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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be doers of the Word, not merely hearers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your souls."

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

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

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

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
Sun and Fun Day

Sun and Fun Day

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Sun and Fun! a community celebration of the environment, solar, and sustainability was held Saturday, August 22 from 10-3 pm here at Second Congregational Church on Hillside Street in Bennington. A perfect summer day with sun gave us lots of opportunities for fun. Sun-colored balloons joined the church’s solar panels high on the church roof. Displays and activities by at least 17 local groups en"light"ened visitors about solar power, local hiking and outdoor opportunities, community time-sharing, bee-keeping and much more. From 11-2 live music by the Cindy Legge Trio provided a high-energy mix of rock, pop, and country classics along with Cindy’s originals. Food was prepared by a local chef with ingredients from a local community-supported agriculture farm, and was raved about by visitors. Kids learned how to be good to our earth through a scavenger hunt, story time, face painting and s'mores made in solar ovens. “Compost” sundaes were a tasty way for kids and adults to learn about how to compost garden and kitchen debris.

Click here to see more photos
"Where Does God Live?"- 1 Kings 8:22-30, 41-43, Ps. 84-- Aug. 23, 2015

"Where Does God Live?"- 1 Kings 8:22-30, 41-43, Ps. 84-- Aug. 23, 2015

What an amazing event yesterday’s Sun and Fun was! So many different people here to have fun, to learn about so many different environmental and earthcare groups and methods, to celebrate our efforts and commitment to live more sustainably and responsibly, to meet new people, and maybe to see what this church that they didn’t really know much about was up to here on Hillside St. Of course, the weather was perfect for a Sun and Fun event, because we could be outside, on the lawn, all over our property, and only inside for a few necessary occasions–like eating, or using the bathrooms, or having a little quiet time with the kids. I suspect that for many of us who know the inside of this building pretty well, we may have been in places and ways we’re not used to being when we think of "being at Second Congregational Church."–out on the parking lot, on the front lawn... Our experience of "the church" may have been expanded a little, beyond the walls, out to the edge of the property, and, hopefully, a whole lot further than that.

"How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts!" the psalmist sings. "Will God indeed dwell on the earth?" Solomon asked. "Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!...But regard your servant’s prayer and his plea, O Lord my God...that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house,...that you may heed the prayer that your servant prays toward this place."

There is something about this place, isn’t there, that makes us believe that somehow God is here in a way God is not elsewhere. We call this a sanctuary, a place to hold the sacred or holy, and there are expectations about how we act here–don’t run, we tell our children, be very quiet. We try to be on our best behavior, maybe more careful with the language we use. When the public school teachers met here during the strike a few years ago, a number of them spoke about how this place was a sanctuary for them, a place of safety, of peace, dare we say, a holy place. There is an on-going discussion in some of the 12-step groups that meet in our building about whether profanity should be allowed, since they meet "in a church." "I haven’t been in a church for so long," I’m told more often than you’d think, "that the walls might cave in if I stepped foot in there." "Take off your shoes," God is said to have warned Moses, "for you are standing on holy ground."

Where does God live? That’s a perfectly good question our children may ask us, a good Godly Play sort of question–I wonder where God lives? Does God have a house? Is it in church? In heaven? In temples or mosques or synagogues? Beth-el, the name of our local synagogue, literally means house of God.

Of course, even in the ancient stories of Israel, God is pretty clear about not needing or really wanting a house. In fact, God tells King David through the prophet Nathan, "Are you the one to build me a house to live in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle. ...Did I ever speak a word with any of the tribal leaders of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, ‘Why have you not built me a house of cedar?’"

"The house" that God promises to David, instead–the house that God wants–is a people. "Being of the house of David" means, being of David’s lineage.

The same can be said of the church. Even though the language may be architectural–"I will build my church upon you," Jesus is reported to have said to Peter, the Rock–it is the people, not the building, that Jesus is talking about–the ekklesia, the community, that is to become Christ’s body, not Christ’s home, in the sense of a building. "I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together," the song goes. The warning is clear and repeated throughout the Biblical testimony–don’t confuse God with a place or any other container. That is idolatry, #2 in the hit parade of commandments.

So, of course, God is not only to be found in a church building. Many of us experience God in nature–in our gardens, at lakesides, on mountaintops and ski slopes and hiking trails. We experience God in music that transports us, that speaks beyond words. And we experience God in our relationships, in our families, in our communities, including our church community or family. But we know that nature can be violent and destructive, witness the horrible wildfires burning out west, or the devastation of hurricanes and tornadoes, earthquakes and floods, as we come upon the anniversaries of Irene and Katrina. Music can be coarse or vapid or trivial. Too many families are dysfunctional and abusive; too many churches, for that matter, are dysfunctional and abusive, let alone petty and divisive. What kind of God is found in those storms or in those relationships? What kind of God is found in those churches? Some would say it is the God of anger and retribution, the God of righteousness, the God who demands obedience and subservience, the God of hierarchies and vengeance. That, in my humble opinion, is a cop out.

It is a cop out because it puts the blame solely on God. It is a cop out because it makes us only victims, puppets at the hand of a manipulative God. God destroyed those houses? What about our responsibility for building homes and structures in ways and places that take the power of nature seriously? God caused that hurricane, that flood? What about our responsibility for heating the atmosphere and the oceans? God allowed that massacre? What about our responsibility for acting lovingly and ethically? What about our responsibility for speaking out against injustice?

An article in the Huffington Post this week told about research by Dr. Josh Packard, through the Social Research Lab at the University of North Colorado, in which he reported that "There are now 30 million de-churched people in our country. Another seven million are about to walk out the door. They are done or almost done with the church."

Of those who are "done with the church," over 55% participated actively in the ministries of the church, many were leaders, givers, teachers. It was with profound grief that they left. This is true across age ranges–not just young people, but the over 55 group as well. These people came to church seeking an experience of God, through the experience of community, which is essential to these people, and through engaging in meaningful activity and service.

But instead of community, they say, what they experienced was judgment– judgment about hair or dress, judgment about sexual orientation, judgement about this and judgment about that. "What was particularly disconcerting," Dr. Packard reported, "were the subtle forms through which judgment was expressed: a raised eyebrow, whispering, gossip, jealousy, ostracism."

When "the Dones," or "Almost Dones" looked for opportunities to serve, they encoun-tered one bureaucratic obstacle after another. They want to make a difference in the lives of other people but they are asked to invest their time and talent in keeping the institution up and running." That is an unavoidable part of community life, they acknowledge, but making it the priority is frustrating." (posted 8/13/15)

"Happy are those who live in your house," the psalmist sings, "ever singing your praise. Happy are those whose strength is in you, in whose heart are the highways to Zion." It is clear that this is more than a building the psalmist is talking about. It’s not a call to occupy the Temple. To "live in God’s house" is to attend to God’s presence, wherever you are. It is to know that we live and move and have our being in God.

The theme of this summer’s 30th General Synod of the UCC was "Unexpected Places"– "seeking to explore some of the ‘unexpected places’ where we hear God’s voice, encounter the Spirit, and find the United Church of Christ lifting up its witness in the world." My question is, where do we NOT expect God to be? Is there really such a thing as a "God-free zone"?

My guess is that what makes this building or even this property "holy ground," as opposed to stepping off the curb onto Hillside St., is that we have an expectation that we might encounter God here, that something about the relationships we develop here will be holy, that the music or the message or the prayers will somehow take us to a place where we sense the presence of God. What we expect, what we focus on, determines what we shall find.

All those people who say they are "spiritual but not religious"? Many of them have experienced "religion" like the "Dones" or "Almost Dones"–or they think that’s what all "religious" people are like. Or they’ve never experienced "religious people" who are not judgmental, who care about the environment, who don’t demand or expect you to be able to spout off a list of precepts about God or Jesus or anything else that you and everyone else must believe, who accept you no matter what your race, economic condition, disability, or sexual orientation is, who believe God hasn’t finished speaking. That’s why "non-religious" events like Sun and Fun are important, to get folks who long for community and meaning interaction to come without the "religious" overlay, to come and experience what makes a place "holy" and relationships sacred. What we have to offer is spiritual and religious.

