLLOWED HIM," eyes glazed, bodies stiff, their movements not their own. Bruce Epperly suggests that Jesus had spent time with these fishermen, talking with them, telling them about this Kingdom of God that was present with him, and this was simply "the right time," when he asked for their decision. [Process and Faith, 1/25/15] That happens to us, doesn’t it? Someone proposes something to you, plants a seed, the germ of an idea, which then you think about, mull over, and at some point–at "the right time"–you know you’re going to do it, it’s the right thing to do, now is the time.

But Barbara Brown Taylor says that focusing on the disciples’ response is putting the emphasis on the wrong syllable. (Cited in Huey) The focus, she suggests, should be not on the disciples’ action but on God’s action. God has the power to change lives. This isn’t a story about our power to change. Jesus doesn’t ask the fishermen to add one more thing to their busy lives. He gives them a new identity, a new way of being. They will still be fishing, but in a whole new way.

One wonders if our "call" from God isn’t simply being more fully who we really are but perhaps in a whole new way. Maybe you are a math teacher, but your "call" may be to teach much more than math. Maybe it’s to teach kids how to be whole human beings, their true selves, working as whole beings the way that mathematics –which you love--works as a whole. Or maybe you run a business–a photography business, say–and yes, to stay in business you have to sell pictures but maybe your call is to help people see in a whole new way, to discover beauty in surprising places, maybe even within themselves. "Follow me and I will make you fishers of people." "Follow me and I will make you teachers of wisdom, revealers of beauty, patrons of children, healers of souls."

What would make you drop everything to take up a new life? A marriage proposal? A job offer? An invitation to travel? A crisis halfway around the world, like an earthquake in Haiti or the Ebola crisis? I have such huge respect for those doctors and medical personnel who have put their careers on hold to offer 3 months–or more–of service at great risk to their own health to fight the Ebola epidemic. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so physically uprooting. One writer asks, "What might be so compelling to invite you to leave what you know and venture out in quest of, and in service to, something new?" [David Lose, working preacher.org] He wonders if just such a question might shed light on why our churches are in decline here in the west.

The 2 causes most often cited for that decline in church attendance, he says, are 1. the move from an age of duty to an age of discretion. People no longer see church attendance as a "duty" they are obligated to, but rather have many choices to help them make sense of and get the most out of life. And the second reason is, he says, that "many [would-be]church-goers haven’t found the Christian narrative a particularly helpful lens through which to view and make sense of their lives." And that’s mainly because we haven’t communicated that narrative or story in a way that’s helpful or compelling. "So what if we decided," he asks, "to talk about what would make the time we spend together on Sundays more compelling? What would church need to look like to make it worth their time? How can our congregational life enable them to become the kind of people they want to be and, even more, believe God is calling them to be?" Whereas many of us are looking for "comfortable," and have found "comfortable" in this place, others are looking for compelling, a call that is worthy of their lives. [Greg Carey, Huffington Post, 3/19/12] Serving on a committee or listening to an interesting talk or having coffee with nice people is not compelling.

Bruce Epperly puts Jesus’ invitation this way– "Will you follow me into the realm of uncertainty, with no guarantee of success, or will you settle for familiarity and security? There are risks in following me, but the promise is that you will have many adventures and discover more about yourself and God than you could ever imagine." [Ibid.] Now that’s compelling. How do we translate that into the life of our church?

We’ve been sharing "epiphany moments" with each other this month, but maybe we’ve been too tame about that. Karoline Lewis, a professor at Luther Seminary, defines an epiphany as "an immediate and meaningful understanding of something. Surprising. Sudden. Profound... There is nothing comfortable about epiphanies. They rock your world." (workingpreacher.org, 1/18/15) Not, "Hmmmm, that’s interesting," but rather, "Yikes! There you are. What will you do now?" Maybe we should add a second part to our Epiphany moments–maybe after describing the moment we could offer a sense of how it changed us or our understanding. (We’ll see if anyone dares to offer an Epiphany Moment next week!)

"For God alone my soul waits in silence," the psalmist says in today’s psalm. For God alone. Can you imagine that kind of longing? That readiness to respond? That clarity about what is really important in your life? Can we imagine as a church being that hungry, that "leaned in" to listen for and discern God’s call to our congregation? "Faith is being grasped by Being-itself," Paul Tillich wrote. Are we ready to be grasped?

"Follow me," Jesus said to Simon and his brother Andrew. "Follow me and I will make you fishers of people.’ And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John...mending their nets. Immediately he called them; and they left...and followed him." They thought they were just going to work that day. They thought they’d have the usual conversation with their father. But in a moment, a

moment that was not a minute but was the fullness of time, their lives were changed, and they were made new, all while they were mending their nets ...

This is how Andrew King imagines it ["Mending Their Nets"]--

It is a day that could be like any other.

The water is calm in the morning light

as the gulls thread the air with their singing.

The sun is warm on the backs of their necks

as the fishermen bend to their mending.

