August, 2011
Matthew 15: 10-28
I May Not Have a Name
I may not have a name,
and yet,
my story is as real today, as it was the day I encountered Jesus.
My story doesn’t exactly cast Jesus in the best light, I know.
In fact, Jesus was downright rude to me. You probably noticed when you heard the text.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
Let me fill you in on some of the details of Jesus’ life right before we met.
Jesus was probably bone-tired exhausted and emotionally drained.
His cousin John had been recently beheaded.
So, Jesus tried to get away, on a boat, to grieve, to be by himself...
And yet the crowds followed him, he couldn’t get away, besides that,
he had compassion on all of these people seeking his healing touch.
That evening, his disciples wanted to send the crowds away, but instead, Jesus instructed the disciples to feed the people. Five thousand men, and women, and children were fed that evening with five loaves and two fish.
Finally, when evening broke, he sent his disciples away on a boat, and so he could be by himself, to pray and meditate all night long. he went up the mountain to pray. Right before daybreak, he went to meet his disciples on the boat by actually walking on the water. This was a bit disconcerting for them, and headstrong Peter, tries to walk on water too, but we all know how that ended. Then a storm brewed, but Jesus silenced that, and then JC and the disciples landed on the other side of the lake,
only to meet more crowds of needy people.
Honestly, Jesus was like a rock star, frankly, and people were crowding around him just to touch his cloak--they said that if you could just touch him,
you would be healed. Jesus had compassion on these little ones, too.
Later that day, there was a verbal scuffle with some Pharisees, challenging Jesus about some of the traditions he and his disciples were breaking....
Yes. Jesus was drop dead bone sucking tired. He really, really needed to get away for a spell. And so, you could imagine that perhaps Jesus was tired, and really, really needed to get away from it all. So, he came to my area of the country-the Gentile territory of Tyre and Sidon.
It made perfect sense--Jesus was really only famous in Jewish circles....
but I had heard the stories about this Jewish healer while drawing water at the well.
And now, this Jew was here!
And my baby was sick. So sick. You know what having a desperately ill child can do to a parent, right? 1 It transforms you into someone you don’t know, someone who is horribly rude to “receptionists who won’t give you an appointment until July 1st. It makes you very rude to doctors who run tests and then tell you their diagnosis. It makes you scream at the insurance company representative who tells you that your coverage isn’t adequate. It makes you stay up all night doing research on the web, finding out where the best clinics are, the best doctors, the nutritionists to cope with diet, the therapists to cope with stress, the banks to loan you money... 2 It makes you break all kind of cultural rules...because you are desperate.
..
I knew it was a risk to approach Jesus, as a woman in a public place. I know that doesn’t always make sense in your context, but you know how rigid some of the male-female boundaries are in much of the Middle Eastern countries, and Islamic nations today. The wearing of the birka is an example---not in a bad way, it is a custom, a belief, to respect those boundaries.
I was the first of many women who broke the rules to get close to Jesus. Remember, the woman who touched Jesus’ garment? She didn’t dare call out to him, and was terrified when he turned back to talk to her. Usually, the men in the family took care of the public business. Honestly, I have no idea where my husband was, and I didn’t know how long the Jewish rabbi would be there, so again, out of my mother’s heart,
I had to do what I could do in that moment.
So, I shouted. I created a scene. People, especially the disciples were embarrassed. They tried to silence me.
I shouted more, throwing my self down on my knees.
I even called Jesus “Lord” and “Son of David” even though these were strictly Jewish religious words that meant nothing to me.
Pah! Anything for my baby.
Did I care that Jesus basically told me that he was on a vacation, and plus he was only there to help HIS people, the lost sheep of Israel? I didn’t have a name, but I knew he wasn’t right. If Jesus had compassion on crowds that clambored for him, He would have compassion for me.
Jesus’ lack of compassion might bother some of you. Jesus was really biased, and didn’t appear to be inclusive at. all. This is a scary thought, because it appears that we might at time annoy God with our problems. There actually might be others more important than ourselves.
I wasn’t going to let him get away with his answer. I KNEW he could help my baby girl. I knew that Jesus just needed a little more perspective, and I appealed to his softer side by reminding him that even the dogs under the table deserve leftovers--like the leftovers from the great miracle feast he threw. All I needed was a crumb--a touch of his cloak, I knew.
Actually, I was pretty proud of my response to him--one Biblical scholar notes that my little conversation with Jesus is the only place in the Gospels where someone wins a theological argument with Jesus! It was me! Gentile, uneducated, crazed mother--not a learned rabbi!!
I may not have a name, but some say that I am a wonderful example of how to approach God with both humility and confidence, deference and boldness, a grounded trust in God’s grace despite all the human obstacles that stand in the way of relationship. (find reference here)
I think that is reading too much into my intentions, but if you learn that from me, than go for it. It’s a good point. I think it is good to approach the holy with all of who you are--even if it is against all of the odds.
I may not have a name, but I know you know who I am.
I am the Canannite woman who argued with Jesus in order that her daughter might be healed.
And she was.
Today, I do not have a name,
but I know you know who I am.
I am the two Middle Eastern men you see in the airport, and you briefly wonder for a second, “are they terrorists?”
I am the Pakistani family that lives around the corner from you (at least you think they are Pakistani, or Indian)
I am the nutball who accosts you in the drugstore, waving my hands and pointing at you and laughing at you....
I am the union worker on the picket line....
I am the hoarders, living next door to you in questionable healthy conditions,
I am the veteran, broken in body and mind from war.....
I am the undocumented worker,
I am.... I am..... I am....
I hunger for the crumbs of understanding and grace,
and sometimes, I will do anything to taste them.
I may not have a name,
but I have a face,
and a story that transcends time.
I wonder where you will meet me again?
---
1. Anna Carter Florence, Preaching Matthew 15, http://www.goodpreacher.com/shareit/readreviews.php?cat=28
2. ibid, direct quote
Thursday, November 17, 2011
We Are the Story
We Are the Story
Proper 21A
Exodus 1:8-2:10
Rev. Karla Miller Eliot Church of Newton August 20, 2011
We are this story, sisters and brothers.
We are the enslaved,
We are the oppressor,
We are the mother,
We are the midwives who choose life and fear God,
We are the daughter of the oppressor, filled with compassion,
We are the river, source of salvation
We are the big sister, entrusted with the most vulnerable...
We are this story.
Pharaoah.
I will let you think, on your own, how you participate in oppressing others. It’s not an easy thought. It requires deep down scouring contemplation and meditation, and this is not part of who Pharoah was.
Pharoah was scared.
Pharoah was threatened.
Pharoah didn’t know Joseph, and his family, didn’t bother to learn who they were,
And in spite of of the fact that it appears that the Israelites were anything but good and faithful citizens of the empire, Pharoah imagines that the growing Israelite minority is becoming an terrorist threat. An enemy.
I wonder, who or what threatens you?
Is that, or are they really a threat?
Enslaved.
Who are our pharoahs?
There are many powerful forces that shape our lives, telling us how to live, and what we need.
We live in a time when those in political power, or those desiring political power, are working to undermine our unity. Our human connection to life. They generate an US vs. THEM mentality. Need I say more?
It used to be that our institutions existed for the life and health of the people in them.
Now, they exist, sadly, for the life and health of the institution.1
This is not just true in secular life.
It’s true in the Church.
Do we exist, only for the institution? Really, as the church, how do we exist for the the least of these? The prisoner, the hungry, the sick, the elderly? The spiritually starved?
Or do we exist, so that we can say what a wonderful lovely community we are, and wonder, “what do people do without a church?”
The church needs to find those who don’t have a church family. Bottom line.
Midwives.
My great, great grandmother was a midwife in the late 19th century on the rugged plains of North Dakota. Her name was Gina. Often in the middle of the night, she would be called to assist in a difficult birth. Whether it was summer, or the middle of a blizzard, she would go, if at all possible. Because that is what midwives do--they embrace and enable birth, and life.
The Egyptian kind commands Shiprah and Puah, Hebrew midwives, to kill all Hebrew male babies at birth.
It’s ironic that Pharoah isn’t threatened by Hebrew women, because it is Hebrew women that begin the unraveling of Pharoah.
Shiprah and Puah’s vocation from God is to preserve life.
The Pharoah insists they deny their vocation from God, and kill.
However,
“ In the Bible's first act of civil disobedience and nonviolent resistance for the sake of justice, the midwives refuse to obey Pharaoh's deathly command. They lie to the authorities, breaking the law for the sake of justice and life. They explain to Pharaoh with their fingers crossed and a wink in their eye, the Hebrew women just give birth too quickly before we can get there!”2
In fact, they cleverly appeal to Pharoah’s prejudices by referring to the Hebrew women to be like “animals” (khayot). “ Indeed, Pharaoh's genocidal plan indicates that he has ceased to regard the Hebrews as fully human, and the midwives use this to satisfy Pharaoh's inquiries. They intend for him to hear such a statement as echoing his own loathing of the Hebrews.” 3 Amazing. And, as it happens often in the Bible, God uses what the power hungry consider as low and despised and worthless as instruments to shame and overthrow the arrogant and strong.4 (1 Samuel 2:1-10; Jeremiah 9:23; Luke 1:46-55; 1 Corinthians 1:26-29).
So here is a question--
Who has been a midwife to you?
Helped you give birth to something new, to life? A mentor, a teacher, a friend?
If you can, write a note to that beloved midwife in your life. Your life is LIVELIER because of that person.
Here is another question:
Is there something subversive you can do, to defy oppressive power that you are witness to?
Maybe you can’t build affordable housing, like Josephine does,
but you can shop for a cause! (that’s blatant, I know)
Maybe in the all of the horrible rhetoric you hear, you might write a letter to the editor, claiming the Christian faith you know rather than the voice of Christianity that is perceived what the media and others promote?
Maybe it’s simply being kind to someone that is perceived as different...
that is a victim of xenophobia.
What can you do?
Intergenerational, Multicultural Trinity
Irony abounds in this story.
Have you noticed that Pharoah is only threatened by Hebrew males, and yet the real threat are the women? Pharoah has ordered all Hebrew boy babies to be drowned in the Nile River, attempting to make the river, a source of life and abundance in ancient mesopotamia, a place of death and destruction.
An unlikely alliance of three women--
Jochebed, Moses’ mother,
Miriam, Moses’ big sister,
and an Egyptian princess, Pharoah’s daughter,
commit the second act of civil disobedience in the Bible.
They defy death
by working together to save the baby in the basket.
These three women--Hebrew mother, young sister, and powerful Egyptian princess by embracing life, blur “Pharaoh's attempts to draw lines of distinction between "us" and "them," between Egyptian and Hebrew, between dominating and dominated.”5 (Amy Miller)
This is powerful, friends.
This isn’t a little Sunday School story, is it?
So, again, I wonder,
How can you blur the lines between the perceived “Us vs. Them” that the pharoahs of our world attempt to paint?
Who can you protect, like an ancient hebrew mother?
What is something or someone vulnerable that needs your watching over, like Miriam in the bulrushes?
What unlikely alliances can you make, can we make,
to protect life and love,
and defy death?
Sisters and brothers.
We are the story.
We are this story, sisters and brothers.
We are the enslaved,
We are the oppressor,
We are the mother,
We are the midwives who choose life and fear God,
We are the daughter of the oppressor, filled with compassion,
We are the river, source of salvation
We are the big sister, entrusted with the most vulnerable...
We are this story.
1 Dennis Olson Exodus 1:8 – 2:10: From Welcomed Guests to Suspected Terrorists
http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=8/24/2008&tab=2
2 ibid
3 Amy Merril Lewis, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=8/21/2011&tab=2
4 ibid
5 ibid
Proper 21A
Exodus 1:8-2:10
Rev. Karla Miller Eliot Church of Newton August 20, 2011
We are this story, sisters and brothers.
We are the enslaved,
We are the oppressor,
We are the mother,
We are the midwives who choose life and fear God,
We are the daughter of the oppressor, filled with compassion,
We are the river, source of salvation
We are the big sister, entrusted with the most vulnerable...
We are this story.
Pharaoah.
I will let you think, on your own, how you participate in oppressing others. It’s not an easy thought. It requires deep down scouring contemplation and meditation, and this is not part of who Pharoah was.
Pharoah was scared.
Pharoah was threatened.
Pharoah didn’t know Joseph, and his family, didn’t bother to learn who they were,
And in spite of of the fact that it appears that the Israelites were anything but good and faithful citizens of the empire, Pharoah imagines that the growing Israelite minority is becoming an terrorist threat. An enemy.
I wonder, who or what threatens you?
