In Praise of Sophia

A Prayer of God's Calling Voice

2012-01-15T06:55:00.002-07:00

Still-Speaking God,

we hear you calling our spirits through the voice of

slow-creeping daylight

and the wings of low-flying geese.

We hear you calling to our spirits through the

upraised chatter of infants

and through the unequaled compassion of 4-legged companions.

Holy One, we hear your still-speaking voice calling to us

through the silence of the dead by violence around the globe;

and through the same silence of grief in our midst.

We hear you calling to us

from our collective past:

from the teachings and hopes of Martin Luther King, Jr..

We hear you calling to us

from the present people of Haiti,

now 2 years after a terrible earthquake,

and where reconstruction remains so slow.

And we hear you calling to us from the heart of our own country,

as presidential debates call values into question

and beg for grace-full leadership.

You call to our spirits, Still-Speaking God,

through the voices of organ and scripture;

through the voices of clasped hands and shared space;

through the voices of our own need for deep healing and wholeness.

Speak to our spirits with your peace, O Spirit.

Speak and help us to listen

…and respond.

And so we join our own voices to pray together:

Amen.

Hope: Christmas Eve Sermon 2011

2011-12-24T21:39:00.000-07:00

As we've done the past 3 years, my colleague (sr. minister) and I have written our Christmas Eve sermon together with the Spirit. This year we discerned a need for hope. May your Christmas, and all year, know the hope born in Christ's ministry of compassion, justice and love.

CHRISTMAS EVE 2011: HOPE

Hope is the thing with feathers—

That perches in the soul—

And sings the tune without the words—

And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—

And sore must be the storm—

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—

And on the strangest Sea—

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb—of Me[i]

When I sent my application in to become Plymouth’s Associate Minister several years ago,

I began my ministry statement by claiming:

“Emily Dickinson is one of my favorite theologians.”

Even though she was “merely” a poet, Emily’s writings can provoke deep spiritual reflection.

Like in this poem about hope.

Hope through the harshest times.

Hope in the worst circumstances.

Hope simply being present—without asking anything in return.

Hope is one of the pervasive themes of the holiday season. Christmas encourages us to

hope in a savior being born once more;

hope that he may finally usher in a kin-dom of peace;

hope that the world might finally experience what God’s Shalom truly looks like—

the lion lying down with the lamb;

justice and compassion and wholeness for all.

And yet, paradoxically, hope can also seem very hard this time of year.

We share joy with our families

while wondering what those with no family will do on Christmas Day.

We give and receive beautiful gifts

knowing some people don’t have clean water to drink, much less expendable income.

We sing “Peace on Earth, Goodwill to All” knowing that—

even while U.S. troops have withdrawn from Iraq—

there remains war and violence throughout this world.

Hope is hard.

In fact, sometimes it can seem quite pointless—as fantasy author Margaret Weis defines it in one of her novels: “Hope is the denial of reality.”[ii]

Others have expressed this same sentiment, calling hope foolish or a waste of energy.

Because how can we really continue to hope after 2000 years of this same birth story; this same baby Messiah?

Loved ones still die.

Jobs are still lost in a struggling economy.

Good friends still hurt us by unintentionally careless words.

And we still take out our fears or frustrations on those closest to us.

Is all really hopeless, then?

One of my other favorite theologians—this time not a poet—is the fiery-faithful-justice-preaching Benedictine nun Joan Chittister. In her book Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope Sister Joan repudiates the idea that hope is a “denial of reality.” She insists instead:

“Reality is the only thing we have that can possibly nourish hope. Hope is not based on the ability to fabricate a better future; it is grounded in the ability to remember with new understanding an equally difficult past—either our own or someone else’s. The fact is [Chittister sums up] our memories are the seedbed of our hope.”[iii]

Reality shows us—

looking back on the ways we or others have previously gotten through shows us—

there is the possibility for a glimmer of light in this present darkness as well.

Consider Mary’s song as an example—

the Magnificat that suddenly pours out of her upon experiencing the hope growing within her:

“my soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my savior…God has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.”

This is a startling song of hope coming from

a poor young woman in the face of

a shameful pre-marital pregnancy in

a patriarchal era when she should be

stoned for adultery;

a Jew, nonetheless! a people oppressed by Roman occupiers.

In her present situation, how can she be hopeful?

Her hope really has no basis in light of what she faces.

Except in a memory of the past of her people—

an older story has sparked Mary’s hope-filled song.

Hannah’s song, actually! From the Old Testament book of Samuel, when another woman seemingly without hope finds strength and prays:

“Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil…The Lord raises up the poor from the dust…to make them sit with princes.”[iv]

In an apparently futile situation, Mary found hope in a memory of the past,

a hope that emerged from another’s struggle—Hannah’s struggle—

one that allowed Mary to continue; to bring new hope into the world.

As Sister Joan reminds us, “Hope lies in the memory of God’s previous goodness to us

in a world that is both beautiful and harsh.”[v]

Beautiful and harsh—

because this world is not without pain.

A couple weeks ago I helped wrap Christmas presents with a friend.

Every year, she and some others make or buy gifts

for a local social services organization for

persons living with mental illness.

She calls these people “the invisibles”:

adults whom we tend to shy away from as they

talk to their hallucinations

or miss the social niceties we expect of people in public.

We wrapped about 50 homemade-and-hand-picked blankets,

which were then given to clients of this program at their holiday party.

As you might imagine, living with a mental illness can be life-threatening as well as isolating.

Loved ones of clients constantly wonder if

their brother will become homeless, his whereabouts unknown to them;

or if their daughter will overdose alone one night.

You might wonder how someone can maintain hope in such circumstances?

A couple days ago I received an email update about the holiday party and gift-giving from my friend. She wrote:

Everyone got to pick out their own blanket.

By the end of the evening, every client had slowly, during the few hours the party lasted, taken the blanket out of their bag, and without noticing what anyone else was doing, began putting their blanket around themselves...slowly and carefully.......

As the end of the party drew near, they were all sitting around, filled up with a great, hot, Christmas dinner…. All the clients now had their blankets wrapped lovingly around their shoulders.

You may think it a small gift, [my friend wrote] but for these people, it is like a million bucks.

This story may sound sentimental to you, but to me it is an image of fiercely holding-on to hope.

Because what you eventually come to find out from this person

who so joyfully picked out cloth and wrapped presents,

is that her son was one of these “invisibles,”

and he died 6 years ago from the effects of his mental illness.

If she can hold on to hope following such struggle and loss,

if she can offer hope to others facing similar challenges,

do we not hold the possibility in our lives as well?

~~~

This week’s issue of The Christian Science Monitor leads with an article titled,

“The (Surprisingly) Upbeat State of the World” –

long-term international trends reveal that more women are being educated,

fewer people are living in poverty,

violence is down, and

democracies are on the rise.

Yet, a quick glance at cable news does not inspire hope:

because any positive economic news,

like increased housing starts or lower unemployment,

is quickly offset by a negative retort:

“Job creation is growing…BUT nagging unemployment remains high.”

The angels in the nativity stories were essentially the broadcast journalists of their day.

It was they who conveyed the news to Mary that she would bear a child;

it was they who told Joseph in a dream that everything would be okay;

it was they who announced the birth of the baby in Bethlehem.

Imagine what would have happened if the angels coming to the shepherds had said,

“For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people: for born to you this day

in the City of David is a savior, who is Christ the Lord…

BUT you are still going to live in poverty,

you are still under the oppressive heel of the Roman Empire,

and Herod is going to come looking for the baby and

try to kill him, and then his followers are going to be persecuted for a few centuries.”

It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence and hope, does it?!

Jesus’ birth didn’t fix everything for the people he was sent to;

daily life was still just as hard, if not harder.

Oppression and imperialism continued.

But something new happened that night

and in the darkest moments of Jesus’ life and death.

Something took hold that was deep within his Jewish tradition.

Could he be the messiah? the great liberator?

Could he be the one who promotes regime change

by proclaiming the kingdom of God?

Is he the one who defies even death…that death is not God’s final word?

Could he bring hope, not just to his people, but in the coming centuries to people all around the Roman Empire, and eventually to people all around the world?

Could he be the one who in the most ultimate sense is our hope –

not just twenty centuries ago in a Judean village,

but here, now, today?

It isn’t the case that Pollyanna attitudes trump reality.

Reality is that God came to earth in love.

Reality is that God desires for us to have abundant life.

That is the gift of Christmas. So, this Christmas, let us each be bearers of abundance.

Let us be bearers of Christ’s light and hope

for one another and for the world.

I close with one more theologian: Civil Rights leader Howard Thurman:

I will light Candles this Christmas; 

Candles of joy despite all sadness, 

Candles of hope where despair keeps watch, 

Candles of courage for fears ever present,

Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days, 

Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens, 

Candles of love to inspire all my living, 

Candles that will burn all the year long.

May it be so. Amen.

[i] Emily Dickinson

[ii] Margaret Weis, Dragons of Winter Night (1985).

[iii] Joan Chittister, Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope (2003), p. 104.

[iv] 1 Samuel 2

[v] Chittister, p. 104.

Advent Thought

2011-12-02T10:37:00.000-07:00

Advent is one of my favorite seasons--rituals, candles, evergreens, waiting and hoping and shadows and light. This year my practice is to read Daily Feast: Meditations from Feasting on the Word. This morning's meditation has grasped my attention boldly, and I feel strongly the desire to share--so here is part of it. Blessings and peace to all.

Martin B. Copenhaver reflects on Mark 1:1-8 by writing:

By starting with an adult John awaiting an adult Jesus, Mark reminds us that Jesus grew up. It is an important reminder for such a time, when it is a temptation to linger too long at the manger. A baby can be demanding, but in the case of this baby, the adult will become infinitely more so.

And the prayer that closes today's meditation:

When I tend to linger at the manger, nudge me forward to a deeper understanding of the demands you make upon my life. Amen.

Prayer for Today--Thanksgiving

2011-11-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes gratitude comes hard, O Spirit:

hard as bricks thrown through a stained-glass Jesus feeding his flock;

hard as teeth grinding their own enamel night after anxious night;

hard as fighting through Black Friday shopping crowds.

Sometimes gratitude comes hard, O Spirit:

when there is loss of relationship,

loss of abilities,

loss of life,

loss of hope.

But then a wet nose nuzzles us awake in the morning,

or a stranger captures our wind-stolen scarf,

or a single star stretched out in so much space reminds us—

we are not alone in this life:

we are one with each creature,

and with each other,

and with each part of your creation.

Spirit, our individual griefs are not small,

nor are the world’s pains.

But grant us gratitude amidst them

so we may also overcome—

addiction or depression or disease or accident;

poverty and war and all that depletes life rather than sustains it.

Even when gratitude is hard, O Spirit,

soften us to see your love poured out upon all the universe,

and help us give thanks.

Puritan Hedonism

2011-11-13T17:05:00.000-07:00

Puritan Hedonism

Job 38:4a, 7; Proverbs 8:29-31; Philippians 4:3-4; Luke 2:10

The readings for this sermon are snapshots taken from several parts of scripture.

First, from Job--

God asks, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?...On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?

....

And next, from the Message version of Proverbs--

Lady Wisdom (Sophia) shouts,

"When God ... staked out Earth's Foundations,

I was right there, making sure everything fit.

Day after day I was there, with my joyful applause,

always enjoying God's company,

Delighted with the world of things and creatures,

happily celebrating the human family.

....

From the letter to the church at Philippi--

Paul writes: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice."

....

And finally, from Luke's Gospel--

The angel said, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people'

~~~~~~~~

Puritan hedonism: now there’s an oxymoron[i]!

