"Shame No More, Humility Always"- Joel 2:23-32, Luke 18:9-14--Oct. 23, 2016

Dan Clendenin was in Oxford, England, researching a paper, when he decided one Sunday morning to go to St. Aldate’s Church. "As I walked into St. Aldate’s," he writes, "the usher handed me a bulletin and enthusiastically greeted me, ‘We welcome all sinners!’" [journeywithjesus, 10/16/16] "It was just what I needed at the time," Clendenin says, but how do you suppose such a greeting would go over here? "Welcome to Second Congregational Church! Here’s a bulletin for you. We welcome all sinners."

"We welcome all sinners!" That’s what they said about Jesus, of course, and not in a good way. "He welcomes sinners!" And they pointed to the usual suspects–tax collectors, prostitutes, people with questionable histories and reputations. You know, those people. Jesus knew they said this about him, and in fact, they were right. He did welcome sinners, and he said that God does too.

So, he told them a story–like he often did–so that they could see themselves a little better.

Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you,[Jesus said] this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.

The original impact of this story is lost on us, because we’ve been denigrating the Pharisees for so long, we expect the Pharisee to be the "bad example." But that is unfair. The Pharisees of Jesus’ time were actually the ones who kept the faith together, in the midst of occupation, who dedicated their lives to trying to live God’s way. Tax collectors–the Publicans--, on the other hand, were much more morally suspect. They were agents of the enemy, the occupying Empire, who made their living not only by collecting the mandated taxes but adding their own cut, which was how they raised their own salaries.

To see the Publican [or tax collector] as honorable [writes Paul D. Duke] and the Pharisee as a creep makes the story false, curdles it to a dishonest (and easily anti-Semitic) morality tale and sends us straight into the trap of saying, ‘God, we thank you that we are not like this Pharisee!’ Better to see him as he is–a thoroughly decent, generous, committed man–and to see the Publican as a compromised, certified stinker... [The Christian Century, Oct. 1995]

Two prayers: "God, I thank you that I am not like other people...the sinners, who do bad things, like that tax collector." and "God, be merciful to me, a sinner." The one man–the Pharisee–judges his worth, and other people’s worth, by what he does or doesn’t do, what they do or don’t do. The other man–the tax collector–knows what he does–collects taxes, colludes with the enemy–and defines himself that way–"a sinner." Yet, he goes home "justified," or "right with God," Jesus says, because he throws himself on the mercy of God, who sees his worth beneath his deeds, this God who "welcomes sinners."

The Pharisee, like so many of us, thinks that he has to justify himself by what he does. He has to earn his worth. His self-worth is built on how well he obeys the laws, what he does, where he spends his time, who he associates with. Don’t get me wrong–our deeds do matter. We must walk the walk and not just talk the talk. But our essential worth? God knows that that is deeper than our deeds. The Pharisee thinks he can "get right with God," that he can earn God’s love and approval, by his deeds, and, conversely, that God does NOT love those who don’t follow the law. The tax collector knows that he’s not "right with God," and so throws himself into the mysterious, counterintuitive mercy and love of God, and Jesus says he went home "justified."

In a way, this story is a perfect description of the difference between "guilt" and "shame." We may experience guilt when we have done something wrong, when a transgression has occurred. Guilt can actually be productive and constructive, if it prompts us to get back on track, to make amends, to change our ways. Those "transgressions" or breaches which so many of us could name and write down a couple Sundays ago were expressions of our guilt.

Shame, on the other hand, is a feeling of unworthiness or regret because of who we are. Shame goes to our essential value or worth. It’s not about what we’ve done but about who we are. How do you change that? How do you change the parents you were born to, or the place where you were born, or the color of your skin, or the sexual identity or orientation you were born with, the number of years you’ve lived or the way your body is put together? There really is no recourse for shame, if it’s about who you are. And that’s a terrifying, enraging, destructive place to put someone in, or to find yourself.

But we all do, says shame researcher Brene Brown. "We all have it," she writes. "Shame is universal and one of the most primitive human emotions that we experience. The only people who don’t experience shame lack the capacity for empathy and human connection. Here’s your choice: Fess up to experiencing shame or admit that you’re a sociopath. Quick note: This is the only time that shame seems like a good option." [Daring Greatly, p. 68] Shame, Brown defines it, "is the fear of not being worthy of real connection," not ever being worthy of belonging [Daring Greatly, p. 8] but of course, we human beings, as she puts it, are "psychologically, emotionally, cognitively, and spiritually hard-wired for connection, love, and belonging... It’s why we’re here... What gives life purpose and meaning." [Ibid., p. 68] So, to fear that we can never be worthy of belonging, of connecting, that is the seed and source of all kinds of destructive behavior.

"God, have mercy on me, a sinner," the tax collector cries. Who I am is a sinner. In his cry for mercy, the tax collector desperately hopes that there is something in him that God can find worthy of connecting to, and, Jesus says, yes, he is worthy of connection. He went home "justified," right with God.

"God, I thank you that I am not like other people," the Pharisee prayed...those people not worthy of connection with me. Oddly enough, such a statement is also based in shame, for the Pharisee thinks we are made worthy of connection by what we do, not who we are; that we have to prove our worth, that we have to justify ourselves.

The 4^th c. desert saint John the Dwarf said, "We have put aside the easy burden, which is self-accusation, and weighed ourselves down with the heavy one, self-justification." [cited by Dan Clendenin, op cit.] The heavy burden is having to prove ourselves worthy of connection, instead of simply believing we are worthy. Those who do so believe – that they are worthy of connection – are what Brene Brown calls Wholehearted people, those who engage in life from a place of worthiness, resilient to shame, in other words. This means living a life of courage, compassion, and connection, which conversely, means being vulnerable. Living wholeheartedly, reaching out to connect with others, believing that we are worthy of love and connection, makes us vulnerable to rejection, hurt, failure, and criticism, but it also makes us resilient to shame, able to move from that temporary sense of unworthiness to a deeper, more resilient place of worthiness and connection.

When you start looking for it, it’s amazing how pervasive shame is in our culture. In the last 10 years, Jean Twenge and Keith Campbell write in their study, Narcissism Epidemic, the number of diagnoses of narcissistic personality disorder has more than doubled, and underlying every level of this diagnosis is shame [Brown, op cit. , p. 21] There is a fear of being ordinary, so grandiosity is perceived to give some kind of protection against ordinariness and shame. You may have noticed this syndrome at some of the highest levels of our society. It’s devastating–to the people with it and all the people in their orbits. All based in the fear that "I’m not enough. There’s not enough. I’ll never have enough."

"Worrying about scarcity," Brene Brown writes, "is our culture’s version of post-

traumatic stress disorder. It happens when we’ve been through too much, and rather than coming together to heal (which requires vulnerability), we’re angry and scared and at each other’s throats." [Daring Greatly, p. 27] That pretty much sums up the 2016 presidential campaign. The opposite of scarcity is enough, I am enough, there is enough, wholehearted living.

"God, I thank you that I am not like other people, like those people," those Trump supporters, those Hillary supporters. "Our capacity for smugness is astonishing," wrote Paul D. Duke, back in 1995.

In the nation and in the churches, what a rage is on to assure ourselves and define ourselves by who we are not like. Could there be a better indicator that we have no idea who we are? When our eyes move away from our own shadowy hearts, there is no place else to look but at someone else, and no comfort but in claiming: Well, I’m not like that! [in Clendenin, op cit.]

1995. 2016. A rage is on and we still don’t know who we really are.

"You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied," God says through the prophet Joel, "and praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you. And my people shall never again be put to shame." Shame–that fear of not being worthy of connection-- does not come from God. In fact, God put the lie of separation to rest by coming to live among us, as one of us. There is nothing you can do–deny, abandon, run away–that can forever separate you from God–unless you choose to. That’s how I understand hell–separation by our own choice, not God’s condemnation. "My people shall never again be put to shame."

"I tell you," Jesus said, "this man went down to this home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted." All who humble themselves–not accuse themselves of being worthless or worms, but rather who can empty themselves enough to be filled with God–they will be exalted.

Humility is typically a hard thing for us to grasp, [Paul Duke writes]. It involves being able to see the truth about who we really are and accept others as they are. And more than that; it leaves room for us to see the grandeur that is God. It allows us to be who we were called to be in God’s order, rather than who we envision ourselves to be. It enables us to prepare to receive God into our lives–not the God we want or the God we think we need, but God–Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, who loves us more than we can even fathom, on the days when we are sinners and the days when we get it right and the days (which is mot of them) when we don’t even know which we are."

We are loved by an unending Love. We are worthy of connection, of belonging, and so is everyone else. "Whoever you are, wherever you are life’s journey, you are welcome here." "No judgments, just Jesus," as the Wisconsin church featured on the back of our bulletin says. There is nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of God, which we know in Christ Jesus, as Paul wrote. This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, and this is really good news.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Prayer Warriors"-- Jeremiah 31:27-34, Luke 18:1-8 --Oct. 16, 2016

Clergy are prohibited by law from making partisan political speeches from the pulpit. It puts their congregation’s tax-exempt status into jeopardy, though some have argued that it’s a limit on their freedom of religion. Other than to urge you to vote in this November’s election–a right people have died for--, I will not be delivering any partisan, political sermons today or in the weeks to come, but I have to confess that I don’t think ignoring the political context in which we gather for worship each Sunday and live our lives the rest of the week is particularly helpful or even possible. Unless you watch only the Weather Channel or Home Improvement shows, you can’t turn on your television without hearing or seeing something about the political campaigns. You certainly can’t go on Facebook or any of the other social media outlets without seeing at least one post about some candidate. It’s almost as though it’s in the air we breathe, and I don’t have to tell you, the air has gotten pretty toxic. It has gotten into our bloodstreams, our bodies have absorbed the brutality and ugliness of the rhetoric, old and new traumas have been unearthed. One can barely imagine such a thing as a "purple state," because red and blue seem so irreconcilable. Without downplaying or denigrating the horror and trauma of bomb-and-blast places of war, like Aleppo or Mosul, it feels at times as though we are living in a war zone.