Is that, or are they really a threat?
Enslaved.
Who are our pharoahs?
There are many powerful forces that shape our lives, telling us how to live, and what we need.
We live in a time when those in political power, or those desiring political power, are working to undermine our unity. Our human connection to life. They generate an US vs. THEM mentality. Need I say more?
It used to be that our institutions existed for the life and health of the people in them.
Now, they exist, sadly, for the life and health of the institution.1
This is not just true in secular life.
It’s true in the Church.
Do we exist, only for the institution? Really, as the church, how do we exist for the the least of these? The prisoner, the hungry, the sick, the elderly? The spiritually starved?
Or do we exist, so that we can say what a wonderful lovely community we are, and wonder, “what do people do without a church?”
The church needs to find those who don’t have a church family. Bottom line.
Midwives.
My great, great grandmother was a midwife in the late 19th century on the rugged plains of North Dakota. Her name was Gina. Often in the middle of the night, she would be called to assist in a difficult birth. Whether it was summer, or the middle of a blizzard, she would go, if at all possible. Because that is what midwives do--they embrace and enable birth, and life.
The Egyptian kind commands Shiprah and Puah, Hebrew midwives, to kill all Hebrew male babies at birth.
It’s ironic that Pharoah isn’t threatened by Hebrew women, because it is Hebrew women that begin the unraveling of Pharoah.
Shiprah and Puah’s vocation from God is to preserve life.
The Pharoah insists they deny their vocation from God, and kill.
However,
“ In the Bible's first act of civil disobedience and nonviolent resistance for the sake of justice, the midwives refuse to obey Pharaoh's deathly command. They lie to the authorities, breaking the law for the sake of justice and life. They explain to Pharaoh with their fingers crossed and a wink in their eye, the Hebrew women just give birth too quickly before we can get there!”2
In fact, they cleverly appeal to Pharoah’s prejudices by referring to the Hebrew women to be like “animals” (khayot). “ Indeed, Pharaoh's genocidal plan indicates that he has ceased to regard the Hebrews as fully human, and the midwives use this to satisfy Pharaoh's inquiries. They intend for him to hear such a statement as echoing his own loathing of the Hebrews.” 3 Amazing. And, as it happens often in the Bible, God uses what the power hungry consider as low and despised and worthless as instruments to shame and overthrow the arrogant and strong.4 (1 Samuel 2:1-10; Jeremiah 9:23; Luke 1:46-55; 1 Corinthians 1:26-29).
So here is a question--
Who has been a midwife to you?
Helped you give birth to something new, to life? A mentor, a teacher, a friend?
If you can, write a note to that beloved midwife in your life. Your life is LIVELIER because of that person.
Here is another question:
Is there something subversive you can do, to defy oppressive power that you are witness to?
Maybe you can’t build affordable housing, like Josephine does,
but you can shop for a cause! (that’s blatant, I know)
Maybe in the all of the horrible rhetoric you hear, you might write a letter to the editor, claiming the Christian faith you know rather than the voice of Christianity that is perceived what the media and others promote?
Maybe it’s simply being kind to someone that is perceived as different...
that is a victim of xenophobia.
What can you do?
Intergenerational, Multicultural Trinity
Irony abounds in this story.
Have you noticed that Pharoah is only threatened by Hebrew males, and yet the real threat are the women? Pharoah has ordered all Hebrew boy babies to be drowned in the Nile River, attempting to make the river, a source of life and abundance in ancient mesopotamia, a place of death and destruction.
An unlikely alliance of three women--
Jochebed, Moses’ mother,
Miriam, Moses’ big sister,
and an Egyptian princess, Pharoah’s daughter,
commit the second act of civil disobedience in the Bible.
They defy death
by working together to save the baby in the basket.
These three women--Hebrew mother, young sister, and powerful Egyptian princess by embracing life, blur “Pharaoh's attempts to draw lines of distinction between "us" and "them," between Egyptian and Hebrew, between dominating and dominated.”5 (Amy Miller)
This is powerful, friends.
This isn’t a little Sunday School story, is it?
So, again, I wonder,
How can you blur the lines between the perceived “Us vs. Them” that the pharoahs of our world attempt to paint?
Who can you protect, like an ancient hebrew mother?
What is something or someone vulnerable that needs your watching over, like Miriam in the bulrushes?
What unlikely alliances can you make, can we make,
to protect life and love,
and defy death?
Sisters and brothers.
We are the story.
We are this story, sisters and brothers.
We are the enslaved,
We are the oppressor,
We are the mother,
We are the midwives who choose life and fear God,
We are the daughter of the oppressor, filled with compassion,
We are the river, source of salvation
We are the big sister, entrusted with the most vulnerable...
We are this story.
1 Dennis Olson Exodus 1:8 – 2:10: From Welcomed Guests to Suspected Terrorists
http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=8/24/2008&tab=2
2 ibid
3 Amy Merril Lewis, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=8/21/2011&tab=2
4 ibid
5 ibid
Seed Flinging
Seed Flinging
Rev. Karla Miller The Eliot Church of Newton
July 10, 2011 OT10A Matthew 13:1-23
“To God BE the glory!”
It was the first hymn of the day at the Moku’aikaua congregation, the first Christian church in Hawaii. After the singing of the hymn, the worship leader, got up, wiped her eyes and shook her head while saying, “it’s so true, so true isn’t it” and then proceeded to lead us in prayer, ending with the Lord’s prayer, sniffing all the way through it. During the announcements, she invited visitors to a history talk about the first missionaries to Hawaii and the beginnings of the church in 1820. “Because of their mission, we are here in God’s love, and we believe the missionary spirit is still alive, and that God is going to awaken Hawaii again, and do great things!” I must confess that worship was a little over the top for us (we were scared there might be an altar call at the end, asking us to give our lives to Christ...) but I have to say the missionary spirit was alive in this tiny little church. The seeds of Christianity planted by the first missionaries definitely had taken root, and this modern congregation, well, was clear about it’s mission--which was the same at it’s founding: To make disciples of all people... Asa Thurston, the first pastor of the Moku’aikaua church, and his wife Lucy Goodale Thurston would be proud.
It’s an interesting story, about Lucy and Asa Thurston, great, great, great grandparents of my beloved spouse. They were in the first company of American Christian Missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands in the early 1800’s. However did they end up there?
The micro-condensed, short story goes something like this: A native Hawaiian, Opukahaia, was orphaned through orphan warfare. Opukaha'ia, who is thought to have been ten or 12 at the time, fled from the rampaging warriors carrying his infant brother on his back. A spear thrown by one of the soldiers found its mark, and the baby brother was killed. Opukaha'ia survived, but the same soldier who had killed his parents became his guardian for the next year and a half.
During this time, Opukaha'ia discovered that a kahuna (shaman) at a nearby temple was his uncle, so he was allowed to go to live with his grandmother and this uncle. While he was visiting an aunt in a nearby village, soldiers came to take her prisoner for some infraction of the kapu system, but Opukaha'ia once again survived by escaping through a hole in the grass hale (house). While he watched, a soldier threw this aunt over a pali (cliff) to her death. Opukaha'ia returned to the home of his uncle at Napo'opo'o where he was schooled in the rituals of the priesthood, so eventually he could take his uncle's place as a kahuna at Hiki'au Heiau, the same heiau where Captain James Cook had met his demise two decades earlier in 1779.
However, Opukaha’ia wrote in his memoirs that he felt he might be better off in a different world, and so he jumped aboard a sailing ship, along with a friend. On that ship, he became friends with one of the sailor, who taught him to read and write English, by using the Bible as a Primer. Eventually the ship was sold in New York, but the boys were invited to live with a merchant. They somehow ended up in Connecticut, where Henry’s faith deepened in Christianity as he continued his education, and told stories about Hawaii. He wrote in his memoir:
Hawai'i gods. They wood-burn. Me go home, put 'em in fire, burn 'em up. They no see, no hear, no anything. On a more profound note he added, We make them (idols). Our God-he make us.
In 1818 his stories (along with a few other companions) about the islands convinced the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions to send a company to Hawaii. Asa Thurston , born in Fitchburg, Massachusetts, and Hiram Bingham I, with whom he was ordained, were selected as leaders of the group which included a farmer, physician, three teachers, and a few native Hawaiian assistants.
However, Asa needed a wife! It was a rule that no missionary could embark on a mission as a single person. A classmate of his suggested that his cousin Lucy Goodale might be interested in this missionary endeavor, and he arranged a meeting between Asa and Lucy and her family on September 23, 1819, in Marlboro MA. The next day, they got engaged, and three weeks later, they were married. 11 days after their wedding, the brig Thaddeus set sail for a five month voyage.
Alrighty. So, can I stop here and make a commentary? The American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions was a new concept in that day. Founded in 1812, they were attempting to do a new thing--cutting edge ministry, we would call it today. Perhaps like contemporary worship today? Or churches in movie theatres? However, in my humble opinion, it was much more risky to sail away for months to introduce Christianity to a completely different world.
Personally, though, I am wondering, what IS Lucy Thurston thinking?
This fascinating idea of foreign mission seemed to capture the imagination of many young people of the day. In her journal, dated September 18, and entitled “Remarkable Conversation”, Lucy Goodale described her conversations with her cousin William, who was overwhelmed with passion for this new ministry of foreign mission. In fact, for almost a year, he had been talking to Lucy about her personally engaging in the missionary enterprise. That very evening, he presented her with an opportunity: by marrying Asa Thurston, she could be a part of a new mission project.
The reality of this opportunity created deep unrest in her. She wrote in her journal about how she couldn’t eat or sleep, she didn’t have a close confidante with whom to sort her thoughts, and her family--well, they were remarkable! They left her to discern on her own--they didn’t want to influence her with whatever decision she made. I just note that Lucy’s father was a deacon in the congregational church, and a man of deep faith himself. To leave her family probably forever was huge--as it would be for any of us. However, her call was growing strong. She wrote:
“Dear to my heart are my friends and country. Yet all this side the grave, how transient!” the poor heathen possess immortant natures, and are perishing. Who will give them the bible, and tell them of a savior? Great as must be the sacrifices, trials, hardship, and dangers of such and undertaking, I said, “if God will grant His grace and afford an acceptable opportunity, Lucy and all that is hers, shall be give to the noble enterprise of carrying light to the poor benighted countrymen of the Sandwhich Islands...” After this decision, I could contemplate the subject with a tranquil mind and unnmoved feelings.” (Life and Times of Mrs. Lucy Goodale Thurston, p. 9)
Five days later, she and her family entertained Asa Thurston as a dinner guest.
Honestly, I have never been a fan of the concept of spreading the gospel to the poor heathen. Probably because I am a fan of ecumenism and interfaith dialogue. However, these first missions were rooted in a belief that those who did not know Christ would indeed perish in hell. Oh, and I ought to note, these were CONGREGATIONALists. From New England. Educated at Yale and Andover Seminary. That was their motivator--that there were others in other lands that had never heard a word of the Bible or the story of Jesus. Risking their lives, these missionaries were seed flingers--throwing the gospel out into the great unknown, and trusting that something would grow.
But, back to the story---this little band of missionaries landed at Kawaihae harbor on March 30, 1820. The sailors on the sailing ships weren’t so happy to see them---the Sandwich Islands were sort of a....fun wild port to come into (spreading diseases of all kind, mind you) and they knew that missionaries, well, would try to put a stop to all of the carousing and fornicating.
The interesting thing is that they were very polite. They anchored the ship, and Asa, and Hiram (the other pastor) went ashore to ask for permission from the king and queen mothers to start a mission. This took some time--but eventually, the king gave them permission to start a mission, but they only could stay a year.
The Hawaiian religion was polytheistic, and it wasn’t uncommon to practice human sacrifice. The strength of the religion was the system of kapu--or taboos. Kapu was incredibly misogynistic, imho. : Many of the taboos put women lower than slaves---for example, women were banned from eating certain foods, such as bananas and taro; men and women coudn’t eat together--just to name a couple of more lighthearted kapus. If anyone broke kapu, either they would instantly be struck dead by the gods, or by the gods’ helpers, who would throw them in a volcano or over a cliff, or......The Kapu system was quite rigid in the day of King Kamehameha I. He was married to Queen Ka’ahumano, who, shall we say, had a very strong personality, and wasn’t a fan of the kapu system. Neither was their son, Prince Liholiho--he was more of a party boy than anything. Just prior to the arrival of missionary ship Thaddeus, Kamehameha I was killed in warfare, and Liholiho took over the throne, but his mother really ran the kingdom.
