Second Congregational Church

"Connected through Grief"-- John 18: 33-38a-- Nov. 22, 2015

At the end of a week of such violence and heartbreak–not only bombings and shootings in Paris and the ongoing search for accomplices in Belgium and beyond, but also hostage-taking in Bamako, Mali, ongoing violence in Iraq and Lebanon, in Afghanistan and Nigeria, in cities of our country, in places known and unknown to us, in places near and far, violence and brutality and hate- and fear-mongering–at the end of such a week, like so many other weeks, how can we possibly claim that Christ is sovereign over all the world?

"Are you a king?" Pilate asked Jesus on that dark night in the praetorium. "My kingdom is not from this world," Jesus answered. "If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here."

Notice that he said, "My kingdom is not from here." He didn’t say, "My kingdom is not here." The kingdom that Christ reigns is not about location–not some other-worldly place–but the reign of Christ is about relationships. It is not about relationships of violence, like a kingdom here in "the world," as John refers to it–"If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews." Your kingdom, Pilate, is run by violence, and in your kingdom people like me get beaten and crucified. In your kingdom, and kingdoms like yours, people blow themselves up, mow down innocents at restaurants and concerts, return hatred with hatred, violence with violence. "But as it is, my kingdom is not from here...I came to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." And Pilate asked him, "What is truth?"

As Nancy Rockwell wrote, "Jesus freely walks into the city [of Jerusalem] knowing the truth that Pilate doesn’t know...the truth that life [and love] cannot be stopped by brutality and cruelty. Pilate looks to the world to see where power lies and where power rises, and sees only the absence of power in Jesus." [patheos, 11/22/15] Only the absence of power in Jesus, in this man who this time the next day would be dead and laid in a tomb...utterly powerless. Except that we know what power was at work in him, a power that brutality and cruelty could not ultimately stop. It was the power of resurrection, the power of love, the power of kindness, the power of relationships that are not based in violence. "Are you a king?"

Still, in the midst of the bombs, in the midst of the beatings, in the midst of the gaping holes of grief over loved ones–these and others-- lost suddenly or over a long, agonizing time, life and love do not feel so powerful. It feels like heartbreak. It feels like being torn apart. It feels like utter powerlessness. "Are you a king?"

Parker Palmer writes that "Heartbreak is such a constant that every ancient wisdom tradition seeks to answer three questions: How can we prepare for heartbreak? How should we hold it when it comes, as it always will? Where will we let it take us–toward more death or new life?" [onbeing, blog, 11/18/15]

I shared yesterday at Marge Page’s funeral that last weekend, days after the Paris bombings, Michel Martin of National Public Radio had told of friend of hers–a neighbor, a teacher–who had died. "I mourn her," Martin said, "because I know her and appreciate her, but I also mourn her because the grieving of one merges into the grieving of others." Each grief merges not only into other griefs we’ve experienced, but also into the grief that all human beings share. "We bereaved are not alone," Helen Keller wrote. "We belong to the largest company in all the world–the company of those who have known suffering. When it seems that our sorrow is too great to be borne, let us think of the great family of the heavy-hearted into which our grief has given us entrance, and inevitably, we will feel about us their arms, their sympathy, their understanding. Believe, when you are most unhappy, that there is something for you to do in the world. So long as you can sweeten another’s pain, life is not in vain."

How do we prepare for heartbreak? "Attentive students of life [Parker Palmer writes] learn to exercise the heart day in and day out, allowing life’s ‘little deaths’ to stretch us in ways that make our hearts suppler." Little deaths like, spending yourself, disappointments, failures, the death of a dream or a relationship, "every day a little death," as the song from the musical "A Little Night Music" puts it. "Then," Palmer says, "when larger forms of suffering strike, our hearts can break open rather than apart–giving them a greater capacity to hold life’s pain as well as its possibilities and joys." [op cit.]

How do we hold heartbreak when it comes, and where do we let it take us? We share in the great company of the bereaved, as Helen Keller says, and use our experience to lighten the load of others, for one thing. And also this wisdom from the wonderful Palestinian-American poet Naomi Shihab Nye--"Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside," she writes, "you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing." Her poem called "Kindness" is deep medicine and wisdom for a day like today and a world like ours.

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness...

... Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

It is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you everywhere

like a shadow or a friend. [cited by Palmer, op cit.]

"In a world that can be as heedless and as heartless as ours," Palmer writes, "kindness must grow from deep roots if it is to be strong and sustainable." Our faith must grow from deep roots, if it is to be strong and sustainable, if it is to carry us through our loss and grief and into the new days of hope and resurrection and life.

On this Reign of Christ Sunday, we pledge our allegiance to this Sovereign–

"When we speak about wisdom," wrote the 4^th c. bishop Ambrose of Milan, "we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about virtue, we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about justice, we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about peace, we are speaking of Christ. When we speak about truth and life and redemption, we are speaking of Christ." So may wisdom and virtue, justice and peace, truth and life and redemption and kindness rule our lives and our world, as we give thanks and remember this day.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Pet Pourri

[fsg_photobox rows="3" cols="3" autoplay="true" link="attachment"] An inter-generational work-bee on Saturday November 14 was a lot of fun. We made toys, fleece beds, treats and more for dogs and cats, as well as seed wreaths for birds. These environmentally friendly gifts for animals and animal-lovers will be sold at the Pet-Pourri table, a new and special feature of the 2015 Snowball Bazaar. Crafted by the Eaarth Advocates group (plus two boys who came to help the church clean-up) during two Saturday work-bees, they were made under the supervision of a professional veterinarian of our congregation. This project of the grassroots group Eaarth Advocates continues the group's work to promote what we can do to care for our planet, individually, as families, as a church and community, and in the wider world.

Fall cleanup

[fsg_photobox rows="2" cols="3" autoplay="true" link="attachment"] Despite the cool and windy Saturday, a good turn-out of hardy congregation members brought rakes, leaf blowers and tarps to collect the fallen autumn leaves and spruce up our church grounds before winter. Coffee, donuts and homemade chocolate chip cookies helped to warm the hard-working crew, which finished all the leaves before noon.

"When Enough Isn’t Enough"-- 1 Samuel 1:4-20, Mark 13:1-8 --Nov. 15, 2015

Yesterday morning I re-read the sermon I had written on Friday and decided it wasn’t enough. It was perfectly adequate, but it wasn’t enough for the world we were reminded we live in after the attacks in Paris Friday night. Of course, it’s the same world that people in Iraq and Beirut and Afghanistan know all too well, but we who see ourselves in the people of Paris only seem to acknowledge that world when people who look like us and our children are victims of such horror and violence.

All of a sudden, those apocalyptic scenes from our Mark reading–where great stones and buildings are toppled, there are wars and rumors of war, where nation rises up against nation, kingdom against kingdom, there are earthquakes and famine–all those scenes of things falling apart don’t seem quite so wild-eyed and crazy. And Jesus’ warning about not being led astray by false messiahs also comes to mind. Let’s not rush to conclusions, not be too quick to hurl the bombs in return. Let’s try not to make the same mistakes over and over again.

Mark’s community lived in times no less uncertain than our own. Tensions with Rome were leading up to the destruction of Jerusalem and the toppling of all those impressive stones of the Temple, or perhaps already had. Those early Christians still expected Jesus to return in equal power and set all things right. The problem of living in times of confusion, challenge, and distress is that we are tempted to be impressed by the wrong things–like fire power, like prestige, like glib answers, like economic wealth, like over-the-top presentations, like the promise of somebody else coming in to clean up your life, make it all better.

"This is but the beginning of the birthpangs," Jesus said. Yippee. So much for making everything right. Uncertainty and insecurity is the name of the game apparently, so you’d better know who you are and Whose you are in the midst of all this–beloved children of God. "The antidote to uncertainty, it turns out," David Lose says, "isn’t certainty, but courage; and the best response to insecurity is the confidence that comes from knowing that God esteems you worthy of dignity, honor, and love." [inthemeantime, 11/15/15] You are a beloved child of God. And we know that it is fear–not courage-- that is exactly what the false messiahs and powers that be of the world are counting on.

A classmate of mine in my Positive Psychology course has started an organization in Cleveland, OH called "Thrive Cleveland," which is doing all sorts of creative things to help people in Cleveland–you guessed it–thrive. Right now, they are in the third and final day of a "Scare Your Soul Challenge." "At least once in your life...[their promotional website says] you did something that was brave and generous and important. The only question is...when will we care enough to be brave again?" (Seth Godin) "Sometimes, being happy isn’t all about being comfortable. Sometimes, being happy is all about being brave." "The science of happiness teaches us that we really maximize our happiness when we push our comfort zones, and do those things we know are holding us back. Taking on challenges reinforces what is good in each of us,

and the result is amazing–we are LIT UP by our successes and we want to take on even more."

So the Scare Your Soul Challenge is this: "For one 3-day period (Nov. 13-15) we invite you to conquer some of the fears and obstacles which hold you back. Fear that is preventing you from writing that novel, launching that business, taking on the next fitness challenge, or even connecting with the people you love the most." One young girl is going to the top floor of a tall building. Another man is making some long put-off medical appointments. An older woman is going back to physical therapy after 4 years. What if you brainstormed to think of 3 actions that would scare you, excite you, or inspire you? Start with one small thing. It doesn’t have to be sky-diving! One of those scary, but maybe inspiring, things might be taking the first 5% of every pay check and giving it away–to help light up the world, to give to the church or wherever you see God at work in the world. Scare Your Soul Challenge.

Those of us who are white have the privilege of not living everyday with the fear that our skin color or bone structure will be an issue, and more, will be the subject or object of violence, verbal or physical. Knowing that so many of their brothers and sisters will never have the privilege of going to college, the students of color at the University of Missouri might have settled into their fear or simply "counted their blessings," simply said, "It’s enough that we’re here." Instead, when the university president and administration responded with a stunning lack of empathy to the racial slurs hurled at the black student body president and black student organization, and when a swastika painted in human feces was smeared on a residence hall, the students said "Enough!". A 25 year-old graduate student, Jonathan Butler, sensing the deep disconnect and even hostility from the white students, announced that he would go on a hunger strike until President Tim Wolfe resigned or was removed from office. He signed a DNR [do not resuscitate] order and updated his will. Jim Wallis of Sojourners wrote, "His extraordinary action was exemplary of how non-violent action that risks an individual’s safety, security, and even life can inspire others to act–even a football team." [Sojourners, 11/12/15] Black members of the football team, supported by their coach, refused to practice or play until Butler started eating again, and when it became apparent that the university would have to pay Brigham Young University a million dollars if they refused to play the upcoming televised game, the president resigned. Enough was not enough. We have to something, start somewhere. Systems will not fix themselves.