Nancy Rockwell, a UCC pastor and blogger in Exeter, NH, writes about a friend of hers who is a professor of theology at So. Methodist University and who is an active member of her Methodist Church. She’s also African American. When asked if she thought a Catholic priest should be sent in to do an exorcism on one or both of the campaigns, she jokingly replied that in her church, the Prayer Warriors would be on top of this.

"African Americans, in my opinion," Rev. Rockwell writes, "have learned more about the power of prayer and its practices than any other Christian group." You’ll recall the powerful witness of the people of Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston, SC after the shooting of 9 members of their congregation by a white supremacist. "No liturgy, moving and eloquent as they can be," Rev. Rockwell writes, "no silence, profound and revealing; no beloved Book of Prayers can come close to being surrounded by a group of black women who have put on the armor of faith and are operating as prayer warriors." [biteintheapple, 10/9/16]

If you have been prayed over by a group of faithful prayers, maybe even had hands laid upon you in prayer, you’ve had a taste of this power. Or maybe in the midst of a health or other crisis, when you’ve thought to ask for prayer or your community has simply known you needed to be held in prayer, you may have experienced an inexplicable sense of being held, or loved, or being at peace. Rev. Rockwell writes, "Too often, this power [of prayer] gets focused on small personal details in individual lives. These deserve prayer. But not a war of praying."

"Where is the circle of Prayer Warriors surrounding Donald Trump for the sake of the 40% of the nation who believe in him? [she asks, and then laments, ] No powerful evangelical has taken on the position of Campaign Chaplain....Doesn’t he need their support,... to heal his campaign?" And what about Hillary? we might ask. Doesn’t she need a circle of Prayer Warriors surrounding her, healing her campaign?

"While I’m on the subject," Rev. Rockwell writes, "I’d like to see a gang of African American prayer warriors march into Hillary’s HQ, surround Bill, and promise to keep him occupied from now until the election, anytime he isn’t giving a campaign speech," (and also while he’s giving a campaign speech, I might add). "Who more than Prayer Warriors believe in redemption? Believe that a man [or woman] can change? Believe that God can use the worst of us, to bring out the best in us? Believe that justice can, at last, be won?" (Ibid.)

Isn’t it time to send in the Prayer Warriors?

The widow who kept pestering and waling on the unjust judge was a prayer warrior. The word in Hebrew for "widow" means "silent one," "one unable to speak." [John Pilch, Cultural World of the Gospels] Jesus uses this person on the margins of society as a model for persistence in prayer, and prayer here is the relentless demand for justice. She is anything but silent.

The judge in the story, translator Mark Davis says, is a man with power who is living as if there is no moral order to the universe and as if life has no divine purpose, meaning, or consequences. [leftbehindandlovingit, 10/9/16] The widow keeps coming, day after day, demanding that he "grant [her] justice against [her] opponent, [her] adversary," which literally means, "anti-justice." She is not only annoying, she is fully in his face, not only "wearing him out," but "making him black and blue." She is focused, determined, fearless.

"Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart," Luke sets up the story. But again, we have to be careful about too neatly assigning roles here. Is God really like the unjust judge whom we have to keep pestering to grant us our prayers? Or is God more like the widow, relentlessly seeking justice, never giving up?

Tracy Farmer, a physician who has worked tirelessly to bring health care to the poor of Haiti and who wrote the book Mountains beyond Mountains, picks up a term from JRR Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring Trilogy, in which the Elves of Lothlorien admit they are losing their battle for their forest lands; yet they are committed to staying in the "long defeat." Farmer acknowledges that his efforts too are a "long defeat"–"I have fought the long defeat [he writes] and brought other people on to fight the long defeat, and I’m not going to stop because we keep losing. Now I actually think sometimes we may win. [that was before this last hurricane which devastated Haiti] I don’t dislike victory...We want to be on the winning team, but at the risk of turning our backs on the losers, no, it’s not worth it. So you fight the long defeat." [cited by Dan Clendenin, journeywithjesus, 10/16/13]

Glennon Doyle Melton, whose blog momastery and her books Carry On, Warrior and Love Warrior, have inspired and given hope to many women, states that we need to stop pretending life, parenthood, and friendships aren’t hard. Like M. Scott Peck’s book The Road Less Travelled which was a best-seller back in the 1970's, and which began with the revolutionary sentence, "Life is hard," we have too often been led to believe that life should be easy. That bad things shouldn’t happen to good people. That life should be fair. So, it’s tempting to misunderstand, minimize, or explain away the things that don’t go well or easily or fairly.

"We are born to be warriors," Doyle Melton writes, "strong, powerful, and brave; able to confront the pain and claim the love that exists for us all." Words not often enough directed to or believed by women especially. The challenge, she says, is "how to use crisis as a springboard to truer identity and a better life....how to enter the fire of our lives and transform it into fuel to light the world..." to become "Love Warriors."

"The days are surely coming, says the Lord [through Jeremiah], when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah...[and] this is the covenant that I will make...: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more."

Jeremiah prophesied in a time not so unlike ours as you might think. The nations were in turmoil, the leaders making alliances with almost anyone but God, a gap of literally hundreds of desert miles between the elite in exile and the poor left behind in the rubble of cities and villages.

"The days are surely coming, says the Lord" Jeremiah cries, "when I will make a new covenant with the people....and I will put my law within them, and I will write it–etch it–on their hearts." God’s law, which, as Bruce Epperly says, is not oppressive or rigid, but "liberating, encouraging creativity and care for each other, transformative, present as our deepest reality," written on our hearts. God’s law–not our own, self-centered, my way or the highway law; God’s law–not some imposed, dictated, outside law; but God’s law–in which I discover my truest self, my deepest joy, my own well-being aligned with the well-being of the planet.

"Jesus told them this parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart." The widow who kept pestering the unjust judge – "Grant me justice against my adversary"– this woman who was supposed to be the "silent one, the one unable to speak"– she spoke what was in her heart day after day, over and over, "because [as Barbara Brown Taylor puts it] saying it was how she remembered who she was. It was how she remembered the shape of her heart." [The Long Way Home, cited in Weekly Seeds, UCC, 10/19/13] The law of God had been written on her heart, had shaped her heart. And courage, by the way, originally meant, "telling the true story of your heart." [Brene Brown] "Jesus told them this parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart."

It is that courage, that persistence, that hunger for justice, that love for God and this achingly beautiful world and incredibly blessed country that we desperately need at this critical time. We need people who are called to be Prayer Warriors to keep Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton and every other person running for offices of leadership and responsibility surrounded and infused with the fierce love of God. We need Prayer Warriors to pray over our fragile planet. We need Prayer Warriors to pray our community rife with addiction and despair. Can you imagine if those Prayer Warriors devoted themselves and trained themselves like the men and women who are called to be warriors in our nation’s armed services do? Can we even imagine what such a training and devotion would look like?

Even those of us not called to such a commitment can still add our energies and intentions to the healing and guiding of our nation, can still refuse to add to the ugliness and hatred and deceit being offered up, can send love and compassion toward those whose opinions and positions differ so profoundly from ours, for our own sake as well as ours. For though prayer is a mystery, it changes the prayer if not the prayed for. For the truth is, we must live together, or we shall die together, at least die to the vision that once formed the nation. May the fire of our lives and the crisis of our times be transformed into the fuel that can light the world and remind us of our true identities. In this battle, whether it is the long defeat or the ultimate victory, may we be found strong and brave and true.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Telling the Truth"-- Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7, Luke 17:1-4-- Oct. 9, 2016

Rabbi Arthur Waskow, in his reflection for Yom Kippur, recalls the 2-sentence short story by Franz Kafka–"One day a leopard came stalking into the synagogue, roaring and lashing its tail. Three weeks later, it had become part of the liturgy[--part of the order of worship]. " "Our task," Rabbi Waskow says, "in every generation, every year, is to let the leopard out of the cage of liturgy–scary, and full of life." [tikkun.org, 9/21/16]

...A leopard came stalking into the synagogue, into the church...Can you imagine? This graceful, powerful cat, muscles rippling, huge paws reaching out, silently padding its way down the aisle,....Stalking into the sanctuary, roaring and lashing its tail... scary and full of life...turning its head and staring into our eyes, into our souls...

It would be hard to find an image or a feeling further away from our usual experience of reading the prayer of confession together on a typical Sunday morning, or the 30-60 sec. of silent reflection that follows. Some people don’t think we should even have a prayer of confession. The church has beaten down and shamed people for far too long, they say, and they wouldn’t be completely wrong. Instead of the seed of light or divinity planted in each one of us, too often the focus has been on a seed of "sin," "original sin," it’s sometimes called, passed down almost genetically from generation to generation. No matter how hard we try, we can’t help ourselves from sinning.

Taken to an extreme, this understanding leads to the proposition that our sin was so bad that God finally had to send Jesus to carry all that sin and take the punishment we deserve for us, because, of course, a just God would demand such a punishment. "Substitutionary atonement" is the technical term for that, in case you were wondering, and it sets up all kinds of truly scary conclusions about God.