The blunted points of their wooden needles

float in, float out of the webbing –

create a loop, pinch with finger and thumb,

thread the needle through and then around again,

tighten the knot, pick up the next mesh –

callused hands repeating the operation

that has been handed down, fathers to sons,

from generation to generation.

The net’s hole rapidly closes. Conversation

weaves in, weaves out while they’re working,

returning often to talk of a preacher

whose words have set their hopes rising,

the hopes handed down like the knowledge

in their hands, woven into the fabric of living.

The wind is warm on the cheeks of his face

as the preacher comes near with his message.

The world is torn, there is brokenness of heart,

there are wounds everywhere in creation.

But the preacher has news, good news of change:

that God’s healing love is accessible,

and he knows this good news can mend the torn world,

can be threaded into every heart’s beating.

Now the preacher is calling them, calling their names,

calling them to take up new labour,

calling them to see, with the vision of hope,

people gathered in newness of community,

one they will help build, like a great catch of fish,

abundant with fresh possibility.

The water is calm in the morning light

and the gulls continue their singing.

The sun is warm on the backs of their necks

as the fishermen join Christ in his mending.

It is a day that is not – and yet could be – like any other . . .[A Poetic Kind of Place, 2015]

May we be awake to that kind of day when we are called to be part of this great vision of hope, people gathered in newness of community, which we will help build,...abundant with fresh possibility. It could be today.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Coming Up at Second Congregational Church

Coming Up:

Saturday, May 16 - and Sunday, May 17 Plant sale, together with instructions on how to make good black earth by composting (good for your garden and the environment)
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Sunday, May 17
- after worship - Members of the Pastoral Relations Committee, Next Level Task Force, or Administrative Council will be available in the Clayton Room for one-on-one conversations about the proposal. There will be another open meeting in the sanctuary on Sunday, May 24th, and on Sunday, May 31st, there will be a congregational meeting to vote on the proposal.
- Spring Meeting of the Southwest Association in Wallingford will celebrate Wallingford Congregational Church’s reception into the United Church of Christ.
5 pm Sunday Supper
7 pm Bible conversation at the Lee-Clarks'
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Wednesday, May 20, 10:30 a.m. – From Age-in to Sage-ing, Part 2. We’ll spend 2 more weeks finishing up discussion of this book. Join us in this discussion of how we can contribute to the future of our families, our communities, our earth. In the Clayton Room.
Drive to the upper rear parking lot and see our finished SOLAR PANELS. They are all hooked up and will soon be ready to use.
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Members of our church made, collected and assembled 309 School Kits, 107 Hygiene Kits and 41 Baby Kits. These weighed 886 lbs. and have a money value of $ 6976 and processing fees of $ 914. A mammoth job well done! The Church World Service truck will pick up the kits on Monday.
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Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, 9:30am - 35 minute DVD-led exercise with group in Room 6 or 2
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BIRTHDAYS AND CELEBRATIONS: If you would like your or your child(ren)'s birthday and/or turning age printed in the announcements, please write your name and/or birth year on the appropriate date on the 2015 calendar hanging by the office door.
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The choir needs a Metronome needed for music practice. If anyone has one they would like to pass on, it would be greatly appreciated.
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Healing Pathways Ministry - From now until June, Jane Norrie is offering educational workshops on demand to help folks of all ages and stages explore the fascinating realm of energy wisdom. If you wish to host a workshop in your home or to attend one, contact Jane at (802) 780-8405. A minimum of 3 and maximum of 5 participants will join in learning about our energy circulatory systems and practice ways to keep mental, emotional, physical and spiritual selves in wholesome shape. Average workshop lasts about 2 hours. Members, friends and anyone from our wider community are welcome to attend. There is no charge but you are invited to offer donations to the Deacons' Fund.
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"Hearing Voices"-- Genesis 1:1-5, Mark 1: 4-11-- Jan. 11, 2015

 

Here we are just two and a half weeks after Christmas, and the Baby Jesus is already a grown man. Mark cuts to the chase even more quickly in his gospel, bypassing any story or even mention of Jesus’ birth, and begins his account of the "Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God" with John the baptizer appearing in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. It is here, on a river bank, that we first meet the man, Jesus. He has come with the "people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem," to be baptized by John in the Jordan River.

You’ve got to wonder what drew all those people out into the desert to see this wild man, wrapped in camel’s hair, subsisting on locusts and wild honey, shouting about the need for turning your life around, getting it back on track to where God wants you to go. Here was a man who lived "off the grid," we might say. But clearly he was a man intoxicated with God, convinced that God was furious with the way things were currently going, and positive that God had something– someone-- in the wings, waiting to sweep in with fiery passion, to purify and set things right, to usher in a way of living that would please God.