Between the two of them, they decided to abolish kapu. Everyone was stunned, when one evening, Liholiho took his dinner plate and sat down with his mother to eat. Nothing happened. No fire from the mountain, nothing. The foundation of the hawaiian religion had been rocked, and by the time the missionaries got there, everybody was breaking kapu. Some of the male islanders even offered Lucy a banana , and she offered them biscuits in return. The Kapu system was gone.
So, the islands were ripe for the message of Christianity. For a different religion, or something to add to what was left of the Hawaiian religion, without the Kapus. Those seeds planted so long ago has made Christianity a vibrant faith on the Hawaiian Islands. (I realize there is a whole dark side to the missionary movement--the westernization, the colonization, the xenophobia, the domination, the white privilege. I will say that the UCC has made a formal apology for the harm caused by the missionary movement.)
Back to flinging seeds. Today, many of us (me, especially) cringe at active proselytizing of any sort. We don’t talk about the “poor heathen” unless we are talking about ourselves. We welcome interfaith dialogue, and believe there are many paths of God.
But what is our impetus to fling seeds? To reach out? To “go ye therefore? Flinging seeds requires a lot of risk, and a lot of faith, because you don’t really know what will grow and thrive. I imagine, as a congregation in the 21st century, we will be flinging a lot of seeds out there, to see what will “take” as we define “who is our neighbor, and how can we serve them?” I think it will be amazing to see what God will grow.
Amen.
Rev. Karla Miller The Eliot Church of Newton
July 10, 2011 OT10A Matthew 13:1-23
“To God BE the glory!”
It was the first hymn of the day at the Moku’aikaua congregation, the first Christian church in Hawaii. After the singing of the hymn, the worship leader, got up, wiped her eyes and shook her head while saying, “it’s so true, so true isn’t it” and then proceeded to lead us in prayer, ending with the Lord’s prayer, sniffing all the way through it. During the announcements, she invited visitors to a history talk about the first missionaries to Hawaii and the beginnings of the church in 1820. “Because of their mission, we are here in God’s love, and we believe the missionary spirit is still alive, and that God is going to awaken Hawaii again, and do great things!” I must confess that worship was a little over the top for us (we were scared there might be an altar call at the end, asking us to give our lives to Christ...) but I have to say the missionary spirit was alive in this tiny little church. The seeds of Christianity planted by the first missionaries definitely had taken root, and this modern congregation, well, was clear about it’s mission--which was the same at it’s founding: To make disciples of all people... Asa Thurston, the first pastor of the Moku’aikaua church, and his wife Lucy Goodale Thurston would be proud.
It’s an interesting story, about Lucy and Asa Thurston, great, great, great grandparents of my beloved spouse. They were in the first company of American Christian Missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands in the early 1800’s. However did they end up there?
The micro-condensed, short story goes something like this: A native Hawaiian, Opukahaia, was orphaned through orphan warfare. Opukaha'ia, who is thought to have been ten or 12 at the time, fled from the rampaging warriors carrying his infant brother on his back. A spear thrown by one of the soldiers found its mark, and the baby brother was killed. Opukaha'ia survived, but the same soldier who had killed his parents became his guardian for the next year and a half.
During this time, Opukaha'ia discovered that a kahuna (shaman) at a nearby temple was his uncle, so he was allowed to go to live with his grandmother and this uncle. While he was visiting an aunt in a nearby village, soldiers came to take her prisoner for some infraction of the kapu system, but Opukaha'ia once again survived by escaping through a hole in the grass hale (house). While he watched, a soldier threw this aunt over a pali (cliff) to her death. Opukaha'ia returned to the home of his uncle at Napo'opo'o where he was schooled in the rituals of the priesthood, so eventually he could take his uncle's place as a kahuna at Hiki'au Heiau, the same heiau where Captain James Cook had met his demise two decades earlier in 1779.
However, Opukaha’ia wrote in his memoirs that he felt he might be better off in a different world, and so he jumped aboard a sailing ship, along with a friend. On that ship, he became friends with one of the sailor, who taught him to read and write English, by using the Bible as a Primer. Eventually the ship was sold in New York, but the boys were invited to live with a merchant. They somehow ended up in Connecticut, where Henry’s faith deepened in Christianity as he continued his education, and told stories about Hawaii. He wrote in his memoir:
Hawai'i gods. They wood-burn. Me go home, put 'em in fire, burn 'em up. They no see, no hear, no anything. On a more profound note he added, We make them (idols). Our God-he make us.
In 1818 his stories (along with a few other companions) about the islands convinced the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions to send a company to Hawaii. Asa Thurston , born in Fitchburg, Massachusetts, and Hiram Bingham I, with whom he was ordained, were selected as leaders of the group which included a farmer, physician, three teachers, and a few native Hawaiian assistants.
However, Asa needed a wife! It was a rule that no missionary could embark on a mission as a single person. A classmate of his suggested that his cousin Lucy Goodale might be interested in this missionary endeavor, and he arranged a meeting between Asa and Lucy and her family on September 23, 1819, in Marlboro MA. The next day, they got engaged, and three weeks later, they were married. 11 days after their wedding, the brig Thaddeus set sail for a five month voyage.
Alrighty. So, can I stop here and make a commentary? The American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions was a new concept in that day. Founded in 1812, they were attempting to do a new thing--cutting edge ministry, we would call it today. Perhaps like contemporary worship today? Or churches in movie theatres? However, in my humble opinion, it was much more risky to sail away for months to introduce Christianity to a completely different world.
Personally, though, I am wondering, what IS Lucy Thurston thinking?
This fascinating idea of foreign mission seemed to capture the imagination of many young people of the day. In her journal, dated September 18, and entitled “Remarkable Conversation”, Lucy Goodale described her conversations with her cousin William, who was overwhelmed with passion for this new ministry of foreign mission. In fact, for almost a year, he had been talking to Lucy about her personally engaging in the missionary enterprise. That very evening, he presented her with an opportunity: by marrying Asa Thurston, she could be a part of a new mission project.
The reality of this opportunity created deep unrest in her. She wrote in her journal about how she couldn’t eat or sleep, she didn’t have a close confidante with whom to sort her thoughts, and her family--well, they were remarkable! They left her to discern on her own--they didn’t want to influence her with whatever decision she made. I just note that Lucy’s father was a deacon in the congregational church, and a man of deep faith himself. To leave her family probably forever was huge--as it would be for any of us. However, her call was growing strong. She wrote:
“Dear to my heart are my friends and country. Yet all this side the grave, how transient!” the poor heathen possess immortant natures, and are perishing. Who will give them the bible, and tell them of a savior? Great as must be the sacrifices, trials, hardship, and dangers of such and undertaking, I said, “if God will grant His grace and afford an acceptable opportunity, Lucy and all that is hers, shall be give to the noble enterprise of carrying light to the poor benighted countrymen of the Sandwhich Islands...” After this decision, I could contemplate the subject with a tranquil mind and unnmoved feelings.” (Life and Times of Mrs. Lucy Goodale Thurston, p. 9)
Five days later, she and her family entertained Asa Thurston as a dinner guest.
Honestly, I have never been a fan of the concept of spreading the gospel to the poor heathen. Probably because I am a fan of ecumenism and interfaith dialogue. However, these first missions were rooted in a belief that those who did not know Christ would indeed perish in hell. Oh, and I ought to note, these were CONGREGATIONALists. From New England. Educated at Yale and Andover Seminary. That was their motivator--that there were others in other lands that had never heard a word of the Bible or the story of Jesus. Risking their lives, these missionaries were seed flingers--throwing the gospel out into the great unknown, and trusting that something would grow.
But, back to the story---this little band of missionaries landed at Kawaihae harbor on March 30, 1820. The sailors on the sailing ships weren’t so happy to see them---the Sandwich Islands were sort of a....fun wild port to come into (spreading diseases of all kind, mind you) and they knew that missionaries, well, would try to put a stop to all of the carousing and fornicating.
The interesting thing is that they were very polite. They anchored the ship, and Asa, and Hiram (the other pastor) went ashore to ask for permission from the king and queen mothers to start a mission. This took some time--but eventually, the king gave them permission to start a mission, but they only could stay a year.
The Hawaiian religion was polytheistic, and it wasn’t uncommon to practice human sacrifice. The strength of the religion was the system of kapu--or taboos. Kapu was incredibly misogynistic, imho. : Many of the taboos put women lower than slaves---for example, women were banned from eating certain foods, such as bananas and taro; men and women coudn’t eat together--just to name a couple of more lighthearted kapus. If anyone broke kapu, either they would instantly be struck dead by the gods, or by the gods’ helpers, who would throw them in a volcano or over a cliff, or......The Kapu system was quite rigid in the day of King Kamehameha I. He was married to Queen Ka’ahumano, who, shall we say, had a very strong personality, and wasn’t a fan of the kapu system. Neither was their son, Prince Liholiho--he was more of a party boy than anything. Just prior to the arrival of missionary ship Thaddeus, Kamehameha I was killed in warfare, and Liholiho took over the throne, but his mother really ran the kingdom.
Between the two of them, they decided to abolish kapu. Everyone was stunned, when one evening, Liholiho took his dinner plate and sat down with his mother to eat. Nothing happened. No fire from the mountain, nothing. The foundation of the hawaiian religion had been rocked, and by the time the missionaries got there, everybody was breaking kapu. Some of the male islanders even offered Lucy a banana , and she offered them biscuits in return. The Kapu system was gone.
So, the islands were ripe for the message of Christianity. For a different religion, or something to add to what was left of the Hawaiian religion, without the Kapus. Those seeds planted so long ago has made Christianity a vibrant faith on the Hawaiian Islands. (I realize there is a whole dark side to the missionary movement--the westernization, the colonization, the xenophobia, the domination, the white privilege. I will say that the UCC has made a formal apology for the harm caused by the missionary movement.)
Back to flinging seeds. Today, many of us (me, especially) cringe at active proselytizing of any sort. We don’t talk about the “poor heathen” unless we are talking about ourselves. We welcome interfaith dialogue, and believe there are many paths of God.
But what is our impetus to fling seeds? To reach out? To “go ye therefore? Flinging seeds requires a lot of risk, and a lot of faith, because you don’t really know what will grow and thrive. I imagine, as a congregation in the 21st century, we will be flinging a lot of seeds out there, to see what will “take” as we define “who is our neighbor, and how can we serve them?” I think it will be amazing to see what God will grow.
Amen.
Wrestling Shadows
Wrestling Shadows
Genesis 32: 24-32
OT19A
Rev. Karla Jean Miller July 31.2011 Eliot Church of Newton(UCC)
What do you dream of?
You know, if you could have just one dream, one wish, one dreamy item on your bucket list that would have to be a miracle to come true?
Mine is becoming a rock star for a night, like Madonna, or better yet, Lady Gaga, and sing and dance for thousands in concert. Just once. Just one set.
It’s a silly dream, but it’s honest, too.
Do you have a secret aspiration?
Jacob was man of dreams. He had aspirations.
But he was also one of the Bible’s greatest liars and cheats. Do you remember him?
Jacob is the twin that swindled his brother out of his birthright, and then cheated him of his blessing. He had to run for his life, because Esau swore that the next time he saw Jacob,
he would kill him.
After he could travel no longer, Jacob stopped in a certain place which appeared to be in the wilderness,
as he took one of the stones of that place
and put it under his head. He fell asleep, and then dreamt a fabulous dream of angels and ladders and God standing next to him, offering the promise made to his ancestors. That he would be successful in owning land, and that he would have many children, so many that his descendants would be as plentiful as the dust of the earth. Finally, God promises to be with him and protect him, and bring him home one day.
When Jacob awoke in the morning, he was awed, and he named his dreaming place Beth-el, or, “House of God”. He then built an altar, and decided to join up with God---making a conditional vow by saying that If God would really be with him, and protect him, and provide for him, then the Lord, his father’s God, would also be his God.
A vow of a true wheeler dealer.
And yet, this dream becomes Jacob’s destiny--the first part of it, anyway.
Jacob perceived that God’s blessing was in gaining what every ancient longed for: flocks, crops, and kids. Without these, there was no hope of success. No hope for Life.
And so his blessed life goes. Jacob became very rich, but it was always by his own means, conniving and planning--not through remembering God’s promise to be with him, or remembering his own conditional vow. No, for the next 15 years of so, there is really no mention of any God encounter for Jacob.
There is much mention, however, of his testy relationship with his shrewd Uncle Laban. They argue and doublecross each other over livestock and wives. His wives quarrel over child-bearing and his attentions, and food.
