“Many Paths to Follow”-- Psalm 27:1, 4-9, Matthew 4:12-23 -- Jan. 22, 2017

I’ve always found the story of Jesus’ calling his fishermen disciples a little “cult-ish.”
You just heard it–

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea–for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.

It’s a little too reminiscent of the movie “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” A little too suggestive of the need for an intervention to save a child from a cult.

But surely it’s a distilled version of what actually happened. Melissa Bane Sevier has a wonderful fantasy on what might have preceded this call. She imagines Zebedee looking at the backs of his sons as they follow Jesus down the beach and wondering how he’s going to tell his wife that they’ve gone. She tells the story of a typical family business, this fishing operation that Zebedee had inherited from his own father and hoped someday to pass down to his sons; the two boys, James and John, resisting being locked into that future, doing the usual grousing that teenagers and young men (and women) are apt to do, wishing that their father wouldn’t take some of the left-over fish after the day’s sales and drop them off at the shacks and small fires of the widows and poor families who lived along the way home, complaining and bickering as they mended the nets.

But then the boys, now young men, started hanging out with their school chum Jesus, who seemed to have matured faster than James and John. Sevier imagines–“Jesus often stops and talks with Zebedee at the end of the day and sometimes tries to help a little with the net mending. Jesus is terrible at mending. Even so, Zebedee continues to try to teach him, just to hear Jesus talk while they work together. He loves the things Jesus says about God. He loves what he says about justice for the poor.” [Contemplative Viewfinder, 1/16/17]

As the young men spend more and more time with Jesus, Zebedee notices that they seem to be growing kinder, less self-absorbed. He even notices that James is saving aside some of the widows’ favorite fish to slip to them on the way home.

And then one day, Jesus comes by and says, “Today’s the day. Come and follow me.” And of course they go–not without saying good-bye, but with no tears. And Zebedee is left with the other workers and his nets. He knows that he can’t leave. Not only is he too old for traipsing around the countryside, but who would take care of his wife and daughters and other sons? Who would catch the fish, let alone provide food for the widows and the poor? “Sometimes we are left behind for a purpose,” Sevier suggests.

President Obama, in his farewell address, issued a call to all of us to take up the work of citizenship. And President Trump, in his inaugural address, said that power wasn’t being transferred from one administration to the next, or one political party to another, but rather to the people. Democracy is not a spectator sport. It depends on the involvement and participation of its citizens for its very existence, to vote, to call our representatives to account, to support or protest as our conscience calls us. As my daughter wrote on her Facebook page about why she was participating in yesterday’s Women’s March–“because fear, despair, and apathy are the enemies, not people who are different; because our system of government requires engaged participation, because what we do as individuals affects our community, our country, and our planet.”

Being followers of Jesus requires no less–and probably more–participation, nothing less than our whole, unique selves, to discover just what it is that we were given so that we can be of service to the greater good, to live out our calling. The word “vocation” or calling often implies some grand, clear profession or role–like being a teacher, or doctor, or lawyer, a parent, an artist, a priest or minister or rabbi. And the “voice” who calls us is implied. I know that we talk about “sense of call” when we interview members in discernment for the ministry. Who told you you should be a pastor? Did you hear the words, “Follow me, and I will teach you how to fish for people”? The voice of my “calling” to ministry sounded more like a door slamming shut in front of me and another door opening behind me or to the side.

But what if our call is much more subtle? What if it’s less about what we should do and more about who we are?

As almost always, I find the words of story-teller and Jungian analyst Clarissa Pinkola Estes to be wise and inspiring. “You could be the water,” she writes in a poem, called “The Rainmaker: You Could Be the Water”--1. You could be the water...
By the scent of water alone,
the withered vine comes back to life,
and thus…
wherever the land is dry and hard,
you could be the water;
or you could be the iron blade
disking the earth open;
or you could be the acequia,
the mother ditch, carrying the water
from the river to the fields
to grow the flowers for the farmers;
or you could be the honest engineer
mapping the dams
that must be taken down,
and those dams which could remain to serve
the venerable all,
instead of only the very few.
You could be the battered vessel
for carrying the water by hand;
or you could be the one
who stores the water.
You could be the one who
protects the water,
or the one who blesses it,
or the one who pours it.
Or you could be the tired ground
that receives it;
or you could be the scorched seed
that drinks it;
or you could be the vine—
green-growing overland,
in all your wild audacity ...
©2000,2016, poem “The Rainmaker: You Could Be The Water,” by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés

How many ways there are to follow Jesus! Not only to drop everything and leave family behind to travel the countryside preaching and healing, but also to stay behind, to do your own work faithfully and full of love, to provide food for the people, or to deliver it, or to prepare it, or to make the place where nourishment is offered more beautiful. You could listen to people, you could remind them that they are Beloved. You could write legislation that structures our community more justly. You could thank or encourage a legislator. You could help clean up a stream or a river. You could pray. You could write songs or sing songs of praise or lament or justice. You could hold a child, or play with a child, or listen to a teen-ager. You could visit a mosque, or a synagogue and make new friends. You could sit quietly with someone who has lost a loved one, or give a foot massage to someone who’s depressed.

“Walk with me and work with me,” Jesus says in Peterson’s translation. “I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I’ll show you how to recover your life.” You could be the living water...or the ditch...or the vessel...or the tired ground...or the one who protects the water, the one who blesses it... The only option you don’t have is to do or be nothing.

The power of the story of the disciples’ dropping everything to follow Jesus is not their immediate, almost ruthless leaving of family and responsibilities. It is that we must indeed leave behind all that is not our way of serving the true God–we must leave behind all the other gods we spend our lives serving–money, success, possessions, family work, if they have become our gods. We must leave behind all those other false selves that are not our true self–let go of trying to be someone you’re not. “Be yourself,” Oscar Wilde said, “Everyone else is already taken.” The great Catholic Worker founder Dorothy Day wrote, “No one has a right to sit down and feel hopeless. There is too much work to do.”

We pray each Sunday–perhaps each day–for God’s kingdom to come on earth, as it is in heaven. We are called to be part of making it a reality, of doing the “real work of Christmas,” as our anthem this morning sang about. It’s big enough for each one of us to take a little piece. In fact, each of us is essential. You could be the water, or who knows what else? “Come, follow me,” Jesus said. There are an infinite number of ways to do that. Pick one. Find one. Be that one.
Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

"What Time Is It?"- Isaiah 49:1-7, John 1:29-42 -- jan. 15, 2017

Joyce Hollyday, writing in Sojourners magazine, tells the story of

a boy named Free Spirit [who] was only 4 years old when he was wrenched away from his family and forced into a Canadian residential school. A nun gave him a new pair of shoes, which he plunged into a sink filled with water. He was shocked by the beating he received. His Algonquin people always soaked their new moccasins and chewed on them to soften the leather.

Decades later, [Hollyday writes] during Canada’s 2011 Truth and Reconciliation hearings in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Free Spirit joined scores of witnesses who shared their stories of suffering in schools whose purpose was to annihilate their culture. Each evening, all the tissues used to capture the day’s tears were gathered and released into the Sacred Fire that burned outside. There they mingled with ashes that had been carried from previous hearings in other cities. [Sojourners, Jan. 2017, p. 8]

Such deep wounds! Such a huge breach between cultures, somehow, tentatively, beginning to be repaired with truth-telling and listening, with tissue ashes and Sacred Fire.

Hollyday goes on to tell of a "truth and reconciliation" process in the United States.

In the United States, the first large-scale truth and reconciliation process was launched in Greensboro, N C in 2005. Its focus was the 1979 Greensboro Massacre, in which members of the Ku Klux Klan and American Nazi Party opened fire on marchers demanding economic and racial justice, killing five and wounding 10.

As the hearings opened, Gorrell Pierce, who was the Grand Dragon of the Federated Knights of the KKK in 1979, strode in with a cadre of young white men. African-American community activist and pastor Nelson Johnson, who was wounded in the attack and lost five of his closest friends that day, immediately stood. He walked across the auditorium and made his way down that row of men, shaking every hand and thanking them for coming. Nelson admitted later that it wasn’t his first impulse, but that as a Christian he knew he needed to bring his best self to that encounter and try to reach out to the best self within Pierce. [Sojourners, op cit.]

I want to be like that when I grow up. I want to be so rooted and grounded in love that I can reach across the divide of hatred and sorrow and begin to repair the breaches that, now more than ever, divide our nation. Here on the brink of the inauguration of a new president who comes into office in what is arguably one of the most divided times in our history, how are we to act and to speak in ways that honor the truth but also contribute to reconciliation?

The writer of John’s gospel was well-acquainted with breaches that tore communities apart. His community had been stung and deeply wounded by being thrown out of the synagogues, families split, loved ones betrayed to death, and bitter words used on both sides against the other. John’s language is full of polar opposites-- light and dark, night and day, good and evil, ascending and descending–and his gospel, finely honed after decades of telling the story, living with the message, is carefully constructed with no throw-away lines.

So, when we read in the passage Scott read for us this morning, that "it was about four o’clock in the afternoon" when the two disciples came and saw where Jesus was staying, we would do well to pay attention. What’s up with that–"four o’clock in the afternoon"? Or the 10^th hour, as the Greek says.

One commentator suggests that it’s a tribute to the impact that their meeting of Jesus had on them, like recalling where you were and what time it was when you heard about the planes flying into the Twin Towers. I was at an Interfaith Council meeting at the Baptist Church, and the Methodist minister got a call on his cell phone, which none of the others of us had, about quarter of 10. "It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon."