When you think about the Puritan ancestors of our UCC, would the word hedonism ever pop into your mind?

Amid the familiar images of dour faces and dark dress, no—

hedonist is not a descriptor I’d typically place with Puritans.

Rather, I’d probably reserve the term for a college party gone wild,

like the one that caught a lot of attention just down the road this past semester.

I ran across this delightful little phrase—Puritan hedonism[ii]—as I was researching one of the historical doctrines of our church’s Reformed roots. Hal preached a little about the Reformation 2 weeks ago, and a couple of our Confirmation youth treated our class to a mini-lecture while on retreat last weekend.

But the real reason I was researching was not for history’s sake,

but because of an evocative note I’d read somewhere about delight and joy being intrinsic parts of our faith lives in the present. And of all places, I found it in a religious catechism from the 1640s.

The Westminster Catechism, which strongly influenced our Congregational forebears,

has as it’s very first tenet:

Q. 1. What is the chief end of man?

A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and enjoy him forever.[iii]

It’s that “enjoy God forever” part that has stuck with me,

particularly in light of this year’s Stewardship campaign:

To God’s Extravagant Welcome—How Do You Respond?

With enjoyment?

I think, yes—that is my answer today.

To God’s extravagance, I want to respond with extravagant enjoyment.

… But how so?

~~~

Say you’re sitting in your monthly book club,

and one of the group walks in with some

freshly-baked and buttered bread.

How do you respond?

With steam still rising from the cloth draped around it,

you each break off a hunk and take a deep (….ahhh….).

Maybe memories of your mom or grandmother’s kitchen rise in you

as you touch the yeasty goodness to your tongue and (…..mmmmmm….).

What better response could the bringer of that bread ask for?

Enjoyment!

Or, since I neither bake nor do my friends want me to,

if I’m invited to dinner I do my best to find the right bottle of wine to bring to the table.

And, when I arrive and hand it over, how does my host respond?

Even if he has his favorite Pinot already picked,

he doesn’t stick my bottle on the shelf to save for another occasion.

The wine was given, and so it’ll be shared,

enjoyed together, extravagantly savored as a gift.

And isn’t that how our spirits want to respond to God’s own extravagant gifts in our lives?

~~~

The various scriptural tidbits that the liturgist just read are some of the “proof texts” given with the Westminster Catechism’s answer to it’s primary question: “Humanity’s chief end is to glorify God, and enjoy God forever.”

Joy! says the angel: this gift of Jesus born is for all people—enjoy!

Rejoice! exclaims Paul: again, I say rejoice!

And that wonderful woman Wisdom from Proverbs:

day after day with my joyful applause,

enjoying God’s company and delighting in the world.

Pleasure in God: our greatest response: holy hedonism!

The Westminster Confession was blessed with approval by our seemingly drab and severe Puritan predecessors[iv]—how can we respond with any less enjoyment?

~~~

One perennial challenge to this “enjoyment of God’s blessings” ideal—

this taking pleasure in the abundance of beauty and

resources in our mountains and rivers and rich, rich foods—

has always been the criticism of over-indulgence and unequal sharing.

Isn’t extravagance a waste?

And yet, if we are glorifying and enjoying God in the truest, most loving sense,

then we are essentially sharing and caring.

In a familiar justice-passage from the prophet Isaiah, we hear this call:

“Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that that which does not satisfy? [Why do you waste your abundance on stress and anxiety and things that aren’t life-giving, that aren’t in the realm of enjoying God’s gifts when you have them?] Listen carefully to me [Isaiah preaches,] eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.”[v]

And then, in the New Testament, Jesus is always getting criticized for his extravagance—

whether for eating meals with outcasts and sinners or

healing on the Sabbath or

accepting someone’s wasteful bath of expensive anointing oil. And every time—in different ways—Jesus asks:

why would you hold back?

To God’s extravagance—seriously!—how do you respond?

~~~

I mentioned a few weeks ago that, while on the medical mission trip last month,

our team visited an indigenous village of the Wayuu community.

Throughout our time in Venezuela, we’d been among many poor people;

but the residents of this village seemed to be some of the poorest yet.

And still, the day we spent among them was a

celebration with the most extravagant kind of welcome!

For our lunch, the Wayuu community sacrificed a sheep.

Not in the sense of ritualistically sacrificing an animal on an altar,

but in the original meaning behind the act.

That is: the people chose to sacrifice—

to let go of or relinquish something of great value to them,

a significant resource of their village—a sheep!—

for the act of enjoying our company and enjoying God’s abundance.

That was a sacrifice, an offering, a true gift given with pleasure

through the knowledge that they were rich—

richly blessed in their community and their enjoyment of God.

And they responded by joyfully sharing that with all of us.

This type of extravagance is not a waste, despite the people’s fiscal poverty.

It was enjoyment of God’s life-giving gift of relationship—

so we all “delighted in rich food,” as Isaiah insists we do.

How else could we respond?

~~~

To God’s extravagant welcome—how do we respond? With enjoyment, I hope.

With joyfully sharing our delight in all the

wonderful abundance of this world.

By joyfully sharing with Fort Collins our enjoyment of knowing an extremely welcoming God

through this community called Plymouth Church.

And yes—that includes joyfully putting our pledge-promises into the offering plate,

making a true sacrifice and saying Yes!—

look what we can do together in God’s wonderful world! Let’s enjoy it!

I’ve got this wonderful fresh-baked loaf of bread that God has brought to my table—yum!

And I’ve got this delightfully rich bottle of Port that God has poured out for me—bottom’s up!

And in response to the abundance that God has given us,

in response to the dedication and gifts of this company of people,

we really do have pie to savor and share following the service!—

so let’s enjoy it in the name of God!

For God’s sake, even!

How do we respond to God’s extravagance?

What is the chief end of human life?

Perhaps, at least part of it is: to glorify God and enjoy God forever! Amen!

[i] Although not really—because Puritans were known for wearing bright-colored dress and enjoying both booze and sex! But that’s for another sermon J.

[ii] Found in John Piper’s 1996 expanded edition of Desiring God: Meditations of a Christian Hedonist.

[iii] The Westminster Shorter Catechism.

[iv] The Living Theological Heritage of the United Church of Christ: Volume 2: Reformation Roots, pages 552-554.

[v] Isaiah 55:1-2 (NRSV).

Prayer for Totenfest/All Saints Day

2011-11-06T14:27:00.000-07:00

God of Love,

you feel our loss when we remember

loved ones no longer with us in this life.

And you feel our longing when memories

like photographs

slide through our minds with startling clarity.

And you feel like wrapping your love around us

just as we feel like wrapping our arms around

our loved ones again.

God of Love

slip peace quietly into the spaces where these holes hide in us:

peace where grief has grown,

peace where fear of the future has framed our imaginings,

peace where anger has bit into us with each sharp

“why?” or “how?” or “what now?”

Fill our holes—each and all of us who experience

pain or dis-ease or addiction or need of any kind—

fill our holes with your peace and undying love.

Fill us so we may know that life continues through your Spirit—

here and now,

and eternally.

Amen.

an afternoon nap

In memory of Anthony...

Passion for God (Psalm 33)

2011-10-23T15:10:00.000-06:00

Passion for God

Psalm 33:1-5, 13-22

Make melody with the harp of 10 strings. Sing to God a new song,” shouts the psalmist.

Adonai loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of God’s steadfast love…

Truly the eye of Adonai is on those who hope in this steadfast love,

to deliver their soul from death, to keep them alive in the famine.

Our soul waits for you! Let your steadfast love, O God, be upon us, even as we hope in you.

It has been impossible for me to put words to my experience on the medical mission trip to Venezuela. This psalm of fully expectant hope, of musical praise and fervent desire for justice

is the best description I might give of the people with whom I worked 2 weeks ago.

It’s as if this psalm is a prayer come directly from the tongue of the UEPV,

a denomination founded the same year as our United Church of Christ;

a small, grassroots denomination strongly committed to ecumenism and social justice,

as revealed in the life and teachings of Jesus Christ.

In 1965 the UEPV entered into partnership with the Disciples of Christ (the UCC’s closest sibling church in the U.S.), and for 13 years now the Rocky Mountain Conference of the UCC has shared in cultural and spiritual exchange with them—sometimes our church members traveling to Venezuela and other times their members coming here—all through our connection with Global Ministries.

But these are “just the facts.” I want to share some “truths” of my experience.

~~~

On Saturday, October 8^th our team of 11 Coloradans and 2 Venezuelan pastors of the UEPV

arrived at the site of our fist medical clinic: a school in the village of Los Cardones.

Having made a frustratingly late start the day before, our crew was eager to begin—

unpacking suitcases full of medical supplies, organizing the precious vaccines and anti-parasite medications, and setting up an intake station with blood pressure cuffs, stethoscope and scale.

But before our ant-like industriousness could create some coherent system amid the chaos,

we were called outside to a central stage area—like a school “auditorium.”

Here the Bishop of the UEPV—who was our constant travel companion and guide—

began to extemporize about the mission of health and wholeness that we brought.

And then he prayed.

And then he asked me to pray in English.

And then we thought it was about time to begin seeing patients…

but then he introduced a member of the Los Cardones community,

who spoke about the people and the school.

And then she introduced a traditional Venezuelan song and dance,

with women and girls in traditional Venezuelan dress,

and each bearing traditional Venezuelan symbols for us to learn about.

After this we again thought we’d begin the clinic. Wrong again!

With great smiles and encouragement we were asked to introduce ourselves—

each one individually before the crowd.

And then the visiting Venezuelan doctors and nurses were asked to introduce themselves.

And then we sang a song that our team had been warned to prepare.

And then, after about an hour or so of talking about community and tradition and health and wholeness and medical care and mission,

we finally began the work we had gone there to do.

Or so we thought.

Because what I grew to learn over those 9 days of medical mission work—

when every clinic and encounter would begin with at least an hour of seeming delay—

is that our work actually began before we ever stepped off the van.

Rejoice in Adonai, O you righteous and justice-seekers. Praise Adonai with the harp of 10 strings.

For all God’s work is done in faithfulness, and God loves justice.

The community’s rejoicing and praise began long before we arrived.

Their passion and celebration peaked as we prayed and honored their heritage and hope.

The beginning of each of our medical clinics was worship—perhaps not in the classical sense;

but in every way these periods of music and dancing

and the thought-provoking connections between health and wholeness

were remembrances of the Good News.

Their passion for God could not be separated from the work of the clinics: healing and justice and Jesus Christ.

But we didn’t recognize this until after several times of asking ourselves, oblivious,

“Don’t they realize they’re wasting time that could be used for medical needs?”

In each “waste of time,” healing happened: in our gathering as community, in our building relationships.

And in the clinics. Our team may have brought the bandaids to them, but they brought God’s passionate Spirit to us.

~~~

Later in the week we had the opportunity to attend a nurse’s training that the UEPV leads in order to maintain their medical ministry throughout the year. At this training we explicitly learned what had been implicit in each of our experiences—we heard the Gospel of health and healing as preached by the Bishop (interpretation):

We are not here to save people’s bodies only, he taught.

We are here to heal their minds and spirits from the

death of oppression, from the famine of poverty—

whoever they are and wherever they are on life’s journey, without exception! We’re not asking them to convert—we’re offering them the Good News of God’s love for them through our reaching out.

What good will a vaccination do for a child if she doesn’t know she is inherently loved;

and that, by her creation in God’s image, she deserves wholeness?

What good will vitamins serve a pregnant woman if

she doesn’t also bear in her a hope that her child might know fullness of life?

Health, declared the Bishop, makes no sense without consciousness.

We need to be awake to the way to live.

And in our clinics we need to educate all about justice and wholeness for the whole world—

for the Kingdom come on earth…

…because they know what’s happening in the world—in the U.S. healthcare system and the Greek economic crisis. They know they are connected to this world’s great need for hope and healing.

And that is what the medical clinics preach

through every song,

every prayer,

every blood pressure taken with

every individual who enters those spaces—

with me, as a visitor to that place and a

bringer of one kind of care, I received care in a different but mutual way.

As the Bishop kept reminding us, Healing is only achieved through liberation:

of mind, of body, and of spirit.

And this trip helped me to experience that.

This is a passion. This is the UEPV’s passion for wholeness for the entire community and all the earth.

The passion for justice and care was manifest

in every worship service and

in every lovingly-prepared meal of blackbeans, rice & fried platanos.

It was manifest in these poor, poor people reclaiming earth for sustainable agriculture,

composting and recycling.

But the passion flowed,

not just from visible human needs and

not only because it was the right thing to do—

but from and through God: it was a passion for God’s love on earth.