Who knows how many years Hannah put up with the looks, the comments, her own self-loathing, before she walked past the priest Eli and laid her heart open to God. "Count your blessings," someone might have said to Hannah. "Count your blessings–you’ve got a husband who loves you, who even gives you double portions of meat. You are cared for, with food and shelter. Isn’t that enough?"

But being barren in those days meant having no future, for children were thought to be the only security–the ones who would care for you in your old age, the ones in whom at least your memory would live on. Simply existing wasn’t enough. Plus, it didn’t look like there was much of a future for Israel. At the end of the book of Judges, which describes the setting at the beginning of 1 Samuel, the tribes had all dispersed to their own territories and, the conclusion of Judges says, "In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes."

Writer Anais Nin wrote poignantly and powerfully, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." So Hannah risked the scorn of the priest, the consternation of her husband, and went straight to God with her vow. And Hannah, having unburdened her soul, left the temple radiant in her faith. Indeed, her request was granted, and some time later, she gave birth to a son, whom she named Samuel. At last, not only she had a future, but so did Israel, as Samuel would ultimately become a judge and the priest who anointed Israel’s first king, Saul, and finally David.

"Count your blessings." Isn’t it enough that you have a loving family, a comfortable place to live, reasonable financial security, fairly good health? Of course, our culture doesn’t know the meaning of "enough," and bombards us with all sorts of messages that keep us chronically wanting something more–a nicer car, a bigger house, or a house with a more open floor plan, a smarter smart phone, more channels on our tv, a faster time in our races, a higher ranking in our sports league, a few less pounds, a few less wrinkles and gray hairs.

That’s the kind of life that makes sense to others, but does it feel right to us? Even when we’ve got the raise, or moved into the house, or won the race, is it enough? Is the approval of others enough for us? What would it take for you to blossom? " The path to enough," writes Anna Shirey, "begins when we decide to quit settling...when we risk being vulnerable with God with [our] heart’s desire." [Anna Shirey, thelabyrinthway.net] Have you ever allowed yourself to identify your heart’s desire?

There is a powerful shift when we give our heart its voice, Shirey says, when we let go of the predictability of life, perhaps being misunderstood by others, even the jealousy of others who are stuck. "And somehow in our deepest selves we intuit our life becomes more about sacrifice, about letting go, than in building up." (Op cit.)

What if we did that as a church? What if we let go of the predictability of what we do? That is, in part, what Doug Pagitt suggests being "Church in the Inventive Age" is about. What if we opened up our building at night to house homeless people for a month or two or three during the winter? What if we supported and worked in an afterschool program for kids who have nowhere else to go? What if we didn’t worry so much about what others thought of us?

Hannah’s longing to have a child was ultimately not merely a selfish desire. "Our desire, our longing for freedom," writes one woman, "is an expression of all of Creation waiting to be born–this time through us." [Shirey, op cit.] When you see these things," Jesus said to the disciples–nations at war, structures unraveling–"they are the birthpangs of the future." God is alarmingly free to act," as one writer puts it. [Micah Kiel, workingpreacher, 2012] When she dedicates her son to God, Hannah sings a song that would become the model for another woman’s song when she becomes pregnant unexpectedly. "Magnificat," we call that song of Mary, "My soul magnifies the Lord, because he has thrown the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the poor."

So even into our troubled world, a world of bombings and suicide bombers, of refugees streaming from countries made unbearable by violence and cruelty and poverty, even into our world the song is still being sung. "Listen," one prophet writes, all those wars and rumors of wars?

Listen: It’s all true, or it’s freaked out fearful chatter, or who knows,

but then what anyway? All is prologue and prelude, lift up your

heart to the universe: the ultimate word and song are yet to come:

sonnets of peace, grace notes of lovingkindness, rumors spreading

of Spirit filling up the desolate space between when all this

cosmic crucifixion will rest and then rise a sanctified singularity."[Michael Coffey, Ocotillo Pub, Nov. 14, 2012]

"All is prologue and prelude. Lift up your heart to the universe: the ultimate word and song are yet to come." May we live into that world with hope, with courage, with generosity, and love.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"You want me to give what?!"- I Kings 17:8-16, Mark 12:38-44-- Nov. 8, 2015

Two widows, both possibly in their last days, both at the end of their resources certainly. The word "widow" in Hebrew means "silenced one," "one who has no voice" [Seasons of the Spirit, 11/8/15] –and neither of these women, like so many other women in the Bible, are given a name. So, no time, no resources, no voice, no name.

And yet, here we are, 2 and a half, and 2 millenia later, hearing their stories, looking somehow to connect their stories with our story. On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be much similarity–like a "bridge too far"--the one woman, in the middle of a drought, gathering up sticks for firewood on which to make what would surely be the last meal for her and her son, for there was only a handful of meal and a little oil left in her jug. And along comes the prophet Elijah, asking for some water–in the midst of the drought–and a little morsel of bread, which was all that that handful of meal and drib of oil were going to make. "Give me all you’ve got left," Elijah might as well have said to her, except that he wasn’t a robber. In his asking and in her giving, they opened up the spigot to an ever-flowing stream of sustenance. "She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that God spoke by Elijah."

The other woman slips into the offering line at the Temple, barely visible among the long robes and grand gestures of the scribes and clergy. [Always makes me a little uncomfortable robing when this Scripture reading comes around in the cycle] She empties the little coin purse and slips in the contents–a couple of coins that together are worth about a penny. And nobody notices her or her offering–except Jesus. He notices her. "She out of her poverty has put in everything," he comments to his disciples–and to himself, "all she had to live."

Jesus is within days of dying himself, as this scene takes place in Jerusalem, during what we now call Holy Week. If the widow has indeed put in all she had to live, she too will die a few days later, as one commentator has pointed out [Debie Thomas, journeywithjesus, 11/1/15]. Notice that Jesus doesn’t exactly praise the widow’s offering, but he does notice it–notices her courage, her dignity, her self-sacrifice, her pre-figuring what he will do in the days ahead. "She gave everything she had, all she had to live on."

This is not a ready-made illustration for a Stewardship campaign sermon. If anything, it’s a condemnation of the religious institution that lifts up the wealthy who have way more than they need to live on and which bores people with their long prayers. "Long prayers are miserable enough," commentator Mark Davis remarks. "Pretentious long prayers? Even worse." (leftbehindand lovingit, 11/8/15] As soon as the widow slips away, Jesus and his disciples leave the Temple, and when one of them remarks at the grandness of the building, Jesus says that it’ll all be destroyed with not one stone left standing on another. Any institution that devours the vulnerable and bloats its treasury so the wealthy can have more is doomed for destruction. We can only imagine Jesus’ review of the newly released books on the Vatican’s alleged diverting of money given to benefit the poor that ended up supplying the Curia with luxuries.

Perhaps it is, in part, this betrayal by religious institutions of all types that has contributed to the current situation in this country and Europe where more and more people identify themselves as "spiritual but not religious." Have we asked people to commit their lives to an institution, or to God? If it has been only to the institution, then that institution may be in decline to the betterment of all. If we can preserve the real treasure of the institution–the community, the practices, the resources that enable and empower people to live out their love of God and neighbor and their best selves–then that is an institution worth revitalizing, to support people in their love for God.

We, of course, are in the midst of our stewardship campaign, but the issue really isn’t about money. It’s about what the money is for. Can we use our money to give voice to the voiceless, to bring into our midst those who have been shoved to the margins of our society? Do we use our money to help our neighbors live with dignity, to have the food and shelter and healthcare they need? Do we use our money to provide resources for people to come together for support and mutual accountability, to learn the practices of faith, to explore ways to embody "whole life living," which is what the widow pointed to? Do we use our money to spark imaginations about the abundance that exists in the midst of what appears to others to be merely scarcity? So we use our money to help people love God? Do we use our money to light up the world?

The widow of Zarepheth was not at all sure that Elijah’s request was anything but an abuse of desert hospitality which would simply hasten death. But, as Cameron Howard writes, "The widow’s doubt, as well as her profession of faith, may also be our own. It is easy to believe in death-dealing powers, for that is what we witness in the world every day. It is much harder to imagine the power of love that conquers death." [workingpreacher.org, 11/2013]

It is hard to "imagine the power of love that conquers death" when all around us, with every newscast, every item on our newsfeed, and many conversations on the street, we see and hear only about death and dying, really. The life that is lifted up is shallow, fleeting, solitary, needing to be desperately preserved and clung to. But we have an alternative to offer, an alternative that is generous, self-giving, communal, expansive. "Generosity connects us with the energy of the universe and the wisdom of God," as Bruce Epperly writes, "which will provide for our deepest needs." [Faith Forward, Patheos, 2010]

The rich, the successful, the "winners" are the ones held up by our society and, too often, by the church, to be noticed. They are the ones whom God has blessed, we even say. Except that Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor," not because it’s fun or healthy or even desireable to be poor, but because there are no illusions about being self-sufficient and all-powerful and in control when you’re poor. Jesus noticed the widow dropping in her two coins. Do we take the time to notice those who have no voice or power? Do we try to understand what it is like not to be in charge of your day, your time, even your body? Can we imagine what it is like to have to respond to crises everyday, another child getting in trouble, something wrong with the car so you can’t get to work, the money you had saved in an envelope to go toward the rent stolen to buy drugs? Do we notice, and if we do, is it only with judgment? Don’t be too busy to notice, Jesus says, or too spiritual, or too self-absorbed to notice.

The gospel–the good news–in all of this is in the God revealed in Jesus [David Lose, inthemeantime, 11/8/15], the God who gives God’s whole life, God’s whole self for us and for the world. The invitation into God’s kingdom is the invitation into whole life living, whole-hearted living, pouring ourselves out for others because the stream of living waters–the fountain of Love-- never runs dry. When death-dealing powers seem to be all around us, we can trust in the love that not only embraces but conquers death. Notice the ones who are giving of themselves; join together with them and encourage and remind one another of the divine energy and wisdom at work in the world, set loose in the world. If you want to call that coming together "church" insofar as you embody Christ in the world, so be it. Invest in it. Support it with your time, your talent, your treasure, your whole lives. So may we light up the world.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Sunday Bulletin Announcements

Birthdays and Celebrations

December 20 - Eileen Peckham, 91
December 21 - Veronique O'Brien
December 22 - Jack Haynes
December 23 - Alec Nicol, 22

Christmas Altar Flowers— If you wish to bring poinsettias for the Christmas Eve Altar, please have them in by Tuesday, December 22. If you’d like to give them in someone’s memory or honor, have the name(s) into Rebekah by Tuesday, December 22nd as well.