There are times and places when such a "wild one" is very appealing–times when things seem utterly out of control, or calcified with sameness, places that are so full of excess and tawdriness that radical simplicity and necessity seem like a welcome relief. I think that longing is behind many of our New Year’s resolutions–after the feasting and partying and accumulating piles of "stuff," we long for paring down, for cutting back on food and drink, for getting up and moving, for clearing out, for simplifying. Cheryl Strayed’s book "Wild," now made into a movie, illustrates such a longing. After too long a time of poor choices and being out of control, walking the Pacific Coast Trail alone appears to be just the cleansing, testing path she needs to take. John, like the camels whose skin he wore, represented that long, arduous trek, the "long, difficult miles in which we heal," as someone has put it. (Nancy Rockwell, bite in the apple, 1/5/15)

The Temple and its elaborate structure and rituals and priesthood claimed to be the only way to God, the only way to forgiveness, but it also was incestuously intertwined with the Roman occupation. John’s wild and crazy call to a baptism of repentance sounded strangely clear and pure. And so the crowds from the whole Judean countryside and from all of Jerusalem were going out to him, and along with the crowds came Jesus.

"The human imagination is consumed with images of water," Frank Yamada writes (cited by Kate Huey in weekly seeds, 1/11/15). And it’s no wonder–our bodies are primarily made up of water. We live in the waters of our mothers’ wombs for 9 months before we are born. We can survive longer without food than we can without water. Water cleanses, purifies, gives birth, destroys; and our biblical heritage reflects that obsession with water, beginning at the beginning–when God’s Spirit hovers over the face of the waters, the deep, the tahom. The stories of Noah and the Exodus from Egypt through the Red Sea carry on the theme; and the waters of baptism are no less primal and important.

This baptism of John’s in the River Jordan was about as far away from the sweet, relatively dry, sterile, and contained infant baptism that we are used to...just about as far away as John in his camelhair loincloth and locust-encrusted teeth is from me, or most other ministers you know. Though it is dangerously dried up now, the Jordan River then was a muddy, rolling body of water full of history. It was the boundary that the Israelites crossed over from their wilderness journey from slavery into freedom in the Promised Land. It was the site of the prophet Elijah’s ascent into heaven in a chariot of fire, as his prophetic mantle was passed on to Elisha. The Jordan was a place of transition and succession, pregnant with possibilities. (Alistair Roberts, "Politics of the Individual," 1/5/15)

John preached a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins–a call to return from the exile you’ve imposed upon yourself, the exile you’ve experienced from God. The Greek root of the word for repentance means to "go beyond the mind you have." John’s call to repentance comes to us too, across the years and miles. Go beyond the conventional notions you have about God, about church. Be baptized, or, remember your baptism.

It was to this river bank and to this baptism that Jesus came. Mark’s description of the baptism is typically short, but hardly sweet, in just 3 verses–

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

The heavens didn’t merely "open"–they were "torn apart." The only other time Mark

uses this word is toward the end of his gospel, when he says that the curtain in the Temple was "torn apart" when Jesus died. No soft, diffuse stream of light doing "the God thing" from the sky here. And someone has described the Holy Spirit as a "dive-bombing dove," who would shortly drive Jesus further out into the wilderness. (Elton Brown, cited by Huey, op cit.) Jesus is the only one who saw any of this, according to Mark, but it’s not clear if others heard The Voice–"You are my Beloved Son; with you I am well pleased." Was it a loud, booming, masculine voice, or more gentle, like the bat qol, or "daughter of a voice, the echo by which God speaks into a world that no longer hears God’s voice," as Richard Swanson describes it. (Ibid.) What do you think God’s voice sounds like? Do you expect it to knock you over, or do you need to be attentive, still, to perceive it?

Do you–do we-- even listen for God’s voice? What voices do you listen to? I am occasionally struck by the number of different voices that are carrying on conversations inside me, and, yes, I’m an introvert, by that I do not mean to suggest that with a prescription or two from a psychiatrist something can be done about those voices. I’m talking about the voices of my parents, say, which I still hear as a pretty grown-up child–voices that remind me that my shoes could use a little shining, or those dishes need to put away, or, "You know, the lazy way is really to put those things away the first time, so you don’t have to go back a second time," or "Who do you think you are?" I don’t know–does anyone else hear their parents’ voices inside their heads? I particularly love it when I hear my parents’ voices coming out of my mouth when I’m speaking to my own children.

But there are other voices that we hear and often pay way too much attention to–voices that may say, "you’re so stupid... lazy... a waste of space...." "You’ll never be successful." "You’re not good enough....pretty enough... smart enough.... athletic enough...rich enough." "You’re too old...too young...too fat...too skinny." "You’re not worthy of being loved. Nobody will ever love you...." The voices of shame.

Which is why this baptism of Jesus–why our baptism–is so important. Whether booming or a whisper, the voice at Jesus’– and our–baptism says, "You are my beloved son. You are my beloved daughter. With you I am well pleased." This is who you are. Beloved. This is who you are, Jesus,–God’s Beloved-- as this same, dive-bombing Spirit will drive you further out into the wilderness in the very next verse, to be tested and tempted, to hone your identity before you begin your public ministry. This is who you are, children of God, –God’s Beloved--as that same Spirit compels us out into the world, into our homes, our places of work, our relationships, our activities. This is who you are, Second Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Bennington, –God’s Beloved--, as God troubles the waters, as God’s Holy Spirit hovers over the chaos and mess and violence of our world.