In an informal poll of his students, Bruce has found that well over 80% of them have never even been in a church or synagogue or otherwise "religious" building. Not by choice or intention; it’s just that it never occurred to them, they’ve never had occasion. Nothing in their world–in the media, in the culture, in their online community, in any of the relationships they have–even includes a religious community, except in a negative sense–religious extremists acting out, committing acts of violence or hatred. The ones who aren’t extreme are silent about their religion. These are not the "Dones" or "Almost Dones." These are the Nones, with no religious affiliation at all.

Our future as a church community–if we are to have one–will require that we find ways of communicating the value of participating in a community like ours. If there are no expectations of encountering a holy, healthy, loving presence here in this place, then we must be vessels of that presence in the wider community. We create a dwelling place for God, so to speak, at the Kitchen Cupboard when people can acquire fresh vegetables and healthy food in an atmosphere of welcome, free from judgment. We create a dwelling place for God at Madison’s Brew Pub when we come together there to discuss matters of faith while sharing food. We become dwelling place for God when we "practice the presence of God," as Brother Lawrence put it, intentionally being open to God while we do the dishes, stand in line at the grocery store, change a child’s diaper, sweep the living room floor, visit a friend in the hospital or nursing home, when we practice expecting to find God everywhere and in all people.

And this place can become a dwelling place for God if we make it a place, as Walter Brueggemann puts it, "for the practice of alternative imagination," [cited by Kate Huey in sermonseeds, 8/23/15]. "People don’t come to church for preachments, of course," Kurt Vonnegut said, "but to daydream about God." We must make this a place where the consumerist, fraudulent, dominating voices of our culture are stilled. In his book Introverts in the Church: Finding Our pLace in an Extroverted Culture, Adam McHugh writes, "When introverts go to church, we crave sanctuary in every sense of the word, as we flee from the disorienting distractions of 21st-century life. We desire to escape from superficial relationships, trivial communications and the constant noise that pervade our world, and find rest in the probing depths of God’s love." As an introvert, I say Amen to that, but I’m guessing extroverts might crave some of that too.

In Jesus, of course, God chose to dwell not in a place but in a human being, to be a living, breathing, moveable feast, so to speak, like each of us can become–with practice. The forces arrayed against our becoming that are strong and many, as Paul’s admonition in the letter to Ephesians suggests that we need to put on the whole armor of God. But our tradition offers practices like prayer and meditation, coming together for worship, the sacraments in which the real presence of Christ is offered, a community of support and accountability and opportunities for service, for making a difference in the world. We can become "attractive fields" of God’s energy and compassion, reminders that the God of love cannot be tied down or limited, but rather is able to work even through flawed and broken vessels like us, able to make any place holy ground. Holy lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord God of hosts! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
"Where is Wisdom to be found?" -1 Kings 2:1-12, 3:3-14, Ephesians
5:15-20--Aug. 16, 2015

"Where is Wisdom to be found?" -1 Kings 2:1-12, 3:3-14, Ephesians 5:15-20--Aug. 16, 2015

 

A colleague of mine posted on Facebook that it’s been "interesting" and "difficult" to be thinking and preaching about Wisdom this week in the midst of the Presidential campaign. "I know," replied another friend. "I’m preaching about hell next week and it’s so much easier."

One wonders what the responses would be if, as happened with Solomon, God were to come to each of the presidential candidates in a dream and say, "Ask what I should give you." I started to let my imagination play with that for a while, wondering how God might appear to each, which of them would recognize the voice, let alone what they might ask for. I decided it would be a fun party game, with all sorts of comic possibilities, IF you put aside the fact that the consequences of this election are deadly serious and important.

In the verses assigned for today, the young king Solomon, feeling overwhelmed at the responsibilities thrust upon him at the death of his father, King David, responds to this generous offer from God, after recounting how great and steadfast God’s love had been for David and that God had in fact placed Solomon on the throne now, after much bowing and scraping, Solomon says, "Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil; for who can govern this your great people?"

God is clearly pleased with this request, and says,

"Because you have asked this, and have not asked for yourself long life or riches, or for the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself understanding to discern what is right, I now do according to your word. Indeed I give you a wise and discerning mind [heart]; no one like you shall arise after you. I give you also what you have not asked, both riches and honor all your life; no other king shall compare with you. IF you will walk in my ways, keeping my statutes and my commandments, as your father David walked, then I will lengthen your life."

The great Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann is quite willing to say that this is revisionist history at the very least. What our reading skipped over was Solomon’s swift and ruthless dispatch of his brother, a former general and a former priest, and while Solomon was known for his wisdom in discerning which of two women was the real mother of a baby brought before him, as well as for his building of the great Temple in Jerusalem, Brueggemann reminds us that Solomon’s reign was also marked by deception, violence, and "inordinate greed that is unsustainable." Solomon’s accumulation of wealth and "honor" distort the wisdom he is given, as we have seen happen over and over, and this account of God’s coming to Solomon in a dream merely gives Solomon’s subsequent actions a religious stamp of approval[Odyssey Network Scriptures, 10/15/12] . That may be a little more cynical than you choose to be, but Walter Brueggemann rarely sugarcoats.

What would you ask God for? ("Ask what I should give you.") It’s not quite the genie in the bottle offering to grant 3 wishes, but what do you want above all else? That is a question worth giving some thought to.

A minister friend relays the story, told to him by the child’s mother, of a 6 year-old boy at a local swimming pool. He was standing at the deep end, toes curled over the edge, and stood there for a long time, contemplating whether he should or shouldn’t, unsure if he should or could do this. "And just when it seemed he was going to back away from the edge," his mother reported, "he looked up to the sky, put his hands together and said, ‘O Lord, give me skills or give me gills!’ And he jumped." [Told by Timothy T. Boggess, Day 1, 8/16/15]

"Give me skills or give me gills." Other than being almost unbelievably perfect [I actually know some 6 year-olds who could easily have come up with that prayer!], it is a great answer to the offer from God, "Ask what I should give you." Give me what I need to overcome this challenge– the skills, or give me what I need–the gills–to endure whatever it is I need to go through. How shall I live wisely, as the apostle Paul admonishes the people of Ephesus? "Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil."

Give me wisdom, Solomon asked, the ability to discern the difference between good and evil.

"Give me wisdom"–Wouldn’t love our leaders to ask--"Give me the ability to discern that which protects, serves, and cultivates the relationships of your people to you, to themselves, to each other, to the earth, to the systems of governance, and to our surrounding nations, [show me how to lead within and beyond Ferguson and Baltimore; what is the path of wisdom in the Middle East? ]...and show me what is evil–what destroys, threatens, corrupts any of these relationships." (Harper, Odyssey Networks–Ferguson 1 Year Later: Give Us Wisdom, 8/10/15] Can you imagine any of the current presidential candidates offering that prayer?

"Give me wisdom." Wisdom, you may know, is a figure personified in parts of the Bible as a female, dancing and playing alongside God at the beginning of creation, God’s "delight," and as a grown woman whose name in Greek is Sophia. The alternative to the reading about Solomon today was this reading from Proverbs about Wisdom Sophia, as Eugene Peterson puts it--

9:1-6 Lady Wisdom has built and furnished her home;

it’s supported by seven hewn timbers.

The banquet meal is ready to be served: lamb roasted,

wine poured out, table set with silver and flowers.

Having dismissed her serving maids,

Lady Wisdom goes to town, stands in a prominent place,

and invites everyone within sound of her voice:

"Are you confused about life, don’t know what’s going on?

Come with me, oh come, have dinner with me!

I’ve prepared a wonderful spread—fresh-baked bread,

roast lamb, carefully selected wines.

Leave your impoverished confusion and live!

Walk up the street to a life with meaning."

Here is a picture of wisdom that is wholistic, strong, and appealing, an invitation to life. In contrast, Folly, a few verses later, issues her invitation, offering only bread and water, and, ultimately, death. Which would you choose? Which invitation seems to be the one we are answering to?

Be careful then how you live, [Paul writes], not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil. So do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.