Judaism has no concept of "original sin." "The Jewish concept of ‘sin’ [as one rabbi explains it] is that of thinking of ourselves as an arrow aimed at a target of being the most loving and compassionate and generous person we could possibly be, but which has gone slightly off-course and is missing the target." It’s called "repentance." So during the High Holy Days–these days between Rosh Hashanah (the New Year) and Yom Kippur 10 days later–through prayer and fasting, the intention is to get the arrow back on course–kind of a mid-course correction, if you will, "a soul tune-up." "We search our deeds, ask God to forgive us for where we have gone astray, and seek forgiveness from each person in our lives whom we may have hurt unintentionally or, sadly, even intentionally." [editors of Tikkun, 9/21/16]

It’s not unlike part of the process that various 12-step groups go through. Steps 8, 9, and 10 are: "made a list of all the persons we had harmed and became willing to make amends to them," "made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others," and "continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it." [from Twelve Steps, of Alcoholics Anonymous]

Jesus is also clear about dealing directly with the offenses and hurts we inflict upon one another and are inflicted with. "Be on your guard!" he warns his disciples. "If another disciple sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is repentance, you must forgive. And if the same person sins against you seven times a day, and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent,’ you must forgive." Elsewhere, Jesus talks about clearing the air between you and another church member before you come into worship. It’s that important. It’s that hard, as immediately after he says this, Luke says that the disciples cried, "Increase our faith!" This is tough going. Remember the leopard stalking into worship.

While our Jewish brothers and sisters go deeply into these 10 High Holy Days for prayer and repentance, they are still encouraged to make daily and weekly amends. It is our custom to be reminded of the need for those "course corrections" every week, because, as Kayla McClurg writes,

Without noticing, oh so sublty, we drift away. We step around each other, uncertain how to connect, not wanting to interfere, to bear responsibility, to navigate the uncertainties. We feel the chill of increasing distance, and snuggle up closer to our jobs, our worldwide web of acquaintances, our witty and clever opinions. Like adapting to the earth’s dizzying spin, we barely notice how we slide inch by inch by slippery inch from the fundamental human connections that are given to keep us steady in the world. We don’t see or value the bridges God puts between us and among us, let alone walk across them. Even among others, we live as though alone." [inward/outward, 9/24/16]

This process of confession and forgiving is literally "repairing the world," as Jews understand it–tikkun. Repairing the breaches, the tears in the fabric, a mending of that which is torn. Yom Kippur is sometimes called the Sabbath of Sabbaths, a foretaste of the world to come, the return of the soul to the mother. "In some sense, one becomes angelic, purified from the transgressions of the previous year, starting anew with a clean slate." (Eliot Wolfson, Harvard Divinity School News and Events, 9/30/16)

An important part of Yom Kippur is "getting a clearer sense of where our society has gone astray," (Tikkun, 9/21/16) recognizing the systemic and outright injustice, cruelty, idolatry, the incredible off-course direction of our society, our culture, our world. We are part of all that, whether intentionally or unintentionally, which is why when sometimes our prayers of confession seem not to apply to us, they do. The wisdom of confession or telling the truth is that not only are we part of these systems, we must also see those who are caught up in or even perpetrating this injustice, corruption, or cruelty as wounded human beings. Otherwise, we cannot challenge them with a clear heart, we are too liable to being drawn into the injustice, corruption, and cruelty ourselves, and so repair of the fabric will not be made. There are days, like the past couple, when I feel soiled or wounded just from listening to the news. We need a daily practice of forgiveness, repentance, and letting go into the Light if we are to be able to reach the level of consciousness that will be required for this work.

"Seek the welfare of the city in which you live," Jeremiah sent word to the exiles living in Babylon. "Build houses, marry, have children," plant seeds of life even in the midst of a society that often seems hellbent on death. Keep on forgiving, keep on being honest with yourself and God, keep on planting seeds of light and faith in the midst of your ordinary life.

"One day a leopard came stalking into the synagogue, roaring and lashing its tail. Three weeks later, it had become part of the liturgy." "Our task," Rabbi Waskow says, "in every generation, every year, is to let the leopard out of the cage of liturgy–scary, and full of life." What if we faced our truth fully–what we have done or should have done, what we have allowed to happen or helped to make happen, who we have become and who we might become, what kind of world we are leaving for the next generations, what kind of a community we are creating–and yes, what we have done in the past that we might still amends for–what if we faced that truth fully? Like the leopard, it is scary AND full of life. Imagine clearing out the clutter, letting go of the hurt and resentment, being freed from having to do it all at once, by yourself, being honest, getting a look at "the most loving and compassionate and generous person you could possibly be," –and in the presence of the One whose name is Mercy, Compassion, Love, and Light, being assured without a doubt that you are loved, forgiven, set free. Halle, hallelujah!

Imagine the freedom and lightness with which we might work together to build the Beloved Community, to call our country back–or really, forward-- to its highest good, to live lightly on our earth that it too might be restored. Imagine! But know that, like the leopard, or like the lion Aslan in C.S. Lewis’ Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe, who Mrs. Beaver described in awe, "He is not safe, but he is good," know that this truth-telling and vision-clearing will not make us secure or comfortable. It will make us alive and faithful.

"Unless we let the Leopard out to roar and lash Her tail," Rabbi Waskow warns, "unless we open ourselves up to being shaken by His passion and compassion, we find when the gates are closing at the end that we may have experienced nostalgia, but not the transformation Yom Kippur was intended to make happen." (Ibid.) Unless we take the crucifixion of Jesus, and his willingness to trust God even in the worst the world had to offer, we will not experience the transformation of resurrection either.

"I want Jesus to walk with me...." is a song for scary times. The way is not easy. We have too often strayed from the hard road, seeking the ease of the road more traveled. My friends, I don’t have to tell you that these are troubled and troubling times. Even after the election, whoever wins, it will be a scary time, our country divided and fearful and angry, nations at war in so many ways. More than ever, we need clear hearts and minds. We must be about the daily, weekly, yearly work of repairing the breaches, the wounds, the divisions. The One who walks beside us is not afraid. The One who walks beside us has seen the worst. The One who walks beside us will help carry the load and provide all that we need. "In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Nurturing the Seed"- 2 Tim. 1:1-14, Luke 17:5-6-- Oct. 2, 2016

Marva Collins went to school in a strict one-room schoolhouse in Alabama in the 1940's,in the days of segregation in the south, and was given extra assignments and challenges by her father at home. After graduating from college, Ms. Collins became a substitute teacher in the Chicago public schools, and was appalled at the treatment and disposal of poor black students. Finally, she withdrew the $5000 that was in her teacher’s retirement fund and opened a private school in the top floor of a brownstone in the westside Chicago neighborhood where she lived. Beginning Westside Preparatory School with her own 3 children and 2 others, Marva Collins developed an educational system based on the principle that there is a "seed of greatness" in every child. For more than 30 years, graduates of Westside Preparatory School became full and contributing members of society, went on to college and other higher levels of education, and attributed their success to Marva Collins’ tough but respectful interest and commitment to each one of them. "I believe in you," she said to every student, and would "water" and nurture "seed of greatness" she had discovered in them. She practiced grounded positivity, based on the actual seed that was there in a student, not one that she didn’t make up or see present, for that would be building pseudo-self-esteem, as she called it. The question she asked was not, "Is this student smart?" but rather, "How is this student smart?" And then, "How can we cultivate this seed of greatness?"

Marva Collins’ teaching methods are still sound. The story is told of one little boy who wasn’t doing well in school and his self-esteem was slowly but surely being whittled away. Finally a wise teacher noticed that he always carried in his pocket 3 little balls, and every chance he got, he would juggle them. She invited him to demonstrate his juggling skills in front of the class and then to teach other students how to do it. The students in the class began to see this young boy in a new light, and he began to see himself in a new light. He began to think of new ways to teach others how to juggle, and in the process, began to do better in his more academic studies. That teacher had uncovered his "seed of greatness."

"Teacher," the disciples said to Jesus, "Increase our faith!" And Jesus replied, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you."

"If you had faith the size of a mustard seed,..." Jesus said. It sounds like maybe he doesn’t think they do, but actually this construction in Greek, according to a number of scholars, is what is called "a condition of certainty." "If you had faith–AND YOU DO–you could do this." In other words, Jesus is saying that the faith that you have is already sufficient–celebrate the gift of that seed! "The faith you have, though small, is more than enough to do all that you dream of and more." [Glenn Monson, Law and Gospel Everywhere, 9/24/16]

"Increase our faith," the disciples had said to Jesus. That was right after he had told them of the need to forgive even a person who had offended them 7 times. "Increase our faith," they said. "This is too hard for us!" The disciples, like us, were focusing on what they lacked. "I’m not good enough, smart enough, successful enough, strong enough, pretty enough, thin enough, brave enough, spiritual enough..." "You already ARE enough," Jesus said. "You’ve got a seed of greatness within you, planted there by God. Water it. Nurture it. It’s all you need to do what God wants you to do."

And who said you had to uproot and move trees? "Increase our faith"–super-size us, upgrade us, make us spiritual giants. Who said you had to become famous? Who said you had to be "the greatest"? Who said you had to perform "miracles"? Certainly not Jesus. Leave the uprooting and moving of trees to God. Have faith the size of a mustard seed in God–faith, as in trust, confidence, commitment, not belief in some statement about God. Trust God, even a little bit. Practice in the small things, make it a habit. If you’re feeling discouraged, try remembering, "I am beloved.." When things seem to be taking a bad turn, try, "All will be well..." When you or someone are in distress, try, "Thank you, God, that you already at work healing, holding, ..." Begin again each day.