Yes. Maybe that is why John included that detail. AND, think about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, particularly at this time of year. It’s still daylight, but twilight is beginning to seep in. For a man who frames his gospel in polar opposites–light vs. dark, day vs. night–4 o’clock in the afternoon is somewhere in the middle. This is when his first disciples began to see where Jesus "was staying," where he "abided," where he remained. That’s another way of saying, "what he was about," "where he was rooted and grounded." "What are you looking for?" Jesus had asked them. They said to him, "Teacher, where are you staying?" He said to them, "Come and see." They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon."

Where are you "staying"? Where do you "abide"? The same can be asked of our church–"Where do we abide? What do we stand for? In what are we rooted and grounded?" In times of violent "back-and-forthing," accusations flying, it’s important to know where we "abide."

On this past New Year’s Eve day, a Watch Night gathering took place in Washington DC’s historic Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church, led by the Rev. William Barber, head of the North Carolina NAACP and the Moral Mondays movement. The gathering, under the auspices of the non-profit group called "Repairers of the Breach, " [from Isiaiah 60] issued a call for a new Poor People’s Campaign, 50 years after Martin Luther King Jr. called for the first one. They issued a call for a moral agenda, a moral revolution of values, demanding policies that are ‘constitutionally consistent, morally defensible, and economically sane." [Religion Dispatches, University of So. Cal., 1/3/17]

This movement is self-consciously NOT characterized as being part of the "religious left," but rather a moral center. Taking part in the gathering were people like the Rev. Dr. James Forbes, formerly the pastor of the Riverside Church in NYC, along with the Imam from the Mosque of the Islamic Brotherhood in New York City, and other leaders of faith communities across the religious spectrum. Group members pledged to use every non-violent means possible to lift up and fight for the rights and well-being of the poor and oppressed minorities. As Rev. Forbes said, "The country can no longer afford to let poverty and bigotry be left out of the indices of success for the nation."

In a letter to President-elect Trump, which I signed in an internet invitation to faith leaders, the group wrote, "Our success [as a nation] is measured by how we welcome the stranger, care for the sick, care for the poor, and care for the hungry in practice and in policy.... We do not believe these are left or right issues. They are right or wrong issues."

"Teacher, where are you staying? Where do you abide?" Where do we abide?

"We live now in extreme times," Martin Luther King Jr. wrote. "The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love?" The extreme of love is neither to the left or to the right. It is profoundly deep. How deep is our love for one another and for the world? How deeply are we rooted in that love? From that place of deep and abiding love, how will we live our lives? How will we practice love? It will mean interacting with and listening to people with whom we don’t agree. It will mean finding ways to act, yes, but also to speak about love in language that people who don’t "speak church" can understand, using what we might call "secular language." "It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon," that time of day that includes both light and darkness. What time is it now?

"‘What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb?’ asked Valarie Kaur [at the Night Watch gathering in Washington DC]. ‘What if our America is not dead, but a country that is waiting to be born?’ Like a mother giving birth, she said, we must breathe, and then push. Kaur, a Sikh who said she knows that there will be moments when the ‘brown boy’ she is raising will be seen as foreign or as terrorist, said, ‘Your revolutionary love is the magic we will show our children.’" [Religion Dispatches, op cit.]

Remember that Truth and Reconciliation hearing in Halifax, Nova Scotia I told you about in the beginning? It "culminated in a birthday party for the survivors of residential schools, who as children never had their birthdays acknowledged. Laughter and tears flowed freely [Joyce Hollyday writes] as we shared a thousand cupcakes topped with candles and together sang ‘Happy Birthday’ in Mi’kmaq, Innu, Inuktitut, Tlingit, French, and English. So, [ she says] if you’re tempted to hide in a corner and give in to despair now that the election is over, I’d say throw a party instead. Celebrate the strength that is forged amid challenge and the hope that is reborn in ashes." [Sojourners, op cit.]

Remember that both the darkness of the tomb and the darkness of the womb are oppor-tunities for God to bring new life, in ways beyond our imagination. May we abide in–remain in–be rooted in that Hope. So may we find strength, and courage, wisdom, and even joy, for the living of these days.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

"Troubled Waters"- Isaiah 42:1-9, Matthew 3:13-17-- Jan. 8, 2017

It is said that when the reformer Martin Luther was detained for months in Wartberg Castle, in particularly anxious moments he would remind himself, "I am baptized!" to battle back his despair. "I am baptized!" Just as Jesus himself was baptized, named and claimed by God as beloved and pleasing, so we too, when we take on his baptism, are named and claimed by God as beloved and pleasing. It occurred to me that I may need to take on that practice of "remembering my baptism" in these days and months and years to come. Perhaps we all should.

When the news gets more and more bizarre and worrisome, remember your baptism! You are beloved, a precious child of God, beautiful to behold. In a world of fake news and overnight tweets, hold on to that truth. For those of us faced with the changing or declining health of loved ones–or ourselves-- in these next weeks and months, reminding ourselves that "I am baptized" may help to reinforce the claim of Love upon us, even in the face of death and discouragement. As life’s challenges and surprises threaten to knock us off our feet, with job losses, relationship stresses, worries about kids or grandkids, aging parents, or nieces and nephews battling cancer, all those very real aspects of life that are often the furthest things from our minds when we come to baptism as infants or adults–when you are confronted with those challenges, remember your baptism.

Each of the gospels tell us that Jesus was baptized, and, as Biblical scholar John Dominic Crossan says, the fact of Jesus’ baptism was an enormous embarrassment to the early Christian community. Not because it was miraculous, but because it was so ordinary–"the Messiah placing himself under the tutelage of a rabble-rouser like John? A baptism of repentance? What was he doing in that murky water, aligning himself with the great unwashed?" (Cited by Debie Thomas in journeywithjesus, 1/1/17)

Here in Matthew’s account, this is the first time we hear Jesus speak, in this quiet, troubling conversation with John. It is, as one commentator described it, "a paradoxical blend of humility and magnificence." (Troy Miller, cited by K. Matthews in sermonseeds, 1/8/17)

He wanted John to baptize him, Peterson translates. John objected, saying, "I’m the one who needs to be baptized, not you!" But Jesus insisted. "Do it. God’s work, putting things right all these centuries, is coming together right now in this baptism." So John did it. Humility and magnificence.

God’s righteousness is fulfilled in this baptism, Jesus says, God’s work of putting things right. It’s not a word we think of fondly–"righteousness." We often think of it with "self, " as in "self-righteousness," that unbearable holier-than-thou attitude of some. Or "righteousness" makes us think of uptight, obsessive rule-followers, holding out a standard of living that none of us can ever hope to achieve. It’s got shame built into it. It’s a "church-y" kind of word, and not in a good way.

But listen to how both Isaiah and, from there, Jesus use it–here in Isaiah–

"I am the Lord, I have called you in righteousness, I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness...Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice.

God’s "righteousness" for Isaiah and for Jesus is "experienced as compassionate justice and care for those who are poor and/or marginalized...as healing the damage done to the relationship between God and humanity." (K. Matthews, op cit.) The purpose of Jesus, one writer suggests, is revealed in his baptism–"to lay his healing hands upon a broken, alienated world to make it right with God again." (F.D. Lueking, cited in Matthews, op cit.) That’s the "righteousness" that Jesus’ baptism fulfills.

And, in a way, that’s what the baptism of each one of us fulfills. It’s an expression of grace, of the unearned, generous love of God, an affirmation in sign and seal that we are infinitely, eternally loved. The name of each one of us is "Beloved." Marilynne Robinson, author of the best-seller Gilead, among others, writes, "There is a reality in blessing, which I take baptism to be, primarily. It doesn’t enhance sacredness, but it acknowledges it, and there is power in that." (Cited by Matthews) Our baptism doesn’t make us more holy; it confirms that we already are. In moments when we feel anything but holy, when we feel soiled, or failed, or weak, or rotten, when we feel like a "dimly burning wick" or a "bruised reed," it is especially then when we must "remember our baptism."

Walt Whitman’s poem, which the choir sang earlier for us, speaks in the voice of one who is setting out on the road of life with all the optimism, energy, and enthusiasm of youth. "Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me....Going where I list, my own master, list’ning to others and consid’ring well what they say, pausing, searching, contemplating, with undeniable will, I inhale great drafts of space; I am much larger, better than I thought; I did not know I held so much goodness. All seems beautiful to me."

Isn’t that what we hope for the children we bring to be baptized, their whole lives ahead of them? And for youth and adults who come to baptism, we affirm that they too "hold so much goodness." But there is no pouring or stirring of the waters without "troubling" them, as the spiritual says–"God’s gonna trouble the waters." You can’t dip into the font without breaking the surface, disturbing the calm. You certainly can’t fall back beneath the waters of a river or pool without splashing, roiling, upsetting the waters. Built into our baptism is the reality that life will include troubles, challenges, heartache, pain. We will fail. We will be disappointed and hurt. We and our loved ones will get sick. The world will frighten and worry us. We and our loved ones will die. Remember your baptism. Remember that you hold so much goodness, you are beloved, a precious child of God, beautiful to behold. These things happen to us not because we are bad or have done something wrong, but because that is what life includes. Baptism is for life.

There is no magic in baptism. And God’s light and grace and love are not limited to those who are baptized, though the sacrament is one sign among many. There is no magic in baptism or in finding "Epiphany moments," glimpses of God’s light and grace and love, those "thin places," as the Celts call them, where the door between heaven and earth opens. Remem-bering your baptism and perceiving Epiphany moments is a practice, as Debie Thomas puts it. We need to practice claiming our baptism every day–every time you step into the shower and feel the water streaming over you, remember your baptism. "I am beloved." Or when you splash water on your face after you’ve exercised, or after you’ve shaved, remember your baptism. "I am beloved."