Wednesday December 23, 6pm Handbell choir rehearsal

Christmas Eve—
5 p.m. Service of Candlelight, Carols, and Music of the Season, beginning with the Second Congo Brass at 4:30 p.m. Time of catching up with new and old friends over a cup of hot cider follows in Webster Hall.
10 p.m. Service of Communion, Candles, and Carols.
If you'd like to sing in the pick-up choir for the late service, speak with Mary or Bruce Lee-Clark.
A free-will offering for the Food and Fuel Fund will be received at both Christmas Eve services. Make checks out to Second Congregational Church, with “FFF” in the memo.

Sunday, Dec. 27- 10 am worship - Time to relax and reflect upon
Christmas with carols, stories and a baptism. There will be no Godly Play.

Reading Group - The Reading Group will gather after worship on Sunday, January 3, for discussion of books on the second reading list. Theme - Books about the Bible. The leader will be Jan Lerrigo. You are welcome to attend whether you have read books from the list or not.

Annual Meeting is just around the corner! All members of The Second Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, of Bennington, Vermont, are warned to be present on January 24, 2016 for the Annual Meeting of the Church. The Annual Meeting will begin immediately after lunch which will follow the worship service.
Please have all reports submitted electronically to the office by January 11th.

"Saints in the Making"- Ruth 1:1-18, Mark 12:28-34-- Nov. 1, 2015

All Saints’ Day–the "hallow" part of "Halloween." The same as the word used in the King James version of the Lord’s Prayer–"hallowed be Thy name," [not Harold, as some may presume]. "Holy be Your name."

All Saints’ Day. We Protestants don’t quite know what to do with saints. It sounds so, well, Catholic, and we watch the debates and struggles of our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters over who should or shouldn’t be called a saint and how fast should be the fasttrack to sainthood with some consternation and even amusement. Calls for making Pope John Paul and Mother Theresa saints began upon their deaths. More recently, during his September visit to the U.S., Pope Francis canonized the 18^th c. Spanish missionary Junipero Serra, which thrilled many Latinos who to see one of their own so honored, while it appalled many Native Americans, who saw Fr. Serra as one of a long line of genocidal conquistadors.

For the first 300 years of their existence, Christians were by and large a persecuted sect, so models of faithfulness and courage were lifted up for encouragement. Relics were preserved and the dates of their deaths were honored. "The church eventually concluded," one commentator writes, "that all believers who had died, and not just famous saints, should rightly be commemorated," [Dan Clendenin, journeywithjesus, 10/25/15] and so in 835, Pope Gregory IV declared All Saints Day should be celebrated on November 1, though the Eastern Orthodox part of the Christian family celebrates it on the first Sunday after Pentecost.

Protestants are much more nervous about this celebration, and often prefer to focus instead on Reformation Day, Oct. 31, the All Hallows Eve on which Martin Luther posted his 95 points of disagreement–his 95 theses–on the church door in Wittenberg. Prince Frederick the Wise of Wittenberg had collected quite the cache of relics–allegedly including a tooth from St. Jerome, 3 pieces of Mary’s cloak, a piece of gold from the Three Wise Men, a piece of bread from the Last Supper, and a strand from Jesus’ beard. By 1520 he was said to have a collection of 19,013 holy bones.

"These distortions of the gospel made Luther’s blood boil." [Clendenin, op cit.] "What lies there are about relics! [he wrote] One claims to have a feather from the wing of the angel Gabriel, and the Bishop of Mainz has a twig from Moses’ burning bush. And how does it happen that 18 apostles are buried in Germany when Christ had only 12?" And of course, what really burned Luther, so to speak, was that these relics were publicly displayed on All Saints Day and for a fee, the pope would reduce your time in purgatory up to 1,902,202 years and 270 days. [a bargain at any price].

Protestants are thus historically nervous about saints, especially about the blurring of the line between honoring the saints and worshipping the saints. Though there are technical definitions of saints, including how many miracles they are to have performed, it is important to note that the apostle Paul wrote in his letters to the churches in Rome, Ephesus, and Philippi that all believers are called to be saints, not just faithful superstars. Martin Luther said that "every believer is simultaneously a saint and sinner," though we shouldn’t dismiss the value of holding up models of faithful people. In our celebrity culture, it would be–and is-- refreshing to point to people who, despite their fame and maybe fortune, have held on to values of humility and service and self-giving instead of self-serving. Sometimes it is the non-famous, everyday people who inspire us most and serve as models and encouragement for our own daily decision-making and actions. On All Saints Day, we are reminded that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, who have gone before us, who have experienced the same struggles and failures and small triumphs that we have, and that wherever we are on our journey, they are cheering us on.

You’ll notice [now] that we didn’t sing the great Reformation hymn "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" this morning, but rather, "I Sing a Song of the Saints of God." The two hymns could hardly be more different, with the weighty, sometimes dark, images of Luther’s hymn contrasting with the almost child-like images in the Scott and Hopkins hymn, with its refrain, "and I want to be one too."

I’ll admit that I’ve sometimes dismissed that as a rather naive sentiment, but I have new respect for it after reading a passage from Thomas Merton’s autobiography, The Seven-Story Mountain. Thomas Merton, you may recall, was a 20^th c. Trappist monk whose writings have earned him a place in many people’s most sacred treasures–some would call him a saint. In this section, "a young Thomas Merton walks down Sixth Ave. [in New York City] with his friend Lax on their way to Greenwich Village." [Suzanne Guthrie, Notes from the Enclosure, 11/1/15]

The street was all torn up and trenched and banked high with dirt and marked out with red lanterns where they were digging the subway, and we picked our way along the fronts of the dark little stores on our way to Greenwich Village [Merton writes]. The moment turned out to be historical, as far as my own soul is concerned.

I forget what we were arguing about, but in the end, Lax suddenly turned around and asked me the question, ‘What do you want to be, anyway?’

I could not say, ‘I want to be Thomas Merton, the well-known writer of all those book reviews in the back pages of the Times Book Review,’ or ‘Thomas Merton the assistant instructor of Freshman English at the New Life Social Institute for Progress and Culture,’ so I put the thin on the spiritual plane, where I knew it belonged and said: ‘I don’t know; I guess what I want to be is a good Catholic.’

‘What do you mean, You want to be a good Catholic?!’

The explanation I gave was lame enough, and expressed my confusion and betrayed how little I had really thought about it at all.

Lax did not accept it. ‘What you should say’–he told me–‘what you should say is you want to be a saint.’

A saint! The thought struck me as a little weird. I said: ‘How do you expect me to become a saint?’ ‘By wanted to,’ said Lax simply.

‘I can’t be a saint,’ I said, ‘I can’t be a saint.’ And my mind darkened with a confusion of realities and unrealities: the knowledge of my own sins, and the false humility which makes [people] say that they cannot do the things which they must do, cannot reach the level they must reach; the cowardice that says [in the end]....I do not want to give up my sins and my attachments.

[cited in Guthrie, op cit.]

"What do you want to be anyway?"

"One of the scribes asked Jesus, ‘Which commandment is the first of all?" Jesus answered, "The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these." And when the scribe agreed, saying he was right, and that loving God with everything and loving neighbor as yourself is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices, Jesus told him, "You are not far from the kingdom of God."

You become a saint by wanting to become a saint; by wanting to love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and wanting to love your neighbor as yourself. That’s how you start out–by wanting to do that, by setting an intention to do that. We all know what road is paved with good intentions, but it’s also the road that leads to God. And despite the spriteliness of the hymn, we know that it is not an easy path to follow. That’s why we take the time each week to call our souls back from where they’ve wandered from the pathway.

"Love God and love your neighbor as yourself." Start from that One Source. Who knows who might happen to notice in the way you’re walking the path that there can be another way of living in the world besides self-promotion, autonomy, and narcissism [Karoline Lewis, workingpreacher, 10/25/15], and in that way, you become a kind of model for "saintly" living. Maybe no one will notice, except God, but you will have been God’s face and hands and presence in the world, one more piece of the kingdom of heaven on earth.

You become a saint–a holy one, one who radiates God–by first wanting to. "And I want to be one too." That is a process of loving God, even of feeding on God. And so we come to this table, which is just a sliver of the Welcome Table God has spread for all the saints and all the would-be saints. "This is my body, this is my blood, the bread of life and the cup of blessing." Take and eat. Take and drink. Become one with me, God says. Become one with one another and with the whole world." Feed the saint in you. Let your light shine.

Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"It’s your lucky day!"- Jeremiah 31:7-9, Mark 10:46-52-- Oct. 25, 2015

If you had the chance to come before someone who you believed actually could do for you whatever you asked, what would you ask? If you’re like me, you may not have spent too much time thinking about it. After all, it’s one thing to fantasize about what you would do if you won the Publishers’ Clearinghouse sweepstakes or the lottery, and quite another thing to contemplate, even to acknowledge, your deepest, truest desire.

Last week we heard two of Jesus’ disciples’ request, as James and John pulled Jesus aside and asked him to do for them whatever they asked of him. And when he asked them, "What is it you want me to do for you?" they answered, "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory."

In today’s passage which Nora just read for us, Bartimaeus–the son of Timaeus who was also a blind beggar–was sitting by the side of the road outside of Jericho when he heard that Jesus was coming by. He began to "shout out"–the word is really more like "squawked"–"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Even though the crowd tried to hush him, he wouldn’t be shushed, and when Jesus heard him, he called him over. "It’s your lucky day," the crowd told him. Throwing off his begging cloak, Bartimaeus jumped up and came to Jesus, who then asked him, "What do you want me to do for you?" Sound familiar? "The blind man said, "Rabbouni, my teacher, let me see again."

Sitting right next to the one you believe is the Messiah in his glory, or having your sight restored? "What is it you want me to do for you?" Jesus was able to offer James and John only the same suffering and costly outpouring of self that were about to come his way, but he couldn’t grant them the seating positions they wanted in glory. He said that was God’s–not his–to grant. But to "blind" Bartimaeus, Jesus said, "Go; your faith has made you well." "Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way."