Faith is a muscle, not an idea, as preacher David Lose says [workingpreacher.org, 10/2/16]. The more you use it, the stronger it gets. The small deeds of kindness, the random acts of beauty, have a huge impact. Imagine how empty and grim a place the world would be if we subtracted all those little acts, all those quiet words of encouragement, all those small gestures of grace and beauty. The seed of greatness is already planted in you. Just ask any of those everyday heroes who unthinkingly reach out to grab a child running into the street, or tackle the kid with the rifle shooting up the schoolyard, or filling a subway station with music that soothes and fills weary commuters. "I didn’t think," they’ll tell you. "It’s just what you do." It’s what that seed of greatness, that faith the size of a mustard seed, enables you to do.

"Rekindle the gift of God that is within you," the writer of the letter to Timothy said. "...that faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you..." Rekindle the gift, blow on the ember–"It only takes a spark to get a fire going..." the hymn says. "That’s how it is with God’s love, once you’ve experienced it...Pass it on...." The spark, the ember, the seed–it’s not just for our own warmth or growth–it’s for the world, for the community. "The kingdom of God–the reign of God–is like a seed...." Jesus said. That’s how the kingdom comes.

Just a piece of bread, just a sip of wine, contains the whole Body and Blood of Christ. Our actions and reminders of unity here today ripple out into the world and join with others all around the world who celebrate the life of grace and oneness. "Excellence is not an act but a habit," Marva Collins said. "The things you do the most are the things you do the best." May the love, compassion, and justice we practice here become the habits we express in our community and in our world. The faith that we have, however small, is more than enough to do all that we dream of and more. It is enough for God to move mountains or build the kingdom. Let us keep the feast. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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180th Birthday

On Sunday September 25 Second Congo celebrated its 180th birthday. The special worship service featured four historical characters from the church's past, and four “Grasshopper Tales” (five-minute stories, in the style of Moth Radio stories, each told by a member of the congregation who participated in a “leap of faith” in the church's history). The adult choir sang and the handbell choir rang, both under the direction of Sue Green. Vintage photographs and newspaper clippings from events such as the explosion of the church organ, continue to be on display in the social hall.

Originally part of what we now know as “Old First Church,” the congregation divided into two in 1836 because many women were no longer willing to walk up the hill several times a Sunday for worship services at the Congregational church on Monument Avenue. Parishioners down in the valley built Second Congregational Church, a tall and traditional church in New England style, on the corner of School and Main where the TD Bank now stands.
In 1959, when that building became too expensive for the congregation to maintain, the congregation sold it and built an architecturally radical church building on Hillside Street. Only 18 months after its construction, the church was heavily damaged by an explosion caused by a gas leak. On August 6, 1961 the Bennington Banner carried front page news and photographs of the walls of the sanctuary blown out and lying on the ground, the interior of the church exposed to the outdoors. Another memorable explosion in Second Congo's history was of pressure cookers containing the ingredients for a chicken pot pie supper.

In 1965 Rev Thomas D Steffen was called to be the church's new pastor. He served for 29 years that included the church being the site of draft counseling during the Viet Nam War, and the church undergoing study and discussion that led to its officially declaring itself “Open and Affirming” to LGBTQ people (the first church in Vermont to do so).

After Tom Steffen retired in 1994, the church called its first woman pastor. With Rev Mary Lee-Clark as pastor, Second Congo has continued active involvement in the Bennington community both as a congregation and with individual members volunteering at many community endeavors including Sunday Suppers at the church, the Free Clinic, the Kitchen Cupboard, the Seedlings Program to nurture elementary school children in after school program, and many others. Long-running annual events such as the Snowball Bazaar, now in its 68th year, attract locals and others. The history of Second Congregational Church is indeed interwoven with the history of Bennington.
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"Lamentation and Prayer for the Nation"- Jeremiah 8:18-9:1, 1 Tim.2:1-7-- Sept. 18, 2016

I remember being struck in the weeks after Sept. 11, 2001 how the assigned readings from the lectionary, particularly from Jeremiah, seemed so eerily current. They were addressed to a nation in distress, a people wounded, wondering where God was, facing devastation.

And now, 15 years later–starting the 6^th round of these 3-year cycles of readings–we’re back in Jeremiah, and the prophet seems to be speaking once again to the anguish of our time. The first 8 chapters of Jeremiah are full of condemnation and accusation of the nation of Israel’s deceit and corruption and God’s dismay and weariness at the people’s refusal to return to God’s ways. "Why then has this people turned away in perpetual backsliding?" God asks. "They have held fast to deceit, they have refused to return. I have given heed and listened, but they do not speak honestly; no one repents of wickedness, saying, ‘What have I done!’" It’s as though God is reading the New York Times over coffee in the morning, and every few paragraphs, crumples up the paper and pounds on the table. "What did he say?" God asks incredulously. "What has she done now?" "Jeremiah!" comes the Divine command. "Tell them. Point out their lies. Look at my poor people dying!"

And Jeremiah is exhausted from the effort. Exhausted from trying to compete with all the other noise and getting blamed for being a messenger of doom. "My joy is gone," he cries. "Grief is upon me, my heart is sick. Hark, the cry of my poor people from far and wide in the land: ‘Is the Lord not in Jerusalem, or Washington, or Aleppo, or the Congo, or Baghdad?’ ‘The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.’ For the hurt of my poor people I am hurt, [Jeremiah moans], I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me."

Jeremiah is the master of lament. In fact, there’s a whole book in the Bible called Lamentations, the Lamentations of Jeremiah. "How lonely is the city that once was full of people," it begins, as Jeremiah looks upon Jerusalem after its people have been taken off into exile. But lamentation is not only for the aftermath of tragedy. It is also for those times when tragedy can still be averted, when the depth of the crisis, the reality of the situation and the consequences of the decisions being made right now can be seen in all their terrifying power. Lamentation is appropriate to help us get a grip on just how much is at stake, how much we have to lose. When we can feel deeply and fully just how far we have gone astray, when we can see clearly where this current trend is taking us, we may finally be open to the possibility of getting our act together and re-orient ourselves to head in a direction that we actually may want to go–a direction that is life-giving, ot death-dealing.

There’s no "going back again," of course. That is never possible. The world and time never stand still. But the greatness and goodness that is possible is always drawing us forward, God is always making all things new.

"Is there no balm in Gilead?" Jeremiah wonders. Back in the 6^th c. BCE, Gilead was thought of as a place of healing and medical care. The balm in Gilead was probably resin from balsam trees, the "balsam of Mecca," and the balm was probably some kind of topical ointment. But it was a surface treatment, not unlike a bandaid in our day, and alas in Jeremiah’s day and in ours, bandaids are utterly inadequate for the job. What is needed is more like a heart transplant, a complete change of heart, a radical–as in "root"–transformation.

Anyone who’s had surgery–a joint replacement, or organ transplant, or other repair–knows that the surgery itself is only part of the healing. In fact, usually, hopefully, you’re anaesthesized during the surgery. It’s the aftermath, the slow, painful, aching mending of tissue and bone that requires the real patience and courage.

We have arrived at a place where the chasm between income levels, the distrust and despair between races and religions, the toxicity of our environment, the polarity between political parties and segments of our population is so deep and wide that easy and painless solutions won’t do. There is no balm in Gilead that will smooth things over. It is going to take deep sacrifice across the board, painful adjustments of expectations and assumptions, humbling realizations of responsibility and openness to a new order. Balance sheets of profit and loss will need to be examined with new eyes, factoring in the cost to future generations and our environment in our short-term expenses and plans.

The days of the church merely continuing on with business as usual, even exploring new ways to attract people here, are over, as once thriving churches are now closing their doors, including the church I came from in Syracuse. Here in Vermont, here in Bennington, –this least religious state in the nation--the climate is even more challenging, as families are reluctant to send their children to a free summer camp held in a church, for fear they will be proselytized, and the faith community is at best an afterthought when community events are planned. We will have to shift our efforts from attracting people here to going out where people are, bringing the good news of God’s love there, witnessing in acts of service and justice that our God is a God of justice and compassion. When or if people do come to join us in worship and fellowship, we must offer words and music and rituals that are accessible to those who may have never been in a church, many of whom are digital natives, finding ways that bring the wisdom and worth of our tradition into the 21^st century in a way that communicates and touches heads and hearts. The "old hymns" and "old ways" are not banned forever–we can still find ways to feed hearts and minds for whom they have meaning–but if our children’s children and beyond are to know and experience the love of God, we will need to find new ways to express and embody that.

Jeremiah could speak truth to power because he also experienced the grief and pain and hardship of the people. That is what gives one the right to be a prophet, or to be a leader, really. "You know what you people should do..." is not the beginning of any advice you should pay attention to. That is not the voice of one who understands the full consequences of where we are and where we must go. "O that my head were a spring of water, and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people."

How like our God, who became flesh among us in Jesus, to fully experience the pain and suffering of humanity, who knows our grief, who knows even our death. And the community that lived on in His name and spirit, also understood –in its most faithful times– what kind of servant leadership was needed. Generations after Jesus, even a generation or so after the apostle Paul, wrote in Paul’s name to a community led by Timothy. "First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all who are in high positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity..."

So in the midst of this highly contentious and troubling presidential campaign, let us at the very least heed this advice and pray for our leaders and those who would be our leaders. The children in a video created by the Salt Project, a Christian resource group based in Indianapolis, offered some great advice to the next president of the United States. Here are some of their pleas and prayers–"Support the homeless and give them shelter." "Build more community centers so kids and teens have a place to go." "It’s gonna be hard, so my advice is to try to have some fun everyday." "Have ice cream everyday." "Get rid of homework." "Make America a peaceful and non-violent place." "Donate to charities and organizations, create more jobs." "Respect everyone, no matter their color or gender." "Keep guns off the streets, so loved ones won’t get hurt, and to make all gun laws strict. And keep guns from teenagers and in the neighborhoods." "Remember being nice is better than being mean." "Listen to us kids because if we ruled the world, no one would be homeless and there would be less crime." The last little boy, as the credits are running, says, "And everyone would live in harmony, and there would be no bank robberies too. That’s my advice."