The late Biblical scholar Marcus Borg wrote, "Jesus himself is our thin place. He’s the one who opens the barrier and shows us the God we long for. He’s the one who stands in line with us at the water’s edge, willing to immerse himself in shame, scandal, repentance, and pain–all so that we might hear the only Voice that can tell us who we are and whose we are in this sacred season. Listen. We are God’s own. God’s children. God’s pleasure. Even in the deepest water, we are Beloved." [cited by Thomas, op cit.]

This is the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and this is really good news. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

"You may have heard..." Early Christmas Eve 2016

"You may have heard this story before. Maybe not. Maybe it has haunted you from the first time you put on a bathrobe and had a towel strapped around your head to be a shepherd in a pageant years ago. Or maybe it’s a new story for you–you may have heard about Jesus and Mary and Joseph somewhere, but who were they? Who are they? You may have heard this story before or maybe not. Hear it again tonight, maybe for the first time. I don’t know if it really happened this way, but I know it is true. And I know that you are part of the story. So, come all you faithful and you doubters and you seekers. Come and listen. Come and sing."

"You may have heard that God is like Santa Claus on steroids–the list God makes, you know the one about who’s naughty and nice, lasts for eternity, you may have heard; God always sees you, knows if you’ve been bad or good and has cooked up all sorts of terrible things to do to the bad people--which is most of us–and prepared an unbelievably wonderful place for the few good people who pass the test. You may have heard that. But I tell you, God is way more than an old man with a beard. God is Energy with Personality, God is Love and Light, God is Justice and Mercy, God is Mystery. And God is always loving you. God created you as a miracle, a hope for the world, just like the baby whose birth we celebrate tonight. God loves you so much that God slips into human skin at every opportunity, to show us what it means to be fully alive, to help each other out, to stand up for each other, to care for the earth, to heal all our brokenness. There is no present like this present moment, when God is waiting to be born in us."

"You may have heard that the people with the real power are the ones in the palaces and towers, the ones who make decrees and issue orders and tweets and proclamations. But I tell you that it is the child who cries in the night to wake his parents, the young writer who creates new pathways for imagination, the teen who immerses herself in music to get inside it and so to allow it to flow in new ways through her, the grad student who invents a machine to sweep plastic from the oceans, the single mother who raises her children to be caring and responsible, the refugee who shows the face of our connectedness, the grandfather who shares his wisdom with troubled youth, the old woman who dies with hope and dignity– these are the ones with the real power to change the world. The rulers of the world have no idea what they’re up against."

"You may have heard that you have to be popular and perfect to get anywhere that matters. But I tell you it was to some of the dirtiest, crummiest, most socially awkward, and frankly, not too bright shepherds that God chose to send that angel choir and announce the birth of the Messiah. Introverts and loners–this is our moment! God can find us wherever we are, minding our own business, and enlist us in the saving of the world. The thing is, like the shepherds, you can’t keep that news to yourself. You’ve got to go and see for yourself, and then you’ve got to tell everyone you meet what you’ve learned. Then you can hole up for a few days to re-group, but don’t forget this is too important to hide your light away. Find some folks who’ll love you and let you speak and act in your own timing. And those of you who love to speak to find out what you’re thinking, and who just love to mix and mingle, we need you too. Find a way to tell the Good News that God hasn’t given up on us, and then allow folks time to absorb it and put it into their own words. You may have heard that you have to popular and perfect to get anywhere that matters, but I tell you God made your true self perfect and unique, and living out of that true self is the surest way to get anywhere that truly matters."

"You may have heard that God sends messiahs and rulers to save us, to take us away from the daily, dirty tasks of life, to lift us above our bodies’ desires into spiritual thoughts, to set us apart from those "others"–the ones who don’t think like us or worship like us or look like us or love like us–but I tell you that this night, God shows us how much God loves these human bodies and how we are to be saved–by allowing God to be born in us, to take our places among the animals and stars, to be humble and wise, to listen to people who don’t have the ear of anyone in any kind of power, to be brave and to travel together. It is by the "holy harmony" that God’s coming makes in you that you shall know the truth of who you are and Whose you are, and the truth shall set you free. He is born this night, and every moment, God is always doing a new, unimaginable thing, longing for us to notice and get onboard. We are the ones God has been waiting for. Let us be born this night as well."

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

test blog grid

[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="1" offset="0" post_content="full" category_in="31" pagination="false" disable="image, title,meta,more"]

[colored_box title="" variation = "pink"]
[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="1" offset="0" post_content="full" category_in="5" pagination="false" disable="image,title,meta,more"]
[/colored_box]

[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="1" offset="0" post_content="full" category_in="32" pagination="false" disable="image, title,meta,more"]

---

[colored_box title="" variation = "green"]
[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="1" offset="0" post_content="full" category_in="33" pagination="false" disable="image,title,meta,more"]

---

[blog_grid thumb="large" column="2" showposts="2" offset="0" post_content="excerpt" category_in="29" pagination="false" disable="image,thumb,title,meta"][/colored_box][colored_box title="" variation = "yellow"]

Mary's Sermons

[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="2" offset="0" post_content="extract" category_in="18" pagination="false" disable="image,content,meta,more"]. . . . . read all[/colored_box]

[blog_grid thumb="large" showposts="3" offset="0" post_content="content" category_in="22" pagination="false" disable="meta,more"]

[blog_grid thumb="large" showposts="3" offset="0" post_content="content" category_in="4" pagination="false" disable="meta,more"]

[pt_view id="e51d027sud"]

[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="1" offset="0" post_content="full" category_in="34" pagination="false" disable="image,title,meta,more"]

[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="1" offset="0" post_content="full" category_in="35" pagination="false" disable="image,title,meta,more"]

[colored_box bgColor="#528F6C" textColor="#000000"]

[blog_list thumb="large" showposts="1" offset="0" post_content="full" category_in="36" pagination="false" disable="image,title,meta,more"]
[/colored_box]

Read More

"Sign Posts"-- Isaiah 35:1-10, Matthew 11:2-11-- Dec. 11, 2016

A woman who was cleaning out boxes and closets found her diary from a year that had been particularly hard, full of depression, shame, anxiety, and confusion. As she flipped through the pages she found one on which she had written in big letters– "I WANT MY JOY BACK!" underline, underline, underline. (Elizabeth Gilbert, Facebook post)

"I want my joy back." My guess is there are a lot of us who are saying the same thing this year. There’s a reason we light candles, sing, and gather together this time of year–December is DARK and cold in the Northern Hemisphere! Our culture counteracts by hyping up expectations of happiness found in piles of presents,"glossy, manipulative TV specials," [Katie Hines-Shah, christiancentury, 11/11/16] perfect holiday meals, and blissful family gatherings. With those expectations, it’s no wonder we’re stressed and inevitably disappointed. The turkey is dry, travel to relatives is a hassle, the kids (and we) are over-sugared and under-slept.

The church can add to those disappointments too. We get jazz when we long for Gregorian chant flat–or the other way around–, the sermon is flat or too "woo woo," there aren’t enough kids, the language of the Scripture readings has all been changed, or it hasn’t been changed since the 1600's. We have to sing Advent carols for weeks when we want to sing Christmas carols. I want my joy back.

Of course, in the scheme of things, those are all relatively minor challenges to contend with. Therapists, doctors, and pastors know that this is a tough time of year for lots of people. The loss of loved ones seems particularly painful, as we adjust the number of settings at the table, or remember celebrations of years past. Debt and job loss glare at us. Our aches and pains and infirmities remind us of our mortality.

And 2016 has been a tough year on the political scene. We have all breathed the toxic fumes of hatred, prejudice, fear, accusations, name-calling, predictions of doom. Friends and family members seem like strangers as we occupy opposite political positions. Places of safety and renewing now seem fraught with tension and anxiety, and who knows what the future will bring? I want my joy back.

"The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad," the prophet Isaiah sings, "the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing...A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way." If only we could program "the Holy Way" into our internal GPS and be led step by step to that highway of rejoicing! The question is, though, do we really want to go there?

For the first time in a long time–maybe ever–I read the two chapters just before this 35^th chapter in Isaiah, and I have to say that by the time I got to chapter 35, I heard that good news about the desert blossoming as never before. Isaiah has been talking about utter devastation, about the vengeance of the Lord, about how furious God is with the nations for their faithlessness, their cruelty, their greed, their injustice, their exploitation of the earth. (And who can blame God, then or now?) God will execute a scorched earth policy, Isaiah says, in essence, so that the only inhabitants will be the owls and jackals, and thorns will cover the earth. It’s like one of those dark fairy tales, only who knows where or if the sleeping princess lies amidst the brambles?

"Seek and read from the book of the Lord," Isaiah says. After all this devastation, God will gather together a remnant. And then,

"The wilderness and the dry land shall rejoice...Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God....Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert....A highway shall be there, called the Holy Way...And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."

"In the bleak midwinter," we sing, "heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign..."

I want my joy back.

Just above that scribble "I WANT MY JOY BACK!" the woman saw that she had written, "...for how long?" For how long will this sorrow or frustration or despair or longing or depression last? "How long, O Lord?"

"Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" That’s the question that John sent to Jesus from the bleakness of a dark prison cell. "Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" It’s heartbreaking to hear John ask that, John who was so convinced out there in the wilderness as he shouted until he was hoarse that God’s anointed one was coming, that the kingdom of God was at hand, that there was the fierce urgency of now. That conviction and courage had compelled John to speak the hard truth to Herod, about his philandering ways, and now here was John squatting in a dank, rat-infested prison cell. "Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" How long?