The difference between the two is striking. Already daily companions of Jesus, James and John merely pulled him aside and made their request to get a piece of his glory. Confined to a spot on the roadside, sitting on a cloak that signaled his need, Bartimaeus literally leaped at the chance to come before Jesus, refusing to be turned away. And when Jesus called him, he threw off the only worldly possession he had, that not only signaled his condition but kept him warm, and came to Jesus. He was all in, risking everything.

It is not the critic who counts [President Theodore Roosevelt said in a speech at the Sorbonne in Paris in April, 1910]; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiently; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds, who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.

Bartimaeus was in the arena, and he dared greatly. He wasn’t just "lucky"–he was in the game.

"What is it that you want me to do for you?" Dare we contemplate an answer to that question for ourselves or for us as a church? Just as Jesus said to James and John last week, "Be careful what you ask for," we would do well to consider what we truly want, what we are willing to step up for, what we are willing to dare greatly for.

"I want to see again," Bartimaeus answered. See again, he said, so he must not have been blind for his whole life. Blindness due to things like glaucoma or diseases due to poor hygiene were common in the ancient world, so it’s quite possible Bartimaeus developed his blindness later in life. "I want to see again." Those of you who’ve had cataract operations know the thrill of vision and vividness restored, the ability to see distances and faces without glasses.

But we also know there are a number of ways to see. "I want to see you again, Jesus. I want to believe or trust in God again," not necessarily the way I did when I was a child–I’ve seen too much, know too much, been hurt too much for that to be possible; but maybe as philosopher Paul Ricoeur talks about, maybe I could see or believe with a "second naivete," knowing all the reasons why it doesn’t make sense, maybe knowing enough about the Bible and people who claim to be Christians to know it’s not what it looks like, but "I want to trust you again, God. I want to ‘believe,’ to ‘see’ you in the world, in my life." What is it you want me to do for you?

Or maybe I want to see to see my partner, my spouse, my parents, my children, even myself, again, see them/me with love again, not just with bitterness, or anger, or worry, or regret. "I want to see again."

"What is it you want me to do for you?" "We want to see our church alive and meaningful and relevant and an agent for transformation again, engaging children and youth, as well as adults, full of energy and passion." We know the story, the "narrative," if you will. We’re all getting older. The number of children and youth is shrinking. We pass deficit budgets and draw down our endowment. The darn sound system seems to have a mind of its own.

Well, as John Dorhauer, the President of the United Church of Christ, told the UCC Board of Directors last week, "Today the narrative shifts...Today the United Church of Christ [including Second Congregational Church ion Bennington, VT] focuses on what the Holy Spirit envisions for its future....the best days are ahead. What we are called to do matters; and lives will be transformed because of it." (Ucc.org) It is time to dare greatly, time to step up and step into the future God intends for us. "Step up and step in," in fact, is the theme of our stewardship campaign this year, which you’ll be hearing about in a couple of weeks.

This daring greatly is a challenge especially to those of us who feel relatively secure and comfortable, but for the majority of Christians in the world today, faith is a matter of life and death. We may not be facing prison cells or firing squads, but, my sisters and brothers, there are people dying around us everyday, sometimes inch by inch, drink by drink, cutting comment by cutting comment, loss after loss. We do have something to offer our community close by and far away. "What we are called to do matters," as President Dorhauer says, "and lives will be transformed because of it."

Of course daring greatly carries risks. But as sociologist Brene Brown writes, "Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure we face everyday are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. [Will we step up or not?] Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection." [Brown, Daring Greatly, p. 2]

In laying out his 5-step initiative to the Board of Directors, President Dorhauer concluded, "I want to create a culture of risk-taking and innovation and ingenuity." Those are not qualities that most people associate with a church, but those are the qualities we must nurture and develop if we too are going to focus on what the Holy Spirit envisions for our future.

"What is it you want me to do for you?" Dare we ask? "Son of David, Christ Jesus, fill us with your holy Spirit. Help us to dare greatly, to risk boldly, to reach out our hands to those that others have tried to keep down. Dream your dreams through us. Restore our sight. Walk beside us every step of the way." May that be our prayer today, and in all the days to come. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Pastor's 20th anniversary

On Sunday October 25 Second Congregational Church celebrated the 20th anniversary of Reverend Mary Lee-Clark becoming our pastor, in 1995. After worship, the congregation gathered in the social hall for a sumptious buffet potluck lunch. What a variety of delicious edibles that came in pots, casseroles, salad baskets and cookie tins! Pastor Emeritus Tom Steffen offered the blessing, then the program and presentations began as people ate. Various members of the 1994-95 Search Committee which had called Mary to be our pastor took the microphone and revealed some of the highlights, near misses, and unexpected occurrences that happened during the Search, convincing them that the Holy Spirit was an invisible presence on the Search Committee’s endeavors. Lorna Cheriton read verses composed for the occasion, beginning with the stanza:

She is our well-loved pastor
who has been here twenty years
through births and deaths and struggles
through triumphs and through tears...

The centerpiece of the dessert table was a beautiful chocolate cake made by Dara Lindley, a professional pastry chef. Mary was given a basket of cards written by various members of the congregation, a box of chocolates, flowers placed on the altar in her honor, and a card with many signatures of congregation members. We concluded with Popcorn Praise during which people called out words that they think of in connection with Mary.

“This cup?!” Isaiah 53:4-12, Mark 10:35-45 10/18/15

It was my kids who first introduced me to the game of “shotgun” when one or the other would shout out “shotgun!” as we headed to the car. Michael Scott, a character on the TV show, “The Office” explains the rules: “The rules of ‘shotgun’ are very simple. The first person to call shotgun when in sight of the vehicle gets to sit in the front seat.” No shotguns were ever held by the person sitting in the passenger seat in my car, but the term comes from stagecoach days when the person sitting next to the driver did carry a shotgun to ward off bandits or animals.

James and John essentially were calling “shotgun!” as Mark Davis[leftbehindandlovingit, 10/16/12] suggests, in this passage from Mark which Ted just read for us. They wanted to sit at Jesus’ “right hand” when he came into his “glory.” Yeah, right. Jesus has just told his disciples, for the third time, if anybody’s counting, that what lies ahead for him is arrest and suffering and death, before being raised. Each time he says this, the disciples respond with something stupid. The first time, Peter rebukes Jesus, saying this must never happen, and Jesus turns around and rebukes Peter, saying, “Get behind me, Satan.” The second time Jesus tells them he’s headed for suffering, the disciples argue amongst themselves about who is the greatest. And here, after the third time Jesus tells them what’s ahead, James and John essentially shout out, “Shotgun!” It bears a remarkable resemblance to a gang of adolescent boys.

All the disciples can think about is “glory,” assuming it’s like the glory that the Romans or Greeks talked about–the great, powerful leader sitting at the head of the table, or on the throne, and those closest to him, the ones most likely to be next in line to be in charge, sat next to him. “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you,” James and John ask of Jesus, in the time-honored tradition of asking for a “boon.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Jesus essentially told them. Just like King Herod offered Herodias, the mother of the beautiful dancer Salome, to ask of him anything she wanted, and was appalled to hear her request for the head of John the Baptist on a platter, so the disciples really have no idea what they are asking for. And Jesus says so–“You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” And, perhaps because we are overhearing this conversation a couple thousand years after the fact, with the benefit of hindsight, we are more than a little startled to hear them say immediately, “We are able.”

“OK,” Jesus says, “you will drink of my cup and be baptized with the same baptism, but your place in glory in not mine to give.” It’s God’s glory, actually, that Jesus will enter, and it’s not the same as Caesar’s glory, or even the high priest’s glory. It’s not that the system in place is essentially good, but just the wrong people are sitting at the head table. Jesus is talking about a radically new vision, where there isn’t even a head table. And the entrance ticket isn’t cheap.

It’s probably too easy to call the disciples dull or “stupid” for not getting what Jesus was telling them. Maybe they weren’t all that power-hungry, maybe they got it, but were just afraid. And you know, and I know, how fear can blind us. It can make us violate all sorts of values we hold dear when we’re not afraid. [Kate Huey, sermonseeds, 10/18/15] It’s not by accident that these three stories of Jesus’ predicting his impending suffering are bracketed by stories of the blind being healed and restored to sight–first the blind man at Bethsaida, cured in stages, and then the healing of blind Bartimaeus.

But given the choice, who of us–what healthy person, for that matter–would choose the way of suffering?, for that is indeed the cup Jesus would drink–the cup of suffering and death. And who would choose to be servant–or slave–of all? Maybe I don’t even want to be on this stagecoach, let alone riding shotgun. The way of martyrdom–of being willing to die for a cause or on behalf of others–is the path taken by people like Jesus, and Oscar Romero, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, but what about the rest of us, most of us?

The late Marcus Borg is helpful in understanding what this kind of dying might mean. He talks about the “dying of self as the center of its own concern” and “a dying to the world as the center of security and identity.” (In Jesus: A New Vision) “That kind of dying,” he says, “leads to transformation...a dying to the old life and being born into a new life.” “Second Cong. Church–Changing Lives since 1865.” That kind of transformation happens to us. It’s not something we accomplish.

If you’ve ever gotten up in the middle of the night to comfort or feed a crying child, you have experienced this kind of dying. If you’ve ever cared for an aging parent, or lived with a difficult partner, or supported a difficult church member or neighbor, you have experienced this kind of dying, this costly outpouring of your own life on behalf of another. It can mean sacrificially giving of your resources to a cause or concern or church that you believe is doing the work of bringing about Jesus’ radical vision of the reign of God. This is the Way of Jesus. This is the way of dying and rising to new life.

“You know,” Jesus told his disciples, “that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” How this grates against our pride in being independent, autonomous, self-made men and women! Who wants to be a servant, tied, as it were, to another person? But, of course, as the great theologian Bob Dylan sang, “You gotta serve somebody.” Or something. “You will either willingly even joyfully serve others,” Lutheran pastor David Lose writes, “or you will become a slave to your illusions that you can be free and secure your future through status and power (or, in our day, wealth or youth or fame or possessions, and so on.). [inthemeantime, 10/13/15]

The Way of Jesus is not one of seeking out suffering and death for their own sake [that’s called “masochism”]; but it is the Way of accepting suffering and death as part of life in which God is present as fully, sometimes even more so, than on the smooth paths and times of celebration. The trick is to stay open to God in the midst of suffering.