~~~

So where does your passion lie? And what is Plymouth’s passion?

What is it that stirs us to truly be a part of this community,

to wholeheartedly hold hands with the semi-strangers beside us and march together seeking God’s reign?

What inspires us for God?

I know it’s rare to hear me quote a megachurch pastor, but hear these words from best-selling Evangelical Rick Warren:

“Nothing great is ever accomplished in life without passion. Nothing great is ever sustained in life without passion. Passion is what energizes life. Passion makes the impossible possible.…Without passion life becomes boring. It becomes monotonous. It becomes routine. It becomes dull. God created you with the emotions to have passion in your life and He [sic] wants you to live a passionate life.”[i]

Has our mission and ministry together lost its passion and become boring, monotonous, routine, dull?

Has your own relationship with the Holy become boring, monotonous, routine or dull?

Where is your passion for God? your passion for helping make manifest

God’s Kin-dom on earth? a reign of justice and equality and sharing and love?

Whether or not we agree with it, the Occupy movement has passion fueling its expansion!

Whether or not we agree with them, many Evangelical churches have passion fueling their outreach.

But it doesn’t only have to be Evangelical-types like Rick Warren who promote passion.

Michael Piazza, the former pastor of (the now UCC) Cathedral of Hope in Dallas and current president of Hope for Peace & Justice, had this to say last Tuesday in his daily devotional, The Liberating Word:

`“passion and spiritual devotion seem to have become synonymous with the fundamentalist or, at the very least, the more evangelical members of our faith....[But] Jesus called us to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. Most [progressive] churches worship as though love is purely an exercise of the mind and as if there is no heart nor soul, let alone strength, involved or needed….We seek to understand our faith, but do we seek as ardently to experience? When was the last time you simply were caught up in your love for God? ...Hopefully there are people in your life who mean so much to you that your heart aches with love for them. Is God one of those persons?”[ii]

~~~

I know that sometimes I can lose track of that sense of passion for God.

The UEPV’s ministry re-invigorated it in me!

Even though at first I was bored and frustrated by the long introductions to each new place,

I finally realized that I must be present to them, be open to what each of the speakers and dancers and singers were bringing to the moment—

for the pure love of God!

And the same is true here—what openness do we bring to each moment,

to wait for the Spirit to be revealed in each worshipful space?

We can be frustrated by the waste of time

or we can let ourselves be caught up by another’s passion

which can, in turn, re-ignite our own.

What makes you passionate?!!

A deep conversation? A play-filled work-day?

Marching for peace or interviewing HPI clients?

Lovingly preparing a meal or praising through a musical gift?

I do believe, if we are to share the Good News of Jesus Christ’s call

for justice,

for healing,

for wholeness

and equality,

as shown in every one of the Gospels,

then we need to find that spark of passion within ourselves. And within this church!

And to play that passion on the harp of ten strings; to sing it out loud where people can hear it—

at clinics and over dinners and in everything we do, to be in worship!

Passion for Divine love of justice and life in community is what keeps this church from dying like so many others—passion for God’s Shalom is what’s going to keep Plymouth spreading hope to many, many more people—not just here in Fort Collins, Colorado but also in places like Los Cardones Venezuela!

Just as their hope and faith has reached back here to us

through my time with them.

A renewed passion for God is what I bring back to Plymouth from Venezuela.

I pray we all can feel those fires anew. Amen.

[i] Rick Warren, Reigniting Your Passion for God, July 2003. Sermon. http://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/reigniting-your-passion-for-god-rick-warren-sermon-on-attitude-general-127082.asp

[ii] Michael Piazza, Liberating Word, Tuesday, October 11, 2011. E-newletter. http://www.h4pj.org/liberatingword/2011/october/101811.php

World Communion Homily

2011-10-04T08:48:00.000-06:00

World Communion Sunday

Psalm 100

Early on Wednesday morning I will leave the United States for the first time in my life—

leave familiar faces and familiar culture and familiar language

for foreign faces and foreign culture and foreign language.

The Rocky Mountain Conference’s medical mission team of 11 people will land in Maracaibo, Venezuela,

where the Bishop of our partner denomination-el Unión Evangélica Pentecostal Venezolana-will meet us.

What do I know about these people and this country?

Nothing, really.

Nothing except what I read through the view of U.S. media and my own cultural filters.

I can’t make assumptions about their living situations,

how they feel about not having easy access to medical care;

I take for granted the abundance of fresh Rocky Mountain water that I can drink straight from the tap—so my lenses won’t let me guess what they think about not being able to do the same for fear of some waterborne illness.

I don’t know them, and they don’t know me.

But what I can know about these people with whom I will work and worship for 9 days

is that they are a part of the body of Christ—the same body of which we are a part.

I know they are Christ’s hands and feet in this world, striving to make visible God’s reign here on earth—

just as we are.

~~~

It seems right that today is World Communion Sunday, a day when each church remembers its connection to every other church around the world, moving beyond our historical and theological differences to remember that we are the body of Christ—broken—but all working for God’s Shalom.

It’s a day of remembering our oneness.

And we remember our oneness tangibly—bodily—through the enactment of this memory meal.

We remember that we are members of the body of Christ—head and hands and heart and feet.

And in Communion, we re-member his broken body, becoming one once more: not the United Church of Christ, not the Evangelical Pentecostal Union of Venezuela, not the PCUSA or ELCA or any other denomination: but the one body of Christ.

Today’s message is, therefore, the Communion liturgy itself, a more full or traditional liturgy than what we usually enact at Plymouth, a liturgy that connects us with the ancient and the other—our brother and sister churches in all the earth.

This ritual is the embodiment of our faith,

the re-membering of a broken body,

becoming one again in Christ.

~~~

As I leave for Venezuela this week, I will bring our particular embodiment of God’s love

here at Plymouth UCC, Fort Collins, Colorado, USA.

I will take with me to that place where those people, in their church in that country

also live their particular embodiment for God’s peace, justice, healing and wholeness.

And together we—who know nothing about one another—

will re-member Christ’s body in just a few small village clinics.

But isn’t that what we’re called to do every day? here in our own time and place?

just a few unknown people, in a few small ways

working to re-member Christ’s body

helping to bring God’s realm on earth.

Today, as you receive the bread of Christ’s body,

try to meditate on one way that you, as a part of that body,

bring your particular embodiment of God’s love to the world:

through writing justice-seeking letters to government officials

or serving lunch at the mission;

by intentionally praying with love for Hugo Chavez, Hamid Karzai, Mahmoud Abbas, or Kim Jong-Il

or by supporting the CROP Walk against hunger.

What part do you play

in re-membering Christ’s body on earth?

Hope through the Hard Stories (Psalm 78)

2011-09-04T14:02:00.000-06:00

Psalm Series:

Hope through Hard Stories

Psalm 78

This morning we begin a sermon series on the Psalms:

the How long, O Lord?[i] laments and

You have turned my mourning into dancing[ii] celebrations;

a collection from which so many of our great scriptural quotes come.

Often these poem-prayer-song-chant-liturgies get skipped over in preaching, unless we need

a bit of comfort at a funeral. Yet they hold such a powerful place in Judeo-Christian worship.

Some monastic communities read through every one of the 150 psalms each year—

cycling through praise and dancing and rage and despair;

accusations toward God

and demands for violent retribution on enemies;

remembrances of falling short and

promises to do better next time.

It’s all in our collection of psalms in the Hebrew Bible.

Liturgy professor Don Saliers describes this intense content of the psalms as an example of

“humanity at full stretch before God”—nothing is hidden.

Saliers laments that much of Christian worship has settled for a “domesticated middle”:

we don’t do much shouting our pain at God,

or suddenly jumping up in ecstatic joy,

or grieving aloud our big and little failures at faithful living.

The psalms, as an ancient form of worship, reveal an entirely different model of community—

not closeting our strong responses to life in our private homes behind closed doors,

but sharing in their expression corporately.

We’ll hear psalms of many styles over these next several weeks.

~~~

Including today’s Psalm 78, which has as its theme hope: for the present and the future.

“I will open my mouth in parable; I will utter dark sayings from of old,

things…that our ancestors have told us.”

I will tell the stories, says the psalmist—the good, hard stories—of those who’ve gone before us:

the faithful, fault-filled people who tried and failed and tried again to

do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God.

Like the story of Abraham and Sarah and the first covenant, not trusting God and waiting for their own offspring, but taking the next generation into their own hands by conscripting their slave Hagar into the deal—

a hard story, but one that says so much about

human anxiety and jealousy and protective love for our children:

like Sarah loved Isaac, and Hagar loved Ishmael.

“We will not hide [these dark sayings] from our children,

we will tell the coming generation the glorious deeds of Adonai,

God’s might, and the wonders that God has done.”

Yes—these good, hard stories of our broken yet beautiful forebears in faith are still to be shared. Why?

Because God never abandoned them. Adonai was present through their failures to trust in the covenant.

And therein lies our hope—and our children’s hope: God is with us! No matter what.

Even as Sarah laughed at the possibility of pregnancy at her age,

God was with her.

Even as Hagar was cruelly kicked out into the desert wilderness with her son,

God was present with her.

Even as these ancient tribal people lived life and understood God in ways that we cannot connect to today, God was present with them.

“God commanded our ancestors to teach to their children;

that the next generation might now God; the children yet unborn;

and rise up to tell their children, so they should set their hope in God.”

Do you know the stories of which the psalmist speaks? Are you able to teach the hope that our ever-present God has revealed generation after generation?

That is what the psalmist speaks of today, and encourages of us:

hear hope in these ancient stories,

and know that, even when times are hard, God is present and keeping covenant with us.

Psalm 78 is often considered an historical psalm. In the many verses that follow the ones the liturgist just read, there is outlined a brief history of Israel’s relationship with God:

stories about the numerous times and varied ways the people erred—in judgment, in action, in faith.

~~~

However, Psalm 78 is not historical in the sense we may commonly think of such things: a recounting of events as accurately and objectively as possible. Progressive Christians sometimes neglect these stories because we don’t take them literally as history—and yet, even the psalmist here knew that what he was doing was retelling Israel’s story to teach—not facts, per se—but to make a specific point.

That is: to inspire hope.

I’m sure you’ve used this particular technique yourself: in order to make a point about something—to get a bigger laugh at a funny situation, for example—you tell certain parts of an experience and not others, perhaps embellishing or exaggerating a bit.

Many of you are familiar with Greg Mortenson’s now controversial book Three Cups of Tea.

I know one of Plymouth’s book groups read it, and several of you encouraged others

to read what had so inspired your minds and your hearts for the work being done

with the people of Pakistan and Afghanistan:

reducing poverty and

building schools for girls where few education opportunities had existed.

And now that “60 Minutes” has exposed some discrepancies in the book’s information—

that a number of the schools he built are not being used,

and perhaps events didn’t happen the way he described—

because of his story-telling, many people feel that Mortenson is a fraud

and his book a waste of time.

But: if we were ever really inspired by his story,

and if the Central Asia Institute that he founded continues to do much of this work,

is the story not still “true” in some sense?

Perhaps not factual, but true in its telling about

human need and human relationship?

And is it not, perhaps, more true now

as we find Mortensen is a human being

(like any of us!)—flawed and broken;

and still a vessel for inspiring hope!

In Psalm 78’s telling (in the verses that follow what we read) there are many stories of the Hebrew people left out (all the times when they kept the covenant and did good things), and other events in Israel’s history are exaggerated (all of the times they weren’t at their best);

again, to teach, to make a specific point. To inspire hope in its hearers:

hope that God is present even to these flawed, broken, lying, angry, struggling human beings.