Nancy Rockwell describes John’s river ritual as a "drowning to the old self and rising into a new self that is now brother/sister to all ethnic groups, races and nations, even breaking the forbidden boundaries of gender and class." [bite in the apple, 1/5/15] This baptism is a dying and being resurrected into a new self, into a brand new day, that will have its own challenges and trials, but also its own joys and arrivings. This baptism, this renewal, this fresh start into the abundant life of Christ that God intends for all of us is available to each of us, either through baptism for the first time or a renewal and remembrance of our own baptisms. The bowl from the baptismal font will be in the back of the sanctuary for you to dip your hands in –or maybe wash your face in--as you go out this morning.

But I also believe that we as a congregation are called to this baptism, this renewal, this fresh start into the abundant life of Christ that God intends for us, because there are people dying out there to hear the Good News that they are beloved of God. "On an average day in the United States, 9 churches close their doors for good." [Angie Mabry-Nauta, The Christian Century, Jan. 7, 2015, p. 22] 9 churches a day. I am certain that none of them began with that in mind, and most likely, none of them before maybe 10 years ago thought this would ever happen to them. But we would be foolish to think it could never happen to us. We would be foolish to listen to the voices that say, "We’ve never done it that way." or "We’ve always done it this way." or "That makes me uncomfortable." or "I don’t know anybody who does that." To listen to those voices instead of the voice of the One who calls us into the troubled waters, the One who calls us to let go of notions and ways of being that no longer serve God or God’s people, that no longer bring to birth, to listen to those other voices is to lead us into exile.

We’ve been toying with the idea of a new name for our congregation–not just "Second" anything, but something new–"Hope United Church of Christ," someone has suggested, although there is another smaller, fundamentalist congregation here in Bennington that has taken Hope for its name. What about, New Day United Church of Christ, with the slogan borrowed from another progressive church, "You can change the world from here"? There’s even a great choral piece, recorded by the King Singers, called, "You are the new day," which I love. That’s not really the point. I’m sure together we can come up with a name that more accurately describes what we wish to be about; what we are called to be about. But be about it we must be. And soon.

Think about your own, new beginning that God can bring about, no matter what your age; and think about the new beginning that God can bring about for our church as you listen to this blessing for a New Beginning by the Irish philosopher and poet, John O’Donohue–

For a New Beginning

In out of the way places of the heart
Where your thoughts never think to wander
This beginning has been quietly forming
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire
Feeling the emptiness grow inside you
Noticing how you willed yourself on
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the grey promises that sameness whispered
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.
~john o Donohue~

John O'Donohue
Source: To Bless the Space Between Us

May it be so. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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news

Join us. Come along with us. Put aside your busyness and worship with us at Second Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, this Sunday morning at 10 o’clock. Jesus’ call to his disciples in Mark’s gospel is the theme of this week’s readings and worship, as we wonder and discuss together how we respond to such a call. Following a sharing of our Epiphany Moments from the week, children up through grade 5 are dismissed for Godly Play and the Middle- and High-school Class meets. Nursery care is provided throughout worship. Rev. Mary Lee-Clark’s sermon is entitled, “Now?!”
A potluck lunch for the whole church family follows in Webster Hall, and the 178Th annual meeting of the congregation takes place following that. We will hear reports from the pastor and officers, the boards and continuing committees, act on the recommended budget and slate of officers and any other business appropriately brought before the meeting.

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1/11/2015

Sunday Feb 1 Adventures in Reading Group meets after worship to discuss books read. Those who want to hear about book suggestions for their reading are also invited.
Bennscc@sover.net

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"Gifts for the Journey"- Matthew 2:1-12 -- Jan. 4, 2015

 

The Magi are the stuff of legend. Matthew says nothing about "kings" or "three"–he simply calls them "wise men from the East" and names the three gifts they brought–gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Nothing about camels, although the Isaiah passage talks about a multitude of young camels, bringing gold and frankincense, and so we’ve come to picture them striding across the desert on camels.

They are exotic though, these magi. We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore. They’re not from "back east," where we once were, but "The East," where we’ve never been and nobody we know has ever been. You could tell they weren’t "from these here parts" when they rode into Jerusalem, asking for directions to Herod’s palace to find out about the new king who had been born "king of the Jews." If you knew Herod, and any kid in Jerusalem could have told you this, you would not want to be the one to break the news that a potential rival had been born.

So the story has grown from those 12 verses in Matthew’s gospel. In our own kind of Christian midrash, we’ve zeroed in on these 3 strangers, called them kings, since who else would have had the resources to travel such a distance with such lavish gifts? We’ve named them–Kaspar, Melchior, and Balthazzar......–and given them different ages and skin colors. T.S. Eliot wrote a poem about them. O’Henry a short story. They capture our imaginations, much more than the drab and lowly shepherds probably, though maybe we can relate to shepherds more closely than kings. Each serve their purpose–one perhaps to cause us to look at how wonder might interrupt our daily work and one to cause us to look up, beyond the horizon, searching for a star to guide us.