"Unless you become as little children, you cannot enter the kingdom of God" is how Jesus put it.

"Offer prayers for kings and presidents and candidates and all who are in high positions..." Here’s a prayer "For One Who Holds Power" by the late John O’Donohue. May it be our prayer as well, as we think of President obama, Hillary clinton, Donald Trump, and all who "hold power"--

May the gift of leadership awaken in you as a vocation,

Keep you mindful of the providence that calls you to serve.

As high over the mountains the eagle spreads its wings,

May your perspective be larger than the view from the foothills.

When the way is flat and dull in times of gray endurance,

May your imagination continue to evoke horizons.

When thirst burns in times of drought,

May you be blessed to find the wells.

May you have the wisdom to read time clearly

And know when the seed of change will flourish.

In your heart may there be a sanctuary

For the stillness where clarity is born.

May your work be infused with passion and creativity

And have the wisdom to balance compassion and challenge.

May your soul find the graciousness

To rise above the fester of small mediocrities.

May your power never become a shell

Wherein your heart would silently atrophy.

May you welcome your own vulnerability

As the ground where healing and truth join.

May integrity of soul be your first ideal,

The source that will guide and bless your work." [John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us, p. 147]

May we hear the pain of God’s people and the earth, and may we pray with our lives for healing

of the nation. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Will's Baptism

[caption id="attachment_84973" align="alignnone" width="711"] Extended family after baptism[/caption]

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“God of Wisdom, Wrath, and Compassion”-- Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28, Luke 15:1-10--Sept. 11, 2016

“God is everywhere, within me and around me.” Who is this God who is everywhere, within us and around us? What is the character of this God? Who is this God whose child we’ve affirmed young William is, whose children we all are? “God is everywhere, within me and around me.”

It matters who or what we think and say God is. Not what statement or creed we might recite about God, though statements of faith and creeds are all snapshots of what people have thought about God at a given time. In the United Church of Christ, we do not require agreement to any particular statement or doctrine to join our church. The closest thing we come to that is affirming that Jesus, the One in whom we see God most fully alive in a human being, Jesus is “Lord” of our lives, which even now is language that isn’t always helpful. It comes from a hierarchical, feudal culture, where lords literally, forcefully, controlled those living “beneath” them. For those in slavery, like our African-American brothers and sisters, calling Jesus “Lord” was an act of defiance and liberation – Jesus is my Lord, not you, massah.

Here’s how I understand Jesus to be Lord of my life–the Way that Jesus taught and lived is the guiding principle of my life. It’s how I judge my actions and thoughts, where I need to make adjustments, make amends; it’s a Way of life that I seek to follow and learn about and discern anew every day.

“God is everywhere, within me and around me.” Who is this God who is everywhere, within us and around us? Some people say that the God of the “Old Testament,” the God of Hebrew Scripture, is the God of wrath and judgment, while the God of the “New Testament,” the Christian testament, is the God of love. That is a conclusion you can draw by cherry-picking verses or passages from each testament, but way too simplistic and sweeping a statement to make. Read the love poem that is Song of Songs in the Old Testament, or take a look at the Book of Revelation at the end of the New Testament.

Take, for example, the reading from Jeremiah which Ted read for us. It sure sounds like a God of wrath– “At that time it will be said to this people and to Jerusalem: A hot wind comes from me out of the bare heights in the desert toward my poor people, not to winnow or cleanse–a wind too strong for that. Now it is I who speak in judgment against them.” That, just a few verses after this warning to clean up their act, “or else my wrath will go forth like fire, and burn with no one to quench it, because of the evil of your doings.” Lightning bolts at the ready!

It was said by some “Christian” preachers at the time of the 9-11 attacks that they were God’s punishment of the United States for our feminists, abortionists, and gays. God’s wrath had been kindled, they said. That is blasphemy against the God I trust in.

The wrath of the God of Jeremiah against the people of Israel was the anger of a parent toward a child engaged in hurtful, self-destructive behavior, worshipping hollow idols, polluting the earth, exploiting the poor, forswearing justice. If you discover that your daughter has been driving while texting, or your son has been bullying someone, or that your babysitter has been allowing your toddler to chase a ball out into the street, anger is an appropriate response–not anger that lashes out in violence – but anger that they have played so dangerously with precious life. You want to impress upon them that that behavior can’t go on. God’s wrath is not random, narcissistic, or petty, but grows out of a profound love for God’s people and a longing for their well-being.

“For my people are foolish,” God says-- Notice it’s not, “My people are bad”– “My people are foolish, they do not know me; they are stupid children, they have no understanding. They are skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good.” We can certainly go ahead and pollute the earth, starve millions by our own greed, humiliate those whom we perceive are different from ourselves–different in skin color, religion, custom, or culture–we can put all our money into weapons of destruction or tax breaks for the wealthy while our schools fall apart, along with our roads and bridges. We are free to do all that, but the consequences – especially the long-term consequences– are also certain. They are beginning to emerge all around us. You can call it God’s wrath, but it’s not because of what God is doing from some distant heaven. It’s because of our own foolishness and refusal to follow the way of God’s wisdom.

“God is everywhere, within me and around me.” Who is this God who is everywhere, within us and around us?” We can’t contain this God in a word or name, we can only point to a quality, or an experience, in which we experience something of this God. That’s why Jesus told parables or stories, to draw his listeners into a story that wasn’t neat and tidy and wrapped up in a moral or meaning, though the gospel writers often added on those “meanings” when they told Jesus’ story.

When “sinners and tax collectors” were being drawn to Jesus, the Pharisees, who were inclined to think that you could predict and guarantee God’s favor by fastidiously following “the Law,” the Pharisees grumbled, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” In other words, that’s not what God would do.

So Jesus tells a story, drawing even the Pharisees in–“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until finds it?” You would do that, wouldn’t you? Um,...yeah? “And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders to bring it home and calls together his friends to rejoice with him, that he has found his lost sheep.”

Or what woman [you mean, we have to imagine what it would be like to be a woman?!] having 10 silver coins–maybe from her dowery–if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp [with whatever precious little oil she has remaining] , sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? And calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the lost coin.” “Just so,” Jesus said, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

[A little digression here from research in positive psychology– it has been found that when a partner in a relationship takes the time to listen to and to rejoice over the good news that their partner shares, that has even a longer-lasting benefit to the relationship than only sympathizing over bad news. So, don’t overlook the celebrations and triumphs, however small.]

“God is everywhere, within me and around me.” This God is not only a God whose ways are wise and who loves us so deeply that we project onto God the human emotions of anger and grief when we, God’s children, stray far from that wisdom–this is also the God of compassion who is always seeking us out, like a shepherd with one lost sheep or a housewife with one lost coin. That is what this God is like, Jesus said.

Our God is like the man working in the North Tower of the World Trade Center, who, when the plane hit, ran down the stairs with hundreds of others to safety, but then, realizing that his co-workers and others were still in the building, went back in to help others get out, and continued to go back in, until the Tower collapsed on top of him. Our God is like the firefighters and first-responders who carried people on their backs, who searched through the rubble for any trace of those who had been lost. Our God is like the mother whose son was killed in the attacks using her grief to set up schools for girls in Afghanistan, knowing that education is the way out of poverty and despair.

“God is everywhere, within me and around me.” Our God seeks us out when we are the ones who are lost–lost in depression or discouragement, lost in self-loathing or humiliation, lost in a relationship that is destructive or deadening or unraveling, lost in ignorance or addiction or abuse. And remember what God looked like in those other stories? Like a shepherd or a housewife, like a co-worker or first-responder, like a grieving mother, like you or like me. “God is everywhere, within me and around me.” You just never know when God will swoop you up on His shoulders to carry you, will gather you up in Her lap to embrace and comfort you. You just never know, because “God is everywhere, within me and around me.” Thanks be to God! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Hard Labor"-- Ps. 139:1-6, 13-18, Philemon 1-21-- Sept. 4, 2016

From what I hear, and what I long for myself, what most people look for in a sermon is something they can "take home" with them, something they can apply to their everyday life, something, as is sometimes said, not just for Sunday morning but for the rest of the week. I am grateful when someone tells me they’ve found that in a sermon of mine. And then I try also to remember what my mother told me when I used to send her copies of my weekly sermons–

"Sometimes they’re way over my head," she said. Noted, Mom. Thanks for that reminder not to get too abstract and high-minded. "Keep it real, Mary."

But, honestly, sometimes the text for the day is a little too "real." I find myself squirming, wondering either what in the world it might possibly mean for us who live 2000 or more years after the text was written down OR thinking, wow, human beings haven’t really changed all that much in 2- or 3000 years, have we? We still can’t do what God seems to want us to do.

Take, for example, the passage David just read for us from Philemon. We hardly ever read Philemon, mainly because you have to read the whole thing to make any sense of it. The whole letter is only 25 verses long, and it’s about slavery. Owning another human being. Paul is writing to his friend Philemon–and to the church or community gathered around Philemon–to tell him that he’s sending his slave Onesimus back to him.

"Onesimus" was a pretty common name for slaves–it meant "useful." Onesimus apparently left Philemon’s house–fled? escaped? which would have a risky thing to do–or perhaps left with Philemon’s permission, and somehow met up with Paul and became a Christian. Paul talks about Onesimus as becoming his son, not only "useful" to him, but also beloved. Kind of an awkward situation, when the head of one of the churches you started is supposedly the owner of this young man.