How shall we live? How shall we use this time wisely, how to redeem the time, even? "Do not get drunk with wine," Paul says, but rather "be careful how you live." As sociologist Brene Brown points out, we have the most in-debt, obese, addicted, and medicated adult cohort in U.S. history today, which she attributes to our attempt to numb vulnerability, which, alas, ends up numbing everything else. [TEDX Houston, Shame] "Be careful how you live, not as unwise people but as wise." Pay attention. Feel what you feel, risk vulnerability. Be fully alive.

Come with me, oh come, have dinner with me! Lady Wisdom says. I’ve prepared a wonderful spread—fresh-baked bread, roast lamb, carefully selected wines. Leave your impoverished confusion and live! Walk up the street to a life with meaning."

This Wisdom is more than intelligence, but also "brings it together with feeling, intuition, sensory input, and experience," as Parker Palmer says [cited by Kate Huey in sermonseeds, 8/16/15]. Wisdom encompasses justice and compassion.

In the WholeBeing Institute, through which I took my Positive Psychology course, there is a helpful model for living which has the acronym SPIRE. As we sit beneath this rather funky, striped "spire," we might be reminded of these 5 aspects of a wise life–S, for spiritual, P, for physical, I, for intelligent, R, for relationships, and E, for emotional. Every day we need to pay attention to each of these aspects of our lives if we are to live wisely, with a sense of well-being.

"The highest form of wisdom is kindness," the Jewish Talmud says, kindness to others, kindness to self, wisdom. It goes way back in our religious heritage.

In fact, the strength and power of our Wisdom tradition have all too often been lost or repressed in our Western form of Christianity. We in the west have focused on Jesus as Savior, the unique One who has come to save us. In her book Wisdom Jesus, Episcopal priest and scholar Cynthia Bourgeault writes,

The Christianity of the East saw things radically different. Christianity was supremely a wisdom path. For the earliest Christians, Jesus was not the Savior but the Life-Giver. In the original Aramaic of Jesus and his followers, there was no word for salvation. Salvation was understood as a bestowal of life, and to be saved was to be made alive.’ Entering the waters at the hand of John the Baptist, Jesus emerged as Mahyana, ‘The Life-Giver.’ He came forth also as the Ihidaya, ‘the Single One’ or’the Unified One.’ Nowadays we’d call him ‘the Enlightened One,’ a person whose life is full, integrated, and flowing. Jesus’ disciples saw in him a master of consciousness, offering a path through which they, too, could become ihidaya, enlightened ones. [This kind of Christianity] focuses on the path. It emphasizes how Jesus is like us, how what he did in himself is something we are also called to do in ourselves. By contrast, [salvation Christianity ] tends to emphasize how Jesus is different from us–‘begotten, not made’; belonging to a higher order of being–and hence uniquely positioned as our mediator.

This wisdom path may seem strange, Bourgeault suggests, a fringe aspect of Christianity, "unorthodox"--but as we learn more about the other 270 degrees of the Christian whole, (which includes the Orthodox Church) it turns out we are the variant. [p. 21]

"Give me wisdom." "Give me skills or give me gills." Live wisely, because the days are evil. Jesus, in the Wisdom tradition of Christianity, is the embodiment of Sophia, Wisdom. He is the way, the truth, and the life, not as an exclusive object of our worship, but as the way to God, to become enlightened, wise.

Are you tired? Jesus asks in Matthew’s gospel. Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me–watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly." [Mt. 11:28-30, The Message]

Leave your impoverished confusion and live! [as Lady Wisdom says.] Walk up the street to a life with meaning." May we too walk in the way of Wisdom, and so may we find life.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
"Ordinary People" --Ephesians 4:25-5:2, John 6:35, 41-51-- Aug. 9, 2015

"Ordinary People" --Ephesians 4:25-5:2, John 6:35, 41-51-- Aug. 9, 2015

 

We are in the midst of this month-long summer picnic that the creators of the common lectionary –those readings that are assigned for each Sunday--have devised for us this month, starting with the feeding of the 5000 and then followup discussions about Jesus as the Bread of Life. As sometimes happens at summer picnics, you can get a little ants-y, tired of the same old conversations, ready for some food that’s really cold or hot instead of air-temperature, feeling a little fried from sun-exposure, ready, at some point, to pack it in and go home. You may be feeling that way about this 6th chapter in John by now–I know I’ve had my moments–but the party’s not over quite yet, and there are still morsels to be savored.

"Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’" OK, we heard that last week, and it still is really a remarkable claim. "Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ They were saying, ‘Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?"

Look who’s getting all high and mighty on us, in other words. We know you, Jesus, and your mother and father. You put your pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us. You may be smart, but you’re no better than the rest of us.

Sounds a little smarmy, maybe, a little too defensive, but as Lutheran pastor David Lose says, [inthemeantime, 8/3/15] I do kind of get it. How can this kid who grew up among them, the crowd surely wondered, how can he be the one God sent to save them? Who does he think he is and what kind of God would send someone like him to save them–save them from Rome, save them from the very real hunger that too many of them knew all too well, save them from their sorry lives of dullness, mistakes, screw-ups, failures?

They were angered, Lose imagines, at Jesus’ audacious claim that he is the one they’ve been waiting for. Is he making fun of their ideas about God? A God you want to be able to call on and who answers quickly, clearly, with power, maybe even a miracle? Jesus of Nazareth was NOT the answer to their prayers they were looking for. Was he "making fun of their deep needs for a God who transcends the very life which is causing them so much difficulty?" I do kind of get that.

"I am the bread of life," Jesus said. "Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." "Isn’t this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?"

We know you, Jesus, and we know ourselves. We know what we’re like–our weaknesses, our failures, our fears, our shame, our regrets, our prejudices and biases, how we can disappoint others, and ourselves. You are just like us, Jesus, and yet you claim to be the bread of life that came down from heaven. You’re starting to make us more than a little angry, and if you are the one sent to save us, we are all doomed. So, as is often the underlying emotion to anger, the crowd is not only angry, but also probably afraid–afraid that God doesn’t have much of a plan to save them/us, and maybe even worse than that, that we’re not worth saving. I get that too. Dare we say they/we are a little disappointed in this God.

Our first gods, as children, are our parents. They are the all-powerful ones upon whom we are utterly dependent for our survival. Not only do they–hopefully–provide us with food and shelter and nurture, but they also teach us about the world, which is completely new and unknown to us. At some point in our development, though, we discover that our parents are not gods. They are flawed human beings, capable of being wrong, capable of doing things that may not be right or healthy or smart, capable of not knowing everything. We may be angry or feel betrayed by our parents’ imperfection, but at some point, we need to accept it and get on with figuring out what kind of human beings we will be.

The development of our faith isn’t so different. Our first conception of God bears a remarkable resemblance to our parents, maybe particularly one or the other. God is all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing, the source of punishment and reward, who you have to appease to stay in His [usually] good favor. But then something happens that goes against that image–even though we’re as good as we can be, bad things happen; even though we pray so hard, and promise to be good, our beloved pet, or maybe a parent or friend or sibling, still die. Maybe millions of people die, intentionally exterminated, and God "did nothing about it." Innocent, good people gathered for Bible are killed by a hate-filled man. Children still starve and die from preventable diseases. What kind of God is that? Who needs a God like that? Many people quit right there, rejecting God altogether.

And if God uses ordinary things–like bread and wine and water–to transform us, well, maybe we can be forgiven for wondering how great a plan that is. It’s kind of counter-intuitive, isn’t it? Water? Bread? Wine? Transformative? "Where we expect God to come in might," David Lose writes, "God comes in weakness; where we look for God to come in power, God comes in vulnerability; and when we seek God in justice and righteousness–which is, after all, what we all expect from a God–we find God (or rather are found by God!) in forgiveness and mercy." (Ibid.)

John’s portrait of Jesus is as in charge and powerful as any of the gospels, but it is only to the extent that he empties himself of self so that he is an open vessel for God. That is how he can say "I am the bread of life," able to give life to those who would receive it. It is by the I am–God– in this flesh-and-blood Jesus, who was willing to be used and filled by God, that we are "saved," given new life. It is through ordinary elements–water, bread, wine–that God acts to transform us in what we know as sacraments–things made holy–and it is in ordinary people like Jesus and you and me–is that heresy?-- that God chooses to become incarnate, enfleshed, extraordinarily ordinary.