Had John staked his life on the wrong promise, the wrong person? For it certainly seemed as though nothing had changed. Guys like Herod were in office, still on the throne, and people like John were rotting in prison. [Debie Thomas, journeywithjesus, 12/4/16] This servant of God, prophet of the Almighty, who had seemed so full of certainty now seemed so full of doubt. "Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?"

Jesus doesn’t receive John’s question with judgment or condemnation, though. One commentator says it’s almost relief. "OK, good. You’re willing at last to let go of your preconceptions. You’re ready for the saving work of disillusionment. Now you can get to know me–the real me." [Thomas, op cit.] "Tell him what you’ve seen," he tells John’s messengers. Not some title or slogan or pronouncement, but look at what’s happened, what’s emerging in the lives of ordinary people. Not the fake news, but the real news.

And Jesus says to those around him, "What did you go out into the desert to see, when you went to see the John the Baptist? Someone in soft robes? In other words, a celebrity? They’re in royal palaces, in towers of power. If that’s who you’re seeking, you’ll always be taken in by them and duped. Rather, "this is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.’" And even the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than this, Jesus said. You can do the same thing. You too can prepare the way of God.

"Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?" John’s question from prison haunts us. He would soon be killed senselessly from a ridiculous promise of Herod to a woman he was trying to impress, and Jesus too would soon enough be in prison and killed by the powers that be. But John, and maybe Jesus himself, did not know what we know, which is how the story ends–or rather, doesn’t. That the prison cell and the gruesome platter, the cross and the dark tomb do not have the last word, that our stories only find their completion in the presence of God.

I WANT MY JOY BACK. The woman who had scrawled that in her diary recognized it as "a cry of stubborn desire" in the midst of her anger and frustration. It was that stubborn desire for joy that eventually enabled her to scrabble her way out, to recognize what she needed to let go of and what she needed to cling on to.

Martha Beck, author and life coach, says that "the Universe is constantly trying to use your JOY as a way of communicating your destiny to you." She explains:

If you feel a hint of joy, that means you’re on the right track. If not, you’re going in the wrong direction. The scattered moments of joy that you feel in your life are meant to be clues. THIS IS WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING; THIS IS THE KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH; THIS IS HOW YOU ARE MEANT TO FEEL. [Martha says that] if we refuse to seek joy, believe in joy, trust joy, and follow our joy–then the Universe will resort to using pain and suffering to try to get our attention...but God would really rather communicate your destiny to you through joy. So try that first. Look for crumbs of joy, and trust them. [Elizabeth Gilbert, FB]

Look for crumbs of joy. Remember that joy isn’t that trivial, glittery stuff that advertisers would lead you to believe can be bought. My teacher Tal Ben-Shahar says that joy is the intersection of deep pleasure and deep meaning. John the Baptist knew something hard and flinty about joy, left behind all the trappings of what passed for joy in his culture, and, we

believe, at last was received into the Presence of Joy and Love.

The One who did come, and who is always coming into the world, knew that the only joy worth reaching for, worth giving your life for, is God’s joy–that "God’s joy and our well-being are interconnected" [Bruce Epperly, Adventurous Lectionary, 12/16], that there are, indeed, crumbs of joy strewn along our path, if we would only notice them and take them in–the touch of a loved one’s hand, the face of a child caught up in wonder, the company of loving friends, burying your face into the neck of a dog, the smell of balsam, the satisfaction of service, the thrill of doing a random act of kindness, savoring small bites of delicious food, listening to or making music that feeds your soul.

I WANT GOD’S JOY!–which is my true joy. May that be all we really want for Christmas this year. So may we find it. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

Snowflakes banner

Advent, the season leading up to Christmas may be an invitation to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give..." Be ready at any moment for God to appear in your life as inspiration, opportunity, insight, person, possibility.
..
Our church's banner photo (above) is of the snowflakes (each one unique just as people are) and the trees... all made by Barbara true-Weber and other creative people of our church especially for Advent 2016. Advent, the season leading up to Christmas, is "an invitation to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give..." Be ready at any moment for God to appear in your life as inspiration, opportunity, insight, person, possibility.

Read More

home image 121016

Read More

"Eating from the Jesse Tree"- Isaiah 11:1-10, Matthew 3:1-12-- Dec. 4, 2016

If only the landscape weren’t so familiar–a clear-cut mountain side, a battlefield strewn with bodies and smoldering equipment, whole neighborhoods left in nothing but rubble. Or that all too familiar political landscape–never-ending bickering and name-calling, deadlocked legislative bodies, deals and lining pockets leaving the real issues of communities untouched. Or the devastation of interior landscapes–the house after she’s left, the silence after he died, the ominous dark and density of depression, the relentlessness of pain.

2700 years ago Isaiah looked upon the landscape of his country with utter frustration and disgust, his fellow "prophets," if you could call them that, spouting lies and silliness, the kings of Judah worthless, and the Empire of Assyria looming at the border. Surely God was dismayed at the faithlessness of those who were supposed to be "God’s people." Surely this was not what God intended, this was not God’s dream for the people of Judah or the earth.

So, as he did in times of distress and despair, Isaiah went deep. Got still. Listened. Searched his heart and the landscape of his mind. And at last, he heard the melody.

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear. But with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins. The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hold of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious.

"A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots."

It’s a rather strange image of hope to offer to a people in utter discouragement and devastation.

It had been 200 years since the death of King David, that ruler that Judah seemed to refer to as the model, the beloved king, yet Isaiah remembers the mixed record of King David, with his seductions, his betrayals, his wars, his infidelities. There was no "golden time" before. Judah doesn’t need another king like that. Maybe, Isaiah dreams, God will bring another shoot from Jesse–a new and better ruler, one with qualities that God longs for in a ruler–"a fearsome knowledge of Yahweh, extraordinarily discerning wisdom, unbending counsel, this one’s strength in words of truth and power." [John Holbert, patheos, 12/8/13] I found myself won-dering if there might have been a daughter of Jesse, not just all the sons who were paraded in front of the prophet Samuel to be anointed king. After all, it is through the mother that Jewish lineage is traced, though you’d never know it from the Bible. I couldn’t even find the name of David’s mother in the Bible, and as it turns out, it isn’t in there. It’s in the Talmud, though, the accumulated commentary by the rabbis of Torah, and there it says that David’s mother was Nitzeyet, daughter of Adael. You learn something new every day. Anyway, it’s a little diversion –a daughter from the stump of Jesse-- but then, who knows where Hope will come from?

"A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots." A strange image. So often we think of shoots sticking out of stumps as "suckers" and do our best to seal them off. It’s hard to feel confident in a future that comes from a sucker. It sounds like a loser. We prefer winners.

A shoot is a fragile thing, vulnerable to cold snaps, or being hit too hard, or not enough moisture. Vulnerable to death, in other words. We know that branches grow at their edges, at their ends, and a stump–without leaves to process their chlorophyll–seems like a dead end, literally. But it’s been discovered that the roots of trees that grow near each other are so intertwined that any who do have leaves, produce the chlorophyll and energy that is shared through the roots. The community of trees literally keeps its members alive.

"A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord–the breath or wind of God–shall blow over and rest on this one, the spirit/breath/wind of wisdom and understanding, the spirit/breath/wind of counsel and might, the spirit/breath/wind of knowledge and the fear of the Lord."

Back in the 1990's, there was an experiment called the Biodome, which attempted to make a totally self-contained biological environment. One of the baffling disappointments was the trees. They had sunlight, water, nutrients, but they didn’t stand tall. They flopped over. As it turns out, the missing element was wind. Trees actually need wind occasionally to blow and create microcracks in their trunks and branches. Just like bones, that are stronger where they’ve been stressed or broken, so trees need the stress of wind. "We actually need storms in life," as one preacher put it. [Rev. Whitney Rice, sermonsthatwork, 2 Advent 2013] "The spirit/breath/wind of the Lord shall blow over and rest on this one," Isaiah wrote, this branch from Jesse’s tree.

And it won’t be just the human population who will be transformed, led in a new way by this little one, this leader of wisdom and understanding, compassion and counsel. The whole of creation will be transformed. The rule and order of nature will be changed and overturned .

The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.

This is indeed a new kind of peace. When the leopard lies down with the kid, that baby goat’s not going to get much sleep, we think. What happens when the more powerful of these pairs gets hungry? Will the lion really be satisfied eating straw? This time of peace or shalom "is creation time," writes Walter Brueggemann, "when all God’s creation eases up on hostility and destruction and finds another way of relating." [cited by Kate Huey in sermonseeds, 12/7/13]

Can we imagine a new kind of peace, along with a new kind of ruler?

It’s a dream of an impossible possibility, as Bruce Epperly puts is, of enemies becoming companions, children safe from harm, wise national leadership, a world without war. It has never happened, but it still judges the world, it is still the ideal, the goal toward which any and all of our endeavors must reach. [Bruce Epperly, Adventurous Lectionary, 12/4/16] Indeed, we still long for it, still sing Isaiah’s song every Advent –"When God is a child there’s joy in our song, the last shall be first, and the weak shall be strong, and none shall be afraid...."

A shoot shall come out of the stump of Jesse... It will not happen overnight. It is a fragile beginning, but each of us has a stake in tending to it, we each have a role in bringing this shoot to branch to bud to blossom, so that we may eat of its fruit. Every child is potentially that leader. What was said to John the Baptist as an infant by his dead stump of a father Zechariah might be said to every new-born–"And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go to prepare God’s ways..." Align with those ways, that child-become-man cried out in the wilderness. Live into the dream God has for us. Repent. Prepare ye the way!