Poet and author Mark Nepo was diagnosed with cancer almost 30 years ago, and after nearly dying, was able to recover. He believes the process of healing never ends. When asked “How can an open heart alleviate suffering amid the reality of so much pain?” he replied,

As fish must keep their gills open in order to survive moving through the water, humans must keep their heart open in order to move through the difficult and wondrous river of experience. Letting life move through an open heart is how we make medicine out of our suffering.

In what ways does a crisis like illness deepen your relationship to God? he was then asked.

Obstacles in general unravel the way we see the world. For me, having cancer scoured my lens of perceptions, landing me in a deeper sense of living. Being reduced to what matters by suffering and love is how we meet God in the daily world. [Spirituality and Health, Nov.-Dec. 2015, p. 14]

While we do not necessarily seek out suffering or pain or grief, when they come to us, as

they do to everyone, we can at least learn the invaluable lessons they have to teach us.

“The message of loss and grief and betrayal,” writes psychologist James Hollis, “is that we cannot hold on to anything, cannot take anything or anyone for granted, cannot spare ourselves acute pain. But what abides is the invitation to consciousness...[to becoming who you are intended to be]...Loss, grief and betrayal are not just dismal places we must unwillingly visit; they are integral to the maturation of consciousness. They are as much a part of the journey as the places where we feel respite and would tarry. The great rhythm of gain and loss is outside of our control; what remains within our control is the attitude of willingness to find in even the bitterest losses what remains to be lived.” [Swamplands of the Soul–New Life in Dismal Places]

The Way of Jesus is not one of seeking out suffering and death for their own sake, but it may mean seeking out those who are suffering and walking alongside them. It is disruptive to our comfortable, middle-class lives, and costly, yes, definitely counter-cultural, but as one man puts it, we may discover “the surprising and life-giving revelation that as we lose ourselves in service, we find ourselves living more fully than ever before.” [David Lose, op cit.]

That is a journey worth taking, the journey of life in all its joys and sorrows, its ups and downs, its challenges and its easy flow. It’s a journey we can take with one another, knowing that we are accompanied by the One who has walked it before us. So, we can affirm with the church, that “in life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God!”

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

“The Power of Us” Genesis 2:18-24, Mark 10:2-16 10/4/15

I have to admit I read this week’s assigned gospel text and let out a groan. “Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, ‘Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?’” Having just spent the last 6 months or so getting ready for a wedding, and still barely coming down from last weekend’s wedding celebration of our daughter and now son-in-law, I did NOT want to spend any time at all thinking about divorce!

I also groaned because I know divorce is always a painful subject. Many of you have been through divorce, and know how painful and guilt-ridden it can be. Others of you, perhaps some of the same people, are children of divorce and know how devastating and disruptive it can be from that perspective. Still others of you have never been and perhaps never will be married, so the whole topic of marriage may carry its own pain and stigma.

“Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, ‘Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?’” Groan...

This is one of those “hard passages” of Scripture, where Jesus’ words seem harsh and decidedly un-pastoral; another one of those antagonistic conversations with the Pharisees. “Agonistic” is actually the word to describe this conversation and was a common form of interchange in ancient Palestine. The word means “combative, striving to overcome in argument” [Dictionary.com] “Verbal jujitsu” is another way to describe it, and Jesus seems to be quite skilled in it. “Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, ‘Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?’ ‘What did Moses command you?’” Jesus counters back, and off it goes.

Here’s the thing–the standard practice for divorce was this, as a passage from Deuteronomy assumes–“Suppose a man enters into marriage with a woman, but she does not please him because he finds something objectionable about her, and so he writes her a certificate of divorce, puts it in her hand, and sends her out of his house.” –that’s the norm, as it says in Deuteronomy 24, traditionally thought to be written by Moses. Wow. I can only imagine how many “objectionable” things Bruce could find about me, but thankfully has chosen not to scribble a certificate of divorce on a notepad and send me off packing. Furthermore, a woman so dismissed would have no resources with which to live, no recourse other to “become another man’s wife,” who, on any given day, might also decide that he found something objectionable in her and so could throw her out.

Jesus is challenging the specific beliefs and practices taken for granted in his culture. And, by the way, despite the oft-quoted passage from Genesis about a man leaving his father and mother and clinging to his wife to become one flesh, one man, one woman, along with the sections on marriage in Deuteronomy, the reality of “Biblical marriage” came to include polygamy and concubines as well. We should careful when we or someone else begins a sentence, “Well, the Bible says...”

Marriage is more than a certificate, Jesus says, and you cannot simply end it by declaring on paper that it is over. Divorce in this sense is not even possible. Once you have been married–once you have shared intimacy, have entrusted yourself in a sense to another person– there is no such thing as saying it never happened. That person will always be part of you, and you carry them with you into every future relationship, for good or for ill. You had better acknowledge that and come to terms with it, lest it come up to catch you unawares in the most surprising and inconvenient ways.

In a society where the family–the extended family-- was the primary means of support and even survival, Jesus expresses concern for those who would be left without means or defense or support–primarily women and children–if they are dismissed from a family structure. “Making it on your own” was not really an option. We, on the other hand, blithely hold up “self-made men or women” or “rugged individuals” as people to be admired–they don’t “need” anyone else. I actually don’t believe that’s true. While it may not be families that share DNA or bloodlines, we are all much more interdependent than we’d like to acknowledge, not just with those near to us, but with all those who occupy this planet with us. We are all in this together. So we must not be too quick to “write off” those whom we may find “objectionable.”

Which brings me back to last weekend and the beautiful celebration of Meredith and Christopher’s marriage. My dear friend and our children’s godmother Rebecca Dolch was the officiant of the service, so I only had to be the mother of the bride (and the newest mother-in-law in town). In her homily, Rebecca said to Meredith and Chris, “I asked you two, what is it about marriage for two people who are extremely independent, self-sustaining, and fully-formed individuals? And you said that you were deeply moved by the Power of ‘Us.’” A wonderful description of marriage: The Power of Us.”

It’s a wonderful description of a church family, too, of the Body of Christ. “The Power of Us.” On this Worldwide Communion Sunday, we are reminded of just how wide the table is spread, just how big the “us” is. In a marriage, in a church family, in a worldwide communion of Christians, imagine the Power of Us. And then imagine if the Us included all people, not just Christians.

“The power of Us,” Rebecca said, “is a comforting presence”–not only for two people facing the stresses and strains of daily life, but for people who come together as a church family. “A comforting presence” in sickness and in health, in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow. We all need that.

“The power of Us,” Rebecca said, “is a transforming power.” In the push and pull of relationships, in the variety of gifts and graces, preferences and dislikes, we are shaped by one another. Marriage is a kind of people-making machine, as one psychologist suggests, because at some point you will come face to face with a principle or a truth you each thought was foundational but which is now, apparently, in conflict, and because you love each other, you will have to find a way through, deeper into your humanity.

“The power of Us is a confounding mystery,” Rebecca said. “How can you be so different from me and exasperating and yet I love you with raw acceptance?” How can you love me even when you’ve seen me at my worst? The power of Us is a confounding mystery.

And finally, Rebecca said, “The power of Us is a gracious gift that, given attention and nourishment, will continue to unfold throughout a lifetime.” From cradle to grave, at its best the koininia or community of the church can offer all of its members attention and nourishment that will continue to unfold throughout a lifetime.

How many people, here in our community, let alone throughout the world, need to experience the power of US? Maybe the question is, who doesn’t, really? That’s why young men and some women turn to gangs and jihadist groups, because they long for the power of Us. How many perpetrators of violence, like the seemingly endless stream of school shootings and yet again this week’s tragedy in Roseberg, OR, are described as “loners,” not because they want to be but because that is what they have been made into? They’ve never been invited into an “us” that is comforting, transformative, mysterious, gracious.

What are the possibilities of the Us who are members of this body, this loaf and this cup? What might be given birth through us? Imagine. Dream. “The Power of Us’–not just a wonderful description of marriage but also of this church family, which, of course, is part of a greater “us.” The table is set. The bread and cup are ready. We are part of this Body.

Even God is an “us,” the early Christians taught in the doctrine of the Trinity, and we are in God. In sickness and in health, in plenty and in want, for richer for poorer, until death shall part us—but wait, no, not even death will part us. This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, and this is good news! Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Right Now, Here, This Child" -James 3:13-4:3, 7-8, Mark 9:30-37-- Sept. 20, 2015

It is amazing how contemporary some ancient conversations sound. When Jesus asked the disciples what they were arguing about on the way, "they were silent, [Mark tells us], for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest." The 2015–or 1915 or 1995-- version of this little conversation is, Mom or Dad: "What were you guys doing?" Kids: "Nothing." Uh huh.

"Nothing that we were supposed to be doing," is the complete version of that answer, and indeed, the disciples knew that arguing about who among them was the greatest was hardly the right follow-up to Jesus’ telling them for the second time that the Son of Humanity–by which he seemed to mean himself–"must be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again." They were afraid to ask Jesus what he meant by that, afraid that he really was talking about what was ahead for him–and maybe them–so they decided to talk about who’s on first, or rather, who would be first, who would be greatest.

"What were you arguing about?" "Nothing."

The thing is, Jesus–just like most parents when they ask the question–did know what they were doing, what they were arguing about, and so when they finally got to the house in Capernaum, he sat them down and said, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Oops. He heard us. But they were still afraid to ask him what he meant by that. Really? The first must be last and must be a servant of all? That is so not how the world works....so not how we want it to work, because we spend an awful lot of time trying to make it to the front of the line.

But then, as if it weren’t bad enough, he took some street urchin who had snuck into their gathering, took her into his arms, and said, "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the One who sent me."

Biblical historian John Pilch says that Mediterranean cultures, like first-century Palestine, put a very low value on children. Even in medieval times, "Thomas Aquinas taught that in a raging fire, a husband was obliged to save his father first, then his mother, next his wife, and last of all his young child." (Cited by Kate Huey in sermonseeds, 9/20/15) No "women and children first in the lifeboats" here! "Children were fillers, not main events," Barbara Brown Taylor writes. (BBT, Bread of Angels, p. 131)

Children in our day and age are clearly seen quite differently, especially in middle- and upper-class families. Every step, every syllable, even every bowel movement, unfortunately, is cause for celebration and praise, pictures are posted on Instagram, videos posted on Facebook. Newborns are enrolled in nursery school. Infants are dressed in clothes designed by Ralph Lauren and the cost per wearing is phenomenal. Helicopter parents keep in touch with their children–all the way up through college–with minute-by-minute text messages. We want our children to be at the head of the line, first in show, captain of the team.