So it is not in being "raptured up" into heaven, but rather in living in community, as Paul wrote about in his letter to the church in Ephesus, that we encounter God and join with God. So it matters how we live together–speaking the truth, in love; getting angry, but not letting our anger consume us; working honestly so that we might have something to share with others; being careful how we speak, what words we use, how we contribute to the clear or toxic atmosphere between us; being gentle and kind with one another, forgiving one another, so that the past doesn’t determine the future.

"I am the bread of life," Jesus said. Andrew Prior reflected upon his experience of helping his mom transition into more full-time care, clearing out her house, surrounded by family and objects that sparked a lifetime of memories, coming to terms with her increasing inability to do much of anything for herself, becoming "undone," as he put it.

When we are undone, [Prior wrote], and can no longer be ourselves, God’s only hands for us are the hands of others. The only real bread of life is people, people who are prepared in a small way–or much more–to be consumed by our need for care....The self-preserving life which will not be consumed, which will not be bread for others–will still grow old and die. [Andrew Prior, One Man’s Web, 8/9/15]

Those who would save their lives, Jesus said, will lose them, but those who lose their lives–give of their lives–for my sake, will find them. You’ll become bread for one another, the bread of life.

"Isn’t this Jesus, whose father and mother we know?" Yeah, it is. And God chose to become flesh in him. Those who are open to it, who are willing to suspend their hard and fast notions of who God is and how God acts, "anyone who has spent any time at all listening to the Father, [as Peterson puts it], really listening and therefore learning, comes to me to be taught personally–to see it with their own eyes, hear it with their own ears, from me." This is Jesus whose father and mother you know.

And the thing is, God still chooses to become flesh in ordinary people, people whose parents are Mary and Joe, or Helen and Al, or Susan and Frank, or who knows who? In ordinary people like you and me, who struggle with living in community, even in us, God’s radiance dwells and is able to shine and even blaze forth sometimes.

Even with us [Frederick Buechner writes], something like that happens once in a while. The face of a man walking his child in the park, of a woman picking peas in the garden, or sometimes even the unlikeliest person, listening to a concert, say, or standing barefoot in the sand watching the waves roll in, or just having a beer at a Saturday baseball game in July. Every once and so often, something so touching, so incandescent, so alive transfigures the human face that it’s almost beyond bearing. [Listening to Your Life, p. 204]

Ordinary people rise to the challenge, jumping in to grab a toddler out of the way of an oncoming car; standing up to speak for justice; keeping watch through the long night at a hospital bedside. Even in the midst of a long August picnic, we can become bread for one another, bread for the whole world even, which, despite all the odds against it, God still loves and seeks to save. This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, and this is really good news. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
"Craving Radiance"- John 6: 24-35-- Aug. 3, 2015

"Craving Radiance"- John 6: 24-35-- Aug. 3, 2015

 

In weather like this, it’s easy to put a perfectly good loaf of bread in the breadbox one day and find it covered in luxurious green the next morning. As one breadmaker said in an interview on NPR, "There’s a fine line between fermentation and putrefaction." [cited by Mark Davis, Left Behind and Loving It, 7/28/15] . The process that makes yeast ferment and makes bread to rise is so close to the process that spoils it.

When the crowd came looking for Jesus the day after he had fed them with the 5 loaves and two fish, [the story that you heard last week], he said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Humanity will give you."

There is "bread that delights in taste and satisfaction of hunger," Mark Davis writes, "but which also spoils over time." [ibid.] That is the bread the crowd was looking for and the bread which we spend most of our lives looking for, "working for the food that perishes," as Jesus says. But Jesus also remembered that other time when he was hungry, having fasted for 40 days, "We do not live by bread alone," he told his Temptor then, at least not by the bread that spoils and perishes. We live–truly live, become fully alive–by the food that endures for eternal life; not by the bread that Jesus produces for the crowd, but by the bread that Jesus is.

"We crave radiance in this austere world/ [poet Elizabeth Alexander writes], light in the spiritual darkness." [from "Allegiance," in Crave Radiance]. We crave radiance. I was finally able to listen to a whole broadcast of OnBeing with Krista Tippett on VPR last Sunday. It’s on from 7-8 Sunday mornings, and I am usually getting up and ready, catching only snippets at the beginning and sometimes, the end, and then, if I’m smart and remember, I read through the transcript of the interview later on in the day. If you don’t know about this show, I urge you to check it out.

Last Sunday Krista’s 2010 interview with Elizabeth Alexander was re-broadcast, and I savored every minute of it. I even was smart and remembered to read the transcript during the week, to catch what I had missed. Elizabeth Alexander was the poet who read her poem "Praise Song for the Day"at Barack Obama’s inauguration in 2009. I was grasped by the title of Ms. Alexander’s book of poetry–Crave Radiance–as it so perfectly captures the hunger and thirst that is at the heart of all our hungers.

I do crave radiance. Call me a religious nut case, if you will. "I hope you didn’t think about religion on vacation," someone kindly said to me this week, but alas, I did and I do think about it–not the religion of institutions and committees and pronouncements, but the "re-ligio"–the tying together, the "re-ligamenting" of who we are with each other and with the Source of our being? Yeah, I think about it all the time. Crave radiance.

The psalmist knew about this craving– "As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God."

Jesus called God "abba," "papa," in Aramaic the word also means, "source of the radiance." "We crave radiance in this austere world," Alexander writes, "light in the spiritual darkness," and in her interview with Krista Tippett, she said, "We crave truth-tellers. We crave real truth....There is so much baloney all the time."

Donald Trump attributes his popularity to his truth-telling. "I tell it like it is," he claims, and his approval ratings among Republicans suggest there is, indeed, something going on here. Of course, the same might be said of Bernie Sanders, who has been "telling it like it is" for over 40 years. We crave truth-tellers. We crave real truth..There is so much baloney all the time." I’ll leave it to you to decide whether you think Donald or Bernie are telling the truth, or if it’s baloney.

"Very truly, I tell you, [Jesus told the crowd] you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Humanity will give you."

We are indeed offered so much baloney, by our politicians, by advertisers, by the media, even, too often, by religious institutions or personnel. Jesus seems to be saying here, Mark Davis points out, that there is a way of pursuing faith that is wonderfully attractive but which can prove ruinous in the end....Instead of the bread he produces, which will spoil, Jesus says to crave the bread which he is." [ibid] What we need is not right doctrine, or even memorable stories, but a way of being, a way of being fully alive. That’s the radiance we crave. What we need is food that endures. What we need is light that is radiance, not just manufactured or glittery, bouncing off the surface, but rather Light that radiates from the Source of the Radiance, that, in fact, is at the heart of our being.

Now, of course, "there are people in the world," as Gandhi said, who are "so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread." The hunger that we experience as relatively well-fed people is not the same as the full-body, physical hunger of those who are literally starving. One American woman who went to Haiti wrote,

[In Haiti] I have seen a little girl try to ease her hunger by eating dirt. When I approached her, she covered her lips to conceal the mouthful of grit and pebbles, but tiny tell-tale stones glistened on her lips and chin....I just wish we could set a table [or have Jesus turn the stones into bread] for the little Haitian boy who cried in my arms last night....I asked him why he looks so sad. He burst into tears, eyes full of pain, and whispered, ‘I’m hungry.’" [in Kate Huey, sermonseeds, 7/28/15]

Crave radiance, but first remember those who crave food and water.

"What if the mightiest word is love?" Elizabeth Alexander asks in her inaugural poem. "Love beyond marital, filial, national, love that casts a widening pool of light, love with no need to pre-empt grievance..." She is asked if a word such as love has any place in a political context, like the inauguration of a president. "The word is sober," she replies. "The word is grave. The word is not just about something light and happy and pleasurable. The word calls up deep, deep responsibilities."