So Paul sends Onesimus back to Philemon with this letter, urging him, a little short of commanding him, to treat Onesimus as a brother in Christ, in fact, to treat Onesimus as though he were Paul himself. Paul doesn’t tell Philemon to free his slave; Paul, the apostle of Christ, says nothing about the evils of slavery or of owning another person. Paul lives within a culture in which slavery is a given. Yes, many slaves were treated kindly by their owners, even, in some instances, like family, and received food and shelter which they otherwise might have been hard-pressed to find. That was true in our own country during our period of owning African-American slaves. But it was certainly not the whole story. Not only was it the owning of human beings–the buying and selling of human beings–but the story is by and large one of brutality, exploitation, abuse, even savagery.

The Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC is in the process of building The National Museum of African American History and Culture. I was struck by the description of one of the objects that will be on display in the museum–a pair of iron shackles, "likely for a slave ship, early 18^th or 19^th century," the label says.

If these shackles could speak, [writes Charles Johnson, author of the book Middle Passage]"they would say it took the resources of an entire society to create slave ships. Every shipboard item pointed to not only the financiers but also the merchants who prepared barrels of salted beef and the workers who created tools of restraint. A medical device adapted for the trade, the speculum oris, was used to force open the mouths of slaves who refused to eat. Everyone in slave trading societies, even those who never owned a slave, was implicated. No one in a country that profited from traffic in slaves was innocent. [The Smithsonian, Sept. 2016, p. 63]

The majority of our founding fathers owned slaves. John Adams, one of our Congregational forbears who defended the runaway slaves aboard the Amistad, after which the Amistad Chapel at our UCC national headquarters is named, was a fierce abolitionist, but "No one in a country that profited from traffic in slaves was innocent."

You may have heard of Georgetown University’s decision this week to give special preference in admissions to descendants of the slaves owned and sold by the Jesuits to help pay off the university’s debt in 1868. They also will be re-naming two of the buildings named after men who were slave-owners. "As Americans," one member of the working group said, "we’re especially allergic to taking responsibility for the mistakes and crimes in our national history." (America, National Catholic Review) The American history that ost of us here learned in school is not the whole story. Only recently have the other parts of our history–the contributions of African Americans and of women, for example, but also the harsher, even detestible parts, like the genocide of native Americans the the truth of slavery–only now are we acknowledging that.

Last Sunday was the 61^st anniversary of the killing of Emmett Till, the 14-year-old boy who was pulled out of his grandparents’ home by 2 white men with guns in Money, MS, allegedly because he had whistled at a white woman. Emmett’s body was later found, beaten, his eyes gouged out, shot in the head, weighted down and thrown into the Tallahatchie River. His killers were quickly acquitted by an all-white jury and said that they had initially intended just to shake the boy up, but when he was unrepentant, they couldn’t allow a you-know-what not to know his place.

This is our history. This is a given in our culture, and like the iron shackles from the slave ship, no one in a society that allows acts like this, or what happens daily in our streets and cities is innocent. We live in the whitest state in the nation and most of us, I’ll bet, do not consider ourselves racist. But are we really innocent in this? Have we even begun to examine the privilege we simply assume because most of us are white? "O God, you have searched me and known me," the psalmist says. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, as the song says.

This is hard stuff–hard labor–on this last Sunday of summer. Like reading Paul’s letter to Philemon, urging him to take back his slave and treat him kindly, commentator Kate Matthews says, "At the very least it sheds light on the tension that occurs when we shine the light of the gospel on our culture and, intentionally or not, expose its injustices." When we recognize how we accommodate those injustices, it rightly makes us uncomfortable. "Maybe it’s uncomfortable," Matthews writes, "but surely it’s a ‘good’ and appropriate kind of discomfort, the kind that unsettles and eventually dislodges injustice from its entrenched places of power and privilege." [sermonseeds, 9/4/16]

Of course it’s not just slavery and racism that the gospel calls us to recognize, acknow-ledge our complicity, and maybe, hopefully, strengthens us to do something to dislodge, but so many other aspects of our lives. Just this morning, the cup of coffee or tea we drank came most likely from a farm or plantation far from Vermont, perhaps through a Fair Trade organization, but even then, transported here by greenhouse gas-producing means. The clothes we are wearing came from where? Made by whom and under what conditions? I checked the label on my dress this a.m.–"LL Bean...Made in Cambodia." We can drive ourselves crazy trying to be pure and expend all sorts of energy trying to be untainted that might be better off spent in advocating for change.

But we must understand that we live in a web of relationship, from which there is no escape. We simply are connected to one another and to the whole world. How we exert our influence, what we put out into that web, is our choice. We can join the UCC Economic Justice Movement, for example, and receive action alerts periodically. We can support organizations that are working for racial justice, support an historically black college like Dillard University in New Orleans, contributing to the scholarship started by the Vt. Conference in honor of one of the first black Congregational ministers. We can pick any point in this whole web of injustice and exploitation, including our own unexamined assumptions, and move "out of our entrenched places of power and privilege."

And the thing is, wherever we find ourselves, at whatever level of innocence or guilt we think we’re on, God will meet us there. "Where can I go from your spirit?" the psalmist asks. "Or where can I flee from your presence...You have searched me and known me." And whoever we are, wherever we are on life’s journey, we are welcomed to claim that we are part of the Body of Christ, we are part of the one loaf and one cup. We are invited to the table, not because we are perfect or totally innocent, but because we broken and have strayed from God’s path. We are invited to this meal, not because life is supposed to be easy, but because it is hard, and we need one another. We are invited to be made whole, to be reminded that in this bread and cup we are united with one another, with all of God’s children, and with God’s very Self. Love invites us here.

So, come to the table. Be fed. Quench your thirst. Know that it is Christ who is both Host and Guest beside us. Let us keep the feast. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Leaky Cisterns"- Jeremiah 2:4-13, Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16-- Aug. 28, 2016

I’m not sure it’s still taught in school, but I remember –vaguely– learning about the various "ages"–the stone age, iron age, bronze age, all those ancient designations of hazy history, lost in the mists of time, challenging me to imagine exactly what or who we were talking about. Were these merely primitive, simple, quasi- human people, barely upright, carrying clubs and wearing rough animal skins, grunting out primitive communication? Or, as was popular when I was growing up, were they more like Fred and Wilma Flintstone, chatty, endearingly flawed, loving their children and pets, going about their daily work, using technology, which, though largely made of stone and metal, was still remarkably useful?

Since we’re talking about a period of time that spanned centuries, if not millenia, the truth is probably somewhere in between, or, honestly, probably never exactly like Fred and Wilma. Still, when we read the Bible, particularly the Old Testament which took place largely in what we call "the iron age,"–between 1200 and 500 BCE-- we would do well not to underestimate the complexity, sophistication, and thoughtfulness of the writers and their communities, and to

listen to their questions, their fears, their wrestling with life in a way that might have something to teach us.

Take, for example, this passage from Jeremiah which Scott read for us, probably from the 6^th century BCE-- "O house of Jacob and all the families of Israel–thus says the Lord: what wrong did your ancestors find in me, that they turned far away from me and went after worthless things, and became worthless themselves? ...For my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and dug out cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that can hold no water."

In ancient Israel, and in all dry cultures, it is imperative to save water. Even today in the region of southern Israel and Egypt, the average rainfall is less than ½" a year–which means, of course, that some years it’s even less. Access to drinkable water, in fact, is one the primary sources of conflict, not only in the Middle East, but everywhere else. Even in Flint, MI and No. Bennington, VT.

Way back in the Iron Age, technologies for saving water were developed, and one of the main ways was in cisterns, usually made of limestone. Buried in the ground, bell-shaped, with a kind of grate or filter over the narrow top, these cisterns could hold gallons of water to see the people through the dry seasons...unless, of course, cracks developed in the limestone and went undetected or unrepaired. In which case, the precious water would leak out into the surrounding ground.

We know what happens to life when there is no water. It quickly becomes death. Of course, the residents of Louisiana know what happens when there is too much water in the places where human beings want to live, but no water in a desert is sure death. "Living water" though, fresh, pure, life-giving water, as Anathea Portier-Young writes, "living water rains, runs, flows, and swirls. It washes away impurity, transports nutrients, constitutes leaf and stem, blood and bone. Where water flows, life abounds. Where water stagnates, disease takes hold. Where there is no water, life cannot even begin." [workingpreacher.org, 8/28/16]

"They have forsaken me, the fountain of living water," God says through Jeremiah, "and dug out cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that can hold no water." They have gone after other gods, Jeremiah says, "prophesied by Baal," defiled the land, forgotten what God has done.

Jeremiah is talking about idolatry here, the first of the 10 commandments–"You shall have no other gods before me." But don’t be fooled. Idolatry isn’t just about worshiping gods like Baal in ancient Israel. The gods of idolatry have many names. "The tricky part [about idolatry, says Portier- Young] is often, when we’re doing it, it doesn’t seem like we’re worshiping false gods; or it seems like we’re pursuing good ends, that are pleasing to the true God; it seems like we’re doing what is necessary for our survival." (Ibid.) Here’s one little visit to idolatry some of us have made-- "I just want a place where my family can live comfortably, and you know with all the kids’ and our stuff, it has to be pretty big so that there’s room for everyone and everything...Not that we spend much time there, because we’re always working or running around to this or that practice or game or meeting, and honestly, we really can’t help with that community project because we’ve got to go shopping ...and...." It’s a slippery slope. Good gifts–like family and friends–can become ends in themselves, more important than even the Giver of those gifts, who, in the midst of all those obligations and appointments and good things with which we fill our time, calls us to go beyond our comfort zones, to see not only our own good but the greater good, to go deeper, to the source of Living Water.