This is not what Jesus had in mind when "he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the One who sent me." He was not trying to be sweet or sentimental; but rather this action was "perplexing," "disconcerting," and, as Kate Huey says, "certainly provocative." (Ibid.) This was one more world-upending lesson from Jesus, the complete opposite of the way the disciples thought things were supposed to be and, honestly, hoped things would be. They did not want to hear that instead of the top place, it was the lowest and last that they were to seek.

Jesus could have brought a leper into their midst, a man possessed by demons, a widow, an orphan, an "unclean woman"–any of these cast out, rejected, avoided, looked down upon, powerless. Or a shepherd, an old bent-over woman, or a child. All of them were de-valued, vulnerable, powerless. They were all on the receiving end of the power flow chart, not on the giving end. [Peter Marty, cited by Huey, op cit.] Helping them, welcoming them, associating with them was not going to get you anywhere. You could expect nothing in return for your trouble.

But here was this child, Jesus said, already a "full-fledged citizen of the realm of God." (BBT, op cit., p. 132) "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the One who sent me," welcomes God. God with snot running down her face, God with his knees all scraped up. Right now. Here. This child.

One of the things I often hear when people talk about their hopes for the future of our congregation is that we need to attract more families with children. "We’re all getting so old. We need younger people. Children are the future of the church." I absolutely agree that our church family would be enriched by the presence of more children and their parents, but not because they could become junior members of the Administrative Council or grow up to become Trustees. Jesus reached out to a child and drew him into their midst saying, "Right here, now, welcome this child" and you welcome me and the One who sent me.

I have said before that although we can encounter God anywhere, if our eyes and hearts and minds are open to it, we also know that there is the expectation that somehow, in this place, in a "church," one can encounter God. We often expect that in the silence, or the architecture, or the music, or maybe the prayers or spoken word; but here Jesus seems to be saying, When you welcome a child, in that welcome you’ve welcomed the Christ, you’ve welcomed God. Honestly, the kids’ tables at Sunday Social and our nursery and the Godly Play sign-up sheet ought to be packed with adults seeking to encounter God in the interactions offered there!

The child that Jesus drew into the midst of the disciples stood for all the outcast, all those deemed worthless, all the non-entities that will never get us any further ahead. There is no payback to these relationships–other than learning about your own "greatness" and experiencing a glimpse of what the kingdom of God might be like. As we renew our intention to move out into the community with acts of service and generosity, as we increase our invitation to our community to join us in our work and even our worship, it cannot be primarily to increase our numbers, raise the number of potential pledging units or committee members. That is not an invitation into the realm of God. I read this week that, in fact, 20-30 year-olds are not looking for "big" churches because they do not think they can experience the close, personal relationships that are more likely available in smaller gatherings. Bigger is not necessarily better.

The disciples were having the conversation about "Who’s the greatest?" because they didn’t want to think about what Jesus had just told them about being killed. They were afraid. "You know what that is like," as Barbara Brown Taylor says. "When you are scared of something, don’t ask. Act like there is nothing wrong. Change the subject and talk about something else instead, something that makes you feel big and strong. That is what the disciples were doing, which was why Jesus had to sit them down and give them a leadership seminar right then and there." (P. 134) "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all...When you welcome one such child in my name, you welcome me...and the One who sent me."

It’s still scary. How is this all going to work? One could get the impression from observing those already in or wanting to lead our government that the kids are indeed "in charge"–at least the adolescents are. I don’t think that’s what Jesus had in mind when he drew that child into their midst. "Who is wise and understanding among you?" the author of the Letter of James asks us. Who indeed?

Perhaps there is some wisdom in the tradition of the Children’s Fire as heard from the elders of the Hopi Nation.

The whole community sits around a circle called a Medicine Wheel. Around that wheel are representatives of all the different aspects of the community....In the center is the children’s fire, [and] next to the children’s fire sit the grandfather and grandmother...[If you want to ask a question of the community, say, ‘May I build a condo on Spirit Lake?’, you must ask all the various aspects of the community.] The last people you must ask the question to are the grandmother and grandfather who guard the children’s fire. If these two decide that the request is not good for the children’s fire, then the answer is ‘no.’ They are the only ones in the circle who have veto power. The concept of the ultimate question is simple. Does it hurt or help the children’s fire? If it can pass the test of the children’s fire, it can be done.

[Imaging the Word, vol. 1, p. 32]

It’s the same idea as asking what effect a decision will have on the seventh generation.

Of course it isn’t simple, really, for decision-making on anything other than a small community or family level, although one could hope that decisions about environmetnal protection, decisions about tax policies and budget cuts, decisions about educational policy might be made with the Children’s Fire or the seventh generation in mind.. For us as a church community, seeking to be the church, the Body of Christ, in this time and place, we would do well to consider how we welcome "the children" –those who have nothing to offer us except the unsettling, messy, transformative presence of Christ, right here, now, as well as to the 7^th generation.

"Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all....Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me and the One who sent me." It is a strange, upside down, counter-cultural journey, this following in the Way of Jesus. But if that’s not where we’re headed, why would we want to go there? May His Way be our way.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"The One Thing"- Proverbs 1:20-33, Mark 8: 27-38 --Sept. 13, 2015

A cartoon pictures a mountainous rock out-cropping with a man in a business suit, sitting cross-legged before an old, bearded man in a white robe, also seated cross-legged. The bubble above the business man says, "I want to know the meaning of life." And above the holy man, the bubble says, "Have you tried Googling it?" I actually did Google the question, "What is the meaning of life?" There were 56 million results posted, and I discovered that "What is the meaning of life?" is the most frequently asked question on Google. I did just a random sampling of 3 of the answers, and some were quite entertaining and enlightening. You might want to try it.

"I want to know the meaning of life." "Wisdom–Sophia-- cries out in the street, ‘How long, o foolish ones, will you love being foolish?" "Who do you say that I am?"

All these are different ways of getting at the question, "What is the meaning of life?" In this post-9/11 world, in the whirlwind of presidential campaigns and images of refugees fleeing, cities in ruins, wildfires blazing, one might wonder, What is the meaning of life? Of my life? Do we seek out a guru, or Google it? Where is Wisdom and what is She calling us to do, to know? Is the answer in the lyrics of a song or a hymn, in the notes of a symphony? And since we have all gathered here in a church, part of the Body of Christ, it’s important that we take a look at what our tradition, what Jesus has to say about the Meaning of Life.

Here in the shadow of the Roman Empire, in Caesarea Philippi, the center of worship of the emperor and of the Greek god Pan, Jesus for the first time in Mark asks those who have followed him this far, "Who do people say that I am?" and then, of course the real point of the discussion, "Who do you say that I am?" This is clearly a critical question for Jesus, and we’ve lost the intensity of his "asking," when the word really has more of the sense of interrogating. He’s not just passing the time as they walk. This is crucial, literally the crux or cross. The answer to these questions determine the way forward.

The location of the conversation is important, here where Caesar and Pan are worshipped, here in the middle of Mark’s Gospel, here just 3 chapters away from arriving in Jerusalem. Location–in time and space-- gives us a context. Situated as we are in the midst of the empire, just days after the 14^th anniversary of the events of Sept. 11, 2001, on the far side of the wars undertaken in the aftermath of those attacks, embroiled as we are in discussions about a nuclear deal with Iran and whether we should simply go to war, caught up in this presidential campaign which is often appallingly burlesque, if not outright racist, mysogynist, and mean-spirited; and the question still burns–"Who do you say that I am?" What difference does Jesus make in our lives, or to put it another way, does Jesus have anything to do with the meaning of our lives?

When Peter answered Jesus’ question with, "You are the Messiah," Jesus told him not to tell anyone about it. Why would Jesus want his identity as the Messiah kept a secret? Probably because for most people of the time, the "messiah" was the politico-religious leader who would save them from Rome, not all that unlike the figure of Alexander the Great, who was said to have been born of a virgin birth and who died when he was 33, after conquering much of the known world.

"You are the Messiah," Peter said to Jesus, and Jesus "sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him." Let’s not fuel a false rumor. "Then he began to teach them–quite openly–that the Son of Humanity must suffer, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again." That, essentially, was the meaning of

Jesus’ life.

But, of course, he went on, speaking to the crowd and his disciples now–

"If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?"

Here, in Caesarea Philippi, in the shadow of the Empire, Jesus asks these questions knowing what answers the Empire would give, given its values and worldview. Loyalty to Rome and loyalty to family systems and structures, staying in your place, knowing your place, would of course have to be central parts of anyone’s identity and sense of meaning or purpose. For Jesus to put forth an alternative–that of being rejected by the System, that of loyalty to him and his followers, to talk about the realm of God rather than the rule of Caesar–not only was radical, it was risky. One translator intensifies the sense of the word–"It is binding for the Son of Humanity to suffer at the hands of the chief priests...to be killed, and then be raised in 3 days." (Mark Davis, leftbehindand lovingit, 9/11/12)

"To deny yourself," as Kate Huey points out, was and is not so much "an ascetic lifestyle, but rather a radical identity"–radical, meaning root. It is a communal identity, [an interdependent identity] as it affirms who we are and what we value most deeply." (Sermonseeds, 9/13/15), while at the same time seeing each individual as having a unique purpose and identity. "Denying ourselves" is not in conflict with a healthy sense of self, "if we find our deepest authenticity, our truest self, in following Jesus." (Ibid.)

Lutheran preacher David Lose puts it helpfully this way–

"The ‘life’ that has been packaged and sold to us isn’t real life, and we need to die to those illusions to be born into the abundant life God wants for us. Here’s the thing: we tend to think that life is something you go out and get, or earn, or buy, or win. But it turns out, life is like love: it can’t be won or earned or bought, only given away. And the more you give away, the more you have. In fact–as first-time parents experience profoundly–only when you love others do you most understand what love really is. Likewise, only when you give your life away for the sake of others do you discover it. Somehow, in thinking about how to fulfil others’ needs, your own deepest needs are met. Call this the mystery of life and the key to the kingdom of God."

(Inthemeantime, 9/13/15)

...or, call this the meaning of life.

Here, in the middle of Mark’s gospel, in the shadow of the empire, here in the first decades of the 21^st c. at what some have called the end of the Anthropos era in earth’s history, here is the crux of the gospel, which is so countercultural. In a world of perceived scarcity, where power is recognized only when it dominates and overpowers, in a culture that judges by appearances and success and accumulation of stuff, the idea of denying oneself for the sake of others, of giving of oneself, of losing our lives in order to find them, sounds foolish at best, naive, even dangerous.