"Very truly, I tell you, [Jesus said,] you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Humanity will give you." This bread which Jesus is, this radiance direct from the Source, is not merely love, love, love, which, in one sense, is all you need, but it is also hard work, deep, deep responsibilities. It doesn’t always taste or feel good, but it is real, it is true. The hard work is practicing staying open to that Radiance, noticing how and where it appears in our bodies, in our relationships, in our moments of quiet and stillness, in our experiences with community. It is seeing to it that Haitian children have more than dirt to eat, let alone the children who live in our midst here in Bennington. It is the bread we serve at 5 o’clock on Sunday afternoons, and may I remind you that there is always a need for more people willing and able to be part of our Sunday Supper team or to work at the Kitchen Cupboard?

"What if the mightiest word is love?" And what might such a mighty love look like in the context of our community, our nation, our world, so torn apart by divisions of every kind? As Krista Tippett points out, "tolerance" is not nearly a large and mighty enough word for what we are called to do. "Love can sit with disagreement," Alexander says. It can "listen, let it stand whole....Really hearing the grievance of another, intimately, goes a long way to moving people forward." That is the advice given to Bernie Sanders this week by members of the Black Lives Matter movement. Listen. Really hear our grievances, our experiences now.

Poetry, of course, is the currency in which Elizabeth Alexander deals. "Poetry...is the human voice," she writes. Human beings have always sung, she points out, which is another form of poetry. But religion–true religion–is also the human voice, giving rise to the deepest longings of the human spirit. "Poetry," writes another poet, "forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action." [Audre Lourde, cited by E. Alexander, onbeing]

Is that not what our faith can do–give our hopes and dreams language and ideas and put them into action? Is that not the true bread we long for–to form the quality of light within which we [base] our hopes and dreams..." ? Not in airy, fairy, other-worldly language or images, but like poetry, in the midst of our very ordinary, daily lives? Can a dream rise up through onion fumes... and yesterday’s garbage ripening in the halls?" poet Gwendolyn Brooks writes? Can we experience Radiance in the midst of doing the dishes, balancing our checking account, scrubbing the toilet, checking our e-mail or text messages? What are we spending our time seeking, the bread that spoils or the bread that lasts?

This is the bread that lasts, but also the bread that spoils. Mold could grow on this. The grape juice could become wine or vinegar. What is important is who we become – what kind of bread and drink we become – once we have taken them in. What if the mightiest word is love?

May that word become flesh in us. Let us keep the feast. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
Sun and Fun

Sun and Fun

Come to Sun and Fun!, a community celebration of the environment, solar, and sustainability... on Saturday, August 22 from 10-3 pm, right here at Second Congregational Church.   See our recently installed solar panels.  Enjoy live music.  Kids can get their faces painted and eat a S'more baked in a solar oven or a "compost" sundae.  See displays by Solar Pro, Green Mountain Club, One World Conservation Center, and VT350 and various other non-profit companies, and environmentally friendly vendors.

The event will be held rain or shine.
“The Caged Bird” 2 Sam. 1:1, 17-25, Mark 5:21-43 6/28/15

“The Caged Bird” 2 Sam. 1:1, 17-25, Mark 5:21-43 6/28/15

Some sage years ago urged preachers to preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. This week there simply aren’t enough hands to turn all the pages that are rich in material.

There is in the Hebrew Scripture reading, David’s lament over the deaths of Saul and Jonathan–“How the mighty have fallen!”–not only a cry of the complexity of emotions and consequences of war and political rivalry, of mental illness, from which Saul is widely presumed to have suffered, and the unspeakable loss of a loved one–“Jonathan lies slain upon your high places. I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; greatly beloved were you to me; your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.”

The newspapers are once again full of war stories, of explosions and killings, in France, Tunisia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, of so many of the mighty and not at all mighty fallen; but at the end of the week, stories also of affirmation of the right of dignity, the dignity to receive health-care, the dignity to enter into lifelong bonds of love and commitment, no matter who you love. So much material, such rich possibilities for exploring how God is still speaking, still moving in our world, and calling us to be part of God’s ongoing re-creation of the world.

Then there are these two stories from Mark’s gospel, one nestled within the other–the outer one, the story of a leader of the synagogue begging Jesus to heal his daughter, who is dying at home, and within that story, the story of the woman, hemorrhaging for 12 years, who touches the hem of Jesus’ garment in the midst of the crowd and is healed. A woman healed and restored to life in the community, a young girl raised up from death.

It is these stories that have been weaving their way through my mind as I’ve listened to and watched the events in Charleston, SC, thinking about my 3 colleagues and 6 other brothers and sisters slain in the midst of Bible study in a church basement, by a young man who, outwardly, with white skin and blue eyes, looks more like me than they do. Yet it is in their lives of faithfulness and their manner of dying and in the response of their community that I look to as guide and inspiration for how I would like to live my life. And so those stories of healing and resurrection keep emerging as I’ve read and watched the news.

“Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse.” The hemorrhaging, of course, that our nation has suffered from is the hemorrhaging of racism that has afflicted our nation since the first Africans were brought to this country as slaves back in the 1600's, in Jamestown. A war was fought, hundreds of thousands died, not to mention the hundreds of thousands who were bought and sold, separated from loved ones, beaten, brutalized, raped, and lynched. It is still bleeding us. Ferguson, Baltimore, Miami, Staten Island, Cleveland...more than names of cities. Places where the hemorrhaging of racism has emerged into our national consciousness.

“When we deny the story,” sociologist Brene Brown wrote this week, “it defines us. When we own the story, we can write a brave new ending.” This is true in families, as well as organizations and nations. “Until we find a way to own our collective stories around racism in this country,” Brown writes, “our histories and the stories of pain will own us. We will not get away from the violence and heartbreak. Fear and scarcity will continue to run roughshod over our country. Yes, the violence in Charleston is also about access to guns and, more than likely, mental illness. But it’s also about race.” [blog, 6/18/15]

I would not even begin to presume that we can own this story as the result of one sermon, but begin to own it we must. As Brene Brown says, “This is not bigger than us. This is us.” And just as we are infinitely complex, multi-faceted human beings, so is the story of racism. Those of us with skin the color of Dylann Roof’s need to realize how many privileges come, most without our realizing it, from simply having white skin–the privilege of “fitting in” in just about every gathering place, the privilege of not having our hygiene or language patterns or awkwardness attributed to our race, the privilege of not always having our race be used to describe us, the privilege of not having to train our sons how to behave if they are stopped by the police so that they won’t be arrested or worse, the privilege to not think about race most of the time, especially here in Vermont. Peggy McIntosh’s work on “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack” is a rich and challenging Must Read. There are copies of a partial list of privileges in the back.

Many of us live in Vermont because we love the mountains and forests and lakes, enjoy being out among trees and fields; but I was caught up short at the beginning of a conference Bruce and I went to many years ago down in the southern tier of New York state, in a retreat setting that could have been in Vermont. As we were introducing ourselves the first night, a minister from one of the urban areas of New York, I can’t remember now whether it was Buffalo or Rochester or New York City, introduced himself and with wide eyes that looked nervously around said, “I’ve just arrived here, and I must say, it got scarier and scarier the closer I got.” He, of course, was the only African-American in the place. I kind of dismissed that as just being a new environment, obviously so different from an urban environment, but since then I’ve learned about“strange fruit,” a poem written by Abel Meeropol and set to music, which Billie Holliday sang, first in 1939. The “strange fruit” are the lynched black bodies hanging from trees in the rural south. What if my association with trees was that strange fruit instead of maple syrup? I might be also be afraid as I drove alone into rural America.

“The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends,” wrote Maya Angelou, “and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky.” How many birds like that have I watched and followed and imagined floating on their wings?
“But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage, his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

Our President sang this week, sang “Amazing Grace” with the people of Mother Emanuel Church and the people of Charleston SC, and it’s the singing, isn’t it? that so moves us and uplifts us because, I think, it is at its heart, a song of freedom. Freedom not just to do “whatever we want,” to own whatever we want, to say or wear or think whatever we want, even if what we think we want is actually destructive, hateful, impacts other people. That is not true freedom. True freedom is the freedom to become the full human beings God created each one of us to be–“The glory of God is the human being fully alive”–that’s freedom.