You know the dream. Sing it with me. "When God is a child, there’s joy in our song. The last shall be first, and the weak shall be strong. And none shall be afraid." (Brian Wren)

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

home page logo image

Read More

Snowball Bazaar

Read More

"The Longing"-- Isaiah 2:1-5, Matthew 24:36-44-- Nov. 27, 2016

How ironic–and typical–that just when we need to have a clear eye and ready energy, we are stuffed and sleepy from our Thanksgiving feasts. Of course, merchants and advertisers call us to frantic, competitive shopping, our eyes open to the best deal, but Advent’s call to alertness and readiness to perceive God’s coming in new ways into our lives? Not so much. It’s hard to hear that call over the shouting and blaring of sales and Santa and the promise of that perfect gift which will "show how much you care."

That brilliant curmudgeon and Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann describes the season we are just entering like this, "Advent invites us to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give...Advent is an abrupt disruption in our ‘ordinary time’...an utterly new year, new time, new life." [cited in K. Matthew, sermonseeds, 11/27/16]

"Then two will be in the field...[Jesus says] Two women will be grinding meal together"– ordinary time. Then "one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming." Of course, you can read this as a description of the Rapture–that fundamentalist notion of God’s "rapturing" the faithful believers up into heaven while leaving the others behind to fend for themselves in the apocalypse. I’ve seen a bumper sticker that says, "Warning: In case of the Rapture, this car will become driverless." I’m thinking that in such a scenario, if I’m left behind, driverless cars will be the least of my worries.

Or Jesus’ urging here to keep awake and ready may be understood as a wise statement about living your life mindfully and fully because you do not know what day will be your last. "You do not know on what day your Lord is coming."

Or, this jarring Advent text may just be what Brueggemann says the whole season is about– an invitation to awaken from our numbed endurance and our domesticated expectations, to consider our life afresh in light of new gifts that God is about to give..." Be ready at any moment for God to appear in your life as inspiration, opportunity, insight, person, possibility. Don’t sleep through that. Two men will be in the field, one cursing his life of hard work, the other thankful for his strong body, his ability to provide for his family. One will taken, one left.

Two women grinding corn, one complaining about her dreadful life, the other grateful her arms are strong and thinking of her children’s growing bodies she is able to fill with bread. One will be taken, one left.

Any moment may become radiant with God’s Light, any moment may be transformed with God’s power, at any moment a window or door may open into God’s possibility. Maybe this is not the end of the world, as some think of it, but rather the beginning. This is true at any time of year, but Advent provides us with a wake-up call.

At the same time, Walter Brueggemann also likens today’s reading from Hebrew Scripture to Martin Luther King Jr.’s "I Have a Dream" speech.

In days to come [says the prophet Isaiah] the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.’ For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!

It is "so evocative of such a deep yearning" [Kate Matthews, sermonseeds, 11/27/16] that it is used in public places. It’s engraved on the wall near the United Nations building in New York City. And in the plaza in front of Marsh Chapel at Boston University is a great metal sculpture, depicting spears transforming into pruning hooks and finally into doves.

In this season when we are surrounded by images of trees, Rebecca Solnik suggests that "The branches are hope; the Roots are memory...Though hope is about the future, grounds for hope lie in the records and recollections of the past." [Solnik, Hope in the Dark, xix]

So Israel and the church look to God’s actions in the past to ground our hope for the future. God delivered us from slavery in Egypt. God provided food for us during our sojourn in the wilderness. God allowed us to be overrun and taken into exile when we abandoned our trust in God; and God restored us after the exile. God sent us prophets and messengers when we had lost hope, when we had forgotten who we were. And God came to live among us and to show us what a human being fully alive with God looks like. Even though the powers and principalities appeared to have killed him, God raised him from death, and God is still with us–Emmanuel–the Word made flesh in our lives and in the lives of those around us.

Memory is important, but we must remember the whole story. There was never a "golden time,’ in Israel’s history or in ours. Nor is our history one of unmitigated disaster and cruelty. It is a complex, complicated, multi-layered reality of triumph and failure, with room for all of that to be considered and learned from. "Not everything that is faced can be changed," wrote the great African American writer James Baldwin, "but nothing can be changed until it is faced."

We will never make America great until we face the whole of that history which was not great for everyone. The greatness of America will only be found as we continue to work for "a more perfect union" of all and everyone that is America now. Like the season of Advent, our nation cannot live or yearn for a golden "once upon a time," but rather live into a season of "not yet."

"The branches are hope; the roots are memory." What is the nature of this hope? While it is rooted in our very real lives, it is less about a 10-point plan and more about a state of heart, as Czechoslovakian poet and prime minister Vaclav Havel wrote, back in the mid-1980's, when Czechoslovakia was still a Soviet satellite–

The kind of hope I often think about (especially in situations that are particularly hopeless, such as prison) I understand above all as a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us or we don’t; it is a dimension of the soul; it’s not essentially dependent on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation. Hope is not prognostication. It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart; it transcends the world as immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but, rather, an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed. [cited in Solnik, p. 11]

"Hope is an embrace of the unknown and unknowable," Rebecca Solnik writes, "an alternative to the certainty of both optimists and pessimists...It’s the belief that what we do matters even though how and when it will matter, who and what it may impact, are not things we can know beforehand." [op cit., p. xvi] "To hope is to gamble. It’s to bet on the future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous, and yet it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk." [p. 4] "Keep awake therefore," Jesus said, "for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming," you do not know what opportunities and possibilities will present themselves.

What is the hope we long for? "Authentic hope requires clarity..and imagination," as Solnik says, for false or inadequate hope is seductive and dangerous. Don’t hope for and work for something that isn’t big enough or deep enough, or true enough, or worthy of your life. What is it we hope will grow and sprout and blossom and bear fruit on these branches? And what are we willing to sacrifice, what of ourselves are we willing to offer, to nourish and care for these hopes? Is it that day when nations shall not lift up sword against nation, nor learn war anymore? Is it the blossoming of the Beloved Community, which King wrote about, comprised of people of all races, creeds, and colors, living in peace and dignity? Or is it something more personal–a sense of integrity, of living in a way that feels true to your essence, your soul? Is it finding a relationship that honors who you are and promotes your full blossoming into the human being God intended you to be? What is it you hope for, and what are you willing to do, to sacrifice, on behalf of that hope?

Because, after all, as Rebecca Solnik writes, "Hope gets you there; work gets you through." And it’s not just any work. The images Isaiah uses–plow and pruning hook–are instruments of overturning, digging into, pruning,...that kind of work. We need an education and training for hope. "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord," Isaiah says, "that God may teach us his ways and that we may walk in God’s paths." What would your course in hope look like? An examination of your life and the forces that have shaped you? An honest inventory of your gifts and passions? Would it include training in non-violent resistance? Would it include an exploration of White Privilege or of a more comprehensive view of American history? Would it include Bible study with a group of companions or a commitment to a daily prayer or meditation practice? Would it include new ways of caring for your body? Would it include mending some of the rifts in relationships you experience or a letting go of resentments and hurts? What would your course in hope look like?

"Keep awake," Jesus said. "You know what time it is," the apostle Paul wrote, "how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep...the night is far gone, the day is near.." (Rom. 13:11-12) In the meantime, as we wait for the One who is coming and is already in our midst, we take each day that is given to us. "Every morning you wake up," Barbara Brown Taylor writes, "decide to live the life God has given you to live right now. Refuse to live yesterday over and over again. Resist the temptation to save your best self for tomorrow." [cited in Matthews, op cit.] This is the day given to us, full of hope and possibility. Let us live in expectation. Even now, the Holy One is at hand. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

"Holding All Things Together"- Jeremiah 23:1-6, Colossians 1:11-20--Nov. 20, 2016

When you log into a computer, the first picture that usually comes on the screen is called the "desktop"–a term that conjures up a flat wooden surface with cubbyholes and jars of pens and pencils, but that is not what a computer desktop is. On a computer desktop are all sorts of little pictures, called icons, which represent the various programs that you’ve got on your computer– there may be a 4-paned window drawn in perspective that represents Microsoft Windows; there might be a blue lower case "f" representing Facebook, or a little picture of a bird for your Twitter account.

When you click on any of these icons, you are given entrance into that whole program– when you click on the blue f, Facebook opens up and you can see pictures of your friends or grandchildren, read what your co-worker is doing or is passionate about, read the upcoming announcements for the week from Second Congregational Church, or read a false newsstory, like "the Pope just proclaimed we should kill all Muslims." What you do once you’re inside that program is up to you, but you can’t do anything until you’ve been given access to it.

Just as a computer desktop bears only the faintest resemblance to an actual piece of furniture, so the term "icon" – these pictures that appear on a computer screen and are, essentially, the entrance points into computer program– is a far cry from the original meaning of the term, which is a religious image through which the devotee might gain deeper understanding of or even encounter the god or religious figure the icon represents. If you walk into an Orthodox Church or chapel, like the one up at New Skete in Cambridge, you are instantly surrounded by icons and images of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Mary the Mother of Jesus (or Mother of God), a whole cloud or procession of saints, and, in the case of New Skete, figures of people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Dorothy Day, painted in the iconic style, all of whom invite further meditation and contemplation. The Native American trinity hanging outside my office door is an icon, painted meditatively, inviting meditation.

It is that same word–ikon–that Paul uses in his letter to the Colossians, probably quoting a hymn sung by early Christians.