~~~

This past week Plymouth’s young adults group gathered to talk about this text.

And by the end of the evening we’d discerned that

several of us had learned the more famous Bible stories as kids—

singing songs about Noah’s arky-arky and

Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho and

even Jonah’s sojourn in the belly of a whale—

the outlines of the stories may be there, but what meaning? Where is God in these stories?

Because surely God is there, in the stories of these people,

if God is with us in all things.

But have we been taught God’s hope-filled presence enough to teach our children?

Or do we need to hear them again?

One commentator on the text reminds us: “It is true in every era that the faith of the people of God is only one generation away from extinction.”[iii] And knowing that many of us adults were not taught as children,

the young adults group decided to begin re-studying these stories! Adam & Eve, Noah, David….

Read them again to hear how God is still speaking through our ancestors in faith.

~~~

Psalm 78’s historical record of Israel focuses largely on the Exodus story—

a major example of God’s continuing presence through struggle.

In verse 13 it remembers, God “divided the sea and let them pass through it, and made the waters stand like a heap.” (I love that phrasing!). “In the daytime God led them with a cloud, and all night long with a fiery light.” “God [even] split rocks open in the wilderness, and gave them drink abundantly as from the deep.”

And still, the psalmist retells, the people feared their thirst, wondered if they’d have been better off remaining slaves in Egypt instead of in this terrible desert-passage—this dark night of the soul.

They feared; and even then God was fully present with them.

This is a psalm of troubled people; a story we all have known within our own troubled spirits—

in times of (personal) emotional drought or during some (communal) anxiety.

This is a psalm of Israel’s humanity laid at full stretch before God.

And it’s a reminder of our full humanity—

laid out in all its truth before God.

Failure and return;

doing justice, loving kindness, walking humbly…

and then not.

And still God is present.

We learn these stories because they’re the story of today.

The truth that through everything—

in struggle and hardship,

in failing and getting back on the path,

in succeeding in beauty and goodness and faithfulness:

in the full stretch of life—

God is present.

And that is our hope.

May it be a part of your story now, and in generations to come. Amen.

[i] Psalm 13:1

[ii] Psalm 30:11

[iii] The New Interpreter’s Bible: A Commentary in Twelve Volumes: Vol. IV, “The Book of Psalms” by J. Clinton McCann, Jr. p. 993.

Genuine Love (Romans 12:9-21)

2011-08-28T17:36:00.002-06:00

Open & Affirming Sunday

Genuine Love

Romans 12:9-21

Today’s reading is an extension of last week’s, the continuation of chapter 12 in Paul’s letter to the

Roman church where he writes: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds.”[i]

And now, just a few verses later, he describes some of what that transformation looks like:

“if your enemies are hungry, feed them;

if they are thirsty, give them something to drink;

(and if you really can’t find incentive to be that nice to an “enemy,” Paul gives us some help by adding,

“by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.”)

This past week I was talking with a friend about how, each morning, she’d encounter her neighbor outside their adjacent garages. And each morning, he’d studiously ignore her presence:

pretend he didn’t see,

didn’t hear,

didn’t know she was there.

And being a genuinely loving person, she persisted each day with a neighborly “good morning!”

“Should I even bother?” she wondered aloud.

Having already been meditating on this passage, I responded:

“Absolutely, for by doing so you will heap burning coals on his head.” J

~~~

I wrestled with God this week about preaching today’s text.

And to be honest, my preference would be to focus on this “heaping of coals”—

because there seem to be so many “enemies,”

or at least uncaring people toward whom we’re called to be caring—

so I wanted to talk about that rather than highlight the loving actions Paul proscribes for a Christian;

actions that I know I fail to achieve all of the time. He presents a hard list to follow.

I can admit this shortcoming because I imagine that many of you have had similar feelings at some time.

Yet wrestling and frustration do not let us escape the truth we find in today’s reading.

In fact, perhaps struggling with a particular passage means there is much more for us to learn.

When I joked about the “heaping of hot coals” with my friend—

suggesting her neighbor may eventually feel some shame about his discourteous actions—

I realized she was facing something seemingly pervasive in our world right now:

the need for Paul’s genuine love.

Not Hallmark-emotional love

and not becoming a doormat for all people’s pain,

but active, concrete philia.

The simple hello: an acknowledgement of your existence.

The basic care of one human being for another, just because.

It’s the sandbox imperative to “play nice!” And the true reason I wrestled this week is because I’ve recently wondered where that imperative has gone.

You’ll not be surprised about my wondering if I describe some of the nasty language or assumptions

spanning the internet

defaming President Obama and Michele Bachmann:

idiotic and goofball are the tamest names out there.

And maybe you didn’t even blink at the personal nature or outrageousness of the “news” headline

regarding Muammar Qaddafi’s supposed crush on Condoleezza Rice.

And closer to home: someone recently told me about 2 bumper stickers side-by-side;

the first saying: Got Jesus? and beside it, as if creating an “if-then” statement: Annoy a Liberal.

Even if the 2stickers had said, Got Jesus? then Annoy a Conservative or Annoy Anyone,

I’d feel the same frustration! Is that what “having Jesus” means?

“Play nice” seems to be an expectation we can grow out of when we trade the sandbox in for a cell phone.

At the risk of sounding like my grandfather when he’d begin a “in my day” story,

I wonder if you have also had that sense that people just don’t care about

being nice to one another in the small ways?

We make the big gestures to bring about God’s Shalom—

like crossing continents for a mission effort in Venezuela

or sending money to rebuild Haiti’s infrastructure,

even praying for the drought-affected people in Somalia.

But our big-energy projects can never eclipse the need for small endeavors,

the minute-but-major interactions that happen

in the grocery store,

on the sidewalk,

at coffee hour,

in your living room;

the minute-but-major interactions that Paul lays out in his letter to the church at Rome:

“Let love be genuine.”

For Paul, “love is the primary term describing the result of faith both in the believer and the community in Christ.”[ii]

Just one chapter after today’s reading in Romans he writes:

“Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, ‘You shall not murder; You shall not steal…’; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is fulfilling of the law.”[iii]

And think of his more famous letter to another struggling church:

“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude….

it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.”

Paul loves love!

He believes it is a true gift of God,

Jesus’ overarching teaching,

and a tangible response to our faith.

And he expects Christians to genuinely act out that love.

Do not be conformed to this world or this age;

do not give in to the nastiness and unfounded assumptions about others.

Just because your neighbor is rude, do not return rudeness for rudeness—

but be transformed by the renewing of your minds,

so that you may discern…what is good and acceptable and perfect.

~~~

I hope you’ve already made the connection about why I am babbling on about

love and Obama and Bachmann and bumper stickers and civil interaction

on Open & Affirming Sunday.

Because ONA is not just an abstract idea;

not just a nice claim so we can feel good about welcoming gays and lesbians into Christ’s already-welcoming heart. Rather, Open & Affirming is an active way of living God’s extravagant love—

integrating Paul’s love letters into our every interaction:

whether or not the other is someone of a different gender, gender identity or sexual orientation than you; whether or not the other is of the same educational, economic or ethnic background as you;

whether or not, as Paul reminds us, they have wronged you in some way: “do not be overcome by evil.”

Someone reminded me this week that minorities or underdogs of whatever type—

sexual orientation, physical ability, etc.—

have to necessarily be more diligent in finding ways to overcome evil with good—

because assumptions, slights, intentional hurt or simple ignorance come their way constantly.

Overcoming in such exhausting circumstances is so much harder.

And still it can happen.

One great example is the Angel Action project:

people who dressed up in giant wings outside the trial of Matthew Shepherd’s murderers,

assembling to block from view Fred Phelps’ “God Hates Fags” signs and protestors.

This project has become more widespread, here in Fort Collins and around the country,

with silent, loving counter-protestors appearing as a love-guard at soldiers’ funerals,

where the Phelps family continues to show its hate.

That’s a big example.

We all have times when we wrestle with living fully into these mandates of active love in small measure,

particularly as we witness so much incivility in the world around us.

My friend will probably never have resolution about how not to feel snubbed by her neighbor.

Internet and news diatribes are not going to miraculously become

more courteous or respectful of the human beings about whom they write.

HOWEVER: we have a role in this world as Christ’s Church:

do not be conformed to what is out there—but be transformed;

and be transformers! hold fast to what is good;

don’t give in to the incivility that seethes from all around—

don’t add to it; do not be overcome by it, but overcome it with actions of genuine love.

~~~

Do I really believe this is possible?

Because yes, it is a huge responsibility put on us

by Paul; by Christ; by God.

This is a hard list to try to live, as imperfect as we all are.

As imperfect as I am.

But yes: I believe.

Even at my worst, when I wrestle and argue with God about the part I play

in bringing God’s Shalom to this world, I believe

because this is what Jesus

taught

and lived

and expected of his followers.

And I believe because, every once in a while, a seemingly insignificant action can stand out so vividly as a reflection of love’s truth. Like last week at a funeral reception: a member of Plymouth stood pouring lemonade for the guests when an elderly man approached her to ask: “Where do I put my dirty cup?” The dish window was maybe 3 feet from where she stood;

yet, instead of pointing and sending him over there,

she extended her hand,

open palm up,

and simply said:

“Right here.”

This is what it means to be Open & Affirming:

not joining in the insult of political figures;

not slapping on a bumper sticker to tick off the car behind you;

not even heaping delightfully shaming coals on an uncivil neighbor’s head;

but an open palm of care for others: of genuine love.

Simple.