That’s the freedom the woman with the hemorrhage was reaching for when she touched the hem of Jesus’ garment–freedom to be seen for who she was–a daughter of Abraham–not an unclean pariah. “Daughter,” Jesus said to her, “your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

“The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on the dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on a grave of dreams, his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream, his wings are clipped and his feet are tied and he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

By the time Jesus arrived at the home of the synagogue leader, a crowd had already gathered outside to begin the mourning, for “Your daughter is dead,” they told Jairus. “But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, ‘Do not fear, only believe.’” ...Then he put all the scoffers and cynics outside, “and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, talitha cum, when means, Little girl, get up! And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement.)”

I have no doubt that Jesus also entered that basement room in Mother Emanuel Church, and took Pastor Clementa Pinckney’s hand and said, “Brother Clementa, get up!” And then, Sister Ethel, get up! Sister Sharonda, get up! Brother Daniel, get up! Sister Depayne, get up! Brother Tywanza, get up! Sister Susie, get up! Sister Myra, get up! Sister Cynthia, get up!” No, they did not all then get up and walk around, this was no miraculous resuscitation, but a resurrection? Yes, that I do believe. “Victims of hate become symbols of love,” the New York Times headline ran. Just as Jesus’ crucifixion exposed the evil of the powers and empire, so the deaths of these 9 exposed the evil of the racism and hatred that is hemorrhaging our nation. And just as Jesus’ frightened, bumbling followers became filled with his resurrected spirit and so changed the world, so too might our nation be filled with that same Spirit and begin to change ourselves, if not the world. What if we tap into that “reservoir of goodness,” as President Obama spoke of the nine people slain. What if we own our collective story of racism and so together write a brave new ending?

No one is free until all are free. We are not all free. The caged bird sings of freedom, and until we all are freed from the bars of hatred and prejudice, our feet untied from the fetters of greed and privilege, until we all are free the songs of freedom will still be missing parts. We must learn the lessons of love. We must not teach our children to hate. “I know why the caged bird sings,” Maya Angelou wrote, and she did. I am trying to learn. We who would follow in the footsteps of the One who healed and raised the dead and set all manner of people free, must also learn, so that someday, we all can sing the songs of freedom. May it be so.
Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
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Next Sunday - for Benn Banner

Next Sunday - for Benn Banner

Lay off from your labor and join us for worship this Labor Day Sunday at Second Congregational Church, UCC. We gather at 10 o’clock on Sunday morning, and we welcome all people of faith or in search of faith to our work and worship. Special music this Sunday is offered by the trio of Gene Irons, Nancy Wright, and Sharon Yarnall, singing “Lift Thine Eyes” by Mendelssohn. Both the Sacrament of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper will be celebrated, and Rev. Mary Lee-Clark’s sermon is entitled, “Underneath the Anger.”
Solar Panels dedicated on Summer Solstice

Solar Panels dedicated on Summer Solstice

On Sunday June 21, the Summer Solstice, we dedicated our 72 solar panels, installed this spring on our south-facing roof – dedicating them to God’s glory, not just to lower electrical bills.

The Bible begins with the story of God’s creating the heavens and the earth “in the beginning.” It’s not a scientific report, but rather a truth-telling story of faith–that God was in the beginning, being, creating, and singing out, “Let there be light!” On the fourth day, the story goes, God created the lights “in the dome of the sky” – the lesser light, the moon, to rule over the night, and the greater light, the sun, to rule over the day. The story goes on to talk about the creation of plants and animals and, finally, human beings, in the image of God, male and female, to whom God gives “dominion,” or, a better translation, “stewardship” of the whole thing. Alas, we humans have too often “dominated” the rest of creation, carelessly using its resources, seeking our own gain rather than worrying about how our use affects the balance and harmony of earth’s ecosystems, creatures, or even other human beings. Up until recently, author Diane Ackermann points out, the damage we’ve done to the earth has been largely unintentional – and devastating. Now we know better, so we can only hope that with clear eyes, we can from now on use our considerable skills, knowledge, and imagination to repair some of the damage, so that generations coming after us may be able to live on this beautiful planet.

Second Congregational Church is a Green Justice Congregation of the United Church of Christ, consciously considering how we can be better stewards of the resources entrusted to us, by using LED lights wherever possible, composting all food and compostable paper products from our Sunday morning and evening events, having recycling bins throughout the building, recently replacing our oil burner with a more efficient model, and, just months ago, installing solar panels on our roof.

This has all grown out of our experiences in worship, as we have explored the overwhelming number of scriptural passages that have to do with earth care and our connection to the earth. The United Church of Christ was also one of the earliest denominations to make the connection between justice and environmental stewardship, recognizing that it is the poor and powerless who most often bear the greatest burden of our carelessness–and sometimes downright abuse–of the earth, living near toxic dumps, living in areas of rising sea levels, unable to afford foods grown sustainably. Pope Francis’ most recent encyclical addresses this aspect of the crisis explicitly, in keeping with his–and Jesus’–commitment to the poor. Together we can support one another to live in ways that will help the earth and its people and creatures heal. Together we can advocate for legislation and regulation of practices that keep the 7th generation in mind. As people of all faiths, we can work together to fulfill the sacred trust given to us by our Creator. Let there be Light!
Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark, Pastor
"Who knew?!"-- 2 Cor. 5:6-10, 14-17, Mark 4:26-34-- June 14, 2015

"Who knew?!"-- 2 Cor. 5:6-10, 14-17, Mark 4:26-34-- June 14, 2015

Have you noticed that when the power goes out, even if you didn’t have anything "on," like the television or radio or music, say–even if you were just quietly reading–when the power goes out, it gets really quiet. There’s no hum of electricity, no quiet whirring of motors. It’s QUIET. You realize what a level of background noise we have become accustomed to in even our quietest moments. Some of us even have to manufacture "white noise" to get to sleep, to drown out all the other extraneous and unpredictable noises that surround us. We are constantly surrounded by noise that is just under or at the level of our hearing.

Just so, it seems, always in the background, but flaring up with more and more frequency, we live with a level of anxiety. Where are those prisoners who escaped from Dannemora prison? What disease-bearing ticks are lurking in our gardens and lawns? What chemicals have leached into our ground water and soil? What are those pesky Russians up to, let alone the Chinese? Is that a lump I feel? Did I smell something on Johnny when he came home from that party? Are they talking about lay-offs? What was that strange sound the car made this morning when I started it up? On and on it goes.

The church is certainly not immune to this anxiety, as we read the statistics, the declining membership roles, the graying of heads, the growing deficits. Who will we find to be our next pastor, not to mention, how will we pay for this bridging ministry? Will any of this make a difference?

"Anxiety," says Barbara Brown Taylor, "is an occupational hazard of a finite creature in a universe of infinite possibilities." [cited by Kate Huey in sermonseeds, 6/14/15] The symptoms of this anxiety, she suggests, are "perfectionism, drivenness, moral outrage, restlessness, dread of being alone, and estrangement from God." You may recognize some of those symptoms in yourself or people you know. "What is absent when anxiety is present," Taylor says, "is faith... that God will be God..."

The kingdom of God [Jesus said] is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.

My favorite phrase in this parable is, "he does not know how." How does a seed sprout and grow? Martin Luther said, "If you truly understood a single grain of wheat, you would die of wonder." There are worse ways to die. The kingdom of God [Jesus said] is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. While we sleep, seeds sprout and grow. Sure, they need moisture and sunlight, but how they sprout and grow is a mystery. Barbara Brown Taylor labels this phenomenon of the earth producing of itself, "Automatic Earth." The automatic earth yields its fruit, that is, unless it’s been poisoned or turned into stone by drought or depleted from overuse of any of its nutrients.

The kingdom of God is like this... Jesus said, as he began so many of his parables, these stories that are a particular kind of story–not just illustrations, but more like "instigations." It is said that "as soon as you think you understand what [a parable] means, you probably don’t." Parables are not rational equations, calculated by the left side of the brain. They are the pebble in your shoe, meant to be unsettling, evocative, appealing more to the right side of the brain. Megan McKenna even calls a parable "a trapdoor into another world," [cited by Huey, op cit.] where you may or may not want to live.

The kingdom of God [Jesus said] is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.

He also said, "With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade."