In the midst of family tensions, Jacob fathered many children and grew so wealthy that Uncle Laban no longer regarded him with favor, but rather, openly began to hate him, and plot against him. Jacob decided it was time to hoof it out of there, before something bad happened to himself. He conveniently remembered God’s promise to be with him and return him to his homeland, so he made a case for this promise to his family. The Lord would protect them. And so, Jacob packed up his children and wives, camels and goats, his riches and tents and servants and they flee from Laban.
This is where we meet Jacob today, in our text.
Running away from Laban, whom he cheated, and running toward Esau, whom he also cheated.
Jacob is afraid, for once in his life.
He has just learned that his brother is coming toward him with an army of 400.
He has already sent his wealth of livestock away from him,
and then, Jacob sends his sends his children and wives across the river, along with his riches and servants, so that they might be safe.
And Jacob was alone.
He was back at the beginning of his journey,
in the evening,
with nothing,
not even a stone for pillow this time.
Afraid and distressed. Stripped of everything he has been, everything he has gained, everything he has acquired,
a stranger meets him in the shadows,
and they struggle all night long.
Neither seem to win,
although the stranger has injured Jacob’s hip.
But Jacob won’t let go.
Just as the day he was born, holding the heel of his twin brother,
Jacob won’t let go of this stranger,
because he realized he had been wrestling the Divine,
and this time,
he isn’t dreaming.
He has faced himself,
and struggled with God,
and he, as only Jacob would do,
demanded a blessing.
Oddly enough, God obliges,
by first asking Jacob’s name.
Names in antiquity, and in the Bible, carried weight. They revealed one’s character. Jacob’s name, literally, meant “heel”, for he was born holding tight to his brother’s heel. And he was a “heel” in life, too....for his deep nature was always holding tight, living from his guts and cunning, being untrustworthy, his wealth attained by questionable actions. To admit his name to God was to admit who he was at the core. A cheater. A scoundrel.
And yet,
the Divine one, knowing all of this, doesn’t see Jacob as a heel. God offers the grace of a new name.
Israel. Literally, God wrestler.
And Jacob is changed, transformed forever,
by this encounter with God,
face to face, in a holy tussle,
and he has a new life,
a new way of being.
His injury will always remind him of who and whose he is.
You see, Jacob was visited by God in his dream of angels and ladders,
and through questionable means, he gained the first part of God’s blessing--crops, flocks, and kids....but the real and true blessing came in his struggle with God,
his willingness to take on the holy,
to meet the holy,
to wrestle, and even be injured in the process.
I think that in those moments of being stripped down to nothing,
Jacob realized that he wasn’t blessed at all,
and his struggle with God all night long was his process of working through his regrets, and his process of truly meeting God for the first time, with his questions, his rage, his self-loathing, his isolation,
with all of his heart, all of his mind, all of his body, and all of his soul.
In the shadows,
God comes to him,
and instead of defeating him,
gives him a new identity.
Sometimes, for me, and I suspect for many of us,
We live our lives semi-unconsiously. We have our dreams and aspirations, our road-maps, and we follow them to the best of our ability. I am grateful that I am not a scoundrel and a cheat, but that doesn’t make me any better than Jacob. I have my own short-fallings that threaten the presence of God--the real presence of God in my life. We all do. And we walk around with the appearance of being fully blessed--like Jacob. The blessings are different--a good education, family, friends, homes, overflowing with abundance and richness in our hearts.
But how often do we wrestle with God, at our very core?
It is a holy and risky thing to take on wrestling with the Divine. It can hurt.
And yet, when we face ourselves, in the presence of God, and wrestle with our nature, with the parts of ourselves we long to be transformed,
God will never defeat us. God will work with us, and we might get a little bruised, but God’s grace will change us, and transform us.
So, a little dreaming is good.
And so is a little bit of wrestling, too.
May we be blessed with dreams and struggles
so that we might see God face to face, and live.
Amen.
Genesis 32: 24-32
OT19A
Rev. Karla Jean Miller July 31.2011 Eliot Church of Newton(UCC)
What do you dream of?
You know, if you could have just one dream, one wish, one dreamy item on your bucket list that would have to be a miracle to come true?
Mine is becoming a rock star for a night, like Madonna, or better yet, Lady Gaga, and sing and dance for thousands in concert. Just once. Just one set.
It’s a silly dream, but it’s honest, too.
Do you have a secret aspiration?
Jacob was man of dreams. He had aspirations.
But he was also one of the Bible’s greatest liars and cheats. Do you remember him?
Jacob is the twin that swindled his brother out of his birthright, and then cheated him of his blessing. He had to run for his life, because Esau swore that the next time he saw Jacob,
he would kill him.
After he could travel no longer, Jacob stopped in a certain place which appeared to be in the wilderness,
as he took one of the stones of that place
and put it under his head. He fell asleep, and then dreamt a fabulous dream of angels and ladders and God standing next to him, offering the promise made to his ancestors. That he would be successful in owning land, and that he would have many children, so many that his descendants would be as plentiful as the dust of the earth. Finally, God promises to be with him and protect him, and bring him home one day.
When Jacob awoke in the morning, he was awed, and he named his dreaming place Beth-el, or, “House of God”. He then built an altar, and decided to join up with God---making a conditional vow by saying that If God would really be with him, and protect him, and provide for him, then the Lord, his father’s God, would also be his God.
A vow of a true wheeler dealer.
And yet, this dream becomes Jacob’s destiny--the first part of it, anyway.
Jacob perceived that God’s blessing was in gaining what every ancient longed for: flocks, crops, and kids. Without these, there was no hope of success. No hope for Life.
And so his blessed life goes. Jacob became very rich, but it was always by his own means, conniving and planning--not through remembering God’s promise to be with him, or remembering his own conditional vow. No, for the next 15 years of so, there is really no mention of any God encounter for Jacob.
There is much mention, however, of his testy relationship with his shrewd Uncle Laban. They argue and doublecross each other over livestock and wives. His wives quarrel over child-bearing and his attentions, and food.
In the midst of family tensions, Jacob fathered many children and grew so wealthy that Uncle Laban no longer regarded him with favor, but rather, openly began to hate him, and plot against him. Jacob decided it was time to hoof it out of there, before something bad happened to himself. He conveniently remembered God’s promise to be with him and return him to his homeland, so he made a case for this promise to his family. The Lord would protect them. And so, Jacob packed up his children and wives, camels and goats, his riches and tents and servants and they flee from Laban.
This is where we meet Jacob today, in our text.
Running away from Laban, whom he cheated, and running toward Esau, whom he also cheated.
Jacob is afraid, for once in his life.
He has just learned that his brother is coming toward him with an army of 400.
He has already sent his wealth of livestock away from him,
and then, Jacob sends his sends his children and wives across the river, along with his riches and servants, so that they might be safe.
And Jacob was alone.
He was back at the beginning of his journey,
in the evening,
with nothing,
not even a stone for pillow this time.
Afraid and distressed. Stripped of everything he has been, everything he has gained, everything he has acquired,
a stranger meets him in the shadows,
and they struggle all night long.
Neither seem to win,
although the stranger has injured Jacob’s hip.
But Jacob won’t let go.
Just as the day he was born, holding the heel of his twin brother,
Jacob won’t let go of this stranger,
because he realized he had been wrestling the Divine,
and this time,
he isn’t dreaming.
He has faced himself,
and struggled with God,
and he, as only Jacob would do,
demanded a blessing.
Oddly enough, God obliges,
by first asking Jacob’s name.
Names in antiquity, and in the Bible, carried weight. They revealed one’s character. Jacob’s name, literally, meant “heel”, for he was born holding tight to his brother’s heel. And he was a “heel” in life, too....for his deep nature was always holding tight, living from his guts and cunning, being untrustworthy, his wealth attained by questionable actions. To admit his name to God was to admit who he was at the core. A cheater. A scoundrel.
And yet,
the Divine one, knowing all of this, doesn’t see Jacob as a heel. God offers the grace of a new name.
Israel. Literally, God wrestler.
And Jacob is changed, transformed forever,
by this encounter with God,
face to face, in a holy tussle,
and he has a new life,
a new way of being.
His injury will always remind him of who and whose he is.
You see, Jacob was visited by God in his dream of angels and ladders,
and through questionable means, he gained the first part of God’s blessing--crops, flocks, and kids....but the real and true blessing came in his struggle with God,
his willingness to take on the holy,
to meet the holy,
to wrestle, and even be injured in the process.
I think that in those moments of being stripped down to nothing,
Jacob realized that he wasn’t blessed at all,
and his struggle with God all night long was his process of working through his regrets, and his process of truly meeting God for the first time, with his questions, his rage, his self-loathing, his isolation,
with all of his heart, all of his mind, all of his body, and all of his soul.
In the shadows,
God comes to him,
and instead of defeating him,
gives him a new identity.
Sometimes, for me, and I suspect for many of us,
We live our lives semi-unconsiously. We have our dreams and aspirations, our road-maps, and we follow them to the best of our ability. I am grateful that I am not a scoundrel and a cheat, but that doesn’t make me any better than Jacob. I have my own short-fallings that threaten the presence of God--the real presence of God in my life. We all do. And we walk around with the appearance of being fully blessed--like Jacob. The blessings are different--a good education, family, friends, homes, overflowing with abundance and richness in our hearts.
But how often do we wrestle with God, at our very core?
It is a holy and risky thing to take on wrestling with the Divine. It can hurt.
And yet, when we face ourselves, in the presence of God, and wrestle with our nature, with the parts of ourselves we long to be transformed,
God will never defeat us. God will work with us, and we might get a little bruised, but God’s grace will change us, and transform us.
So, a little dreaming is good.
And so is a little bit of wrestling, too.
May we be blessed with dreams and struggles
so that we might see God face to face, and live.
Amen.
What Are You Doing Here?
“What are You Doing Here?”
Rev. Karla Miller Eliot Church of Newton, UCC
August 7, 2011 OT20A I Kings 19:9-14
I do not own a GPS. I do have an app on my Iphone that can give me step by step directions when I am driving, but it is difficult to follow while driving, since there is no voice, and it is dangerous, I realize, to glance at it while driving. It doesn’t matter, though, because most of the time it seems that there are always road closures, non-existent roads, roads with no signs, roads that have multiple names--and the GPS counts on little details like road signs to make its directions driveable. Obviously, the developers of this little devices did not take the villages and towns of Boston into consideration.
Truth be told, I am someone who often gets lost--in spite of having a map or GPS step by step directions.
Even though I think I am following directions when I am traveling to a new destination, I inevitably make a wrong turn or miss a road, and I usually end up saying to myself,
“What am I doing HERE?”
This happens in my journey in life, too.
Whether the result of decisions or unconscious actions,
with the best of intentions,
or emotional choices,
More often than I like to admit,
I think to myself,
“What am I doing HERE?”
I like to think this was the question that Elijah was wondering about when he found himself backed into a cave, hoping his skin was safe. How did he end up THERE? Just a short time ago, he had been serving as God’s prophet to King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. They were pretty involved in Baal worship, and the people of Israel had been following along. Elijah’s call was to bring back the people, and their leaders to the God of Israel. And so, Elijah challenges the prophets of Baal to a contest, that would prove whose God was indeed more powerful. And so, two altars were built, and a sacrifice on each altar. The prophets of Baal prayed all day long, and yet the sacrifice was not ignited by their prayers. After ridiculing the prophets, Elijah ordered four giant jars of water be poured upon the altar for God. Then Elijah prayed, asking God to accept the sacrifice, upon which great fires from the sky rain down to ignite the sacrifice, signifying that God was pleased with the sacrifice. God had won, and Elijah seized the moment and ordered all the prophets of Baal to be killed. Which, of course, was the logical thing to do as an Old Testament prophet of God. However, instead of winning Ahab and Jezebel over by his actions and display of God’s power, Elijah has deeply offended (Enraged) Jezebel, who has ordered his death. A hunted man, Elijah flees to the desert, and finds himself in a god-forsaken place.
What happened? Wasn’t he doing what he was supposed to do? Didn’t he follow the plan? How could have he ended up where he was, alone, terrified, not knowing where to turn or go next? What was he doing here?
And so imagine,
Being asked that very question by the One whom you are serving.
In a dream, God asks Elijah, “What are you doing here?”
If I had been Elijah in that dream, I would have said to the Lord,
“Well, God, why don’t you tell me WHAT THE HECK I AM DOING HERE!!!!”
In reality, Elijah evades God’s question, by defending his zealousness for God, complaining that the people Israel abandoned the covenant, implying that God’s work over the centuries has unraveled, and his own work has been fruitless--in spite of following the plan.