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Since the Middle Ages at least, the gifts have been given meaning, since everything in the Bible then was thought to have some allegorical meaning. Gold for a king, obviously; frankincense for a priest, as its smoke curls up like prayer; and myrrh for anointing the dead.

But Nancy Rockwell reminds us that in legends–which we often dismiss, though they were and in some places still are considered hallowed sources of wisdom,–in legends "children often set out on dangerous journeys, with huge tasks to accomplish that only hopeful hearts would undertake: the kind of hearts you can find only in children," she says, though I would add that such hope may also be found in elders who have come to realize they have nothing to lose. Just before they set out, "Someone (a godparent, a good witch, a mysterious beggar, a dying king) gives three small and curious things, puzzling things that seem to have no special use (a comb, a mirror, a seashell, a stone, a whistle, whatever) and an assurance that, when the time is right, these will be very useful. And sure enough, they are the keys to surviving ominous perils." [a bite in the apple, 12/28/14]

For example, in the Harry Potter saga–the wonderful legend that has captured the hearts and minds of millions of children and adults as well-- the great wizard Dumbledore bequeaths to Harry, Ron, and Hermione the golden snitch–the prize of Quiddich games, a deluminator–to extinguish lights, and Dumbledore’s copy of the children’s book Tales of Beedle the Bard; all of which turn out to be essential, and ultimately life-saving, in their quest to defeat the evil Voldemort.

So, in the legend of the Magi, Rockwell wonders whether the three gifts–gold, frankincense, and myrrh–might not only have been symbolic of king, priest, and sacrifice, but also practical gifts whose use became clear as the Holy Family’s journey continued. When Herod learned that the Magi had not returned to inform him of the whereabouts of the child, he has his soldiers spread out through Jerusalem and its environs, which would have included Bethlehem, just 9 miles away, and slaughter every male child under the age of 2. The Magi’s gold might have bought safe passage out of Jerusalem for Joseph, who had been warned to flee in a dream, with his wife and child. Medicinal and funereal herbs and spices like frankincense and myrrh could have been traded in the market on the way to Egypt, or for housing in Egypt, or for clothing to blend in as refugees. A stored coin or two could have made the journey back to Galilee possible when again, told in a dream, Joseph took his family back in safety.

Rockwell wonders if Jesus’ later stories commending the housewife who searched her house diligently for lost coins or those coming to the aid of strangers didn’t have their seeds in stories told in his own childhood home. Three gifts for the journey.

The wonderful Scottish theologian and poet John Philip Newell says that three things strike him about the story of the Magi. We might think of them as three gifts from the story-- 1. It’s a story about following stars and paying attention to dreams and how different that is from the training we receive in the West. Mostly we’re told to get our heads out of the stars and stop dreaming so we can pay attention to the "important" things, things that will really get us somewhere–a job, for starters.

#2 says Newell is that the story of the Magi is a story about finding the Light beyond the boundaries of the known and familiar, beyond our own nation, our own religious tradition, our own culture. That has certainly been true of my own exploration of other religious traditions. Like Newell, I should have known I was loved from my own tradition, yet somehow I was better able to truly hear it when it was reinforced from another tradition. They complement one another, rather than compete with one another.

The third thing about the story of the Magi, for Newell, is the enormous risk involved. For it is true that the Light is a threat to political power. Any power that favors some and not all is false power. The reminder of the risk involved in the search is a gift to us when we find our-selves attacked, usually just verbally or mentally when we threaten the status quo, but for many of our brothers and sisters, the risk is far greater.

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Three gifts. Instead of making huge resolutions this new year, why not tuck in 3 gifts from the Magi that may help you find your way? One gift of those star-gazers and dreamers for us might be to give us permission to spend more time literally looking up at the stars– wondering, imagining, searching. Resolve to go outside even briefly every night that isn’t overcast, and notice the stars, maybe educate yourself and your kids and grandkids about the constellations and phases of the moon. Pay attention to your dreams–keep a pad of paper and pencil by your bedside and write down any dreams you can remember, before they fade. See what emerges. And pay attention to your daydreams–what does your heart desire?

A second gift might be an openness to learn from those outside your circle of family or friends, maybe outside your religion or nationality or culture. Ask a Jewish friend about what shabbat or sabbath means to them. Try facing east and first kneeling, then prostrating yourself to God, once, twice, maybe five times in a day. What body wisdom might you learn from our Muslim brothers and sisters? Our world is too connected, communication and learning from one another too simple to stay shut up in our own truths and traditions.

A third gift, for risk-taking, might be to practice taking 3 deep breaths each morning, perhaps saying an affirmation to yourself with each one–I am beloved or the Lord is my shepherd or Thank you for Your presence or just Thank you. If that breath becomes deeply enough part of you, you may be able to call it up in times of fear or distress or challenge.

And perhaps that is the greatest gift of the Magi–the discovery that the distant Light is actually the same Light that is at the heart of our own lives. The Breath that gives life to all life is in our own breath. We may go home by another way, but when we arrive home at last, we find it transformed. As poet Mary Oliver writes, "Then I go back to my house, my own life, which has now become brighter and simpler, somewhere I have never been before." Our daily bread becomes Christ’s body, the wine becomes Christ’s blood which flows through every vein.