And it is so easy to let the cracks in those cisterns where Living Water can be found to go unnoticed, or to start as tiny little fractures that before we know it, have turned into big cracks, and then when we even notice that we’re thirsty, find that the cistern is empty. It has been a busy couple of weeks here at church–my post- vacation calendar for August has been full of meetings, people have stopped by the office to catch up or express concerns about something that’s going on, I’ve tried to get out to see folks whom I haven’t seen in a couple months now, all that sort of good and necessary stuff. When I remember, I try to take at least 20 minutes out at in the later part of the afternoons to sit quietly and just be, but that hasn’t always happened this week.

So, imagine my chagrin when I opened up the bulletin for this morning’s worship which Erin had faithfully run off and folded to find the "preparation for worship" and the "prayer of confession"...empty. Talk about becoming an object lesson for your sermon! I wish I could say it was intentional, but I’d be lying.

Now, emptiness is not always a bad thing. Too often we fill empty space with words or activity just to fill the space but it still is pretty empty. We’d be better off leaving that empty space for God to fill. In fact, that’s what Jesus did on the cross–emptied himself completely, so God could fill him up with resurrection life.

So what can we do to keep ourselves reasonably sound vessels or cisterns for the Holy One to fill, or preferably, for God, the Holy One, to flow through? How often it comes back to practices, to our habits, to those daily or weekly reminders that our ancestors in faith–even back in the Iron Age or in the first century of the Common Era–back to the ones they discovered helped them remember who they were and Whose they were. The letter to the Hebrews contains some good ones–"Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers...

remember those who are in prison..." I can’t tell you the number of people who’ve told me when they’ve reached a certain point in their lives where the strength or agility of their bodies no longer allows them to do the things they used to do–"I feel so useless," they say. "I can’t do anything." Here’s some things you can do: "Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers...remember those who are in prison..." If you watch the news, mute the commercials and pray for the people whose distress you’ve just witnessed in the 2 minutes somebody’s trying to sell you something–remember those who are in prison or in famine or flood or earthquake...pray for them. Every one can do that, as well as actively loving and showing hospitality to strangers. "Let marriage be held in honor by all"–whatever marriage or life-long commitment you are involved in, if any. Explore what it means to honor that. "Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be content with what you have...remember your leaders, those who spoke the word of God to you..." I beg for your prayers–obviously, I am in sore need of them–though I would caution you about "considering the outcome of my way of life and imitating my faith." But pray also for our next pastoral leader, still an unknown, and for those who have taken on leadership positions in our church–the Pastoral Search Committee, our moderator and vice-moderator, those who serve on boards and committees, those who direct and sing and play in our choirs, and all the others who offer their skills and best efforts.

"Through Christ," the writer of Hebrews says, "let us continually offer a sacrifice of praise to God..." Remember to give thanks even in the midst of or at the end of the most hectic day. You know I’m a fan of gratitude journals. And maybe at the beginning of each day, as you take your last sip of coffee or tea for the morning, say our commission to yourself, to remind yourself how you are to be as you set out.

Finally, "do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God." Take care of the cisterns. Don’t let your life dribble out in empty gestures, words, and activities that will ultimately not quench your thirst. Pay attention. So we can say with confidence, with the writer of Hebrews: God will never leave us or forsake us. "The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid." Thanks be to God. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Sun and Fun Day

The Sun and Fun! festival on Saturday August 20 at Second Congregational Church, was a day to celebrate the environment and local community.   It featured live music, kids' activities, and over 25 different community and environmentally friendly groups, including an eclectic mix of groups who meet regularly at the church - from beekeepers to quilters. Live and lively music was provided by The Hale Mountain Pickers.  Lunch was prepared by a local professional chef and her team, all from the congregation.

Kids' activities included face painting, giant-bubble making, and parachute games.  Kids and adult together held the edges of the colorful parachute and walked in a circle to the beat of a drum, stopping when the drum stopped, to dive under the parachute for candies.  The Battenkill Conservancy brought tubs of river water with live fish and crustaceans for kids to watch and even scoop up temporarily with small nets. Kids and their parents painted several large murals.

At 11 am the Adult Story Telling Hour- much like NPR's “The Moth Story Hour” - featured stories of a boy's awakening to the beauty of Nature, a child making friends with a large toad, a young man's arriving in Cambridge only to discover his girlfriend lived in Cambridge in another state, the rescue of a wild bird whose foot was trapped in ice, and a couple waiting for rescue on a remote river in northern Alaska.

At noon a demonstration on how to build your own backyard compost system was taught by a Master Composter, using kitchen food scraps (no meat or dairy) brought by people attending.  At 1 pm, at the Solar Forum, panel members discussed solar feasibility, set-up, financing and more.

The first Sun and Fun festival in August 2015 started as a celebration of solar panels installed on the church roof, but planning quickly expanded to include environmental groups and the various groups that meet at Second Congo.  Kids played under the solar shower, made S'mores with a solar oven, made huge bubbles and got to dance to native American drumming.

Sun and Fun was not a fundraiser but to have a good time connecting with others in the local community.  Admission was free and the great-value lunches priced just to cover the cost of ingredients.  The first 100 visitors received a Sun and Fun red and black re-usable shopping bag, and there were drawings every half hour for prizes, culminating with two grand prizes at the end of the day.

The festival was one of many ways that folks of Second Congo reach out to the local community, in a range of activities, all year round.  They hold that everyone is welcome to activities at the church, wherever that person is on life's journey and whether or not that person is religious.

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REFRESH PAGE TO SEE DIFFERENT MOSAIC OF PHOTOS

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"Great Cloud of Witnesses"- Hebrews 11:29-12:2, Luke 12:49-56-- Aug. 14, 2016

The passage from Hebrews which David just read for us describes an alternative universe opening ceremonies of the Olympics–wave after wave of unlikely teams and ragged bands, led by curious flag-bearers and misfits, and out in front, carrying the torch, is Jesus, lighting the world with a flame that the darkness cannot overcome. Unlike our universe Olympic games, there is no medal count, no awards ceremonies. In fact, the author confesses, "Not one of these people, even though their lives of faith were exemplary, got their hands on what was promised. God had a better plan for us..."

Such a great cloud of witnesses! As we approach the 180^th anniversary of our congregation, I’ve been thinking of those who’ve run the race before us, especially those I’ve had the privilege to know–Pat Haines, Gene Clark, Ginny Irwin, Marge LaRowe, Kelly Wright, Ellen Barnard, Anita Bellin, Pepper Morrison, the danger, of course, of even starting that list, is leaving out so many. Who are others who come to mind for you, maybe before my time? The portraits of former pastors on our back wall cheer us on, and, thanks be to God, the furthest one to the right is still very much alive in our midst.

In my own life, I think back to those who have given me life and witnessed in their time–my brother Bob, whose book of sermons I went back and checked to see if he had preached on this passage, my dad–CROP Walk recruiter extraordinaire, lifelong elder in the Presbyterian church, teacher of many lessons; my father-in-law Russ, who encouraged me and modeled the best of a "learned ministry" for me, my grandmother, who was a church organist for over 35 years...Such a great cloud of witnesses. Multiply that by the streaming clouds of glory behind each one of us gathered here this morning, and we get just a glimpse of the mighty multitude in which we stand.

"By faith," the letter to Hebrews says, "Israel walked through the Red Sea on dry ground. The Egyptians tried it and drowned. By faith, the Israelites marched around the walls of Jericho for seven days, and the walls fell flat. By an act of faith, Rahab, the Jericho harlot, welcomed the spies and escaped the destruction that came on those who refused to trust God."

By faith, by an act of faith....amazing things happened. Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David and Samuel and the prophets–this litany of war heroes, kings, judges, priests, and prophets triumphed and were sung over. Unnamed women received their dead by resurrection. And yet also, even with faith, others were "stoned to death, sawn in two, killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented.... wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground..."

Faith, or trust in God, is no guarantee of a medal, or any kind of success, by the world’s standards. When we ask, "How could God have let this happen?" when an innocent is killed, when a good person fails or suffers, it reveals our expectation that there ought to be some kind of reward for following the rules, for being "a good person," for "having faith," a reward of the likes of a gold medal, a prize of some sort, an "atta boy or atta girl," at the very least. When our foremothers and fathers of faith witnessed these great acts of faith met with torture or failure or death, it called into question their belief in a just God. They too asked, How can God allow this to happen? And so building on their experience of the risen Christ, still present, still powerful even after death, they developed elaborate theologies of the afterlife–streets paved with gold for those trampled in the mud, crowns for those who had been beheaded, endless torment for those who in this life committed acts of cruelty and depravity. From Dante’s Inferno to C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce, great works of literature have been inspired by this question of faith and justice.

The writer of Hebrews has another inspiration–"Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not apart from us, be made perfect." Peterson’s translation makes it even clearer– "God had a better plan for us: that their faith and our faith would come together to make one completed whole, their lives of faith not complete apart from ours."

...Their lives of faith not complete apart from ours. What an amazing statement! Abraham and Moses’ lives of faith not complete apart from ours. Mary Magdalene–receiving her dead by resurrection–her life of faith not complete apart from ours. All those martyrs and mystics, the ones we may have heard or read of, but so many others whom we haven’t, their lives of faith connected to our lives of faith to be made perfect or whole. That adds a new layer of meaning to what we choose to do with our lives, doesn’t it?

