012912 Authority Over Demons

Authority Over Demons

Deuteronomy 18:15-20                                                          January 29, 2012

Mark 1:21-28                                                              Russell Eidmann-Hicks

There was a man who owned and drove a hearse for his job as a funeral director. It was also his family car since he couldn’t afford another one.   One day he was driving his hearse and was getting ready to go past the town’s other funeral home. He saw that a funeral procession was getting ready to leave. He had his radio turned up fairly loudly, so he turned it down and slowed up a bit as he went past the funeral home so that he would not offend anyone.

Once he got past the funeral home, he then turned the radio back up and headed on to where he was going, which was the local Taco Bell.  But as he pulled into the parking lot, he looked in his rear view mirror, and to his horror he saw that the funeral procession had followed him by mistake right into the Taco Bell parking lot.  You have to be careful what authority you are following.

 

We need authority, but we also need to be careful what it is that has authority in our lives, what controls us and motivates us.  In our culture that has so many powerful influences, so many temptations, so many possibilities; it is vitally important that we be very careful about what it is to which we give our allegiance.   If we’re not careful we may end up heading in a very negative direction.

 

In the Gospel of Mark Jesus began his ministry by going to teach in a synagogue, a house of worship.   The people were astounded because he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.  His message was not dry and academic, but taught with compelling clarity and conviction, from the heart.  His actions went even beyond his words.   “Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!”  And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him.”

Jesus had authority.  He began his ministry claiming one life from the devil,  carving out territory for the Kingdom of God.   He established God’s way with the authority of his presence.  There are plenty of people or groups claiming authority in our lives: the corporation for which we work or the shows we watch or the labels on clothes we wear or stocks we own or movie stars or rock bands or football teams.  It may be Google, Apple, or Verizon.  Or it may be Rush Limbaugh or Jon Stewart, or the Giants game or Hustler magazine or that chocolate cake in back of the freezer.  There are lots of things that speak to our hearts and want to control our thinking.  The question is, which voice do we listen to and follow?  Which might be demons, seeking to control us in terrible ways?

 

What are demons, do you suppose: evil spirits, negative things that control us, powers of darkness?   My sense is that we all have demons of one sort or another.   They are the things that possess us, and cause us to do what we know is wrong.  We wrestle with destructive patterns in our lives, habits of self-gratification or self-denial or self-righteousness, inner demons of arrogance, fear, or low self-esteem, or cycles of elation or despair.  They catch hold of us, take over our will and make us self-destructive.

 

Demons can be very powerful.  Alan Lang, in a report to the National Academy of Science: “Substance Abuse and Habitual Behavior,” identifies nine characteristics of addiction: Impulsive behavior, Difficulty in delaying gratification, Sensation seeking, Antisocial personality, Nonconformist values, Sense of alienation, Deviant behavior, Heightened feelings of stress, Little regard for goals generally valued by society.  These are indicators of being possessed by this particular demon.

Here is a story from Alcoholics Anonymous that illustrates this:  “A few years ago I lay desperately ill on a motel floor in a southern city.  I learned later that within a few hours, if left unattended, I would have gone into alcoholic convulsions and might have died.  At that point in time I did not know I was an alcoholic.

         I crawled to the telephone, but was shaking and quivering so badly that I could not dial.  Finally, I managed one digit and got the operator.  “Please help me,” I pleaded.  “Call Alcoholics Anonymous.”  She took my name and address.  Within ten minutes a man walked in the door.  I had never seen him before, and he had no idea who I was.  But he had the breath of the Father on his face and an immense reverence for my life.  He scooped me up in his arms and raced me to a detox center.  There began the agony of withdrawal.  To avoid bursting into tears, I will spare the reader that odyssey of shame and pain, unbearable guilt, remorse, and humiliation.  But the stranger brought me back to life.  His words might sound corny to you, like tired old clichés.  But they were words of life to me. He told me that right now the name of the game wasn’t guilt and fear and shame but survival.  He told me to forget about what I had lost and focus on what I had left….Above all, he affirmed me in my emptiness and loved me in my loneliness.  Again and again he told me of the Father’s love; how when his children stumble and fall, he does not scold them, but scoops them up and comforts them.”