Gifts for the journey, whether we travel far or simply deep. May the angels of light glisten for us this day. [Newell]. May we keep the feast. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Late Christmas Eve 2014-- "The Hopes & Fears..."

 

"The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee [Bethlehem] tonight." So wrote Philip Brooks and so we sang in the carol "O Little Town of Bethlehem" a little while ago. "The hopes and fears of all the years..."

"It’s been a punishing year in the news," David Green commented this morning on Morning Edition. That’s certainly one way to put it. You know the list–beheadings, school bombings, school shootings, police shootings, demonstrations, ISIS, Syria, Ebola, floods, fires, climate change, children at our borders without adults, and that’s just in national and international news. What punishing news has happened in your personal life? A job loss? A tough diagnosis of your health? The loss of a loved one? Divorce? "The hopes and fears of all the years..."

How about hopes? What are the hopes that you bring to this night? We have a wedding coming up this year, and so I am hoping for a stress-free, sunny day for that, but, more importantly, for a lifelong love for my daughter and son-in-law. How about you? Are you hoping for continued remission of cancer? A new job? A new relationship? Reconciliation with an estranged family member or friend? Retirement? A long-awaited vacation? Relief from depression and anxiety? Getting a handle on an addiction?

On a national and international level, we perhaps share many of the same hopes–hope for a deep healing of the racial divide in our country, relief for so many mothers and fathers of African-American boys and young men who fear for their lives, hope for the majority of poor and middle-class families and individuals who struggle daily to make ends meet, to put food on the table, to keep or get a decent roof over their heads, to get needed healthcare; hope for a narrowing of the gap between the 99 and the 1%; hope for a Congress that actually keeps the common, greater good in mind, rather than narrow, self-interests and partisan posturing; hope for an end to all wars, hope for an end to the poisoning of the atmosphere and waters and soil of the planet; so many hopes...

"The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee [o little town of Bethlehem] tonight." Phillips Brooks is said to have written this poem after having ridden on horseback from Jerusalem to Bethlehem across the "Field of the Shepherds" on Christmas Eve in 1865. Back then, and even more so back when Mary and Joseph approached it, it looked little and defenseless. Talk about your backwater town, your hiccup in a Roman army drinking song. Today, of course, it’s surrounded by a wall to keep the Palestinians in–or out–or wherever they’re not supposed to be. Just a little town, a point of nothingness...

Thomas Merton wrote that there is an untouchable place in each one of us–a pointe vierge, as he called it

"At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God... from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness... is so to speak His name written in us... It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely."

This is the open space, an empty manger, if you will, a virgin womb. It is there that God enters in. It is from there that the divine human in each of us grows. When our defenses are down, when our cynicism is checked for a moment, maybe when our weariness kicks in and we are utterly open, there is indeed the possibility that God will be born in us.

So we bring our hopes and fears for ourselves and our world tonight. Is it just childish naivete that lets us hope for something new to be born in us and in our world? The not naive or sentimental historian Howard Zinn once wrote this–

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

Just this past Monday an article on Slate.com entitled, "The World Is Not Falling Apart," commented on the apparent ratcheting up of bad news and despair--

How can we get a less hyperbolic assessment of the state of the world? Certainly not from daily journalism. News is about things that happen, not things that don’t happen. We never see a reporter saying to the camera, "Here we are, live from a country where a war has not broken out"—or a city that has not been bombed, or a school that has not been shot up. As long as violence has not vanished from the world, there will always be enough incidents to fill the evening news. And since the human mind estimates probability by the ease with which it can recall examples, newsreaders will always perceive that they live in dangerous times. All the more so when billions of smartphones turn a fifth of the world’s population into crime reporters and war correspondents.

A careful, objective look at murder rates, rates of violence against women and children, wars between states, democratization, and number of civilians killed in mass killings or genocides since the 1940's shows a decline in every indicator. "Look at the trend lines," Bill Clinton said, "not the headlines." "The world is not falling apart," conclude these authors Steve Pinker and Andrew Mack.

"The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight." We come tonight with our hopes and fears and at this table, the God of the universe becomes embodied in our flesh. The God who is energy and light and love, justice and peace and hope, becomes a vulnerable child, a pointe vierge, and climbs up into our laps to love and be loved by us. This bread becomes God’s body and our body, the cup becomes God’s blood, our blood. The hopes and fears of all the years are met here tonight, so may our hopes empower us and our fears not paralyze us.

May this prayer of Thomas Merton, who saw his hopes and fears wrapped up in all the people he saw that day on the street corner in Louisville, be our prayer tonight–

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone. [from Thoughts in Solitude]

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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front news 12/20

Sunday December 21st we lit the 4th candle, the Candle of Love, and children presented the Christmas pageant. After worship, a Birthday party for Jesus was celebrated with sandwiches and cake. Carolers left from the church at 1pm to serenade the homebound.