And yet perhaps the hardest thing we are called to in this world.

~~~

So the message for today, as it is every Sunday, is

Let love be genuine.

Let love be in your mind and in your heart.

Let love be in your words and in your deeds.

Let love be your very being.

And when you fail at love, because we do and we will,

may you remember God’s Open & Affirming love,

God’s open hand,

stretched out for you.

Amen.

[i] Romans 12:2

[ii] Harper Collins Bible Dictionary, revised edition, p. 626.

[iii] Romans 13:8-10.

Prayer for Today--Wrestling with God (Gen. 32:22-31)

2011-08-07T07:32:00.000-06:00

IMAGE: Jacob Wrestling with God by Laurie Gudim
at Everyday Mysteries

O God how we wrestle with this life!

We wrestle one another

like partisan politicians eking out a debt solution.

We wrestle within ourselves, with the particularities of this or that:

which is the better path, when all seem okay but none that great?

We wrestle with you, O God—

just trying to get by and wondering

what it is you really want from us;

how we can live up to that.

We wrestle, Holy One, and we grow weary.

So in the uncertainties of life, bless us with guidance.

In grief and loss, bless us with healing.

In the fear of tomorrow’s challenges, bless us with strength.

In the places we have missed the mark—

done wrong or done nothing at all—bless us with forgiveness.

And in all our striving, remind us that you, O Spirit,

wrestle with us, and we are not alone.

Gate of Heaven (Genesis 28:10-19a)

2011-07-17T12:19:00.000-06:00

Gate of Heaven

Genesis 28:10-19a

My front door directly faces the front door of my neighbors across a 10 to 15-foot landing.

In order to reach our doors, we climb a short stairway (18 steps).

One of my absolute delights with this set-up is when I hear my 3 year-old neighbor enact a periodic ritual of running up the stairs to her door and sing-songing when she arrives:

“I found it, I found it!”

Pure pleasure and satisfaction emanate from her as she stands at the top of the stairs,

on the threshold of her home: I found it!

I hear this exclamation through my own closed door;

and I’ve never asked, so I can only guess at the origins of her ritual—

I imagine her family just having moved in, helping the kids know their way around the community

or inventing a game to get them inside for dinner.

However it began, I am the happy recipient of a vicarious high as I listen to a child at the entrance to home, having attained something wonderful: I found it!

Jacob’s awe at finding the “gate of heaven,” as he calls it, could have been no less pure and triumphant.

He stands talking to himself in the middle of nowhere,

in the “House of God,” holy ground where he’d dreamed a staircase and angels

and Yahweh speaking words of promise—

“Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go.”

He hears the ancestral covenant and wakes up, his senses alive—

“Surely God is in this place—and I did not know it!”

Jacob’s meeting with the Divine affects him so profoundly that he marks the spot with what he has—

he stands his pillow-stone like a pillar

and anoints it with oil,

and he renames the place Bethel: House of God.

~~~

There’s much that has led up to this moment. As we enter the scene this morning, Jacob has just run from home to avoid his brother’s murderous wrath:

Jacob has robbed Esau of his birthright and stolen their father’s blessing from him.

Jacob can’t be feeling very good about himself right now.

In fact, if he has any conscience at all, he probably feels like a complete heel.[1]

And besides his inner torment, he’s had to leave his house and family behind;

he’s alone, traveling the desert with its wild animals and tribal enemies,

not to mention possible evil spirits.

Night comes and he knows his destination remains far off.

With no bedding or other comforts, he finds a stone for his pillow—

still warm from the day’s heat but cooling quickly.

I imagine him looking up into the heavens, an expanse of night full of stars, and praying:

“Oh God! What have I done? Be with me…”

And God is there.

In a dream.

But it was a dream more real than real.

God was there; and the moment was overwhelming. Life changing. Life giving.

~~~

This is what happens when we have a God-encounter:

it leaves us in awe, afraid, ecstatic, or confused…

it can begin the process of healing, renew our hoping, or just keep us going.

Have you ever had an experience like that?

A moment when you knew, unequivocally, surely God is in this place? The Holy is present here, now?

Some of you will say yes, and some of you will say no.

Some of you may have had such encounters, but would not describe them using this type of language.

I have had moments like that. Like my neighbor, I’ve run triumphantly up to the very gate of heaven and sung, I found it!, the threshold; the unexpected experience that reveals something wonderful;

something holy.

This past April I attended a loved one’s funeral in New Jersey.

At the close of the service we all filed outside,

and I stood beside a friend as we were ritually letting go balloons into the sky.

Anthony had loved balloons more than anything.

With his severe disabilities, balloons were a gift everyone

knew they could give him, knew he’d be thrilled by their texture, color and movement.

Honoring this unique fondness, his family and friends stood under a clear spring sky

and offered our balloons to the heavens.

As they floated up, many of themcaught a breeze and just went—

higher, farther, slowly becoming brightly-colored specks.

But a few balloons remained—

caught in the just-budding branches of a tree.

The friend beside me, understanding the close relationship I had with Anthony, said,

“I see some balloons have a harder time letting go.”

A few days later I returned to Fort Collins; and as I was heading out to my car I saw,

in the tree immediately above where I’d parked,

a balloon caught in the branches.

Surely, God was in that place. Present with me. And in that instant, I knew it.

~~~

In her book, An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us that in the Bible

people encounter God under shady oak trees, on riverbanks, at the top of mountains, and in the long stretches of barren wilderness. God shows up in the whirlwinds, starry skies, burning bushes and perfect strangers. When people want to know more about God, the son of God tells them to pay attention to the lilies of the field and birds of the air, to women kneading bread and workers lining up for their pay (p. 12-13).

These threshold moments, experiences of holy ground and connections with the Divine

happen during peaceful respite and in desperate situations;

after dramatic begging for God’s help and when completely oblivious of God’s love.

Each one is so unique; how can you ever convey the profundity of a God-encounter? Because when you’ve known such a moment, you often want so much to share it with another. But the telling rarely translates the experience.

Like when you lay your head on stone for its pillow and feel the earth strong beneath you.

Like when you listen to the choir and sink breathlessly into the waves of music;

or settle into the spaciousness of silent prayer and sense such a loving embrace that you can’t help but be drawn toward wholeness.

Like when a piece of art fills your mind with a clarity of spirit.

Words can never express these things fully… so sometimes, to express the core of our experience,

we use ritual.

We have Sunday morning worship,

where we sing and sit in silence together.

Where we read in scripture the divine encounters of ordinary people,

and pray for our own relationships with Yahweh.

We celebrate Communion, a holy ground moment that

marked those first disciples so deeply;

a sacred act that sparked recognition on that post-Easter Emmaus walk;

a sacrament that continues to take some of us to the very threshold, heaven’s gate.

We have baptism, ritualized with water and words—

a recognition of God’s constant presence in our lives.

We describe our sacraments of Baptism and Communion

as a visible expression of an invisible grace—and yes they are!

We have funerals, remembrance services, celebrations of life

so we can share love and find hope and let go balloons.

We honor anniversaries of events like September 11^th, Totenfest, Memorial Day;

and our own, individual anniversaries and significant occasions.

We ritualize birthdays with such things as

cake, candles and singing a simple, quite unimaginative song—

but the ritual brings us all into a similar space

without having to use words to explain why or how.

Maybe we even ritualize our

morning cup of coffee or

our getting ready for bed.

My neighbor, at three years old, instinctively ritualized her experience of coming home.

And Jacob did the same:

turning his pillow-stone on its side and anointing it with oil—

a complete waste of a valuable resource!

But so very significant.

How can we even come close to knowing that significance of Jacob’s encounter?

How can we see it and, through that vision, maybe even recognize some of our own sacred moments?

Perhaps it can be in enacting his ritual for ourselves…

[pour oil over stone on table]

And perhaps, for you, pouring oil over a stone may be like:

taking a beautiful photograph;

watching your child learn to drive;

weeding the flower bed;

visiting the site of Auschwitz;

listening to your mother’s favorite composer;

serving a meal at the mission;

re-reading the Chronicles of Narnia for the 5^th time;

or meditating in the Memorial Garden.

Look at the stone and oil and ask yourself:

Where have I dreamed ladders and angels and the voice of God saying, “Know that I am with you”?

And where have I stepped up to a threshold singing, “I found it”?

And if you cannot name a time or place, consider the rituals that you enact—

and perhaps you too will sometime say:

“Surely, God was in that place—

and I did not know it!”

Amen.

[1] I just couldn’t resist the play on Jacob’s name: he takes by the heel (Genesis 25:26). :)

Jacob's Encounter--2 Poems

2011-07-15T17:36:00.010-06:00

Gate of Heaven

Jacob's Dream by David Coker

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, ‘Surely the Lord is in this place—

and I did not know it!’ And he was afraid, and said, ‘How awesome is this place!
This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’ -Genesis 28:16, 17

Surely, Jacob woke.

Surely, he was sleeping.

Surely, he was a fool

and did not know it.

The house of God and

the gate of heaven:

a stone!

Surely it cracked his brain

as he slept.

Surely, he was afraid—

a night without rest

for a man on the lam.

Surely, wouldn’t you be a mess?

And still, how awesome

was his place.

I lay me down

here

hoping to feel that stone hard

beneath my head—

Jacob’s gate to heaven.

Where has my life dreamed ladders

and angels to make me gasp:

surely,

God is in this place?

Jacob’s place was such: so sure

he lavished anointing oil

in dust and sun—

—do you suppose it soured?

Do you suppose God noticed?

Do you suppose I might take

just a drop?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jacob’s Thin Place

You want to know a thin place?

How could I ever draw the map,

lead you toward that secret room?

I have entered by oiled doors

hidden behind stacks

of finger-worn fictions

curtained by prayer

cluttered with desperation, breathless

longing, and the expectation

that One

is always

always in seclusion there—

waiting

for me.

You want to know a thin place?

Would it surprise you to know yours

is basking in the brassy commotion

of Café Ardour: Dad

and twins sharing scones—toddlers

too young to worship

caffeine begged by eager students?

Or that your room rests on pebbles,

stings your soles as you step

into the Poudre?

Or that it is here? Right here

now.

You want to know a thin place?

Remember your room. Map the

quadrants until your north is

fixed. Until X marks the Gate.

Until you are there again. Surely,

God is in

that place.

Jacob's Encounter--2 Hymns

2011-07-13T16:27:00.002-06:00

As I was meditating with one of the scripture texts for Sunday (Genesis 28:10-19a), I felt the call to creativity. There is something about Jacob/Israel's story that inspires me every time.
As I searched for hymns, I realized none with which I'm familiar quite fit what I was seeking... so I've prepared these two hymn texts, with familiar tunes for Sunday's service.
If you wish to use them, please credit them appropriately and post here to let me know where and for what purpose (worship, meditation, etc.) you've used them. Many thanks!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Surely God Is in this Place

   DIX—7777 w refrain

Jacob fled his brother’s wrath, placed a rock beneath his head,
slept and dreamt in desert night; angels, ladders, promises.
Moments beyond time and space:
surely God is in this place!

Hearing words of future hope, Jacob woke to claim anew
covenant of God’s great love blessing him to seek what’s true.
Moments beyond time and space:
surely God is in this place!

There are instants when we, too, can perceive beyond the veil:
quiet myst’ry, shining awe, essence words can’t quite reveal.
Moments beyond time and space:
surely God is in this place!

hymn text © 2011 Sharon A. Benton

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Holy Ground
   to the tune NETTLETON--8787D

Come and worship in God’s dwelling,
here in silence and in sound.
For, in truth, God’s Word’s among us,
within and all around.
In this place where we can gather,
where our souls in love are found,
God will meet us, loving greet us,
for this place is holy ground.

We might seek out times of splendor
wishing we could see God’s face,
as when Jacob slept unknowing
in God’s house and dreamed of grace;
or like Moses, as the bush burn’d,
listened rapt, his feet unbound,
all unknowing we can stumble
’pon that threshold: holy ground.

God has made us to desire such
awe and peace, crave God’s embrace.
So with ardor we pursue the
secret search for sacred space.
It is here in gathered worship
and our Rocky Mountain home.
It is truly all around us,
for God’s world is holy ground!

hymn text © 2011 Sharon A. Benton

Seeds & Soil Prayer

2011-07-10T11:29:00.000-06:00

In our silence, Holy One, we prepare ground for new growth in you.

Come sow your seeds of healing in the ready soil of our spirits.

Come turn our sadness with your gentle hands,

knead muscles worn-out from work

and minds exhausted by details and planning.

Come and plant within us your peace.

We allow a sigh of release for what has been in the space shuttle program these past decades:

for the learning and the awe that have entered our world through it.

And with the last shuttle launch, a hint of longing, a trace of nostalgia and whimsy envelope our minds.

We continue to cultivate, in our inner soil,

seeds of compassion for those still seeking jobs, for all persons displaced

by war, danger, hunger, or the desire for freedom;

seeds of justice to amend all the ways we have missed the mark,

individually and communally;

seeds of hope that we may ever know you in our midst.