He [Christ Jesus] is the ikon of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers–all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Just as clicking on an icon on a computer screen gives you entrance into the world of a computer program, so, says Paul, does faith or trust in or " entering into" Christ–the image or icon of the invisible God-- open up for the Christian an experience of God, gives us entrance into a way of experiencing and seeing the world infused with the Holy, recognizing that all things, including all thrones or dominions or rulers or powers are actually created through and ultimately for God. This is not the same as simply looking to the earthly life of Jesus of Nazareth and trying to follow his example. Christ as the icon or image of the invisible God is a meta-physical–"beyond the physical"–coming together of divinity and humanity, the intersection of human and divine.

The readers of Paul’s letter would have heard echoes of the Hebrew figure of Lady Wisdom–Sophia–and the Greek Word, or Intention, or logos, there with God at the beginning of creation, infused through all things. We might also imagine the radiance and energy of God in all beings – "God is everywhere, within me and around me." "In him all things hold together."

"All things hold together." There are days–weeks–years–when it seems like things are falling apart, aren’t there? Not only on a global or national scale, but in our own lives, when our bodies seem to be falling apart, or our relationships are strained to the point of breaking, when our jobs seem fragile or unbearable, or we’re failing a course in school, not to mention the refrigerator, microwave, and car which all seem to fall apart at the same time. "In him all things hold together." What could that possibly mean?

Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron wrote a book called, "When Things Fall Apart–Heart Advice for Difficult Times." In it she warns about too easily telling a story about the things that are falling apart in our lives. One woman, for example, told how her life and marriage fell apart when her husband revealed that he’d been having an affair for 8 years and left her and her two children. She had been telling that story at a conference or retreat sometime later when someone overhearing said, "You know, it sounds like you have really found your true self since that happened. You are here at this amazing retreat, you have a new relationship with your kids, you’ve made some important decisions about your life. Maybe your life came together instead of fell apart."

Now, I have no doubt that the sense of betrayal and loss and disorientation were real for this woman and her children. This was no doubt an incredibly difficult time to go through. But the icon or lens through which she came to look upon that experience made all the difference in how she would face and experience her life from now on. Left behind or empowered? Victim or person with agency? Sadder or sadder but wiser? Lost love or newly discovered larger love?

Just so, looking at life and the world through the icon or lens of Christ allows us to see not just things falling apart but all things held together and infused with the Love and Light of God; it enables us to see presidents and prime ministers, kings and cabinets as having power and influence of their own but ultimately bowing to the power of God whose kingdom–or kin-dom–is coming and already is in our midst. When we know we are "in Christ," we know that we are still loved and valuable, even though we lose our job or fail a test. When we know we are in Christ and Christ in us, we can meditate upon the radiance and healing of God flowing through our bodies, instead of only blaming or cursing our bodies for not working the way we think they should. When we know we are "in Christ"–fully open to God’s presence and power in human lives–we know we are wondrously connected to and in relationship with our loved ones who have died. When we are "in Christ," we can work to transform our world, from a deep place of peace and power and love, not from a place of fear or anger or hatred. All things hold together, even if, even when, the "rulers," the "powers and principalities" seem to have the upper hand.

This icon or image of Christ Jesus–including his death on the cross–gives us entrance into an experience of God, even when things fall apart, even when–maybe especially when–we feel broken by life. The great song writer Leonard Cohen, who died last week, wrote, "There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in." "God has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son..." Paul says.

So as we come full circle in the year today, this year that perhaps has done its best to break us, as we remember those who have died, who have gone on to that greater shore, we are assured that "all things hold together in him," assured that we have access into that Reality in which our loved ones and we are held. "May you be made strong [Paul wrote] with all the strength that comes from God’s glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to God, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light."

All things hold together in him. May these words be hope and courage and strength for us for the living of these days. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

"For Such a Time as This"-- Isaiah 65:17-25, Luke 21:5-19 -- Nov. 13, 2016

What’s the worst thing that has happened to you when you claimed to be a Christian? I don’t know about you, but I’m almost ashamed to say that I’ve gotten off pretty easily. I have been dismissed and ignored for being Christian. I have been patronized–"Oh, how nice." I’ve been in some rather uncomfortable conversations, mainly with people who don’t know me but who assume they know what it means to be a Christian-- "How can you believe that stuff?" or "Look at all the hateful things that have been done in Christ’s name!" I’ve been confronted with "calendar disbelief" – "Oh, you mean you can’t come to our event/brunch/game on Sunday morning?" All pretty mild stuff.

Honestly, I think the worst thing that has happened to me when I’ve "claimed" to be a Christian is being associated with "those people" who also claim to be Christian but who believe and act in ways that are abhorrent to me–people who claim to love Jesus but who clearly hate their neighbor, especially if that neighbor happens to be Muslim, or Jewish, or LGBTQ, or has dark skin, or comes from a different country, or who knows what other offending characteristic. I hate it when people assume I must be like that since I’m Christian, but I also know that my disdain or dismissal or even hatred of people whose beliefs are so different from mine makes me exactly like them–putting up walls, instead of building bridges.

Walls seem to be the go–to solution these days for dealing with people we don’t like or disagree with or are afraid of–the wall that is supposed to be built–or completed–between the United States and Mexico, the wall that runs through communities in Israel to separate Israelis from Palestinians, the Berlin Wall, which, of course, was torn down. But walls don’t have to be made of bricks and steel and cement–we put up walls between ourselves and others whom we don’t want to deal with or don’t want to have to see or maybe can’t deal with right now. Walls of silence or avoidance, walls of distance, walls of privilege, walls of income, walls of ignorance, walls of prejudice.

"Something there is that doesn’t love a wall," Robert Frost wrote, "that sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, and spills the upper boulders in the sun; and makes gaps even two can pass abreast." ("The Mending Wall") Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.

"When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, Jesus said, ‘As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down." Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.

Luke says Jesus was talking about the end time, the coming time of wars and insur-rections, of upheaval and dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. Coming times of betrayal and arrest. "You will be brought before kings and governors because of my name," he said. When you claim to follow me, this is what will happen, he said. And then this– "This will give you an opportunity to testify."

I do not need to tell you that we are living in a time of great upheaval and great uncertainty. This election has revealed the vast fissures and wounds in our nation, and the walls and even foundations of our governmental and political institutions are shaking. As I said last week, it may even ultimately prove to be a helpful, though brutal, revealing of not only the divisions and wounds but also the racism, misogyny, homophobia, classism, fear of strangers, and arrogance that underlies too much of our culture.

But to suggest that this unveiling may be helpful is not to deny that for so many of our neighbors and fellow citizens, some of whom are part of our church family, what has been unleashed is a toxic, dangerous stew of acts of violence and hatred directed against them because of who they are, what they look like, where they’ve come from, who they love.

One woman posted on Facebook:

People with all the privileges keep saying: "It’ll be OK. It is what it is now. Oh well, better luck in 4 years. They joke about moving to Canada. He’s our President, now it’s time to accept it. All my friends without those same privileges worry– Will my marriage stay legal? Are we safe? What’s going to happen to my healthcare? Are we safe? Will my trans child be safe @ school? Will this increase the militarization of the police in my predominantly black neighborhood? Are we safe? Will Roe vs. Wade be overturned? [Will my child’s asthma get worse because of the coal-fired plat in our neighborhood? Am I safe?" [Saundra M. Troy-Ward]

Swastikas painted on school buildings, hateful graffiti and messages written on cars, beatings and bloodyings, even a rash of suicides out of fear and despair. This is not the greatness of America, and this is not the Christian witness that Jesus and his god are calling us to. Glennon Doyle Melton said that the Jesus of the Gospels went around asking two questions–"Who is power forgetting?" and "Who is religion oppressing?" and then Jesus would seek those people out and sit down to a meal with them. [FB, 11/11/16] We need to seek those people out, sit down with the, stand beside them.

"For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth," God says through the prophet Isaiah, at the end of the exile. "The former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating...." Can we believe this? Can we trust in this vision and make it the vision for our lives? Newness coming out of devastation? Is this not the central claim of the Christian faith? "They tried to bury us, but they forgot we were seeds," says a Mexican resistance proverb. We are seeds, seeds of the kin-dom of God, planted where we are and in who we are.

"Perhaps it is for just such a time as this," Queen Esther’s uncle Mordecai said to her when the Jews were in peril in her husband’s kingdom–"Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this." You can make a difference there in the palace, he said,you can use your creativity and courage to expose those who intend harm to God’s people, and thus you can help to save God’s people."

Perhaps it is for just such a time as ours that we have been put here, to live out our true Christian identity, that we can stand alongside those who are targeted for hate or prejudice and say, "That is not who we are." Perhaps it is for just such a time as this that we can model radical hospitality and inclusivity in our homes, in our church, in our places of work and study. Perhaps it is for just such a time as this that we will be given "an opportunity to testify," as Jesus told his disciples, to speak out for who we believe God is and what God is about, what the really good news is.

"United in Spirit, inspired by God’s grace, we love all, welcome all, and seek justice for all." That’s the Mission statement of the United Church of Christ–to the point, easy to remember (if you can remember anything), and able to be spoken in the time it takes the doors on an elevator to close. "United in Spirit, inspired by God’s grace, we love all, welcome all, and seek justice for all." An opportunity to testify.

After the vote to leave the European Union, a rash of violence broke out in England, just as it has here since the election, targeting immigrants, people of color, Muslims, members of the LGBTQ community. So many people began to wear safety pins on their clothes, a sign that people who felt afraid could count on them, could turn to them for safety. It has been suggested that we take up that movement as well–wear safety pins on our clothes to signal that we offer a safe space, an offering of protection and solidarity, to anyone who feels threatened by hatred or prejudice. I invite you to join me in wearing one.