Christmas Eve Services:

Wed., Dec. 24, at 5 pm. Through lessons, carols, and candles, we hear and tell the story. Our Second Congo Brass will play Music of the Season, beginning at 4:30, and the Jubellaire Ringers and Chancel Choir will offer anthems of hope and joy.

Also on Christmas Eve at 10 pm. will be a more contemplative, simple service of carols, candles, and communion.

A free will offering for the Emergency Fuel and Food Fund will be taken at both Christmas Eve Services

If you are interested in being part of the Pickup Choir at the 10pm Christmas Eve service speak to Mary or Bruce Lee-Clark

If you would like to bring a poinsettia for the Christmas Eve service please have it here by 10 am on Wednesday. Please remember to label your flower with your name and given in memory/honor of.

Christmas Flowers are given by:

Jan & Dick Fabricius in memory of loved ones
Lara Frenzel-Clark for her grandparents Mr. & Mrs. Walt Clark & family. And for her brother, Jeremy Frenzel.
Marjorie LaRowe in memory of her mother, Marjorie LaRowe
Mary & Bruce Lee-Clark in memory of loved ones
Norma & Ted Thomas in memory of loved ones
Syd & Marilyn Russell in memory of Patricia Urban
Beth Wallace in memory of Mary F. Skidmore

Looking ahead:

On Sunday, December 28th, at our 10 o'clock Sunday worship, when we'll sing the story through carols of your choosing. No Godly Play this morning, though nursery care will be available, so children are invited to sing with us.

Sunday, December 28th, at 3pm join St. James Episcopal Church in the Messiah Sing-Along! Whether you sing along, hum, or simply listen you’ll be delighted with this 10th annual Messiah Program, directed by Scott Smidinghoff. The program includes the Advent and Christmas section of Handel’s choral masterpiece, as well as the Hallelujah Chorus. A chamber orchestra and a talented vocal soloist Katie Beck, Robyn Madison, Rev. Scott Neal and Mark Madison will accompany the chorus. Just show up and bring your voice, enthusiasm and holiday spirit!

Tuesday, January 6th, the Trustees meet at 7 pm in Room 6.

Tuesday, January 13th, will be the date of the next Administrative Council meeting at 7pm.

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front announce 12/20

Come, Seek, Pray, Learn

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” wrote the great poet and author Maya Angelou. At Second Congregational Church, on this last Sunday in June, 2 weeks after the killings in Charleston, SC, Rev. Mary Lee-Clark will reflect on our response to that tragedy and the long-standing wounds of our nation, in her sermon entitled, “The Caged Bird.” Worship begins at 10 a.m., and all people of faith or in search of faith are welcome. Scripture readings include King David’s lament over Saul and Jonathan in 2 Samuel and two healing stories from Mark’s gospel. New members will be received.
Second Congregational Church is an Open and Affirming congregation of the United Church of Christ. We welcome all to our work and worship, without regard to age, race, economic condition, disability, or sexual orientation. Our building is located at 115 Hillside St. and is wheelchair-accessible. Nursery care is provided. For further information, call the church office at 802-442-2559.

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“Good News!?”-- Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11, Luke 1:46-55-- Dec. 14, 2014

 

Some have suggested that we not light the Candle of Joy today; that to light such a candle flies in the face of all the grief and suffering and rage in our nation and world--

How can we light a candle of joy when there is so little joy in far too many lives –writes our Associate Conference Minister, The Rev. Pam Lucas in an alternative candlelighting liturgy--
So little joy even in our Christmas story –
as Jesus’ life will be threatened by the world’s power –
as babies under the age of two will be slaughtered in the attempt to eliminate the child Jesus –
as Jesus and his family will be forced to flee as undocumented immigrants to Egypt -
As Jesus would grow up and be nailed to a cross as a political prisoner.

... when hope and [peace] are denied to any one of God’s children –
how dare we light a candle of JOY when there are still lives considered to be expendable - of lesser or of no value.
And so on this 3rd Sunday of Advent
(we will not light the candle of joy because) OR
(we light this candle of Joy even as we remember that…)
there is no joy in injustice –
there is no joy when there is no hope –
and there is no joy where there is hatred -
and there is no joy when we continue to weep for young lives ending too soon –

Yet we also remember God did not leave us on our own. Jesus is Emmanuel – God with us – now and always.

Obviously, we did light the Candle of Joy this morning, even as we lit the Candles of Hope and Peace, but the context in which we light them is essential to remember. Just as it is important to remember the context in which our readings from Isaiah and Luke were set.

Isaiah–now the third writer in this book using the name Isaiah –this Isaiah was addressing the exiles returned to their homeland, along with those who had been left behind in Babylon’s deportation of the elite of Judah.

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,” this Isaiah cries, “for the Lord has anointed me and sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; ...They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities; the devastations of many generations.”

Ruins were the context of this Isaiah. Depression. Mourning. Power struggles.
Devastation. When the Babylonian armies had left with their captives, the fires and smoldering ruins of the cities and countryside of Judah had been left behind, along with the “non-elites.” Solomon’s gloriousTemple was a pile of rubble. Not much had changed when the exiles returned, 2 generations later, and the people who had been left behind were just as tired and discouraged as the exiles. They weren’t overly thrilled to have these unknown exiles and family members back and assuming they would resume their leadership roles. “Joy” was not exactly abounding. “Good news” was hard to come by.