The mustard seed Jesus is talking about is not the "good little seed that could." It is more like kudzu, that weed that has taken over large portions of the southern United States. It is the bane of gardeners, pesky, tenacious. And "it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs." Really? The greatest of all shrubs? Who thinks of shrubs as "great," other than Monty Python’s Knights that go "Ni!" in search of "shrubbery"? The kingdom of God is like that? The fact that birds find shelter and build their nests in the mustard shrub’s branches is kind of a nice image, but aren’t those the same birds that, in the parable Jesus told shortly before this one, snatched up the seed and ate it? What does he mean, "The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed?" Is that a good thing?

Jesus might have said, "The kingdom of God is like a raspberry seed, that, though the berry is beautiful and delicious, its seed becomes lodged in your teeth and bugs you until you can get it out." The kingdom of God is like that.

What are we to make of these parables of Jesus, especially as we live in a time when he is not able to explain everything to us in private, as Mark says he did to the disciples? Frankly, I’m not even sure Jesus did that, given the nature of parables not to be explained away. These are not good bedtime stories, designed as they are to keep working on us, but even as we sleep, God is at work, as the first parable says.

One of the lessons, I think, these stories have to teach us is that it’s not all up to us. We may sow the seeds–or God may be the Sower–but it is not up to us to manipulate and orchestrate

or control everything that happens from then on. We can ease up a little, trust God to be God. On some level, life can be trusted. What parent knows what little word of wisdom or encouragement or love, spoken to a surly teenager, will not grow and sprout up someday, remembered, clung to, even passed on to their child? Who of us knows what simple act of kindness to a stranger will not grow and sprout up someday to make a difference in someone else’s life? How do we know what effect our individual and collective efforts at recycling, conserving, investing in alternative energy, advocating for legislation will have upon this beautiful little planet?

And here in the life of our church, who knows what will grow from our efforts to get the word out to our community about our solar panels, our commitment to care for the earth? Who knows who will be touched by our message of radical welcome, our rainbow flag, our opening of our building to any and all who need a place of shelter or meeting? Who knows who will notice a Facebook post or a link on our website that will touch someone exactly as they have needed to be touched, to hear a word they have longed to hear? It may not mean that people will be standing in line to get into our Sunday morning worship. It may not mean that the checks will arrive in the mail in such numbers that we will need to hire extra help. But who knows? Who knows how God works? "I have great faith in a seed," Henry David Thoreau wrote. "Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders."

It is when the harvest comes that the sower must go into action with his sickle. There is a place for us to respond to and engage with what God is doing. And as we enter into this unsettling, mysterious, "kingdom of God," we too will be transformed–we will sprout and grow in ways we do not know. In fact, Paul writes, "When anyone is in Christ, there is a whole new creation." God will stop at nothing less–than a whole new creation. All our anxiety, all our attempts to control and predict, to grasp and hold, –all that will not bring the new creation about. The antidote to anxiety, in fact, as Barbara Brown Taylor says, is courage, "chosen over and over again, everyday that you live, if real living is what you’re after." (Cited by Huey, op cit.) Courage. The true story of your heart, as its original meaning is. Courage, even in the face of fear and anxiety, to nonetheless trust God to be God, to trust that the earth will yield its fruit, that even now God is doing a new thing in and through us. That’s what the kingdom of God is like.

Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
"Hide and Seek"-- Gen. 3: 8-15, Mark 3:20-35-- June 7, 2015

"Hide and Seek"-- Gen. 3: 8-15, Mark 3:20-35-- June 7, 2015

We just heard what I think are two of the most beautiful and poignant verses in the whole

Bible–from the passage in Genesis 3:

"They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him, "Where are you?"

You can practically feel the warm breeze against your cheek and hear the sound of leaves rustling, birds singing. I can barely begin to imagine what the "sound of the Lord God walking in the garden" might have been like–rolling thunder? Ocean waves rolling and crashing? A pod of humpback whales singing and breaching? A herd of elephants calling out in their deep rumble? A thousand tubular bells? Maybe a still, small voice?

But then that voice, calling to them, "Where are you?" "Where are you?" The Lord God

couldn’t see them? Didn’t know where they were? "Where are you?"

A friend pointed out, "The worst thing that can happen in hide-and-seek is to have no one come looking for you." Another friend recalls a time when a group of kids were playing hide-and-seek in someone’s big, old house, and his son hid under one of the beds. He was one of the younger kids in the group, and somehow, whether by intention or just forgetfulness, they forgot to look for him. He fell asleep there, and finally when it was time to go home, they realized that Moses wasn’t around, and it was then that they all had to seek him and , in the end, he was indeed found. A happy ending. But what if no one had remembered that little boy? What if no one had wanted to find him?

"Where are you?" The man and the woman have hidden themselves from the Lord God among the trees in the garden because they had listened to the serpent instead of to God. They knew they were naked. "I heard the sound of you in the garden," the man says to God, "and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself." Not only does the man try to hide among the trees, but he then also tries to hide behind the woman–"The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate." And the woman does the same thing–"The serpent tricked me, and I ate." Hiding behind half-truths is as effective as hiding among the trees. Ultimately, they are found out, and whether you read it as punishment or merely conse-quences, their lives are never the same again. Children grow up. Adolescents experiment and test the boundaries. Adults live on the other side of innocence, perhaps sadder but wiser. The Lord God fashions garments of skins to replace the fig leaves, before sending them out into the world, as many a parent has done since.

And still, the echo of that evening call–"Where are you? My son, my daughter, where are you?" They may have been expelled from the garden, but God wasn’t confined to the garden either. God followed them out into the world.

God keeps calling to us–"Where are you?" And beneath that question, "Do you know where you are? Are you where you want to be?" On and on, throughout the ages beyond this primordial time, God continues to seek us out, longing for relationship, longing to be in honest relationship with us.

So the question with which Jesus responded to the crowds who told him that his mother and brothers and sisters were outside the house sounds utterly jarring. "Who are my mother and my brothers and sisters?" They have come seeking you out, Jesus, because they think you have gone out of your mind! They’re worried about you, because you’ve left the protective and societally-sanctioned web of your family and you’re going around with all these strangers and keeping crazy hours and interacting way too closely with demons. Come home with us.

And he replied, "Who are my mother and my brothers and sisters?" And looking at those who sat around him, he said, "Here are my mother and my brothers and sisters! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother."

Weren’t they just wondering, "Where are you, Jesus?" Where is the boy who grew up in our household, who was expected to carry on the family business, to care for his mother, to keep in his place in this observant, peasant family? "Where are you?"

Jesus knew that that question was not coming from God this time, and that actually was what that whole discussion about Beelzebub, that is tucked in the middle of this story about his family, was about. You need to be able to discern the difference between God’s voice and spirit and The Temptor’s voice and spirit. And woe to you if you cannot perceive God’s Holy Spirit working and calling you, if you cannot see the healing and justice and truth and liberation that God is working to bring about, but instead dismiss it and work against it.

"Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother." It is, in a way, another story of coming of age. Can you recognize when the gods who were your parents to you growing up are no longer the God whose voice you must listen to? Can you, at some point, recognize and appreciate all your parents did for and said to you, knowing that they were and are not the Lord God, that they were and are as fallible and imperfect as any human being, and that there may be a fuller, deeper truth that you have to live into?

"Who are my mother and my brothers and sisters?" And looking at those who sat around him, Jesus said, "Here are my mother and my brothers and sisters! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother." Sometimes our blood family cannot accept that we need to move away to escape the web of dysfunction and abuse. Sometimes our blood family cannot accept that we are gay or lesbian or bisexual or born into a body that doesn’t reflect our

true identity. Sometimes our blood family sees our wanting to go to college or into a different career as a judgement upon them. Sometimes our blood family cannot accept that we have grown and changed.

That’s when the water of baptism is thicker than blood. That’s when, Jesus knew, that blood was too narrow a definition of family, and that sometimes the community of faith is given to us as family, to care for us, to hold us accountable, to cry with us, to cheer us on.

At the end of his life, from the cross, Jesus says to the disciple whom he loved, "Behold your mother," nodding to his birth mother. "Woman, behold your son," nodding to the disciple. And from that day forward, he took her into his home and cared for her. We don’t need to reject our families; but we do need to know that family is a much more expansive reality than DNA or address can determine.