After listening to Elijah’s defense, God gives Elijah a strange directive--to go outside of the cave, and expose himself, for God will pass by. In ancient Israel, if you remember, to be in the presence of God meant death. Death by the presence of God, or by the soldiers of Jezebel are Elijah’s only options. He chooses the former.
And indeed, the presence of God does pass by,
not in a mighty wind, or in a roaring fire,
but in sheer sweet silence.
And in that sweet silence,
a Voice asks Elijah again,
“What are you doing here?”
And in spite of surviving being in the presence of the Living God, in spite of being blessed with a God-experience, in spite of hearing the voice of the Holy, Elijah remains unchanged. His response to God was the same as it was before his God-encounter.
Most biblical characters who have a God Encounter, are changed. Moses--after the burning bush, follows God’s call to Egypt, to liberate the children of Israel. Hagar, Abraham’s slave woman banished to the wilderness to die with her son, experiences the presence of God, and names God, “The One Who Sees”, and her desperation is lifted, and their lives are saved. After experiencing the presence of God, Elijah is invited to wrestle with God’s question, and yet, he doesn’t. He was not transformed. To me, this is astounding. Elijah can only defend, stick to his roadmap, in spite of not ending up where he thought he would be. He chooses not to change, he chooses not to be transformed, and he is stuck.
What are you doing here?
This question invites self-reflection, wonder, an opportunity to turn within, to take a moment to re-calibrate if necessary.
Indeed, where are you? What ARE you doing here, in this very time, this present moment?
How did you get where you are?
Are you lost,
are you on track?
Have you made any wrong turns? Did you learn from them? Grow from them?
How are you open to transformation?
How do you live in the moment,
but remain conscious of being connected with the divine and all of creation?
Where is the sweet silent presence of God in your life?
We journey through the depth and thickness of our daily living,
with so many demands, and responsibilities, and decisions...
we follow directions,
we use our maps, and sometimes end up where we thought we would be,
and sometimes we end up in entirely different places that we never thought we would be--
whether it be career wise, relationship wise, or otherwise.
But sometimes,
sometimes,
we need to just stop--
before we get backed into a cave,
and simply listen for the Voice in the silence,
asking us, “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”.
We are invited to discern, to reflect, and to wonder, Is this where I need to be? How is it that I am being called, as God’s servant in this world? How is it that I am being called as God’s disciple?”
What are YOU doing here?
May the silence of God visit you,
and give you the space and sweetness you need,
to listen and reflect upon the questions of God.
Amen.
Rev. Karla Miller Eliot Church of Newton, UCC
August 7, 2011 OT20A I Kings 19:9-14
I do not own a GPS. I do have an app on my Iphone that can give me step by step directions when I am driving, but it is difficult to follow while driving, since there is no voice, and it is dangerous, I realize, to glance at it while driving. It doesn’t matter, though, because most of the time it seems that there are always road closures, non-existent roads, roads with no signs, roads that have multiple names--and the GPS counts on little details like road signs to make its directions driveable. Obviously, the developers of this little devices did not take the villages and towns of Boston into consideration.
Truth be told, I am someone who often gets lost--in spite of having a map or GPS step by step directions.
Even though I think I am following directions when I am traveling to a new destination, I inevitably make a wrong turn or miss a road, and I usually end up saying to myself,
“What am I doing HERE?”
This happens in my journey in life, too.
Whether the result of decisions or unconscious actions,
with the best of intentions,
or emotional choices,
More often than I like to admit,
I think to myself,
“What am I doing HERE?”
I like to think this was the question that Elijah was wondering about when he found himself backed into a cave, hoping his skin was safe. How did he end up THERE? Just a short time ago, he had been serving as God’s prophet to King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. They were pretty involved in Baal worship, and the people of Israel had been following along. Elijah’s call was to bring back the people, and their leaders to the God of Israel. And so, Elijah challenges the prophets of Baal to a contest, that would prove whose God was indeed more powerful. And so, two altars were built, and a sacrifice on each altar. The prophets of Baal prayed all day long, and yet the sacrifice was not ignited by their prayers. After ridiculing the prophets, Elijah ordered four giant jars of water be poured upon the altar for God. Then Elijah prayed, asking God to accept the sacrifice, upon which great fires from the sky rain down to ignite the sacrifice, signifying that God was pleased with the sacrifice. God had won, and Elijah seized the moment and ordered all the prophets of Baal to be killed. Which, of course, was the logical thing to do as an Old Testament prophet of God. However, instead of winning Ahab and Jezebel over by his actions and display of God’s power, Elijah has deeply offended (Enraged) Jezebel, who has ordered his death. A hunted man, Elijah flees to the desert, and finds himself in a god-forsaken place.
What happened? Wasn’t he doing what he was supposed to do? Didn’t he follow the plan? How could have he ended up where he was, alone, terrified, not knowing where to turn or go next? What was he doing here?
And so imagine,
Being asked that very question by the One whom you are serving.
In a dream, God asks Elijah, “What are you doing here?”
If I had been Elijah in that dream, I would have said to the Lord,
“Well, God, why don’t you tell me WHAT THE HECK I AM DOING HERE!!!!”
In reality, Elijah evades God’s question, by defending his zealousness for God, complaining that the people Israel abandoned the covenant, implying that God’s work over the centuries has unraveled, and his own work has been fruitless--in spite of following the plan.
After listening to Elijah’s defense, God gives Elijah a strange directive--to go outside of the cave, and expose himself, for God will pass by. In ancient Israel, if you remember, to be in the presence of God meant death. Death by the presence of God, or by the soldiers of Jezebel are Elijah’s only options. He chooses the former.
And indeed, the presence of God does pass by,
not in a mighty wind, or in a roaring fire,
but in sheer sweet silence.
And in that sweet silence,
a Voice asks Elijah again,
“What are you doing here?”
And in spite of surviving being in the presence of the Living God, in spite of being blessed with a God-experience, in spite of hearing the voice of the Holy, Elijah remains unchanged. His response to God was the same as it was before his God-encounter.
Most biblical characters who have a God Encounter, are changed. Moses--after the burning bush, follows God’s call to Egypt, to liberate the children of Israel. Hagar, Abraham’s slave woman banished to the wilderness to die with her son, experiences the presence of God, and names God, “The One Who Sees”, and her desperation is lifted, and their lives are saved. After experiencing the presence of God, Elijah is invited to wrestle with God’s question, and yet, he doesn’t. He was not transformed. To me, this is astounding. Elijah can only defend, stick to his roadmap, in spite of not ending up where he thought he would be. He chooses not to change, he chooses not to be transformed, and he is stuck.
What are you doing here?
This question invites self-reflection, wonder, an opportunity to turn within, to take a moment to re-calibrate if necessary.
Indeed, where are you? What ARE you doing here, in this very time, this present moment?
How did you get where you are?
Are you lost,
are you on track?
Have you made any wrong turns? Did you learn from them? Grow from them?
How are you open to transformation?
How do you live in the moment,
but remain conscious of being connected with the divine and all of creation?
Where is the sweet silent presence of God in your life?
We journey through the depth and thickness of our daily living,
with so many demands, and responsibilities, and decisions...
we follow directions,
we use our maps, and sometimes end up where we thought we would be,
and sometimes we end up in entirely different places that we never thought we would be--
whether it be career wise, relationship wise, or otherwise.
But sometimes,
sometimes,
we need to just stop--
before we get backed into a cave,
and simply listen for the Voice in the silence,
asking us, “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”.
We are invited to discern, to reflect, and to wonder, Is this where I need to be? How is it that I am being called, as God’s servant in this world? How is it that I am being called as God’s disciple?”
What are YOU doing here?
May the silence of God visit you,
and give you the space and sweetness you need,
to listen and reflect upon the questions of God.
Amen.
Hidden in Plain View
July 24, 2011
OT18A Matthew 14:13-21
This week, Wal-Mart announced it’s plans to open a grocery store in Somerville that would rival Whole Food’s offerings of healthy gourmet foods AND prices. It will be called, Wal-Mart Market.
Seriously?
Walmart Market?
In liberal, progressive, independent business friendly, eco-conscious Somerville?
Seriously,
I really have no idea what a Somervillian response to a Walmart Market might be. It sort of sounds like an oxymoron to me personally, after visiting the Super Walmart in my home town in the upper-midwest--the grocery part was full of NON local produce, every brand of frozen pizza and dry breakfast cereal in the world. Walmart doesn’t symbolize health or wholeness or organic in my mind. But that’s just me.
Today, on first glance, the parables that Jesus spouts off sound like a stream of choices on how to perceive the realm of God. All the same, but just different labels--inexpensive, simple, and clear---a sort of Wal-Mart smorgasbord of choices--choose the brand that works for you and go with it.
But really, these five parables describing God’s kin-dom are more like the fruit of the labor represented in a farmer’s market. Harvested in real time, each parable describes the multi-valent depth of God’s love--rich in taste, in touch, and each with its own integrity and reality. There is no choice--all of the similes point to a different aspect to the earthy, hidden mystery of God, which is always surprising in its depth and simplicity.
Let’s review them, shall we?
The kingdom of heaven is like..
a mustard seed.
leaven in flour.
a treasure hidden in a field.
a priceless pearl.
a net that catches all kinds of fish.
All of these parables use images familiar and common to a first century audience of peasant farmers, Jewish rabbis, and fisherfolk. Jesus uses these images to turn upside down any preconceived notions or beliefs about God’s reign--making the kingdom of God accesible to all--clean, unclean, Jew, Gentile, rich, poor....
Simple, right?
Not so much.
In the first place, the idea of the “kingdom of heaven?” is complicated. It’s not exactly a place that one goes to after death--you know, with St. Peter and the pearly gates and all. Rather, when Jesus uses this term, he is more talking about what God’s reign on earth might be like---a sort of heaven on earth, if you will.
Another way to think of it would be is if God’s love,
or Love itself were the rule of the world.
Love reigning would mean that
There would be no unspeakable violence wrought, like the hell that was unleashed in Norway on Friday, by a sick person who blew up bombs and shot innocent children swimming for their lives....
There would be no young lives lost in war, there would be no more hurt or sickness or anguish.
but that sounds like Utopia. I’m not so sure that Jesus was trying to describe a utopian vision.
Perhaps, what Jesus means is that even though
unspeakable violence and horror might still happen, God’s love can rule in the midst of it. In fact, God’s kingdom, in these images, seems to exist, in spite of what seems insurmountable, controlling, overwhelming, evident, dominating, strong.
Hidden, but in plain view.
God’s kingdom--it’s small like a seed, and grows like a weed....and becomes a tree that birds can nest in. (Can you see the farmers laughing at this? Who would sow a weed in a garden? How could it grow into a useful tree? This image almost mocks the mighty Cedar Trees of Lebanon in the OT that were a symbol of the hope and strength of Israel---
However, many native plants are considered weeds, but recently I saw a native garden of black eyed susans, white daisies, purple coneflowers, and prairie grass that was not only stunning, but environmentally healthy and strong....)
God’s love---It’s unholy, like leavened bread, (Unleavened bread was holy--a symbol of the passover, and God’s liberating love for the Israelites in captivity. Leavening was considered impure, something developed in the dark, a sort of fungus, associated with everyday profane life....and the parable’s implied comparison of God to a baker-woman was the complete opposite of pure male priest of Levi However, what a hopeful image of God’s love--that it can thrive even in the most unholy of places.)
God’s realm--is hidden, and found accidentally. It’s an unexpected treasure, so compelling and complete it’s almost too good to be true--so you hide it at first until you can no longer stand it, and then, you are willing to give it your all, because how can you not? Remember falling in love with something---your beloved, or perhaps your vocation? Thinking to yourself, “This is too good to be true. I am going to keep it to myself for awhile, just in case its not real.” Someone described finding Eliot this way--she felt like she should keep dating, but knew that she had fallen in love after being here a couple of times.
God’s love can be found, like a pearl of great value...ah, the proverbial search for meaning. What a perfect image for the 21st century context in which we live, isn’t it? We seek, we long, we hope for meaning and relevance and resonance.
And yet, God’s love is not selective, like a catch of fish in a net. A fisher’s net hauls in all kinds of fish--from the wanted and desired to that which is thrown overboard.
This was a radical concept in the first century---as it is now.
God’s love is not. selective.
What Jesus is saying here is:
Sinner--you are loved.
Saint--you are loved.
Crazy terrorist right wing Christian--you are loved.
Pompous self righteous politician--you are loved.
Scheming con-artist on the street--you are loved.
Tiny new born gorgeous baby boy--you are loved.
Ancient curmudgeon--you are loved.