Yet here is Isaiah, singing a song of love and energy–
I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, he sings, my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.

Depression and hopelessness are good news for those in power, for they keep things the way they are. Energy and hope, on the other hand, are good news for those who do not benefit from the status quo, for only then are things likely to change. Demonstrations in cities across the country, the “die-ins” by black Congressional staffers on the steps of Capitol Hill, professional sports players raising their hands in solidarity, ...I believe these are all signs of the Spirit of the God of justice at work, stirring things up. God is at work in the ruins. God is calling us to be partners in this work of rebuilding, just as God called the people of Judah through the prophet Isaiah to be about planting new gardens, building bridges, restoring hope.

Just so Mary’s song, called Magnificat from its first word in Latin, sings of old, entrenched ways being turned upside down.

My soul magnifies the Lord, Mary sings, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant...He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty...

If you’re familiar with Bach’s Magnificat, you know the energy and excitement Mary’s song embodies. Something is definitely afoot. “Somethin’s coming, something good,” as Leonard Bernstein’s West Side Story song says. But that “something good” wasn’t patently obvious to Mary. Here she was young and unmarried, “with child” in a most extraordinary way. The more usual outcome would be stoning as an adulteress or abandonment by Joseph and the life of an outcast.

“Your vocation,” your calling, writes Frederick Buechner, “is where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” (Wishful Thinking) Your deep gladness. I think that is how we need to think of “joy” on this Third Sunday in Advent. Not entertainment, not cheap thrills or substance-induced giddiness, not a surface phenomenon but deep gladness. What makes you feel glad to be alive? What music is the deepest, truest song of your heart? Have you ever stopped to listen for it?

If that song or that gladness is deep enough, of course, it won’t be just your song or your gladness. It will be fed from that even deeper Source that runs through all life. And so it will be directed to the world’s deep hunger, as Buechner says, from the spring that lies deep in your heart.

“Mary was able to magnify God,” writes Carl Gregg, “because she was humbly open to the unexpected new life God was birthing within her, inviting us to echo her prayer, Let it be, Let it be. Let it be.” [patheos, 12/1/11] “Whisper words of wisdom,” the Beatles said, “let it be.” May it be so, Mary said. Can we be still enough, quiet enough, open enough, to let the unexpected new life God is birthing within us emerge and join with others to bring about a new creation?

Nobel Prize winner Leymah Gbowee writes of a dream she had in the midst of the war that ravaged her homeland of Liberia from 1989-2003. “Gather the women to pray for peace!” the vision said. She told her dream to her Lutheran women’s prayer group, and the leader of the group prayed, “Thank you for supplying us with this vision. Give us your blessing, Lord, and offer us your protection and guidance in helping us to understand what it means.” It was the start of the Liberian women’s peace movement.

The women shared their stories. All of them had seen and suffered horrors, of husbands and sons hacked before their eyes, of cocaine-crazed child soldiers roaming the countryside. About 20 Lutheran women met every Tuesday at noon to pray. One meeting a Muslim woman introduced herself and said she wanted to join them. “Praise the Lord!” the Christian women cried and an alliance was formed. Training sessions and workshops followed. The women passed out brochures and marched to city hall. Three days a week for 6 months they visited mosques, the markets, and the churches of Monrovia. “Liberian Women,” they cried. “Awake for peace!”

The women finally forced Charles Taylor into peace talks. They barricaded the reluctant, do-nothing men inside the talks until they reached an agreement. Disarmament followed. Voters were registered, and Liberians elected Ellen Johnson Sirleaf as the first woman President of an African nation. “Who were these women?” ‘I will say,’ says Gbowee, ‘they are ordinary mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters. They sowed bitter tears. They went out weeping. And they acted on their dreams of peace, joy, and laughter for their beloved country.” (Cited by Dan Clendenin, Journey with Jesus, 12/5/11)

Ordinary people, humbly open to God, to their dreams and their deepest longings, fully aware of the deep hunger of the world. “The truth is,” wrote M. Scott Peck, “that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.” [cited by Kate Huey in Sermon Seeds, 12/14/14]

“This Advent, how is God calling you to sing new lyrics to Mary’s song?” another writer asks. [Carl Gregg, op cit.] How is the Spirit moving within you such that in the new year your soul may ever more fully magnify God?” All of us–prophets and those terrified of speaking in public, young women and men, children who see the world through innocent eyes and elders who see with new eyes, a second naivete, even, ordinary people, like shepherds on a hillside–all of us, are called to bear witness to the mighty love of God, which even now, in the midst of ruins, is dismantling injustice, lifting up the lowly, planting new gardens. That mighty Love is calling us to be partners in this new creation, using our gifts, our talents, our skills, our unique songs. So may our joy, our deep gladness, increase and burst into bloom, and along with Hope, Peace, and Love, be born anew in our world. May it be so.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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