"Where are you?" God always wants to find us. God keeps calling to us, whispering to us. "I love you. You are part of me. I am part of you." Here, this is my body, broken for you. Take and eat. And this is my blood, poured out for you. Take and drink. Come home to who you really are.

May it be so. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark
Pentecost May 24, 2015

Pentecost May 24, 2015

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During worship on Pentecost Sunday, congregation members built an altar by processing up the central aisle of the sanctuary and placing red and yellow candles on the communion table. Many people wore red to celebrate the flames of the Holy Spirit alighting on the heads of the disciples on the original Pentecost. After worship, the congregation gathered outside for the burning of the palms from Palm Sunday. The ashes of the palms will be used to make the sign of the cross on our heads on Ash Wednesday 2016.
"Each in our own language"- Ezekiel 37:1-14, Acts 2:1-21--May 24,
2015–Pentecost

"Each in our own language"- Ezekiel 37:1-14, Acts 2:1-21--May 24, 2015–Pentecost

Short of a gust of wind blowing in and spreading these candle flames to the altar clothes and igniting them, our worship service this morning probably bears very little resemblance to that first Pentecost, in terms of chaos, violence, confusion, and fear. And don’t get me wrong–I’m not advocating that somebody come up here and set the place on fire, although if the Holy Spirit should decide to blow in and shake things up, that’s an entirely different matter!

"When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability."

Or what about that other disruptive, unsettling whirlwind of the Holy Spirit, terrifying to see and hear, where the prophet Ezekiel found himself standing in the valley of dry bones. "And there were very many [bones]lying in the valley, and they were very dry." God tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones, "and so I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them."

But this coming together of lifeless skin and bones and sinews is only part of the story. These bones and sinews and skin which had come together were speaking no languages; they had no breath in them. They looked like people, but really they were more like zombies. Not really alive. Bruce Maples suggests they were like a "dry drunk"–someone who has stopped consuming their drug of choice, but hasn’t done anything else about their recovery–haven’t looked into the source of their addictive behavior, maybe are still engaged in the same, destructive behaviors, maybe still as mean and nasty as they were when they were drunk. Old wine in old wineskins, as Jesus might have described them. This is not new life.

So God says to Ezekiel, "‘Prophesy to the breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.’ I prophesied as he had commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived and stood on their feet, a vast multitude." JRR Tolkein’s "Return of the King" and the rising of the army of the damned may have gotten its inspiration here.

We often speak of Pentecost as the birthday of the church, but we shouldn’t be too quick to break out the balloons and birthday cake. Births are always messy and are also perilously close to deaths, there on the threshold of life and death. It was a "violent" or "mighty" wind that swept through the upper room, remember, a sound like a freight train filling the entire place, and then tongues of fire alighted on each one of them. Rudolph Otto wrote of the experience of the Holy as the mysterium tremendum–meaning just as it sounds–"the tremendous mystery," full of both awe and dread. "The Good News is real change," as Suzanne Guthrie writes, "and change is dangerous, and often not received well." [At the Edge of the Enclosure, 5/24/15] We may or may not want to get an invitation to this birthday party.

Surely we are in just such a time in the church today, not only here at Second Congrega-tional, but in the church at large–on the threshold of death, as the Pew Survey reports fewer and fewer people aligning themselves with any religion–but also on the threshold of new birth, a birth into new forms, new ways of communicating, speaking to a new age. Still, as Bruce Maples warns, we need to beware of becoming "dry Christians," or a "dry church," similar to a dry drunk. We may spruce up our buildings, come up with new ways and styles of worship, maybe a new target audience, get a new, hip, young pastor, but if we are not filled with the breath of life, filled with God’s Holy Spirit, we are like that valley of dry bones and sinews and skin, without breath or soul. [Bruce Maples, brucewriter.com, 5/18/15]

"All of them [gathered in that upper room] were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?"

Like some kind of universal translator, the Holy Spirit spoke to each one gathered from all over the world, maybe even from different times, as the Medes, which are mentioned in that long list of nationalities, were an ancient Persian people. Despite our relative isolation up here in Vermont, we are connected to no less a dizzying variety of people from all over the world, through the earth’s nervous system which we call the internet, plus images on television screens, even images from space. So many languages, so many cultures, such a variety of colors, shapes, sizes, people just being born, some people as old as 115. How do even begin to imagine speaking to–but more than that–communicating with all those people? What about the rich variety of people right here in our community–natives and flatlanders, little children, teenagers, college students, young adults, families, singles, gay and straight and everywhere else along the continuum of sexuality, newly retired folks, people whose working days are long behind them, people with comfortable lives, people who struggle to get by everyday. How can we possibly communicate the Good News of God’s love for them and all people, unless it is God’s Spirit which indeed works and communicates through us?

Mark Nepo writes in the introduction to his book,

I was having lunch with Olasope Oyelaran, a linguist from Nigeria. As we talked, he brought languages alive like tropical plants and spoke of them as rooted things that sprout and reach in all directions for the light. He marveled that there are seven thousand living languages on Earth. And these are only the ones we know of. The music of his African voice flowed beneath his overtones of English. Listening to him affirmed the things that come before us and which, thankfully, outlast us.

That night, as I settled under the covers, with the lights out, I heard our yellow Lab breathe as the wind announced the stars. There, in the silence that’s never quite silent, I realized that, if there are at least seven thousand ways to speak, there are least seven thousand ways to listen. And just how few we know. [Nepo, Seven Thousand Ways to Listen, p. viii.]

Seven thousand ways to listen. Phyllis Tickle, who came up with the image of the every-, 500-year rummage sale that the church goes through, says that there are important things to learn from the folks who responded to the Pew Survey that they did not consider themselves either spiritual or religious. In an article written shortly after she revealed that at age 81 she has been diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer, Phyllis is still hopeful and curious--

"Christianity isn’t going to die!" she exclaims, almost offended at the suggestion. "It just birthed out a new tributary to the river."

"Christianity is reconfiguring," she says. "It’s almost going through another adolescence. And it’s going to come out a better, more mature adult. There’s no question about that."

For Tickle, the most interesting cohort in the survey is not the usual "spiritual but not religious," but the "neither spiritual nor religious" who get "lost in the shuffle" but are in fact the key to the future of faith.

"There is an honesty in their conversation and self-understanding that, it seems to me, makes them much more open to conversation and analysis and perhaps, ultimately, to persuasion than is true for other groups...I may be wrong, but I am, as I say, fascinated." [Religious News Service, May 22, 2015, David Gibson]

We may not be able to speak the language of folks of another nationality or even another generation, but we can listen–there are 7000 ways to listen. "Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?’" Christianity is no longer the native language of our culture, if it ever was.

There are many other languages being spoken. We must learn to listen and let the Spirit give us the ability to speak.

The story of that first Pentecost was not only a story of invitation and inclusion, it was a story of a group of Galileans, "rubes," country folk, being drawn out of their comfort zone, discovering gifts and strengths that they, in their wildest dreams, never thought they had, and who were expected to dream dreams and prophesy! Recalling the prophet Joel, Peter said to the crowd gathered that day,

"In those days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and you sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young people shall see visions, and your old people shall dream dreams. Even upon slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy."

Into the new world after Jesus had been crucified, out of the valley of dry bones and exile, into the new reality and challenges of our day, God’s Holy Spirit is still blowing, moving, sweeping, setting on fire, enabling us to speak–and listen-- in as many ways as there are languages, to touch lives, to warm hearts, to give hope, to bring justice, to care for one another, to find the lost and the lonely, to be Christ’s Body in the world.

May this blessing from UCC pastor Mark Suriano speak to your heart and set our dreams on fire–

"On Pentecost, may you find your heart singing with the Spirit of God, your ears humming with the voice of the Spirit speaking in a language that reaches deep into your soul, and wisdom dawning on your mind so that the shackles that [may] have hardened around your mind may be broken, and God’s voice and language set free. May our church community experience the coming of God’s Spirit, anticipate it with joy and hope, give in to it with love, so that when the day is done, all the world may know the love of God because of you."

May it be so. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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