We open to you our inner lives, fresh with turned earth for you to plant new seeds.

And as you have planted the seeds, O Spirit,

water them also, give them all the nourishment for growth,

that through us, they may grow Shalom in this, your world.

Hallowed Be Thy Name--Trinity Sunday

2011-06-19T12:43:00.000-06:00

Leader: Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

People: Creator, Christ and Holy Spirit.

Leader: Lover, Redeemer and Sustainer.

People: Womb, Wisdom and Breath.

Leader: Rock, Shepherd and Wind.

People: We name you, Triune God, though your name is

beyond our understanding.

All: We worship you, Holy One, in all your beautiful mystery.

Hallowed Be Thy Name

Psalm 8 & Matthew 28:16-20

My given name is Sharon Alice Benton.

Sharon: because my parents liked the name.

Alice: my mother’s middle name and her mother’s first name.

Benton: my father’s surname.

Sharon Alice Benton.

Think about your name—birth or married or nickname.

Names are part of the way that others identify us; relate to us; know us.

Names have always been important to me—I try very hard to remember if the many Lynn’s and Anne’s in my life have an E on the end or whether your name is pronounced Támara or Tamára.

Being named by another can sometimes make us feel like we are known.

Other times we understand, as Shakespeare’s Juliet cries to her Montague lover,

“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.”

And yet names help us identify the who or what—at least initially.

Juliet might never have known how badly her family would react to her relationship with Romeo had she not recognized his family name. Names help us identify.

When the God of the Israelites calls Moses to action from within the burning bush—calls him to free the people from Pharaoh—Moses first and foremost wants to know,

“If I come to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’

and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ What shall I say to them?” (Exodus 3:13).

I think I’d want to know, too.

Who are you?

This is a question that has engaged our imaginations throughout history, and so today I offer just some thoughts on God’s name for you to ruminate on this week.

In a new book of daily meditations called Fragments of Your Ancient Name, Joyce Rupp writes,

“The countless titles given to divinity from earliest times down to the present era reflect humanity’s attempt to communicate with this veiled presence….[reflect our] desire to relate to divinity.”[i]

We name so we may connect, so we may be in relationship.

If I really want to connect with you, I’m not going to say, “Hey you!”

That probably won’t get me very far.

Rather, I’m going to use your name: “Hey NAME!”

Yet it becomes somewhat more complicated when we name God—

not because it has to be complicated with God, but because we’re complicated creatures.

Today many churches are celebrating Trinity Sunday—

that complicated, confusing, mysterious doctrine of 3-in-1 and 1-made-3;

that theological naming of God as Creator, Christ, and Holy Spirit.

Our God is so broad, so beyond-our-conception-and-still-so-a-part-of-our-experiences that we must have the minimum of 3 names, 3 aspects of the Divine to which we can relate.

We want to name God when we pray—Our Father, Holy One, Jesus Christ, Spirit of Life.

Want to share our experiences of God’s presence with others—

and how do we do that but with our fumbling descriptions and language?

As I said earlier, naming can help us identify the who or what—at least to begin.

It’s when we pass that barrier of initial encounter that we can become more intimate, more knowing of what is beyond the name, beyond naming—the relationship; the deep love.

Jamie and I have a cat that we named Teiresias: a big name for this poor creature to live into.

Over the years we’ve come to know him by other, more dear, names:

Teiresias became Tei became Tiger became (sometimes) Dopey Kitty.

Intimacy created loving terms; devoted titles, like the ones we may come up with for our spouses or children or close friends.

And this is what we’ve done over millennia with our beloved Creator.

Our relationships with God have given us

Parent, Friend, Rock, Fortress, Comforter, Redeemer, Wisdom, Love and on and on.

The Unnamable Mystery has called to us, and we want to call out in return.

Which takes me back to Moses…

Once he’d asked his perhaps impertinent question of the deity hidden in a burning bush, God responded:

“I Am Who I Am.”

All in capital letters God says,

“I Am Who I Am.”

And God continued,

“Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘I Am has sent me to you.’

God also said to Moses, ‘Thus you shall say to the Israelites,

“The Lord, the God of your ancestors,

the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob,

has sent me to you”’:

this is my name forever, and this is my title for all generations” (Exodus 3:14-15).

I have always been intrigued by God’s name and title as presented in these passages—

perhaps because names have always been important to me. Who is this God?

“I Am Who I Am.”

You may remember that in the Hebrew writing of the Bible there were no vowels present.

So when it is written that God reveals this name in Exodus, there are no vowels present—simply the Hebrew consonants:

yud-hay-vav-hay,

or Y-H-W-H.

We have since added vowels in order to make the name pronounceable, and what we’ve created—

again, so we might actually name God—is Yahweh.

The New Revised Standard Version has translated the meaning of God’s name to be “I Am Who I Am.”

But there are other renderings of these 4 vowel-less letters,

all of which help us name-and-yet-never-fully-name God:

I Am Who I Am;

I Will Be What I Will Be;

perhaps Being-Becoming;

or simply Beingness, Existence:

I Am.

God is. Although translated in multiple ways, this is the only true name—not a title or metaphor or symbol—the only name we ever get for God: Yahweh.

And yet the Hebrew people never use this name. Rather, they use the title HaShem: The Name.

Why not use Yahweh, when that’s what they intend?

Especially when using another’s name can connect us to that other, build relationship?

The reason given is just several chapters after God has revealed the name I Am—

one of the newly-given 10 Commandments makes clear:

“You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God,

for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name” (Exodus 20:7).

Or, as we may be more familiar with:

“Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.”

God’s name is to be revered—honored as holy.

And so the ancients said HaShem, The Name.

And we have received

Hallowed be thy name

Hallowed be HaShem

Hallowed be yud-hay-vav-hay

Jesus’ wonderful prayer that he taught the disciples!

A prayer we say every week—“hallowed be thy name.”

And when we pray other times, we often close, “in your name, we pray.”

Isn’t this stuff exciting!?? It’s one of the reasons I love studying the Bible—

the connections that come when we look to understand the who and what and mystery and wonder of God

and the many ways given for us to know God.

Just one more thing I need to share on this—which you may already know but which is wonderful to keep in mind when you’re reading or listening to the Bible—

something you can see in the verse that I just quoted, “don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,”

or in today’s Psalm, “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

Whenever you read the title Lord in our Old Testament scriptures—

most often in capital letters or small caps—that is an indication that God’s name,

The Name, is meant to be there…but it has been replaced with

Lord (in English) or Adonai (in Hebrew).

Out of reverence for God’s name (Y-H-W-H or I Am) people did not write or speak it.

Even today, many Jews will not write out the vowels or speak God’s name.

But we do. We honor this God and seek to be in relationship with this God by naming:

Yahweh, HaShem, Lord, Adonai—Hallowed Be Thy Name!

Creator, Christ, Holy Spirit—Hallowed Be Thy Name!

What name is holy to you?

What name is The Holy One, to you?

How do you relate to him from one moment to the next?

How to speak with her in your most intimate moments?

The desire to connect, to know, to be in relationship with the Divine has been a longing forever, and people have found innumerable ways to name this Unnamable Mystery.

I close my meditation this morning with 2 tidbits.

In the first of T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, “Burnt Norton,” the poet tries to name the frustration of naming;

that language is never enough to capture “the stillness”—the Truth beyond all truth. He writes:

Words move, music moves

Only in time; but that which is only living

Can only die. Words, after speech, reach

Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,

Can words or music reach

The stillness….

Words strain,

Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,

Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,

Decay with imprecision….[ii]

And my second tidbit comes again from T.S. Eliot, but on the lighter side, recalling my own naming of the Dopey Kitty, Teiresias. In Eliot’s delightful “The Naming of Cats” we learn that all felines have “THREE DIFFERENT NAMES”—the day-to-day name and the dignified name are the first two:

But above and beyond there's still one name left over,

And that is the name that you never will guess;

The name that no human research can discover—

But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.

When you notice a cat in profound meditation,

The reason, I tell you, is always the same:

His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation

Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:

His ineffable effable

Effanineffable

Deep and inscrutable singular Name.[iii]

This week, whether in “rapt contemplation” or brief meditation,

may you be in relationship with the Mystery we call God—

by whatever name connects you.

Amen.

[i] Joyce Rupp Fragments of Your Ancient Name: 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation, p. 1.

[ii] T.S. Eliot “Burnt Norton” from Four Quartets.

[iii] T.S. Eliot “The Naming of Cats” from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.

Prayer for Today--Our Rock

2011-05-22T07:28:00.002-06:00

You are our rock, O God, and our strength.

When all else becomes unsteady in this life, we can turn to you—

even when we feel we cannot name you or clearly discern your presence,

you are there, holding us firmly in your unyielding love.

You are our Rock, O God, and our strength.

Even when we pick up stones to hurl them at our fears—

when we strike out at those things that chip away at the secure fortresses we have built;

when we throw words to hurt rather than heal—

you are there, the strength underlying our human fragility.

You are our Rock, O God, and our strength.

When we see the brokenness lying at our feet—

from the enormity of war, hunger and flood

to the seeming smallness of our individual cares—

still you are there, our rock and our strength.

Hold us in your secure and solid love, O God:
heal our broken places within these frail bodies and throughout the world.

Hold us in your secure and solid love, Our Mother:
as we pray together: Our Father…

Prayer for Today--We Need You

2011-05-15T07:23:00.003-06:00

In these days, Redeemer,

when some say the end is upon us,

when many fear the earth’s contortions

when your children still hurt in so many ways—

we need you.

We need you, O Wisdom, to enlighten the path through our fears:

fears of being lost, of being alone, of being wrong.

We need you, O Strength, to pull us from our pain:

pain of illness, of addiction, of consumption.

In these days, O Christ, you gather us in to nourish us;

and you send us out to nourish God’s beloved world.

Be our Wisdom and our Strength through all the challenges of life.

And lead us from our daily deaths, into resurrection of spirit,

until we, together, have enabled your realm of Shalom on earth.

Welcoming Jesus Extravagantly

2011-05-08T14:34:00.002-06:00

Welcoming Jesus Extravagantly

Acts 2:14a, 36-41
(new--listen to the spoken word here)

I begin with a hard question for progressive Christians:

Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?

Some of you are squirming in your seats at hearing this phrase from Plymouth’s pulpit.

And some of you are, no doubt, waiting for me to reject it straight out as bad theology.

Many of us (me included!) are very uncomfortable with the ways this question has been used

to bully and manipulate anyone who doesn’t have the “right answer” –

the “right answer” being whatever the questioner believes.

But let’s hold on a moment and try to put aside our previous encounters with this question,

and think about it: Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?

I’ll begin with a few of my theological problems with the phrase.

“Personal”—I challenge the idea of a personal savior because it gives the sense of

individual salvation. And I believe that God is bigger than be personally;

that my way of living interconnects with all that is, all of creation;

and my salvation is not possible outside of this interrelationship.

“Lord”—most of you are familiar with my critique of patriarchal, hierarchal language

to define aspects of our faith, particularly when the specific images (like King and Lord)

are no longer experienced in our lived reality as they were in biblical times.

Kings and Lords simply don’t hold sway over our life and death in the 21^st century.

“Savior”—savior from what? If you mean a fiery hell, then we can stop there,

because that doesn’t fit into my theology of a loving God.

So there are some of mine, and you may have other critiques…

but now that they’re out on the table, I’d like to think again about this question:

Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?

“Personal”—do I, myself, choose to follow the Christ? Do I attempt to live my life according to his

teachings as I understand them? And does my interrelationship with the world reflect that?