Cynic? Skeptic? --you are loved.
Believer, achiever--you are loved.
You are loved...
because You. Are.
and nothing, nothing, nothing
will ever separate you from Divine Love.
Nothing.
sigh.
I will admit it.
The past ten days,
at my childhood home,
were challenging.
One parent frazzled by selling, buying, packing, sorting, worrying...
One parent incapacitated and reluctant about change,
Another parent disappointed by how little time we spent together,
and the last parent, well...there is always one that pushes my buttons.
There were also my own emotions as I tore apart the house in which I grew up,
sifting through memories--good and bad and in between...
discovering old secrets hidden in photographs and objects,
and even finding buried treasures.
I wondered, more than once,
where is God’s reign in this poignant, stressful, life experience?
Where did I see God’s love,
in spite of the frightened frailness and forgetfulness of my aging parents?
in spite of in the tears and frustration of me not being able to do it all, and be all for everyone?
Where was God’s love hidden? Where was that love that paves a way through life’s wilderness?
I stumbled upon it,
in my father’s kiss good-bye,
and in the wet eyes of my mother....
I found it in the kindness of Pastor Muriel,
who not only provided excellent pastoral care for my parents, but also in the little things she did, like pick up dinner, and making up my mother’s bed, because she was too sick to put the clean sheets on herself.
I found Love planted in my laughter of finding a report that I wrote in 8th grade that described the horrors of Confirmation Bible Camp and my secret desire to become a fashion designer when I grew up.
God’s love was present in all of the unholy, unrealized and unanswered questions and worries and hopes and fears of week...
Yes, it was and IS that inseparable Love of God that is promised in Romans 8.
hidden in all of that,
Sisters and brothers.
God’s love is hidden and unholy and not selective.
Thank God.
It is tucked away in the corners of our lives...
and when we are searching,
or when we are most needing it and just stumble upon it, it is there.
It’s small and mighty, and can spread like a weed.
May we all have arms and hearts to embrace this Reign of Love...
but if we don’t, won’t, or cant’
it doesn’t matter,
because our God,
will never, ever let us go. Nothing ever can separate us from this Divine Love.
Even though it is hidden, it is in plain view.
Amen.
OT18A Matthew 14:13-21
This week, Wal-Mart announced it’s plans to open a grocery store in Somerville that would rival Whole Food’s offerings of healthy gourmet foods AND prices. It will be called, Wal-Mart Market.
Seriously?
Walmart Market?
In liberal, progressive, independent business friendly, eco-conscious Somerville?
Seriously,
I really have no idea what a Somervillian response to a Walmart Market might be. It sort of sounds like an oxymoron to me personally, after visiting the Super Walmart in my home town in the upper-midwest--the grocery part was full of NON local produce, every brand of frozen pizza and dry breakfast cereal in the world. Walmart doesn’t symbolize health or wholeness or organic in my mind. But that’s just me.
Today, on first glance, the parables that Jesus spouts off sound like a stream of choices on how to perceive the realm of God. All the same, but just different labels--inexpensive, simple, and clear---a sort of Wal-Mart smorgasbord of choices--choose the brand that works for you and go with it.
But really, these five parables describing God’s kin-dom are more like the fruit of the labor represented in a farmer’s market. Harvested in real time, each parable describes the multi-valent depth of God’s love--rich in taste, in touch, and each with its own integrity and reality. There is no choice--all of the similes point to a different aspect to the earthy, hidden mystery of God, which is always surprising in its depth and simplicity.
Let’s review them, shall we?
The kingdom of heaven is like..
a mustard seed.
leaven in flour.
a treasure hidden in a field.
a priceless pearl.
a net that catches all kinds of fish.
All of these parables use images familiar and common to a first century audience of peasant farmers, Jewish rabbis, and fisherfolk. Jesus uses these images to turn upside down any preconceived notions or beliefs about God’s reign--making the kingdom of God accesible to all--clean, unclean, Jew, Gentile, rich, poor....
Simple, right?
Not so much.
In the first place, the idea of the “kingdom of heaven?” is complicated. It’s not exactly a place that one goes to after death--you know, with St. Peter and the pearly gates and all. Rather, when Jesus uses this term, he is more talking about what God’s reign on earth might be like---a sort of heaven on earth, if you will.
Another way to think of it would be is if God’s love,
or Love itself were the rule of the world.
Love reigning would mean that
There would be no unspeakable violence wrought, like the hell that was unleashed in Norway on Friday, by a sick person who blew up bombs and shot innocent children swimming for their lives....
There would be no young lives lost in war, there would be no more hurt or sickness or anguish.
but that sounds like Utopia. I’m not so sure that Jesus was trying to describe a utopian vision.
Perhaps, what Jesus means is that even though
unspeakable violence and horror might still happen, God’s love can rule in the midst of it. In fact, God’s kingdom, in these images, seems to exist, in spite of what seems insurmountable, controlling, overwhelming, evident, dominating, strong.
Hidden, but in plain view.
God’s kingdom--it’s small like a seed, and grows like a weed....and becomes a tree that birds can nest in. (Can you see the farmers laughing at this? Who would sow a weed in a garden? How could it grow into a useful tree? This image almost mocks the mighty Cedar Trees of Lebanon in the OT that were a symbol of the hope and strength of Israel---
However, many native plants are considered weeds, but recently I saw a native garden of black eyed susans, white daisies, purple coneflowers, and prairie grass that was not only stunning, but environmentally healthy and strong....)
God’s love---It’s unholy, like leavened bread, (Unleavened bread was holy--a symbol of the passover, and God’s liberating love for the Israelites in captivity. Leavening was considered impure, something developed in the dark, a sort of fungus, associated with everyday profane life....and the parable’s implied comparison of God to a baker-woman was the complete opposite of pure male priest of Levi However, what a hopeful image of God’s love--that it can thrive even in the most unholy of places.)
God’s realm--is hidden, and found accidentally. It’s an unexpected treasure, so compelling and complete it’s almost too good to be true--so you hide it at first until you can no longer stand it, and then, you are willing to give it your all, because how can you not? Remember falling in love with something---your beloved, or perhaps your vocation? Thinking to yourself, “This is too good to be true. I am going to keep it to myself for awhile, just in case its not real.” Someone described finding Eliot this way--she felt like she should keep dating, but knew that she had fallen in love after being here a couple of times.
God’s love can be found, like a pearl of great value...ah, the proverbial search for meaning. What a perfect image for the 21st century context in which we live, isn’t it? We seek, we long, we hope for meaning and relevance and resonance.
And yet, God’s love is not selective, like a catch of fish in a net. A fisher’s net hauls in all kinds of fish--from the wanted and desired to that which is thrown overboard.
This was a radical concept in the first century---as it is now.
God’s love is not. selective.
What Jesus is saying here is:
Sinner--you are loved.
Saint--you are loved.
Crazy terrorist right wing Christian--you are loved.
Pompous self righteous politician--you are loved.
Scheming con-artist on the street--you are loved.
Tiny new born gorgeous baby boy--you are loved.
Ancient curmudgeon--you are loved.
Cynic? Skeptic? --you are loved.
Believer, achiever--you are loved.
You are loved...
because You. Are.
and nothing, nothing, nothing
will ever separate you from Divine Love.
Nothing.
sigh.
I will admit it.
The past ten days,
at my childhood home,
were challenging.
One parent frazzled by selling, buying, packing, sorting, worrying...
One parent incapacitated and reluctant about change,
Another parent disappointed by how little time we spent together,
and the last parent, well...there is always one that pushes my buttons.
There were also my own emotions as I tore apart the house in which I grew up,
sifting through memories--good and bad and in between...
discovering old secrets hidden in photographs and objects,
and even finding buried treasures.
I wondered, more than once,
where is God’s reign in this poignant, stressful, life experience?
Where did I see God’s love,
in spite of the frightened frailness and forgetfulness of my aging parents?
in spite of in the tears and frustration of me not being able to do it all, and be all for everyone?
Where was God’s love hidden? Where was that love that paves a way through life’s wilderness?
I stumbled upon it,
in my father’s kiss good-bye,
and in the wet eyes of my mother....
I found it in the kindness of Pastor Muriel,
who not only provided excellent pastoral care for my parents, but also in the little things she did, like pick up dinner, and making up my mother’s bed, because she was too sick to put the clean sheets on herself.
I found Love planted in my laughter of finding a report that I wrote in 8th grade that described the horrors of Confirmation Bible Camp and my secret desire to become a fashion designer when I grew up.
God’s love was present in all of the unholy, unrealized and unanswered questions and worries and hopes and fears of week...
Yes, it was and IS that inseparable Love of God that is promised in Romans 8.
hidden in all of that,
Sisters and brothers.
God’s love is hidden and unholy and not selective.
Thank God.
It is tucked away in the corners of our lives...
and when we are searching,
or when we are most needing it and just stumble upon it, it is there.
It’s small and mighty, and can spread like a weed.
May we all have arms and hearts to embrace this Reign of Love...
but if we don’t, won’t, or cant’
it doesn’t matter,
because our God,
will never, ever let us go. Nothing ever can separate us from this Divine Love.
Even though it is hidden, it is in plain view.
Amen.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Occupy!
Isaiah 35:1-7
Matthew 22:15-22
It’s a phenomenon.
It’s a movement.
It’s an expression.
It’s huge.
It’s global.
It’s Occupy.
And it has spread like wildfire--even in this past week, this movement has burgeoned off the charts, creating protests and marches and sit-ins in places like Jackson, Mississippi, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Rome, Italy, and even Australia.
They are crying out and beating drums, they are sharing food and sleeping in tents, they are young and old, unemployed and working, they are students and labor unions and war veterans--in other words, they are people from every walk of life. They call themselves the 99% per centers, and they are dogged and determined in their protest against social and economic inequality, corporate greed, and the influence of corporate money and lobbyists on government, and much more. There is no single organizer, or even political message...but it is clear, what started as a small thing on Wall Street on September 17 has struck a chord in our collective consciousness.
And if you want to know more about the actual experience, I invite you to join Ellen and Brendan, two young people deeply involved in the movement, in the forum after worship. Both of them have spent a lot of time there, and I can’t wait to hear more--here is a tidbit---the movement is so diverse and willing to bind together in spite of differences, that even the anarchists, well, agreed not to anarchize !?!
What has piqued my interest besides the actual movement is the fact that at first--mostly, this movement consisted of a majority of beautiful people of the generation that Ellen and Brendan are a part of: Generation Y, Echo Boomers, the Millennial’s--the 20-30 something cadre of adult Americans.
And let me tell you--these 20-30 some-things, in spite of not being assured of jobs--let alone meaningful work after college, in spite of huge student loan debt, in spite of the world they have inherited, are powerful. Look at what they started! So inspirational, that our own Ginny Robinson, started an Occupy Newton movement in order to support the courage of the protestors downtown. Listen to the ad that was in the Tab this week.
(read ad)
The idea of Occupy has taken fire. In fact, it’s taken off in offices and blogs and beyond. For example, on the RevGalBlogPal blog, Monday was declared “Occupy RevGals! What do you want to say?,” which invited readers to post what they would like to stand up for.
We are sitting here, in Occupy Sanctuary, Occupy Church--
What is it that you are praying for, hoping for, listening for?
Occupy.
It’s an interesting concept, no?
The definition of Occupy is:
1. to live or be established in (a house, flat, office, etc.)
2. to keep busy or engrossed; engage the attention of
3. to take up (a certain amount of time or space)
4. to take and hold possession of, esp as a demonstration “students occupied the college buildings or a country is occupied by force.”
5. to fill or hold (as in an office.)
Engage. Engross. To take up space. To hold.
As in, I hope that the Spirit of God is holding us this morning, filling this worship space, engaging our imagination and senses.
Occupy.
Ancient Israel suffered not only occupation but diaspora. Israel was occupied by the Babylonians, and the Babylonians decided to relocate the most powerful, the most talented Israelites from Jerusalem to Babylon, to diffuse and dilute the voice of the Israelites. It worked. Many of them assimilated into the culture, forming the first practices of Judaism that are the root of many modern rituals and practices in today’s Jewish congregations.
So, in spite of being displaced, the homes and hearts of the Israelite people were occupied by domination, and they were crying out for freedom. (At least, some of them felt that way, but that’s another story.)
Enter in the Persian conqueror Cyrus.
He was pretty successful in overthrowing the Babylonians, actually pretty much the entire area of what we know today as the Middle East. That means he also had Jerusalem, under his realm.
What is astonishing is that in our text today,
The God of Israel appoints him the savior, the anointed one, the messiah, of Israel.