All those lives of heroes and unknowns connected to us, not by some miracle of celebrity or saintly worship, but because their lives were not fundamentally so different from ours. They too knew suffering and discouragement. They doubted. They were afraid. They begged God to deliver them, to undo what seemed to be inevitable. Just as every one of those Olympic heroes, male and female, sacrificed and endured pain, doubted themselves, were tempted to give up, suffered injuries and set-backs. Our forbears in faith who built Second Congregational Church endured endless meetings, lost love ones, saw their buildings burned or exploded, worried over budgets, wrestled with their calling.

This "great cloud of witnesses" knows the cost of the life of faith; and they are cheering us on.

And here’s the thing–just as "it was God’s plan that their faith and our faith would come together to make one completed whole, their lives of faith not complete apart from ours"–just as that is true going backwards from our lives, so it is true that generations after us are even now reaching back to us–to complete our faith and to connect with theirs. Our obligation is not only to those who have come before us, but also to those who will come after us. We owe it to them to reach forward, to let that shot of adrenaline in our souls inspire us and encourage us to keep a growing edge forward, to keep risking. In our commitment to preserving and healing the planet upon which they will live, in our efforts to learn new musical forms and melodies, in our commitment to finding ways to minister with and to people who are unlikely to seek us out, in our exploration of new technologies and formats for communication and worship, in our sharing of our financial resources into the future–in all these ways, we are cheered on by the great cloud of witnesses and prepare our place in the cheering section.

Each one of us has a part to play, for each of us is part of this great circle, reaching for completion. Our Native American brothers and sisters have a clear sense of this–

In the circle of life we each have a special gift, a special function. In the Native worldview there is no in or out; everyone in the circle is necessary. The gift and function of each person are necessary for the benefit of the whole family of human beings and those that walk, crawl, swim, and fly. We are all relatives. It is this wisdom of compassion, seeing things in their balance, that is so significant in turning aside illusions of scarcity and bringing peace to our own hearts... [Dhyani Ywahoo, Voices of Our Ancestors]

"Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith..." Or, as Peterson puts it,

"Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!"

May these words be courage and encouragement, comfort, hope, and even joy, for the living of these days. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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Mary's Banner Blurbs

Two weeks after Easter and we, like the disciples, still can’t quite imagine what has happened.  Join us in worship at Second Congregational Church at 10 a.m. this Sunday as we walk the Emmaus road and discover the Risen Christ in our midst.  Following a Time for the Children in All of Us, children up through grade 5 are dismissed for A Joyful Path, and nursery care is provided.  Charlotte Knighton is our guest musician for the morning, and Rev. Mary Lee-Clark’s sermon, based on the story from Luke 24, is entitled, “Known in the Breaking.”

A time of fellowship and refreshment for the whole church family follows in Webster Hall.

Second Congregational Church is an Open and Affirming, Green Justice Congregation of the United Church of Christ.  We welcome to our work and worship all people of faith or in search of faith, without regard to age, race, economic condition, disability, or sexual orientation.  Our building is located at 115 Hillside St. and is wheelchair-accessible.  For further information, call the church office at 442-2559 or see our website at www.bennscc.org.

 

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Link from CAT-TV for Sun and Fun

https://youtu.be/00aQ7WtVLpg

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"Hope Muscles"-- Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16, Luke 12:32-40-- Aug. 7, 2016

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Sometimes a sentence or phrase floats up from the page, shimmering with truth and mystery, calling us to dive in more deeply–and surely this beginning of the 11^th chapter of Hebrews is one of those sentences--"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."

In a world of such upheaval and conflict, in a political season of battering claims and divergent visions, in a time in the life of the Church–and our church in particular–when old forms and methods seem increasingly ineffective and the shape of the new remains to be seen, it is more important than ever for those of us who claim to be people of faith to be clear about what it is we hope for. "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for..."

Krista Tippett, creator and host of the Public Radioprogram, On Being, writes, "In a century of staggering open questions, [like, Will the earth survive?] hope becomes a calling for those of us who can hold it, for the sake of the world." [Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Mystery and Art of Living, p. 233] Hope as a calling is a far weightier claim than the way we often throw the word around– "I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow." "I hope he chooses me." "I hope you like it." Hope is a calling, for the sake of the world.

To be cynical and hopeless in our day and age is easy. Every day there are news stories and revelations to reinforce one’s cynicism. The cynics–those who believe that everybody’s a crook, that nothing’s really going to change for the better, that the church is dying, that nothing’s going to make a difference, that The System’s rigged and always will be–have plenty of company and support. Cynicism is easy because it doesn’t have to lift a finger to change anything.

Hope, on the other hand, is a conscious choice that often goes against the grain. "Hope," writes Krista Tippett, "like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a habit that becomes spiritual muscle memory. It’s a renewable resource for moving through life as it is, not as we wish it to be." (Op cit., p. 11) Hope is not the same thing as optimism, or wishful thinking, or idealism. "It references reality at every turn and reveres truth," Tippett says. "It lives open-eyed and wholeheartedly with the darkness that is woven ineluctably [unavoidably] into the light of life and sometimes seems to overcome it."

"Spiritual muscle memory"–I love that image. You know what muscle memory is– it’s what your hands automatically do when you’re kneading bread or folding the laundry, if that’s what you’ve done week after week, or day after day. It’s how your body knows what to do when you throw a ball or hit a golf ball or put your skis on, if you’ve practiced enough. There’s plenty of muscle memory on display these next 2 weeks of the Olympics. Muscle memory is how your fingers know where to go and what to do on a piano keyboard or with trumpet valves or the fret of a cello if they’ve done that often enough.

"Hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a habit that becomes spiritual muscle memory." We have to practice hope. We have to make it a habit, like brushing our teeth. And such a practice has nothing to do with denying that things are difficult, that at the moment, we may feel sad or in pain or anguish. In fact, research is now confirming what Paul wrote in his letter to the church in Rome– "We know that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because hope is God’s love being poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit."

Brene Brown, sociologist at the University of Houston who studies issues of shame and vulnerability and courage, says that "hope is a function of struggle." [struggle or suffering produces endurance...character...hope] Too often we as parents try to shield our children from hardship and disappointment, but in fact, we are doing them a disservice by doing that. Brown says, "I see students come to us who have never had experiences, real experiences, with adversity. And how that shows up is hopelessness...Hope is a function of struggle."

"Hope is not an emotion," Brown says. "Hope is a cognitive, behavioral process that we learn when we experience adversity, when we have relationships that are trustworthy, when people have faith in our ability to get out of a jam." (Cited by Tippett, op cit., p. 250) How many of us can relate to Brown’s reflection, when she says, "The moments I look back in my life and think, God, those are the moments that made me,’ were moments of struggle." (P. 251) Moments when we failed or were fired, moments when we spoke the truth that nobody wanted to hear, moments when we went through an illness or crisis or the death of a loved one or a relationship, those are the moments that make us, that give us spiritual muscles for hope.

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Eugene Peterson puts it this way–"The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living [another way to think of ‘hope’]. It’s our handle on what we can’t see."

I also love what Madeleine L’Engle said about "Some things have to be believed to be seen." That’s another spiritual practice–seeing, noticing, the things that are hopeful, that give us hope. As Paul wrote in his letter to the Ephesians, "Beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Notice these things. Keep a gratitude journal, give thanks each morning for the gift of the day, full of God’s presence and power. Brush your teeth. Practice hope.

Krista Tippett, through hundreds of interviews and conversations with theologians, ethicists, scientists, civil rights workers, artists, musicians, community organizers, says that the shape of "emerging wisdom about our world is largely...quiet. It’s animated by projects and people you didn’t know to look for. It’s joined by points in space and time that have no obvious reason to be important." (Op cit., p. 234) We can be points on this map, points of hope and new life, though our imaginations haven’t quite bought into the new indicators of "importance." Almost everything that is truly bringing new birth and hope is happening "under the radar," as we say, though Tippett contends, "the radar is broken."

That’s essentially what author Paul Hawken, who in his book Blessed Unrest, discovered when he chronicled literally tens of thousands of grassroots efforts, political, ecological, social, that are operating "under the radar." The analogy he draws is like that of the earth’s immune system, like the white blood cells in our bodies, which are rallying to heal the body and fight off the forces that would destroy it.

Anne Lamott, referencing Emily Dickinson, says that "hope inspires the good to reveal itself." Imagine what an incredible calling it is for us, as people of faith, to have hope, for the sake of the world! To inspire the good to reveal itself, to hold a space for children and young people and people of all ages who are still growing to discover the best in themselves, to imagine how we might evolve as a spiritually conscious race, preserving the best of the human spirit– including those gifts of the Spirit like kindness, patience, humility, goodness, self-control, gentleness, generosity–those things which we in the church have known for centuries, yet have too often forgotten. We too can be points on that map of emerging human wisdom.

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen." "Fear not, little flock, [Jesus said] it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom." That is God’s hope for us!

Our world is abundant with quiet, hidden lives of beauty and courage and goodness [Krista Tippett assures us]. There are millions of people at any given moment, young and old, giving themselves over to service, risking hope, and all the while ennobling us all. To take such goodness in and let matter–to let it define our take on reality as much as headlines of violence–is a choice we can make to live by the light in the darkness...Taking in the good, whenever and wherever we find it, gives us new eyes for seeing and living. [Ibid., p. 265]

This looks like mere bread and juice, but with the eyes of faith it is so much more–it is the bread of life and the cup of blessing, joining us with Christ and one another, with all the world, nourishing us to become hope and courage, in the midst of our vulnerability and failure. So let us take up the calling of hope, for the sake of the world, and let us keep the feast. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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