Molly Baskette, pastor of the Berkeley, CA UCC church, wrote that this is what she means when wears her safety pin–

If you wear a hijab, I’ll sit with you on the train. If you’re trans, I’ll go to the bathroom with you. If you’re a person of color, I’ll stand with you if the cops stop you. If you’re a person with disabilities, I’ll hand you my megaphone. If you’re an immigrant, I’ll help you find resources. If you’re a survivor, I’ll believe you. If you’re a refugee, I’ll make sure you’re welcome. If you’re a veteran, I’ll take up your fight. If you’re LGBTQ, I’ll remind you that you beautiful and beloved, just as God made you. If you’re a woman, I’ll make sure you get home OK. If you’re tired, me too. If you need a hug I’ve got an infinite supply. If you need me, I’ll be with you. All I ask is that you be with me too. Together, we’ll be the strong arm of God. [FB]

Even if no one comes to you asking for help, it will serve as a prompt, a reminder to you to be on the lookout for people who might feel threatened, who might need a friend. It might give you an opportunity to engage in conversation when somebody asks you why you’re wearing a safety pin and to share what your vision of our country is, what kind of community you want to live in, what kind of person you want to be. And of course, we must teach our children to be safe presences for others, to watch out for kids who are not feeling safe.

"The wolf and the lamb shall feed together," Isaiah says. "The lion shall eat straw like the ox." We are going to have to do things that will make us uncomfortable. How does the lamb feel eating next to the wolf, or the lion feel about eating straw? This may test our mettle. We may even find ourselves in actual danger, but "safety" in that sense was never guaranteed to us when we set out follow Jesus–I’d like to say, "Obviously," but too often we forget where the path of Jesus took him. Perhaps we will have the opportunity not only to "testify" but to help someone who has succumbed to hatred or fear or prejudice to rediscover the light within themselves, to get in touch with their better nature in the presence of our own calmness and courage.

This will require practice, my friends, and I know you’ve heard me talk about practicing before. Pray always and everywhere, for everyone. "Prayer moistens the heart for hope and journeying on through it all," Kirk Byron Jones says. "Amid the personal and social fallout, protect your soul. Take moments to rest in the storm. Rest leads to peace. Peace leads to clarity, Clarity leads to creativity." [FB] Do not give them your hate, as the Parisian man whose wife was killed in the ISIS attacks on the Bataclan–"I will not give you my hatred." Don’t lose sight that the world is indeed wonderful and full of wonder. Join regularly in and support this community of faith that reminds us who we are and Whose we are, through music, praise, prayer, and acts and witness of justice and earth advocacy. Reaffirm to yourself every day that you are beloved, a precious child of God, beautiful to behold.

Even now, God is creating new heavens and a new earth. Even now, God is tearing down and building up, dismantling walls and building bridges. So, "rise up, sweet people," as the call to Progressive Christians went out. [Cameron Trimble of the Center for Progressive Renewal] "You are stronger and braver than you know. Now we will prove that to each other. Rise up...For the sake of the people we are, for the sake of the people we love and the planet we live within." [convergence.org] It is for just such a time as this that we were made.

May it be so.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

"The Day Begins at Night"-- Haggai 1:15b-2:9, 2 Thess. 2:1-5, 13-17--Nov. 3, 2016

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the "Anti-Christ," so I’m always caught up short when these passages from the later Christian writings–like 2 Thessalonians or Revelation-- come up in the lectionary and warn us about the "lawless one" or the Antichrist. I will confess to you that in the past, I have entertained the possibility that one of our Presidents was maybe the antichrist, or at least one member of his cabinet, and I’m sure there are those today, who are always on high alert for such things, who are pointing to either –or both–of the presidential candidates as fulfilling the position of "the lawless one."

There are even supposedly Christian leaders who’ve come out to condemn to eternal damnation those members of their flock who dare to vote, in this case, for the Democratic candidate. I could never figure out how to get that direct line to the Almighty, but maybe it’s a kind of Wikileak from the Book of Life which contains all our Permanent Records! At any rate, all I’m going to do is to urge you to vote this Tuesday, if you haven’t already, and if you need a ride to the polls, let me know.

But stepping back from the immediate situation, I have always wondered why in the world God’s alleged Plan for the End Times, according to these sources, includes a period of time when the Antichrist would be in charge. Will God allow him one last fling before God ultimately destroys him? What about all the people who get sucked in and deceived by the Antichrist? It hardly seems fair that God would want that many more people to be ultimately destroyed.

"That day [the Day of the Lord] will not come unless the rebellion comes first and the lawless one is revealed, the one destined for destruction. He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God."

The "day of the Lord," for Paul, is when we will all be gathered together into Jesus Christ. "We beg you, brothers and sisters, not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter, as though from us, to the effect that the day of the Lord is already here." If this is the day of the Lord already–in the midst of all the Thessalonians were going through, in the midst of persecutions and afflictions and all the delusions leading people to believe what’s false–well, it doesn’t feel much like being gathered together into Jesus. It really feels like the "lawless one" is in charge.

So too for the remnant of people left after the exile in Babylon, listlessly trying to rebuild the Temple that had been destroyed, those whom Haggai addressed. If this is the promise of restoration, who needs it? "Disappointing" would be too generous a word to use. "Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory?" Haggai asks. "How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?"

The people of God have been in dark, desolate places many times before–in slavery and oppression in Egypt, their backs up against the waters of the Red Sea, their country overrun by foreign armies, the One whom they thought was God’s Messiah hanging on a cross. So much for the day of the Lord. But remember, in Hebrew thought the day does not begin at dawn but at sundown on the night before. In the darkness. In the frightening, hard-to-see-your-way-through hours of the night. Even now, the day has begun.

What I think the Temple in ruins, the coming of the lawless one, of the antichrist, and all those apocalyptic scenarios do for us is peal away the layers of our illusions. It’s Toto drawing open the curtain to reveal the little old man frantically pulling levers to create the smoke and mirrors in the Wizard of Oz. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!" And yet we have seen him. Our eyes have been opened. And now we can really find a way home.

Quaker author Parker Palmer tells of a trip to the Grand Canyon, where he and his wife were appalled to see people allowing their children to get so close to the edge of the lookout. They spoke to a Park Ranger who told them,

"...A surprising number of folks think of the Canyon as a theme park, a fantasy land that may look dangerous but isn’t, where hidden nets will save you from injury or death. Everyday I have to remind some people that the Canyon is real, and so are the consequences of a fall of hundreds of feet. I guess some people prefer illusions to reality–even though illusions can kill you."

(onbeing.org, 10/19/16)

Ours is a culture that loves fantasy, Palmer points out. We love to "pretend," going back, he says, to our origins in 1776, when we proclaimed the "self-evident truth that all people are created equal"–and "then [as he said] proceeded to disenfranchise women, commit genocide against Native Americans, and build an economy on the backs of enslaved human beings."

Even today, we believe in "American exceptionalism"–that the United States is the greatest nation on earth–but objective statistics tell a different story. In global rankings of many serious social ills, the United States scores poorly compared to other countries, [including] mass shootings and other gun deaths, the numbers and percentages of incarcerated citizens, infant mortality rates, child poverty, disproportionate use of natural resources per person, and entrenched racism.

On the other hand, as the Dalai Lama wrote in a NYT op ed piece this week with Arthur Brooks, despite the ongoing levels of violence (too often in the name of the world’s religions) and suffering around the world, "In many ways, there has never been a better time to be alive." Statistically there are fewer people today who are poor or hungry, fewer children are dying, literacy rates are the highest they’ve ever been, medicine performs what would surely be viewed as miracles, the rights of women and minorities are recognized in ways they have never been before. "How strange, then," His Holiness says, "to see such anger and great discontent in some of the world’s richest nations." (NYT, 11/4/16)

"Such anger and great discontent" would certainly describe what we’ve seen in this election year. I don’t find the language of "the antichrist" useful or helpful, and I don’t want to discount or minimize the level of stress, anxiety, and fear that have been generated in this election–I have seen it in the faces of just about everyone I meet. However, I do think we have had revealed to us just how broken and divided we are, just how uneven the benefits of this great nation have been experienced and distributed; just how wounded in spirit so many of our fellow citizens–and perhaps we ourselves–are, just how much hard work and how wide a range of solutions is needed if we are to become the great nation we aspire to. The curtain has been drawn back.

Again, the Dalai Lama observes–"The problem is not a lack of riches. It is the growing number of people who feel they are no longer useful, no longer needed, no longer one with their societies." Research about human thriving reveals that "we all need to be needed." Seniors who didn’t feel useful to others were almost 3 times as likely to die prematurely as those who felt useful somehow. "It is a natural human hunger to serve others," the Dalai Lama wrote. "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness," Jesus said, who hunger for being in right relation with their neighbors and God. We ignore that hunger to our peril, not only in social unrest, but in the human toil of despair, shame, anger, and acting out violence. As a 13^th c. Buddhist sage said, "If one lights a fire for others, it will also brighten one’s own way." Our own happiness and well-being is inextricably woven together with serving others.

"In America today, compared with 50 years ago, [this NY Times piece says] three times as many working-age men are completely outside the work force." This same trend can be seen across the developing world. And the consequences are not just economic–"Feeling superfluous is a blow to the human spirit. It leads to social isolation and emotional pain, and creates the conditions for negative emotions to take root." Anyone noticed any "negative emotions" around?

"We beg you, brothers and sisters, not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter, as though from us, to the effect that the day of the Lord is already here." But it is coming–God will not abandon us and even now is at work, gathering us in, nudging us on, even though it seems like night in America and around the world. It is too easy to lose hope, to lose faith in the seed of greatness and goodness that is planted in the human spirit.