This, for all intents and purposes, was really quite outrageous.
He not only was a foreigner and a conqueror, he was also NOT one of the Chosen People.
In fact,Cyrus wasn’t even aware of the God of Israel, and yet, the Lord of Hosts calls Cyrus as God’s own:
For the sake of my servant Jacob, and Israel my chosen, I call you by your name, I surname you, though you do not know me. (Isaiah 35)
Don’t you just love it? God choosing the most unlikely of saviors for God’s chosen people. Just when you think you have this God thing figured out, more mystery emerges--at least that is what I imagine was the response of the ancients.
For me, too. I am daily surprised by the Mystery of God. She shows up in the unlikeliest places, teaching me grace and humility through those people and places that are perceived as unholy, mundane, and dismissible.
Seriously,
I see a lot of the Holy Spirit’s movement in the Occupy Wall Street movement.
These protestors have started a national--even global conversation about our country’s priorities and values--about jobs, budgets, wars, greed. We will see, if we haven’t already, images and hear things from the demonstrators which will offend us, and some will inspire us. We will hear demands we agree with and some that we don’t.
But mostly, this movement is about what we care about as Christians--
caring for the poor, the homeless, those in need, and those in crisis.
They are calling for Justice. For hope. For blessing.
They are finding unity in diversity.
They are leading towards a bit of heaven on earth, for all.
Maybe this movement is like Cyrus--
It’s being called forth by the Divine,
even if it isn’t a “religious” movement.
Have you ever heard the saying, “Sometimes the best Christians are those who aren’t?”
Listen to these words from Brendan Curran’s sermon last week, where he describes his impressions of Dewey Square:
I watched somewhat astonished as the rather spontaneously formed crowd developed a process of communication where everyone’s voice and values were heard. There didn’t seem to be a rush in making demands but rather an emphasis on not emulating the behavior of the structures they protest. The crowds of hundreds together agreed on a statement of radical inclusivity to all different peoples and unanimously voted to share food with the areas homeless people. They even set up an area for free clothes distribution. Soldiers coming back from Iraq started a medical tent, others formed a food tent, a media tent, an arts and culture committee, and the Christians, the Buddhists, the Jewish people, the Muslims, The Pagans, the Hindus, the Zoroastrians, and everyone else formed space to create an open meditation and prayer space.
I was amazed to see a constant flow of food, medicines, and clothes pour in from farmers markets, and surrounding businesses to feed the group of afflicted and/or concerned individuals who had gathered there. One of the many conversations I eavesdropped on was between two young white men and two young black women talking together appreciating how only a generation ago one groups’ parents was throwing rocks at the others’ school bus but now they find themselves together talking about their shared concerns...they held signs that said, “We are the 99%,” and, “Blessed are the poor!
I think the people occupying Dewey Square might be trying to empower us to name false idols and to embody compassion in our neighborhood. They have reminded me that we must not be embarrassed by Love. We can let our lights shine before one another and that when we do this together we see more and more clearly the face of the living God who goes before us who came that we might have life and have it abundantly.Sounds a little like the realm of God, doesn’t it? To me, it does.
But there is more. There are those of us who are not called to protest, who cannot make signs and march. For some, it’s just not our thing. How is God calling us? How is God calling you to bring forth justice and Light?
I think the concept of “occupy” might help us discern.
What does it mean to dwell, to live, to engage, for you?
Sometimes, I think, we tend to either overstuff our lives with so much that we don’t really occupy our lives. We live for the next moment, the next meeting, the next thing, so much that we forget where we are and whose we are, and why we are doing what we are doing. We forget that we have a voice, that we too, are anointed by God.
My favorite image of the Occupy movement is a snapshot of a woman in the fast wilderness of Alaska, posing with her three dogs. Her sign said,
“Find your Space. Occupy It. “
Sisters and brothers,
I challenge you today--
To not be embarrassed by Love.
To let your Lights shine.
To find your space--
and Occupy it.
Amen.
Matthew 22:15-22
It’s a phenomenon.
It’s a movement.
It’s an expression.
It’s huge.
It’s global.
It’s Occupy.
And it has spread like wildfire--even in this past week, this movement has burgeoned off the charts, creating protests and marches and sit-ins in places like Jackson, Mississippi, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Rome, Italy, and even Australia.
They are crying out and beating drums, they are sharing food and sleeping in tents, they are young and old, unemployed and working, they are students and labor unions and war veterans--in other words, they are people from every walk of life. They call themselves the 99% per centers, and they are dogged and determined in their protest against social and economic inequality, corporate greed, and the influence of corporate money and lobbyists on government, and much more. There is no single organizer, or even political message...but it is clear, what started as a small thing on Wall Street on September 17 has struck a chord in our collective consciousness.
And if you want to know more about the actual experience, I invite you to join Ellen and Brendan, two young people deeply involved in the movement, in the forum after worship. Both of them have spent a lot of time there, and I can’t wait to hear more--here is a tidbit---the movement is so diverse and willing to bind together in spite of differences, that even the anarchists, well, agreed not to anarchize !?!
What has piqued my interest besides the actual movement is the fact that at first--mostly, this movement consisted of a majority of beautiful people of the generation that Ellen and Brendan are a part of: Generation Y, Echo Boomers, the Millennial’s--the 20-30 something cadre of adult Americans.
And let me tell you--these 20-30 some-things, in spite of not being assured of jobs--let alone meaningful work after college, in spite of huge student loan debt, in spite of the world they have inherited, are powerful. Look at what they started! So inspirational, that our own Ginny Robinson, started an Occupy Newton movement in order to support the courage of the protestors downtown. Listen to the ad that was in the Tab this week.
(read ad)
The idea of Occupy has taken fire. In fact, it’s taken off in offices and blogs and beyond. For example, on the RevGalBlogPal blog, Monday was declared “Occupy RevGals! What do you want to say?,” which invited readers to post what they would like to stand up for.
We are sitting here, in Occupy Sanctuary, Occupy Church--
What is it that you are praying for, hoping for, listening for?
Occupy.
It’s an interesting concept, no?
The definition of Occupy is:
1. to live or be established in (a house, flat, office, etc.)
2. to keep busy or engrossed; engage the attention of
3. to take up (a certain amount of time or space)
4. to take and hold possession of, esp as a demonstration “students occupied the college buildings or a country is occupied by force.”
5. to fill or hold (as in an office.)
Engage. Engross. To take up space. To hold.
As in, I hope that the Spirit of God is holding us this morning, filling this worship space, engaging our imagination and senses.
Occupy.
Ancient Israel suffered not only occupation but diaspora. Israel was occupied by the Babylonians, and the Babylonians decided to relocate the most powerful, the most talented Israelites from Jerusalem to Babylon, to diffuse and dilute the voice of the Israelites. It worked. Many of them assimilated into the culture, forming the first practices of Judaism that are the root of many modern rituals and practices in today’s Jewish congregations.
So, in spite of being displaced, the homes and hearts of the Israelite people were occupied by domination, and they were crying out for freedom. (At least, some of them felt that way, but that’s another story.)
Enter in the Persian conqueror Cyrus.
He was pretty successful in overthrowing the Babylonians, actually pretty much the entire area of what we know today as the Middle East. That means he also had Jerusalem, under his realm.
What is astonishing is that in our text today,
The God of Israel appoints him the savior, the anointed one, the messiah, of Israel.
This, for all intents and purposes, was really quite outrageous.
He not only was a foreigner and a conqueror, he was also NOT one of the Chosen People.
In fact,Cyrus wasn’t even aware of the God of Israel, and yet, the Lord of Hosts calls Cyrus as God’s own:
For the sake of my servant Jacob, and Israel my chosen, I call you by your name, I surname you, though you do not know me. (Isaiah 35)
Don’t you just love it? God choosing the most unlikely of saviors for God’s chosen people. Just when you think you have this God thing figured out, more mystery emerges--at least that is what I imagine was the response of the ancients.
For me, too. I am daily surprised by the Mystery of God. She shows up in the unlikeliest places, teaching me grace and humility through those people and places that are perceived as unholy, mundane, and dismissible.
Seriously,
I see a lot of the Holy Spirit’s movement in the Occupy Wall Street movement.
These protestors have started a national--even global conversation about our country’s priorities and values--about jobs, budgets, wars, greed. We will see, if we haven’t already, images and hear things from the demonstrators which will offend us, and some will inspire us. We will hear demands we agree with and some that we don’t.
But mostly, this movement is about what we care about as Christians--
caring for the poor, the homeless, those in need, and those in crisis.
They are calling for Justice. For hope. For blessing.
They are finding unity in diversity.
They are leading towards a bit of heaven on earth, for all.
Maybe this movement is like Cyrus--
It’s being called forth by the Divine,
even if it isn’t a “religious” movement.
Have you ever heard the saying, “Sometimes the best Christians are those who aren’t?”
Listen to these words from Brendan Curran’s sermon last week, where he describes his impressions of Dewey Square:
I watched somewhat astonished as the rather spontaneously formed crowd developed a process of communication where everyone’s voice and values were heard. There didn’t seem to be a rush in making demands but rather an emphasis on not emulating the behavior of the structures they protest. The crowds of hundreds together agreed on a statement of radical inclusivity to all different peoples and unanimously voted to share food with the areas homeless people. They even set up an area for free clothes distribution. Soldiers coming back from Iraq started a medical tent, others formed a food tent, a media tent, an arts and culture committee, and the Christians, the Buddhists, the Jewish people, the Muslims, The Pagans, the Hindus, the Zoroastrians, and everyone else formed space to create an open meditation and prayer space.
I was amazed to see a constant flow of food, medicines, and clothes pour in from farmers markets, and surrounding businesses to feed the group of afflicted and/or concerned individuals who had gathered there. One of the many conversations I eavesdropped on was between two young white men and two young black women talking together appreciating how only a generation ago one groups’ parents was throwing rocks at the others’ school bus but now they find themselves together talking about their shared concerns...they held signs that said, “We are the 99%,” and, “Blessed are the poor!
I think the people occupying Dewey Square might be trying to empower us to name false idols and to embody compassion in our neighborhood. They have reminded me that we must not be embarrassed by Love. We can let our lights shine before one another and that when we do this together we see more and more clearly the face of the living God who goes before us who came that we might have life and have it abundantly.Sounds a little like the realm of God, doesn’t it? To me, it does.
But there is more. There are those of us who are not called to protest, who cannot make signs and march. For some, it’s just not our thing. How is God calling us? How is God calling you to bring forth justice and Light?
I think the concept of “occupy” might help us discern.
What does it mean to dwell, to live, to engage, for you?
Sometimes, I think, we tend to either overstuff our lives with so much that we don’t really occupy our lives. We live for the next moment, the next meeting, the next thing, so much that we forget where we are and whose we are, and why we are doing what we are doing. We forget that we have a voice, that we too, are anointed by God.
My favorite image of the Occupy movement is a snapshot of a woman in the fast wilderness of Alaska, posing with her three dogs. Her sign said,
“Find your Space. Occupy It. “
Sisters and brothers,
I challenge you today--
To not be embarrassed by Love.
To let your Lights shine.
To find your space--
and Occupy it.
Amen.
Speak!
Speak!
Pentecost, 2011
When I was in college, I was in the women's choir, and we took a singing trip to Scandinavia. We sang in Baptist churches all over Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. Although I was of Scandinavian heritage, I didn't speak any a word of Swedish or Norwegian or Dutch--except for the names of food: Lefse: Norwegian soft tacos. Lutefisk. mmmm, you don't want to know, except for it has to do with a gelatinous white fish that slides down your throat. Krumkake--Norwegian thin cannoli shells. I was not unlike the rest of my sister singers. We had one chaperone that came along as our interpreter---but one woman for 60 students, well....we were pretty much on our own.
This wouldn't have been a big deal, except we stayed with families in each community where we sang--two or three singers to a home. It was quite the experience. In Stockholm, a man took us to his house out in the suburbs, sat us down on the couch, opened up a map, pointed to where the house was, and where the nearest transit was. He was speaking Swedish, and we were answering in English. After our enlightening and completely unclear conversation, he got up, and left the house. It took us awhile to piece together that he and his family were on holiday, and he was going back to the country to vacation. We were on our own, for the evening, and navigating back to the tour bus in the morning. Of course, we didn’t sleep, because of course we really believed that an axe murderer would return and chop us into a million pieces, and then, when morning came, we struggled with our luggage (back in the day before wheels, I might add) through the neighborhoods looking for a bus stop that would lead us to a train that would take us back to the city. This family trusted us....and we weren’t sure about trusting them.
We didn’t speak the same language...