And yet, despite our cult of celebrities and "self-made billionaires," aren’t our true heroes people like the first-responders to the attacks on the World Trade Center who selflessly rushed in and all the ordinary acts of heroism and self-sacrifice that took place on that day and afterward? Wasn’t the real power of that awful event the coming together of the world in solidarity with us in that moment, not those who flew the planes or planned the attacks? "We are all Americans," people said across the planet. Imagine if we had mobilized that power. Aren’t we most deeply moved by people like those I mentioned last week–Dr. Kent Brantley, who contracted ebola when he responded to the call to help those in need; the people of Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston, who responded to the horror and hate with forgiveness and grace; former President Jimmy Carter, meeting his serious medical diagnosis with courage and faith?

"Denying oneself" is not about denying one’s truest self. It’s about finding it. "What gives you the greatest joy? When do you feel most alive, truest to who you are, to the person you believe God created you to be? What creates for you the deepest sense of purpose? .. It’s not about being less happy, as David Lose says, it’s about discovering real and abundant life. (Ibid.) It’s the one thing we need to learn.

Stephen Colbert interviewed Vice-President Joe Biden on the new Late Night this week. It was an incredibly moving exchange between these two men of faith who have experienced great loss. At one point, Vice-President Biden said that his kids have the habit of greeting him, especially after he’s gone through a tough exchange or period, with, "Come back to home base, Dad. Remember who you are."

Remember who you are, Jesus said to his followers. Remember the one thing–life is discovered in giving it away, just as love is. May these words be truth and courage and hope for us for the living of these days. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Mary's Banner Announcement

Come, Seek, Pray, Learn..

Come be part of the old, old story this Sunday morning at 10 o’clock at Second Congregational Church, U.C.C. We light the fourth Advent candle, the Candle of Love, and our “No-Fuss Christmas Pageant” has room for any would-be shepherds, angels, animals, or Marys and Josephs! The Gospel Singers will sing, “Mary, Mary” by Avery and Marsh, and Christmas carols for all to sing provide the music for the pageant. The service ends as we sing “Happy Birthday” to Jesus, and a sandwich lunch, complete with birthday cake, follows in Webster Hall. Carollers will leave from the church at 12:30.

Announcements on White

“This Sunday, Sept. 13, is Rally Sunday at Second Congregational Church, UCC. While “Rally Day” doesn’t appear on any liturgical calendar, it is a day that our church community looks forward to as we come together after the summer to begin our fall activities, including Godly Play and youth classes. We gather for worship at 10 a.m., and everyone who collected water from their various summer destinations is invited to pour the waters together into the baptismal font. All school children are invited to bring their school backpacks for a “Blessing of the Backpacks.” Following this, children up through grade 5 will be dismissed for Godly Play, and the Middle- and High-school Class will meet. Nursery care is provided throughout worship. Rev. Mary Lee-Clark’s sermon, based on the readings from Proverbs and Mark, is entitled, “The One Thing.”

A time of fellowship and refreshment for the whole church family follows in Webster Hall. At 11:35, those interested in strategizing responses to the European refugee crisis are invited to meet in the Clayton Room. Eaarth Advocates also meets.

Second Congregational Church is an Open and Affirming Congregation of the United Church of Christ, and we welcome all people of faith or in search of faith to our work and worship, without regard to age, race, economic condition, disability, or sexual orientation.

"Underneath the Anger"-- James 2:1-10, 14-17, Mark 7:24-37--Sept. 6, 2015

We are in the midst of the last long weekend of summer, blessed with what is pretty much perfect weather. I get that. We have had the privilege of celebrating the sacrament of baptism this morning, marking a significant point on a life-long journey of faith of one of our sisters and daughters. And we will celebrate the sacrament of communion, bringing in the "sheaves of summer," and sharing the bread and cup. All of which would be more than enough blessing and worship of God on this beautiful late summer morning.

And yet, in the midst of all this blessing, we must pause, at least briefly, to hear the Word for this morning and to let it sink in, perhaps, like winter wheat, planting seeds that will germinate as the light grows shorter and steeper, to send forth shoots and grain to see us through the challenging times ahead.

I invite you to take a moment to look at the picture on the front of our bulletins this morning– such a beautiful, healthy child, held in arms that make him feel safe and secure, looking at a face that obviously delights her. (Who knows if this is a boy or a girl?) And yet, I cannot look at the picture of this child this week without also seeing in my mind the picture of another child, this one lying face down on a beach, the waves lapping around his lifeless body. His name is Aylan, and his heart-broken father buried him and his 5-year-old brother and his wife in their home town in Syria on Friday.

Another father brought his infant daughter out of a train packed with refugees in Hungary, begging for help for her, because she would surely die if she stayed on the train or ended up in a refugee camp. I see that picture too as I look at this smiling, healthy baby.

"The rich and the poor have this in common:" the writer of Proverbs says in the Hebrew scripture reading for today, "the LORD is the maker of them all... Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity, and the rod of anger will fail. Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor... Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate; for the LORD pleads their cause and despoils of life those who despoil them." (Prov. 2: 2, 8-9, 22-23)

It seems these scenes from Turkey and Hungary, from Calais and Greece, are not new in the history of human beings–the poor being robbed, the afflicted crushed at the gates. Our reading from James describes an all-too familiar scene: the rich being welcomed and made room for, the poor being shoved aside, discarded.

And in the gospel reading from Mark, even Jesus–the best of humanity–seems to be caught up and bound in his own cultural prejudices and stereotypes, using an ethnic slur common in his time, to refer to this Syro-Phoenician woman and her daughter as "dogs." It’s a troubling passage. It should make us pause. Some say Jesus is just testing the woman’s faith, calling her a dog with a twinkle in his eye. Others say he is presenting an object lesson for the disciples. Still others say the word is really closer to "puppy," almost a term of endearment. I refuse to buy any of those interpretations, and find them all appalling.

What I can believe is that Jesus was a human being raised in a culture of prejudice, caught up, like any of us, in systems of oppression, in a culture of supremacy, as David Henson says (patheos, 9/2/15); so that when the woman, as desperate and heartbroken for her daughter as either of the two fathers we’ve already mentioned, when she hears of Jesus and what he has done for others, she enters the house where he was trying to escape–here in Gentile territory--, bowed down at his feet, and begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. "Let the children be fed first," he says to her, referring to the children of Israel, " for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs."

The poison of that remark is still in the atmosphere of the planet–floating around Hungary and Austria, in Syria and Turkey, in Palestine and Israel, in Burma and in Sudan, in the United States and here in Bennington. "Let the children–our children–be fed first...It is not fair, it is not right, that your children, who are here illegally, who were born into poor families, whose parents are drug-users, that you who are polluting our Christian nation–you and your children have no right to our food..."

But she answered, "Sir–Lord–even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs."

But he answered, "Please, help my baby daughter–she will die if she stays in this train or is shipped to a refugee camp." But they answered, "Please-- ISIS is beheading our men, raping our women, the government is gassing our villages." Can you imagine the horrors that make climbing onto one of those boats seem like the better option? "You have to understand," one woman posted on Facebook, "That no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land."

The truth is laid on the table–for Jesus and the world to see. And Jesus, as David Henson says, "has the holy wind knocked out of him. He not only heard the truth of her reality. He also heard the brokenness of his own reality... It is the only time recorded in the gospels in which Jesus changes his mind." (Ibid.)

According to a New York Times report, when the government of Iceland pledged to take in only 50 refugees in 2015, a group of Icelanders called on their government to permit 4,950 more to enter the country. They wrote on Facebook:

"Refugees are our future spouses, best friends, our next soul mate, the drummer in our children's band, our next colleague, Miss Iceland 2022, the carpenter who finally fixes our bathroom, the chef in the cafeteria, the fireman, the hacker and the television host. People who we'll never be able to say to: 'Your life is worth less than mine.'" "If you can't imagine yourself in one of those boats," author JK Rowling tweeted this week, " you have something missing. They are dying for a life worth living. (#refugeeswelcome)"(9:45 AM - 3 Sep 2015 JK Rowling)

"You have dishonored the poor," the writer of the letter of James says. "Is it not the rich who oppress you?" As one of the relatively rich of the world, I recognize that our focus on the poor–on those people crowding train stations and refugee camps, on those people who flood our borders and are here "illegally," on those people who say they cannot find work and who need assistance to feed their families or themselves, on those people living in "the horseshoe" on Pleasant St. or Benmont Ave. or at Applegate or Willowbrook or asking for money on Main St.–our focus on those people as the problem deflects attention from those of us with resources, who are as much of "the problem"–if not more–than the poor. Do the rich really need all that money that they defend so loudly against, saying "No more taxes on the wealthy"? Is all the work that needs to be done to make our communities more liveable, our children healthier and better educated, our environment cleaned up, our infrastructure safer–is all that really being done so that we truly have no more jobs to offer people? Can the United States really only accommodate a couple thousand Syrian refugees?

Now, I know that the issues are way more complicated than can be wrapped up in 15 min. on a Sunday morning. Good people of intelligence and faith have devoted their lives to many of these issues, and there are many, many people and organizations stepping up with courage and compassion and generosity. I would love for those in our congregation who feel a particular passion and calling for exploring responses to the truth-telling of the Syrophonoecian woman to gather and help us all live into a new and more just way of living. I know we can make a difference.

Coverage of the current U.S. presidential campaign says that various candidates are "tapping into the anger" of the American people–anger at Washington, anger at the way things are. There is certainly enough to be angry about, but anger is almost always a secondary emotion–underneath it can be justified concern for injustice and suffering, but/and underneath anger is more often than not fear–fear for one’s safety and the safety of loved ones, fear that there is not enough– enough food, enough resources for a dignified life, enough love. Fear can be a helpful and necessary response to certain situations and things–our bodies are hardwired to deal with fear–but it cannot be a long-term strategy, because it burns us up, shuts us down, keeps us from being able to imagine more creative, long-term solutions.