But there are things we can do. Parker Palmer wisely asserts that we must dismantle the culture of illusion if we are to take on the real problems we face. It will take a long time to make our way through the smoke and mirrors, but he writes, "All long journeys begin with one small step, so here’s a modest proposal: let’s reclaim ‘disillusionment’ as a word that names a blessing rather than a curse." [onbeing, op cit.] It is a blessing because it helps us see more clearly, so that we can develop better solutions to our problems. May you be blessed with disillusionment.

The Dalai Lama suggests that "We should start each day by consciously asking ourselves, ‘What can I do today to appreciate the gifts that others offer me?" because "Everyone has something valuable to share." We each have the responsibility to make this a habit. Those in positions of leadership and responsibility, he says, have the "Opportunity to expand inclusiveness and build societies that truly need everyone.. To create a wealth of opportunities for meaningful work, to provide education and training for our children that enriches their lives and gives them practical, useful skills....A compassionate society protects the vulnerable, while ensuring we don’t trap them in misery and dependence." All ideas and perspectives are needed, united by a common commitment to compassion.

And finally, Kelly McGonigal, in a post entitled, "How You Can Find Good in a Nasty Election Cycle" offers these 3 strategies–1. Do something. Vote. "Find something on that ballot that you feel good about saying yes to." 2. Look for the good. Witness the good in others. Notice when you see acts of kindness or generosity, and point them out, to that person or your children or others. Listen to StoryCorps. Pay attention to those last stories at the ends of the news, like "Making a Difference." There are so many good people out there, doing good things. And 3. Be the good. "Be the source point of what you want to see in the world." Commit to doing at least one deed of compassion or kindness or service a day. Note it before you fall asleep. Re-commit to another deed tomorrow.

"Yet now take courage, for I am with you," God says to the people through Haggai. "My spirit abides among you; do not fear." "Stand firm, then, brothers and sisters, [Paul writes] and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by word of mouth or by our letter. And now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father and Mother, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word." Take and eat, this is my body. Take and drink, I am flowing in your veins. It may feel like nighttime, but already the day has begun. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More

"Where do we stand?"-- Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4, Luke 19:1-10-- Oct. 30 2016

Some of you know that before I went to seminary, I was enrolled in a graduate program in dance. Other than the ballroom dancing classes I was forced to go to as a child–and loathed–, I never went to a dance class until I was in college. I was a jock, not an artist. But I fell in love with the total mind-body experience of dance, and while I’m pretty sure my decision to go into the ministry instead of dance was a wise one, I am grateful for the hours I spent immersed in the music and rhythm and movement.

One of the principles of movement is an awareness of your core, of the axis around which you body moves. If your core is saggy, your turns will be saggy. Preparation for a turn requires a strong foundation, a sending of energy down into the foot and up through the crown of your head. As it turns out, the same can be said for stillness in a yoga pose, like tree pose. Root to rise. In a ballet turn, you find a spot to focus on and keep coming back to that spot as soon as your head makes it around the turn. It keeps you from getting dizzy or nauseous, keeps the world from spinning out of control around you. In the midst of the motion, there is also stillness.

It could be said that our world seems to be spinning out of control, to such an extent that we sometimes feel dizzy, even nauseous. Every day, it seems, there is another sickening news release, another video clip or Wikileak, another poll, another shooting, another explosion, another update on the state of the planet’s climate or resources, another heartbreaking scene of refugees fleeing or civilians bombed. Maybe in your life, things seem to be spinning a bit–new living situations to adjust to, bills that seem to be piling up, relationships somehow off-kilter, perhaps your mental and/or physical health not what you wish it was. And here on the one-year-short-of-the-500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, the Church seems to be floundering, trying to regain its footing in a rapidly changing world, finding itself in the midst of what church historian Phyllis Tickle called the every-500 year Rummage Sale. What stays, and what needs to go?

We here at Second Congregational Church are in the midst of it all, poised, as we are, on the brink of this rather unorthodox transition model, not exactly sure how it’s all going to work, how we will pay for it, what this next pastor will bring to us and whether it will really make a difference. What will we have to let go of? What new life will we experience? In the midst of all this movement, change, and motion, we too must find the stillness.

The prophet Habbakuk races up to the ramparts in the midst of armies swarming and his society’s unraveling. "I will stand at my watch-post," he says, "and station myself on the rampart; I will keep watch to see what God will say to me, and what God will answer concerning my complaint." Like a scene out the Lord of the Rings, the prophet runs upwards against the stream of panicked villagers in Helm’s Deep, pushes his way through crowds and commotion, so that he can reach the rampart and get some perspective that goes beyond his own dizzying worries. He is energized by his longing for some sign from the God he knows will not abandon them, and with heaving chest and gasping breath, he looks out, stands still, and finally is not disappointed.

"Write the vision," God reveals to him. "Make it plain on tablets, so that a runner may read it. For there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay. Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by their faith."

Zacchaeus wanted a vision too. "He wanted to see Jesus, to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he [Zacchaeus?] or he [Jesus?] was short of stature." The Greek isn’t clear about this, and, being vertically challenged myself, I kind of like both of these options.

At any rate, Zacchaeus runs on ahead of the crowd and climbs a sycamore tree to get a better perspective. If you’ve noticed the big sycamore tree next to Wassick’s Tire Store at the end of Depot St., you’ll know that one does not simply leap up into a sycamore tree. This is not some bendy, wavy birch or willow tree. If it was anything like the old tree at Wassick’s, Zacchaeus at the very least would have had to hike up his robes and get a boost from somebody. He really wanted to see Jesus.

And, in the hints and spaces of this story as Luke tells it, [he’s the only one who does] it seems that Jesus wanted to see Zacchaeus too, maybe had already "seen" him, in a way that no one else seems to ever have. He sees the obviously wealthy man perched up on the branch of the sycamore tree, and says, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today."

Zacchaeus’ name in Hebrew means, "pure, innocent, clean," even "justice." The exact opposite of what everyone else seemed to think of him. He was a chief tax collector, overseeing the collection of taxes to the Roman Empire from his own people, making his own living by adding on to the proscribed taxes, and then taking his cut from all the tax collectors under him. If ever anyone was "lost" to a sense of righteousness or loyalty to his own community, it was Zacchaeus.

And yet, he stands his ground. "Look," he says to Jesus, and to the crowd grumbling and pressing in around them, "half of my possessions, Lord, I give to the poor." It’s actually present tense–a "customary, repeated practice," as one scholar says [John Pilch, The Cultural World of Jesus, Yr. C] "And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I pay back four times as much"–way beyond the demands of Torah. Who knew?! Jesus, apparently.

"Then Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.’" Saving has come–joy, being able to share hospitality, being claimed as part of the community–"a son of Abraham"–salvation has come to this man who had been lost to all that...

...all because Zacchaeus had risked climbing up a sycamore, going out on a limb–of a very strong tree.

Both Habakkuk and Zacchaeus receive grace. Beyond the paralysis and corruption of their culture and situations, they are given new life, a vision of what is possible, they can re-imagine their future. "Authentic grace is not the power to purchase," as one Baptist pastor says. "It is the stamina for sacrifice." [Willie Dwayn Francois III, The Christian Century, 10/12/16] The stamina for sacrifice.

In the Stewardship Campaign that Mike introduced us to this morning, he spoke about strengthening the foundations of our ongoing, daily mission and ministry–to put our programs, like Music, Education, and Eaarth Advocacy , on sure footing, to pay our staff decent, just wages, to provide for the ongoing soundness and safety of our building and grounds, to reduce our temporary debt. This is the "rooting down," so that we can rise into new possibilities for service and ministry. As we look for the vision that God has for us, look for that focal point in our future that calls us "go out on a limb," to try new things, to worship and serve our God in ways that will reach and bring life to those who feel simply tossed about by the world’s rants and raves, we will also need to build bridges upon which we can cross over into that future. In the Capital Campaign that will be introduced for your consideration and conversation this spring, we’ll talk about what those bridges will need–support for our new co-pastor during the overlap with my time, improvements to our sound and video capabilities, needed work on our building, new ventures into mission. But we want to do that from a place of stillness and stability, like Habakkuk’s rampart and Zacchaeus’ sycamore tree, from a firm foundation that has been laid by the saints before us and the mighty fortress that is our God.

In your own life, what firm foundations can you stand on? The danger, of course, is not going deep enough, below the shifting sands of social currents and trends, below the latest scientific finding. Or the danger of assuming another person can be your bedrock. Alas, that is not deep enough either.

"On Christ, the solid rock I stand," we’ll sing in a minute., "all other ground is sinking sand." How do we "stand on Christ"? "Jesus’ blood and righteousness" is not language that most of us usually use. But grounding ourselves in the deep and merciful love of God is something we can practice–through regular, daily times of prayer and meditation, in your room or over your first cup of coffee, in the woods, on a mountain. Through regular body prayer, like yoga or walking or skiing or playing music or singing–letting your mind air out. Through regular gathering with a community of faith like this one–larger than any single individual.

"For there is still a vision for the appointed time," Habbakuk hears. "Hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today," Jesus calls up to Zacchaeus. We must root to rise, and rise we will, into ministries and witness re-imagined for a new day. "Authentic grace...is the stamina for sacrifice," yes, and it is also amazing. "The righteous–those who are right with God–live by their faith, their trust in God." And the Son of Humanity–the Divine coming to inhabit human flesh–came to seek out and to save the lost." With faith, with stamina, with vision, there is no limit to what God can do through us. Thanks be to God!

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

Read More