“Lord”—Is Christ the one I look to through and beyond all my actions? Is Christ holding me

accountable and pushing me to do the hard work? And if I live as if Christ is Lord,

then do I live as if government is not lord, the rich or successful are not lord,

my finances or my comfort or my security are not lord?—Jesus is Lord.

“Savior”—Is Christ the Way by which I find new life, wholeness?

Is Christ’s message of “the Kingdom of God on earth”—

God’s Realm or God’s Shalom here in this world—

a hope for new life, wholeness, salvation for all creation?

Yes: Jesus Christ is my personal Lord and Savior despite my many lingual and theological critiques;

I can reconcile personal and Lord and Savior, and I can say yes!

But have I accepted him? Now, there is the word that I cannot reconcile this morning: accept.

It’s too weak! Have I extravagantly welcomed him? Well now, there’s a question!

~~~~~

Hopefully you’ve noticed that staff and Church Council and committees have been trying to live into the theme of extravagant welcome this year. This is the first of a 3-year theme intentionally reflecting Plymouth’s mission statement of inviting, transforming & sending. As church, we’re exploring different meanings of extravagant welcome, and how we live it out here and throughout our days.

Hal and I are also moving through the lectionary texts in the book of Acts as we celebrate the season of Eastertide—all the way up to Pentecost.

And this morning in Acts, we hear Peter preaching to a crowd of

Jewish foreigners who’ve traveled to the Holy City for one of the pilgrimage festivals.

Some of them had been present for the Passover events leading up to Jesus’ execution,

but very likely they didn’t know more of the story than maybe Jesus’ name.

So Peter decides to tell them about it:

“Therefore let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that

God has made [this Jesus] both Lord and Messiah.”

And after Peter was finishing expounding on the life and death and resurrection of this man,

the crowd responded with an extravagant welcome of Jesus into their lives—

they were baptized, beginning a new life in Christ.

Unlike those pilgrims in 1^st century Jerusalem, we’ve already heard Peter’s testimony—

as well as those of Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and Paul.

As well as Francis of Assisi, Hildegard of Bingen, Mother Teresa and countless others who’ve extravagantly welcomed Christ into their lives in meaningful and lasting ways.

How do we? What does it look like for us non-saints to extravagantly welcome Jesus Christ as our personal Lord and Savior? What does the extravagant welcome look like?

~~~~~

One of the rules of the Benedictine religious community is to “welcome everyone as Christ.”[i]

But in order to know how to welcome others as Christ,

don’t we first have to know how to welcome Christ?

Or: might one truly reflect the other?

Saint Benedict’s reasoning for this particular rule he based on Matthew 25: Jesus says,

“When the Son of Man comes into his glory… [he will say],

‘I was hungry and you gave me food,

I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,

I was a stranger and you welcomed me,

I was naked and you gave me clothing,

I was sick and you took care of me,

I was in prison and you visited me.’

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘When?!’…

And the king will answer them,

‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it

to one of the least of these who are members of my family,

you did it to me.’”[ii]

An extravagant welcome of Christ means relationship.

There is no personal relationship with Jesus Christ without personal relationship with all.

And where did Jesus get his notion of this relationship?

In the Hebrew Scriptures, in Jesus’ holy texts, there is a word sedeq.

Sedeq, translated, means right relation between humans

and the relational covenant between God and people.[iii]

For short, sedeq is most often translated as righteousness, but it is most fully right relationship.

Where is sedeq visible?

In Micah 6:8—“He has told you, O mortal, what is good;

and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice,

and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

And in Amos 5:24—“But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

Sedeq! Right relationship with all.

This is an extravagant welcome of Jesus Christ as our personal Lord and Savior!

Justice activist and theologian Rhea Miller writes of Jesus, “He was not pre-occupied with rules; he never asked people to be right. Instead, drawing on his own cultural heritage, he called people to be faithful, faithful to relationships and the Relationship.”[iv]

That question we so much love to hate, can be a question—not of being right—but of being in right relationship with Christ and all. Have you welcomed him?

And Ram Dass writes, “‘In India when people meet and part they often say, “Namaste,” which means:

I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides; I honor the place in you of love, of light, of truth, of peace. I honor the place in you where if you are in that place in you and I am in that place in me, there is only one of us…. “Namaste.”’[v]

Saint Benedict saw the same thing, as he noted in his ancient rule: “By a bow of the head or by a complete prostration…Christ is to be adored and welcomed in [each guest].”[vi]

Having heard the testimonies of diverse voices throughout history,

we have the opportunity to testify as well.

I believe there is truth and deep faithfulness in asking ourselves

this question that other Christians have had the courage to ask us:

Have you extravagantly welcomed Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?

And how does that manifest in your life?

How are you in right relationship

with your family, with your beloved, with your neighbors?

How are you in right relationship

with the stranger you pass on the street,

with the stranger who shares your pew?

How are you in right relationship

with the suffering man at Poudre Valley Hospital,

with a homeless woman in Library Park,

with girls wanting education in Angola,

with the citizens of Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya?

And how have we sometimes fallen short in those relationships?

Theologian Carter Heyward offers this advice: “We ought probably to meet this Jesus much in the way we meet poetry or music—with all the heart and soul we can bring.”[vii]

That’s what Peter’s preaching did;

that’s what our saints and remembered ones did.

That’s what we’re called to do: bring heart and soul.

Sometimes welcoming Jesus so extravagantly can seem overwhelming—

with all the injustices we’re called to help right

and all the pain we’re asked to help heal.

And then there are moments when that extravagant welcome emanates so naturally and softly from us—

like meeting poetry and music.

So I leave you with my tweaked version of the question with which I began :

Have you extravagantly welcomed

Jesus Christ

as your personal Lord and Savior?

Amen.

[i] Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict: Insights for the Ages (New York: Crossroad, 1996), 140.

[ii] Matthew 25:31a, 35-40.

[iii] Carter Heyward, Saving Jesus from Those Who Are Right: Rethinking What it Means to Be Christian (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 13.

[iv] Rhea Miller, Cloudhand, Clenched Fist: Chaos, Crisis, and the Emergence of Community as quoted in Heyward, 12.

[v] Chittister, 141.

[vi] Chittister, 141.

[vii] Heyward, 5.

Hope Through the Ages

2011-04-27T09:14:00.001-06:00

I'm still reading Joan Chittister's deep book on struggle & hope (see here for that post--no, not done yet!) as well as a brief daily meditation from Joyce Rupp's brand new Fragments of Your Ancient Name: 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation.

Today's "fragment" is Hope Through the Ages: a name for the Divine that seems fitting as we move into these days following Easter. The celebratory sounds of our resurrection party may be growing dim as we re-enter the daily routines (or, like me, you may be trying to catch up on all the "regular stuff" that got set aside as you walked through Holy Week and Easter). The hope that came with Christ's triumph over death seems a bit more distant.

But I take comfort in Rupp's meditation for today, which reads (in part):
   When all seems useless,
   And nothing is left,
   You remain by our side,
   Our true and lasting love.

Then she asks us to hold throughout the day: I reflect on what my hope is.

Today's fragment of God's name, Hope Through the Ages, is just one way to remind me that Easter really did happen--this past week, and every week before that. We are people of the resurrection.

Today I reflect on what my hope is.

ahhh, so many Names... and so many missing!

Easter Prayer--Rise Up!

2011-04-24T07:13:00.000-06:00

From deep within our tombs we hear you call, O God: rise up!

Rise up from death into new life.

We have found new life in this spring season,

in children joyfully squirming among us,

in each deep breath we breathe.

We have found new life in people’s struggle for

just government around the globe,

and in nations’ continued support

following natural disasters.

From deep within our tombs we hear you call, O God: rise up!

Rise up from death into new life.

We follow your voice in our hope to overcome

illness, grief, addiction, fear.

We follow your voice in our hope to heal your creation,

make whole our connection to all that is.

Resurrecting God, you call to us to follow Christ,

to rise up from our tombs that hold us in death—but you do not expect us to do so alone.

It is you who fill us with life beyond all our daily deaths.

It is you who strengthen us to bring life to others.

It is you, Holy One, whom we hear call within our tombs: rise up!

And it is to you, O Mother, that we lift our voices as we pray together: Our Father…

Who's Your Savior?

2011-04-18T07:09:00.000-06:00

Who’s Your Savior?

Palm Sunday

Matthew 21:1-11

“When [Jesus] entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’

The crowds were saying, ‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.’”

This past week in our staff meeting, we held an unexpected and a bit heated “discussion”

about who Jesus is to each of us.

How God worked through or was revealed through him in his life. What the disciples’ Communion with his body and blood meant.

How his death on a cross did or did not effect our salvation—and salvation from what?

And finally, does any of this even matter today in the über-liberal United Church of Christ?

Sarah and David and Hal and I all had our say with passion and difference (and Mark would have added wonderful fuel to the flames, had he not been in Cleveland)…

Poor Barb! I don’t think she knew quite what to do with us.

Oh yes, it was a vibrant and challenging “discussion.”

But a timely one, I think! Holy Week is upon us with Jesus being the central figure of

our palm-waving celebration,

of sharing the last Passover supper with his disciples,

of betrayal, trial, desertion, execution.

It makes me wish I could ask him directly: Jesus, why?

Why did you go through all this?

What really was the purpose of the palm parade and the Passover meal and the cross?

And how do we reconcile ourselves as Christ-followers—Christian—

if some of us struggle to find meaning in these events that lead to the final act:

resurrection?

Each of the 4 Gospel-writers clearly found meaning in this week’s drama. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John—though sometimes wildly different in their interpretations (like Sarah, David, Hal and Sharon)—

all 4 preserved their understandings of events in Jesus’ last week of life.

Each of them found meaning, even if their interpretations of that meaning were different from one another.

There must be something in this week for us, as well.

I stress these things because I think many progressive Christians have become somewhat uncomfortable with proclaiming Christ: “Hosanna!” we shout on Sunday morning, when the crowd around us is like-minded, justice-seeking liberals who try to live lives of extravagant welcome. Hosanna!

Until we get further into our week, and we’re out in a world where “Christian” means something different to those around us, something we don’t want to be associated with, so we duck and hide from that damning word: Jesus.

Perhaps “Crucify him!” isn’t quite the comparative response, but what about Peter’s quieter denial,

“I’m not one of those….”

Then what are we?