"Ephphatha–be opened," Jesus said as he put his fingers into the deaf man’s ears. He was saying that as much to himself as to the man, reminding himself, having so recently heard the truth from the Syrophonoecian mother. "Be not afraid," the message so often comes from God. "Be not fear. Don’t become fear. Become bread. Become wine. Bread and wine for one another and for the whole world. There is always enough at this table–enough love, enough life. Come, let us keep the feast.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

"Walking the Walk"- James 1:17-27, Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23-- Aug. 30, 2015

It’s been another tough week in the news of the world: A refrigerator truck full of immigrants, including children, found dead on an Austrian highway, and thousands more in desperate conditions. A TV reporter and videographer shot dead at a resort in Virginia. The stock market rivaling many a roller-coaster in its sickening dives and stomach-churning rises. The presidential campaign once again bloated with smarminess and diversions.

All of which makes a conversation about purity and integrity seem a little shocking, out of touch, maybe, naive even. Such are the questions of the Pharisees and scribes to Jesus on his kingdom of God campaign–"Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" Really? You’re worried about our hygiene, which was really a question about purity? In a world that often seems so soiled and tawdry, questions about the washing of hands and pots and pans are almost refreshing, if they weren’t perhaps so irrelevant--except that they are really about integrity, authority, suitability for leadership. What is it that "defiles" a person–their hygiene or their intentions? "Listen to me," Jesus told them, "It is what comes out of a person that defiles. For it is from within the human heart, that evil intentions come..."

The writer of the Letter of James puts it this way–"Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls."

What defiles or sullies a person? And what defines them? In a world of selfies, videos that capture the most intimate of actions, self-promoting campaigns and profiles, what is it that defines a person? "Be doers of the word," James says, "and not merely hearers who deceive themselves...If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God...is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world."

In a climate and culture with more than its share of hypocrisy, deceit, unbridled self-promotion, and sanctimoniousness, it’s easy to get discouraged and depressed about the state of the human condition. But, remember, these headlines and stories are not all there is. They sell, but they do not tell the whole story. They are seductive, but it’s essential that we remember there are other stories and narratives out there, which quite literally can grow and nourish that word of hope planted within us that James talks about–"the implanted word that has the power to save your souls," as he puts it.

Nancy Rockwell lifts up "three inspiring witnesses to real Christian faith and duty" that have stood out and moved us as a nation recently–

The first is Dr. Kent Brantly, who contracted ebola as a missionary doctor in Africa. In a recent interview on the PBS NewsHour he was asked if he thought his healing had been a miracle, brought about by his faith and prayer. "Dr. Brantly said No. He said his healing had been the result of hard work by nurses, doctors, and researchers who had offered him an experimental medicine. He made this distinction, that it was his faith that brought him into contact with ebola, to which he would not have been exposed if he had not, in faith, volunteered to serve there. And of his healing, he said God was involved, but his thanks and love went to the community of people who were dedicated to healing." [N. Rockwell, thebiteintheapple, 8/24/15]

Imagine that! Witnessing–on national television, no less-- that it was because of your faith that you were exposed to ebola, because that’s where you felt called. Not claiming that you, unlike thousands of others, were healed because of your faith.

The second witness Rockwell lifts up is the community of Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC, where 9 of their beloved were gunned down during Bible study. Not only was the shooter welcomed into that Bible study, but in the aftermath of that horrible tragedy, the people of Emmanuel refused to hate or seek revenge. Their tribute to their pastor Clementa Pinckney was dignified, powerful, and full of grace.

The third witness to walking the walk is former President Jimmy Carter, who when it was revealed that he had a grave medical condition, "said that he was grateful to be filled with peace, not fear and not anger, in response to this news, and that he looked forward to the next great adventure, relying on his faith." [Rockwell, ibid.] He taught his Sunday school class last week, as usual, and with quiet but firm conviction, gave testimony to the faith that has sustained and supported him throughout his life.

Be doers of the Word, not merely hearers.

There may be other examples of people who have exemplified the best, rather the worst, in human beings that you can think of–the 3 Americans and 1 Brit who acted selflessly and bravely to bring down the would-be shooter on the train heading to Paris. Amelia Boynton Robinson, the civil rights activist who died this week at the age of 104 who had been beaten on the Edmund Pettis Bridge in Selma AL on Bloody Sunday. Firefighters who battle the wildfires out west. Are there others who come to mind?

"Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves."

I am certain that none of these people who come to mind consider–or considered– themselves perfect or better than anyone else. Just as Jesus said that nothing on the outside can defile a person, but rather what comes out, so it is that what is inside a person defines them. It is our habits that shape and define us, so we must pay attention to what we do habitually. Jimmy Carter taught his Sunday school class last Sunday and spoke at the news conference of a faith that sustains and guides him because that is what he has done over and over again. Dr. Kent Brantly has immersed himself in both a community of faith and communities of healing so he is able to recognize the hard, faithful work that men and women dedicated to healing are able to do and to accept that his own faith calls him to use his gifts and be of service to people in need. The people of Emmanuel Church were held in their grief by love, compassion, and amazing grace because they practice that every Sunday morning and evening, and at Wednesday night Bible studies and in all the ministries that take place through that church. All these have been able to "welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save [their] souls," because they have practiced that welcome.

"Be doers of the word, not only hearers or talkers about the word." Welcome the implanted word–that truth which is deeply within you–water it, give it daylight, let it blossom. You may never be singled out for a news story–even a "human interest feature," but if you tend to that seed, that word, planted in you, you will be part of the saving of the world.

I was inspired this week by 2 groups of neighbors close to home and here in Vermont who have born witness to the "implanted word" that has the power to keep hope alive and so, in a way, to "save our souls." This week is the 2^nd anniversary of the flooding left in Hurricane Irene’s wake, and there was a documentary on VPT about how the community of Pittsfield, VT experienced that storm. The footage of the flood and the stories of the rumbling boulders and tall trees hurtling down streets and rising around houses were terrifying and overwhelming all over again. You could see emotions brought to the surface in re-telling how frightening it was for little kids all the way up to old-timers. But there were also stories of people calmly but resolutely doing what they had been trained to do,–what they had practiced-- like the town clerk putting into motion the town emergency plan, and making adjustments as the situation changed; people who set up emergency shelters; neighbors calling on and checking on neighbors, some literally reaching out in the midst of flood waters to bring people to safety. But it was not only during the storm but after that what was planted most deeply came forth and blossomed. No one was left out or left behind. Strangers became friends. Old grudges were not only put aside, but resolved, as the magnitude of what was truly important became apparent. Reserved, independent Vermonters came together daily in the Federated Church to hear the latest news, to catch up with one another, to see what needed to be done. A classroom was set up for the elementary school kids in the town square. They even pulled off a wedding that the couple had assumed would have to be postponed, but which turned into a glorious community celebration. The nearby community of Chittenden sent a truckload of supplies. "If we could live like this all the time, the world would be a better place," more than one person remarked. (And we can’t because...?)

Another example of calling forth the best, rather than the worst, in human beings was the Do It Yourself Ironman race that our friend Tim Payne swam, biked, and ran last Saturday. Completing an Ironman had been on Tim’s bucket list since he was 18, something he really wanted to do, and especially after witnessing Rachel’s completion of her Ironman in Lake Placid a few years ago, he was more determined than ever to do it. But he decided to forego the expense and hassles of a big Ironman event and do it, rather, on his own. Thus, the "Homegrown Ironman." But, of course, he didn’t do it alone. He had the benefit of an experienced coach who gave him tried and true training schedules and tips. He had friends who rode and ran with him. And, perhaps most importantly, he had Rachel, Noah, Maggie, and Finn who supported him, trained with him, filled in the family gaps when Tim was missing–out training--, encouraged him, inspired him. Tim wrote a blog throughout his training, which allowed him both to reflect upon his experience, and to bring others along.

The day of Tim’s Ironman was the same day as our Sun and Fun event and an evening outing in celebration of Meredith’s upcoming wedding, so I wasn’t able to physically be present for any of the race. However, I was moved and inspired by the community of friends and family who came out to support Tim, from his early morning swim on Lake Raponda, to his bike ride through three states, and especially on the long and difficult marathon run, when the usual energy drinks and eats were not able to stay down in Tim’s stomach. Rachel put out the word on Facebook and broth, salt tablets, and other more palatable drinks quickly appeared along the route.

This phase of the race, when he had to walk instead of run, defined, rather than defiled, Tim. "It was the first time I thought I might not make it to the end," Tim wrote in his blog later. "To make it worse, my kids and wife watched me as I struggled to get back on my feet. I resolved to power walk as far as I could, and I was joined by my friend Tracy, who said she would walk a few miles with me." Tim’s legs and stomach eventually came back to him, and he was able to finish the race, running, still accompanied by his friend Tracy (after 16 mi.), received by a wildly cheering crowd at Mt. Anthony Union High School, and cross the finish line to the shout, "Tim Payne, You are an Ironman!"

"My first emotion was humility," Tim later wrote. "The truth is I would never have finished my solo Ironman without the help of many people."

"Welcome with meekness–with openness–the implanted word that has the power to save

your souls."

Few of us will ever complete an Ironman, but Ironmen come in many different forms– events or situations that push us to our limits, that force us to let go of our preconceived notions and illusions about what we are capable of or who we are. They can be physical, emotional, psychological challenges, and more often than not, all of the above. We do not pray for natural or humanmade disasters, but when confronted with them, we pray that we will be able to meet them with the best of who we are, shaped and defined by the way we have lived every other day and week.

The qualities that we admire in all these people I’ve lifted up–Dr. Kent Brantly, the people of Emmanuel AME Church, Jimmy Carter, the people of Pittsfield and so many other communities, Tim Payne–and other people who come to mind for you–those qualities stand out for us because there is something within us that recognizes them and resonates within us. It is a powerful experience to take the time to list the qualities of people we admire–specifically, carefully–and then to go over that list and pick out 8 or 10 qualities that particularly seem to stand out as qualities of an "ideal" human being. "He is humble." "They are forgiving and faithful." "He is not afraid of death." And then to write out 8 or 10 sentences that begin with "I am...." or "I have..." with each of those qualities completing the sentence. "I am humble." "I am forgiving and faithful." "I am not afraid of death." "I have faith that calls me to serve, even though it may be dangerous." "I affirm that God works through hard-working, compassionate healers." "I willingly share what I have when others are in need.""I engage others to help." "When there’s something I really want to do, I can set a goal and stick to it, welcoming the support of others."

We know that there is plenty that defiles us. There is within us not only the best but also the worst that human beings can be. But it is what we nurture, what we practice, what we feed and bring to daylight that will define us. "Be doers of the word." "Welcome the implanted word within you that has the power to save your soul." So may the world be a better place because of us. So may God’s kingdom come. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Second Congregational Church

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