And then there was our tour guide, who told us he bought a swede yacket. I thought it sounded so local and we asked him what it was. “A swede yacket,” he said, you know. Puzzled, we shook our heads. He kept repeating “swede yacket” and making motions like this; (make motions). Finally, I realized, he was telling us he bought a SUEDE JACKET. We spoke the same language, but our understanding was limited.
This happens all the time, doesn’t it?
Take for instance, the language of Christianity.
Is there really a central language we all agree upon?
I would say no.
There is the voice of Christianity in the media that usually isn’t something I want to admit I am a part of, especially when the Christian message is one of exclusion and smug self righteousness.
Yesterday, I was so proud to be a Christian marching in the Boston Pride Parade, singing with all of our UCC churches, “We will, we will Love You.....UCC! We will, we will love you....UCC!”
But even then, there was that Christian man with his signs by city hall, calling for repentance for the abominations of homosexuality; or even more disheartening, the cancellation of a Welcome service, at St. Cecilia’s Catholic parish in the South End, by the archdiocese because of protests from other church members outside of the parish.
I worry that we don’t all speak the language of Love.
Which to me, is central to our Story, don’t you think?
So, it is with great respect and resonation that we hear the account of Pentecost in Acts. For the disciples, it was the Feast of Shavuot, or the "Feast of Oaths." It was a festival remembering the covenants God made with Noah after the flood, Abraham and the Israelites about a new homeland, and Moses on Mt. Sinai. It was a time to remember God's faithfulness.
For fifty days prior to Pentecost, the followers of Jesus gathered. They were waiting, wondering, reflecting...on what to do. They were of the same mind, and Luke described the entrance of the Spirit of a rushing violent wind....
Filling the entire house....
No space escaped it’s occupation....
It was felt...
and not seen...
until the wind morphed into a fiery image that sat upon each member
giving them to speak in distinct foreign languages, that were recognizable to all....
The festival attendees were astounded, because they recognized the persons who spoke in their various languages to be Galileans. The Spirit embodied the familiar languages so that the incarnation of the Holy Spirit was real--and understood.
It’s fascinating, don’t you think, that the first act of God’s Spirit at Pentecost honors the diversity and individuality of the believers? Devout males, Jews and proselytes, from every nation, and who had traveled from Africa, Rome, and Asia hear this group of disciples speaking to them about the mighty acts of God in their own languages. Even at this Spirit-event, there was not agreement in how to interpret it. Some were skeptical, translating all of the babble as a result of a mid-day drinking binge. Peter powerfully claims that the event is a fulfillment of prophetic texts in Joel. There wasn’t a uniform interpretation, and this is important. We need to remember that our God-talk is as diverse as our tongues. Our language about God--is not synonymous WITH God.
Pentecost reveals a God that has no prerequisite or expectation for uniformity. God’s Spirit, in its fullness, unbridled and unrestricted, desires to sit on and to speak through individuals, and communities. (1)
This is good news, I believe. Because it means that God indeed works in mysterious ways, and even though I love my church, my congregation, and am pretty sure all of the time we have the message of Jesus spot on; well, it doesn’t mean that God’s spirit isn’t moving in the Southern Baptist Church, or isn’t touching the T.V. minister that seems to have questionable ethics about spending money but actually her message is meaningful to people I know. I may shudder, but I am reminded, that God is God, and I am not.
Who knows? Maybe we will all be united one day? No one will be more surprised than me or you---except for maybe them.
But here is the catch. Just because we remember that the Spirit is wild and doesn’t demand a uniform message, we are, as disciples, are called to Speak. No one is off the hook--all the disciples were gifted with a language.
It seems to me, that some disciples out there are louder than others. And yet, we, here at Eliot and in our denomination have the most amazing message, of love, of hope, of resonating with the world that so desperately needs it.
And, we have to speak loudly--in Massachusetts, only 11 percent of people attend religious services. So the only exposure they get to Christianity is what is in popular culture and the media. Our message is different, and we have to get it out there--with our bodies, with our hands, with our resources, with our lives, and yes, with our voices. There are many ways to do this--and with courage, we can make a difference in this 21st century we live in. In some ways, the church has become a minority--which in some ways is incredibly refreshing and exciting. How is the spirit breathing new life into us? How is the fire moving our courage? What language will we speak? What is it that we want those who are searching to know?
I want them to know that church is a zoo. There is incredible diversity among us. There is no party line--but we are bound together in love. You look around, and see no diversity, well....let me tell you:
“We are gay, straight, transgender, bi-gender, republican, democrat, Republican, Democrat, Independent, organizing freaks, humanoids who prefer less structure, people who love gardening, people who hate gardening, vegetarians, meat and potato folk, Methodist background, Catholic background, Lutheran background, Baptist background, Presbyterian background, atheists, agnostics, English majors, Math majors, geeks, cooks, rich, poor, middle class, beach bums, mountain lovers, homebodies, remote control controllers, do it yourselfers, have trouble changing a light bulbers, young, old, very young, golfers, haters of golf discussions, criminal record, lucky hasn’t been caught, parents, teenagers, grandparents, children, infants, Androiders, Blackberries, Apple crazies, chocoholics, singers, please don't do more than lip syncers, writers, readers, pray-ers, movers, like to shake you-ers, You are you. I am me. And, by some miracle, by some strange glue we are church. We are woven together in love, or woven together as we try to love.”(2)
And that is our language we speak. Amen.
1. This and the previous two paragraphs are paraphrased or direct quotes from Dr. Mitzi Smith’s reflection at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=6/12/2011
2. Paraphrased from Dr. Chris Ayers at http://liberallectionaryresources.com/Pentecost%20Year%20A.html
Pentecost, 2011
When I was in college, I was in the women's choir, and we took a singing trip to Scandinavia. We sang in Baptist churches all over Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. Although I was of Scandinavian heritage, I didn't speak any a word of Swedish or Norwegian or Dutch--except for the names of food: Lefse: Norwegian soft tacos. Lutefisk. mmmm, you don't want to know, except for it has to do with a gelatinous white fish that slides down your throat. Krumkake--Norwegian thin cannoli shells. I was not unlike the rest of my sister singers. We had one chaperone that came along as our interpreter---but one woman for 60 students, well....we were pretty much on our own.
This wouldn't have been a big deal, except we stayed with families in each community where we sang--two or three singers to a home. It was quite the experience. In Stockholm, a man took us to his house out in the suburbs, sat us down on the couch, opened up a map, pointed to where the house was, and where the nearest transit was. He was speaking Swedish, and we were answering in English. After our enlightening and completely unclear conversation, he got up, and left the house. It took us awhile to piece together that he and his family were on holiday, and he was going back to the country to vacation. We were on our own, for the evening, and navigating back to the tour bus in the morning. Of course, we didn’t sleep, because of course we really believed that an axe murderer would return and chop us into a million pieces, and then, when morning came, we struggled with our luggage (back in the day before wheels, I might add) through the neighborhoods looking for a bus stop that would lead us to a train that would take us back to the city. This family trusted us....and we weren’t sure about trusting them.
We didn’t speak the same language...
And then there was our tour guide, who told us he bought a swede yacket. I thought it sounded so local and we asked him what it was. “A swede yacket,” he said, you know. Puzzled, we shook our heads. He kept repeating “swede yacket” and making motions like this; (make motions). Finally, I realized, he was telling us he bought a SUEDE JACKET. We spoke the same language, but our understanding was limited.
This happens all the time, doesn’t it?
Take for instance, the language of Christianity.
Is there really a central language we all agree upon?
I would say no.
There is the voice of Christianity in the media that usually isn’t something I want to admit I am a part of, especially when the Christian message is one of exclusion and smug self righteousness.
Yesterday, I was so proud to be a Christian marching in the Boston Pride Parade, singing with all of our UCC churches, “We will, we will Love You.....UCC! We will, we will love you....UCC!”
But even then, there was that Christian man with his signs by city hall, calling for repentance for the abominations of homosexuality; or even more disheartening, the cancellation of a Welcome service, at St. Cecilia’s Catholic parish in the South End, by the archdiocese because of protests from other church members outside of the parish.
I worry that we don’t all speak the language of Love.
Which to me, is central to our Story, don’t you think?
So, it is with great respect and resonation that we hear the account of Pentecost in Acts. For the disciples, it was the Feast of Shavuot, or the "Feast of Oaths." It was a festival remembering the covenants God made with Noah after the flood, Abraham and the Israelites about a new homeland, and Moses on Mt. Sinai. It was a time to remember God's faithfulness.
For fifty days prior to Pentecost, the followers of Jesus gathered. They were waiting, wondering, reflecting...on what to do. They were of the same mind, and Luke described the entrance of the Spirit of a rushing violent wind....
Filling the entire house....
No space escaped it’s occupation....
It was felt...
and not seen...
until the wind morphed into a fiery image that sat upon each member
giving them to speak in distinct foreign languages, that were recognizable to all....
The festival attendees were astounded, because they recognized the persons who spoke in their various languages to be Galileans. The Spirit embodied the familiar languages so that the incarnation of the Holy Spirit was real--and understood.
It’s fascinating, don’t you think, that the first act of God’s Spirit at Pentecost honors the diversity and individuality of the believers? Devout males, Jews and proselytes, from every nation, and who had traveled from Africa, Rome, and Asia hear this group of disciples speaking to them about the mighty acts of God in their own languages. Even at this Spirit-event, there was not agreement in how to interpret it. Some were skeptical, translating all of the babble as a result of a mid-day drinking binge. Peter powerfully claims that the event is a fulfillment of prophetic texts in Joel. There wasn’t a uniform interpretation, and this is important. We need to remember that our God-talk is as diverse as our tongues. Our language about God--is not synonymous WITH God.
Pentecost reveals a God that has no prerequisite or expectation for uniformity. God’s Spirit, in its fullness, unbridled and unrestricted, desires to sit on and to speak through individuals, and communities. (1)
This is good news, I believe. Because it means that God indeed works in mysterious ways, and even though I love my church, my congregation, and am pretty sure all of the time we have the message of Jesus spot on; well, it doesn’t mean that God’s spirit isn’t moving in the Southern Baptist Church, or isn’t touching the T.V. minister that seems to have questionable ethics about spending money but actually her message is meaningful to people I know. I may shudder, but I am reminded, that God is God, and I am not.
Who knows? Maybe we will all be united one day? No one will be more surprised than me or you---except for maybe them.
But here is the catch. Just because we remember that the Spirit is wild and doesn’t demand a uniform message, we are, as disciples, are called to Speak. No one is off the hook--all the disciples were gifted with a language.
It seems to me, that some disciples out there are louder than others. And yet, we, here at Eliot and in our denomination have the most amazing message, of love, of hope, of resonating with the world that so desperately needs it.
And, we have to speak loudly--in Massachusetts, only 11 percent of people attend religious services. So the only exposure they get to Christianity is what is in popular culture and the media. Our message is different, and we have to get it out there--with our bodies, with our hands, with our resources, with our lives, and yes, with our voices. There are many ways to do this--and with courage, we can make a difference in this 21st century we live in. In some ways, the church has become a minority--which in some ways is incredibly refreshing and exciting. How is the spirit breathing new life into us? How is the fire moving our courage? What language will we speak? What is it that we want those who are searching to know?
I want them to know that church is a zoo. There is incredible diversity among us. There is no party line--but we are bound together in love. You look around, and see no diversity, well....let me tell you:
“We are gay, straight, transgender, bi-gender, republican, democrat, Republican, Democrat, Independent, organizing freaks, humanoids who prefer less structure, people who love gardening, people who hate gardening, vegetarians, meat and potato folk, Methodist background, Catholic background, Lutheran background, Baptist background, Presbyterian background, atheists, agnostics, English majors, Math majors, geeks, cooks, rich, poor, middle class, beach bums, mountain lovers, homebodies, remote control controllers, do it yourselfers, have trouble changing a light bulbers, young, old, very young, golfers, haters of golf discussions, criminal record, lucky hasn’t been caught, parents, teenagers, grandparents, children, infants, Androiders, Blackberries, Apple crazies, chocoholics, singers, please don't do more than lip syncers, writers, readers, pray-ers, movers, like to shake you-ers, You are you. I am me. And, by some miracle, by some strange glue we are church. We are woven together in love, or woven together as we try to love.”(2)
And that is our language we speak. Amen.
1. This and the previous two paragraphs are paraphrased or direct quotes from Dr. Mitzi Smith’s reflection at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=6/12/2011
2. Paraphrased from Dr. Chris Ayers at http://liberallectionaryresources.com/Pentecost%20Year%20A.html
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