How do you proclaim yourself Christian,

particularly in this week that holds so much differing theology,

so many interpretations of why Jesus died which may conflict with who you believe Jesus to be?

~~~

Take Maundy Thursday, for example.

That evening of Jesus’ Passover meal with the disciples.

The night he shared with them the bread and the cup and told them (at least according to Luke),

“do this in remembrance of me” (22:19).

Theologian and author Joan Chittister describes Holy Thursday as “send[ing] us careening etween great joy and great confusion…. [It’s] the crossover point between life and death for Jesus, etween death and life for us all” (141, 144).

I think many of you are familiar with the language I do and do not tend to use in Holy Communion.

Rather than Jesus’ broken body and poured out blood,

I focus on his living body, his actions and

his teachings that revealed God’s love;

and his life-blood that coursed through his being

and which can now flow through our own bodies and actions as his church.

Theologically, I cannot give praise to a God that would demand blood sacrifice—a sacrificial lamb

killed on an altar to atone for the ways I’ve missed the mark in my life.

In my reading of the Gospels, Jesus’ life and teachings reveal

more love than vengeance, more compassion than judgment.

Animal sacrifice was an ancient understanding of a tribal god’s desires—

and connecting such symbolism to Jesus’ final self-sacrifice made sense to a people who

practiced such religious acts in first century Israel and Rome and Greece.

But Jesus’ execution by a governmental force

does not make sense to me

as a blood sacrifice to Jesus’ beloved Abba/Father.

And yet.

And yet my discomfort with this interpretation does not stop me from being a Christian. Hosanna!

It does not stop me from wondering at the meaning and mystery

of Communion and the rest of this Holy Week’s events.

And it doesn’t mean that my brothers and sisters who DO follow that idea are not Christian either—

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John told these stories differently—different even from Paul!

Different from Sarah and David and Mark and Hal and me.

And so where does that lead us as we follow our donkey-riding savior?

“When [Jesus] entered Jerusalem the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’”

And we haven’t stopped asking…

Looking again at Maundy Thursday and now at Good Friday, too, and the ways that Christians have interpreted or found meaning in Jesus’ death, Joan Chittister offers this insight:

“For Jewish Christians in the early church…Jesus died…on the day of preparation for Passover. At the very hour, in fact, when the lambs for the feast were being chosen for slaughter. From this perspective, then, Jesus becomes the new lamb, the Passover Lamb—the Lamb of God” (136)—perhaps familiar Communion language to many of you.

You see, she continues, “For the Jew, Passover is a sign of salvation, of ‘God with us’ at a particular historical moment in the past [—the exodus from Egypt, when the lamb was slaughtered and its blood marked on the house’s door frame, so the final plague on Pharaoh would see the blood and pass over the Jewish homes]. For the Christian, Easter is a sign of ‘God with us’ in the past, but with us now also and at a time to come, as well.”

I appreciate Chittister’s noting that we remember this “God with us” every time we participate in our

Passover-turned-Communion-feast.

Does her interpretation give different meaning to this week’s events for you?

Or does it make it even more confusing?

“When [Jesus] entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’”

Matthew seems to focus on Jesus as “Messianic King,”

while Mark emphasizes the “Son of God.”

Luke is the only Gospel to use the word “Savior,”

and John draws on the mystery of “the Word made flesh.”

Who is this?

First century Romans thought him a criminal and

Temple authorities thought him a heretic.

Jews today say he was a Rabbi and

Muslims praise him as a prophet.

Who is this who enters our celebration today amidst palms waving and voices shouting?

What is he doing for the world in this Holy Week? And why does he matter to you?

I’d like to leave you with that question—a question for you to hold in “discussion”

with Matthew and Mark and Luke and John

and Sarah and David and Hal and Mark and me

and all of Christ’s living body, the Church.

This is one of the things I cherish about the United Church of Christ: I don’t get to stand up here and tell you what to believe—about Palm Sunday, or Maundy Thursday, or Good Friday or anything.

I can interpret the Bible, I can share tradition, I can offer my own passionate faith—

but then it’s up to you.

Because you have to think and learn and wonder and experience and question for yourself!

Who is this, Jesus of Nazareth:

donkey-rider, Communion-sharer, betrayal-bearer, cross-sufferer? Who is he to you?

And why does he matter?

Because we are Christians—Hosanna!—and we follow Christ even this week even to the Passover supper, even to his execution. May this Holy Week be blessed with meaning for you. Amen.

Joan Chittister, The Liturgical Year: The Spiraling Adventure of the Spiritual Life (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009).

Struggle & Hope

2011-04-13T10:40:00.000-06:00

Struggle & Hope

“In the traditional view, struggle required one of two things: that what could not be endured be changed or that what could not be changed be endured. Missing from the lexicon of options was the notion that we ourselves could do more than endure: we could be transformed by the possibility of new beginnings.”

“[L]ife is a matrix of miracles punctuated by one interruption after the next.”

—Sister Joan Chittister, OSB

As Lent nears its close, I’m only ¼ through a book that has been testing my spirit for this season: Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope. The author, Joan D. Chittister, has been a spiritual companion for me and for many through her essays, books, appearances on Speaking of Faith and in the news as she lovingly-but-strongly disagrees with the Vatican and her tradition’s policies or speaks out for human rights. Sister Joan is one of the teachers I sometimes turn to for guidance, inspiration and renewal.

As a small book with brief chapters alternating between various challenges humans face (change, isolation, powerlessness, etc.) and the hope that can be born from those (conversion, independence, surrender, etc.), Scarred/Transformed seemed like something I could breeze through these several weeks of Lent—happily absorbing the final chapter, “Hope: The Resurrection of the Spirit,” at Easter. But the 4-6-page chapters have been so full and necessary that I’ve had to sit with each one like a meditation rather than simply read for information.

For me Sister Joan hit home as she began: “struggle, long a recognized factor in personal development and spiritual growth, has become one of the major spiritual problems of our time. Change – the shifting of life from one stable context to another – envelops us. Nothing seems fixed anymore – not theology, not culture, not institutions, not relationships, not family, not even my own sense of self…. [W]hat, if anything, is there inside us to carry us through this period of social and personal disorientation, of social and personal malaise, of social and personal relativism, not just to make the confusion bearable, but to vindicate the struggle?” (from pages 8 & 12).

Easter nears, and I’m neither certain of the answers nor done with the book—but I believe I have some sense of where my own hope emerges. As in the quote at the top, my life has known so many “miracles” and interruptions. Sister Joan is one of the miracles that I felt the desire to share with you. What are your own miracles? And are you currently in the midst of one of them, or a struggling interruption? Either way, may hope fill your spirit.

Prayer for Today--Bones

2011-04-10T07:15:00.000-06:00

Prayer for Today—Bones

based on Ezekiel 37

We lay before you our prayers, Holy One—

prayers like gifts; like offerings.

Here we offer our fears

as loved ones face illness, uncertainty.

Here we offer our hopes

for all your beloved creation.

We lay before you our very bones—

Can they live, O God? You know…

We try hard in our physical beings to serve you, Holy One—

flesh and sinew living love to you.

We have built and maintained this church—the bones

that give strength and structure—

so we might act out in your world.

But can these bones live without your breath of Spirit?

Holy One, breathe in us. Breathe that we may be

the living flesh on the bones of this building;

that we may have the strength to serve your love.

Prayer for Today--Sleeper Awake!

2011-04-03T07:45:00.003-06:00

based on Ephesians 5:8-14

Yellow light crept through the cloud-powdered sky, this morning, O God—

so thick that it re-painted the walls of houses,

unknown to many who slept or read the morning news.

But you were present in that light, Heavenly One—

gesturing for us to see… and be with you.

O Spirit, today the epistle’s prayer is our prayer—

Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.

We have so much that sleeps and needs to rise from the dead;

so much in the world that needs Christ’s light to shine and reveal.

So shine your healing love on our unspoken fears

that come out as anger toward another;

shine your healing love on our hidden prejudices

which reveal themselves in our speech and actions;

shine your healing love on our secret despair that

we won’t or can’t make a difference in helping bring

thy Shalom on earth as in heaven.

You whisper again, Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.

Shine on us, O Wisdom.

Shine your way for us to rise to the challenge of living your paths.

Shine a passage through sorrow and physical pain and even death

until all your world can feel the warmth of your healing light

soaking through our skin

and shining from our faces.

Loving God?

2011-03-28T09:29:00.008-06:00

Do you ever get a song stuck in your head? I’ve been singing the same one (in the car, in the shower, in my head) since I posted here. It’s a song the Chancel Choir sang at Jamie’s ordination last year then again in a recent cantata. The pertinent lyrics go something like this:

“To love our God—the reason we live—

to love our God—the highest call—

nothing satisfies the soul—gives life meaning makes us whole—

for this purpose we are made—

to love our God!”

The song was back in my head this morning, so I started wondering…

God, how am I loving you today?
Am I doing an okay job? Is “okay”

okay for you? For me?

Did I love you over coffee

this morning, or the gentle stretch

of my Puck’s paw? Did I love you

in the powder-white sky and rain

streams that earth has been begging

like a child’s last request to Mommy

before bed? Is okay good enough?

Perhaps. Sometimes. But today— I need

to love you better today, so

I will pull on my red boots

and dance in the spring

puddles. I will tug a furry ear and whisper

nonsense; hold this ceramic mug

and inhale earth and sweat and every way

that conveyed it to me. I will

love you more than “okay”

today.

Okay?

And you…? How are you loving God-The Divine-The Holy-HaShem today…?

Prayer for Living Water

2011-03-27T07:05:00.000-06:00

O God, how we thirst.

We thirst like the earth

burning these past days with wildfires.

We thirst for your cooling, quenching waters

to run through our own parched places.

We thirst for answers to the violence

in Ivory Coast and everywhere around the world;

for ways to assuage the ongoing trauma

of natural disaster’s wreckage;

for relief from constant worry

about all the many woes to which we are witness.

O Christ, fill our cups with living water

so we might revel in the crocus’s declaration of life;

so we might dance wildly with the wind in springing branches;

so we might know that resurrection IS—in the midst of death and fear.

O Spirit, help us to draw from

the deep, deep well that is you

so we may drink

and share that living water with all.

A Giant Parenthesis

2011-03-24T20:28:00.000-06:00

Some times in my life are like a giant parenthesis full of God's grandeur...and this is one of them...and I am grateful.

A friend of mine posted the above note on her Facebook page this week. I haven’t had a chance to ask her what the parentheses consist of particularly, but there is so much I can imagine filling my own parenthesis.

For example,

when I took a walk

not long ago

and saw the branches of this tree

raw against the edge of a winter-spring sky.

It seemed I could see every

bit of bark

outlined—stark and beautiful.

THAT was a moment when the giant parenthesis was full of God’s grandeur.

And today, coming home to Jamie having returned from Laramie—a completely normal thing, but amazing! A parenthesis. And I am grateful for such things. Especially in the midst of life’s great fullness.

A parenthesis: not the main point of a sentence, but an addition that makes all the difference.

Some times in my life are like a giant parenthesis full of God's grandeur...and this is one of them...and I am grateful.

What parenthesis fills your sentence today with more than you thought it might hold? What adds to your life?

Thanks be to God!

What is Blossoming?

2011-03-18T09:50:00.000-06:00

WHAT IS BLOSSOMING?

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,

the desert shall rejoice and blossom;

like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,

and rejoice with joy and singing.  -Isaiah 35:1-2

from CVP at Abbey of the Arts

Another blogger that I follow (Abbey of the Arts) asked a question that I’ve been pondering throughout this week:

What is blossoming in you?

Here we are in this desert season of Lent. And yet “lent” means to lengthen—the days are growing longer, and spring is very close to taking over from winter’s hold on the northern hemisphere.

So what is lengthening in you? What is just emerging, getting ready to break out from frozen soil?

…the desert shall rejoice and blossom…

On Wednesday I had the opportunity to make several visits, and I shared with some members the CD of Plymouth’s cantata (choir and bells and organ, oh my!) from February. I kept an extra one in my car, in case I made any unexpected stops… but the unexpected visit was with myself.

Yes, unexpected. Because, as many of you know, it is hard for me to worship through listening to music; so why would I put that CD into the player? ---But singing is an entirely different experience for me: feeling the vibration of music in my chest and through my throat is one of the greatest forms of praise and prayer for me. And I haven’t been singing a lot lately.

…and rejoice with joy and singing…

So, as I listened to the choir sing We Are Made for Music and To Love Our God – even though I didn’t know all the words! – I sang along at the top of my off-key capacity. I even sang along to the piano/bells duet (in which there are no words).

I hadn’t expected such blossoming, and from a very different place from my “usual.” So my question for you to ponder is:

What is blossoming in you?

As these days lengthen, is there something slowly (or abruptly!) pushing its way to the surface of your spiritual life? It can be unexpected or something you’ve been carefully tending throughout a season.

No need to sit quietly with such a question… perhaps you can meditate on it as you’re driving to work or clearing the garden or washing the dishes or drinking your coffee. But do consider what may be growing within your spirit.