 

A word of authority can cast out demons.  Truth spoken to us with love can transform our lives.  Even though we may be powerless against the demon or addiction or fear, we have a Savior who has power over evil.   A word from Jesus casts out demons.  The word of God is called a sword in scripture; and like a sword, God’s word cuts through lies, delusions, and demonic voices.   With the light of Christ within us, we can cut through demonic ideas or voices or influences When a demon appears, we can shout with Jesus:  “Be silent, and come out!”

 

This is not always easy; not all sweetness and light.  As it says, ” the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him.”  It can be a gut-wrenching, soul-searching, heart breaking experience.  It has to do with admitting our worst, showing that part of us we want no one to ever see.  But if we have to courage to name the demon, to admit the darkness, then healing can occur.

 

In our reading this morning, it is very interesting that the first demon Jesus casts out in Mark appears right in the middle of a worship service.  On the one hand it causes us to remember that demons are quite at home in church, they are not necessarily left behind when we step in the church door.  We are, after all, a gathering of common folk, and we are all capable of the best and the worst of human behavior.    Negativity, mean-spirited labeling, calls for hatred can be found in churches as well as outside.

 

Louise Fratto gave me the review of a new book about the Inquisition in the church in medieval times.   Actually there were about three inquisitions, filled with torture, brutality and lies; yet wrapped up in extreme piety and self-righteousness and faith.   It is a scary thing that the most triumphant expressions of religious fervor can also be the most dangerous, filled with violence, lack of compassion and cruelty.   We can find this tendency in our own day, when we target certain groups of people based on their religious or ethnic background.  We saw it in the McCarthy era and the “Red Scare.”  We saw it in the civil rights movement, as those speaking up for freedom and equality were demonized by our society.  We see it ways many groups are targeting the Islamic religion and surrounding it with layers of fear and distortion and violent rhetoric.  We hear it in distorted and outlandish calls to hatred in the political arena.  Demons of destruction and intolerance are still with us, and can reappear if we are no careful.

 

The writer, Adam Gopnik, writes:  “What makes a civilization lose the inquisitional tendency?  The truth seems to be that abundance helps – the more goods there are, the more purely symbolic the struggles over them tend to become – but the idea of decency matters most.   The values of tolerance are one of the most difficult lessons to impart, not because people are naturally cruel, but because power is naturally fearful.   We’re slow learners.  The Inquisition has become a byword for cruelty combined with state power and superstition because it was.”     Authority comes with the compassion of Christ.

 

With faith we cut through demons of fear and brutality .   Religious or political institutions can be vicious and cause great conflict.  Yet, worship in the church is one of the best places to deal with the demons in our lives.  In worship we are encouraged to look into our hearts, to re-direct our lives to pathways of life and health, to seek to grow in wisdom, compassion, community, and inner strength. We listen to the authority of the Word of God and preaching that takes us inside of that word.  We confess our sins; we receive pardon. We look into the dark places in our hearts, to face the demons that control us.  With God’s grace, we find our own voice of authority that can cast out evils within our own hearts.

Over the centuries our tradition has developed ways to face our demons, with God’s help.  Prayer and meditation are ways to deepen our souls, to give us greater inner strength and resources to fend off the darkness.  Study and preaching give us greater wisdom and insight to spot the demons at work in our lives.  Helping others pushes us past our small selves to allow the spirit of love to shed light inside our souls.

 

A beautiful parable of this power offered by Jesus is found in another story from Mark.   The disciples decide to row across the sea of Galilee, but are caught at night in a raging storm.  The waves and wind threaten to swamp them. Ancient superstition was that demons lurked below the surface of the waters causing the waves.   The disciples seeing Jesus walking over the surface of the waters; he had authority even over waves.  They call to him, he steps into the boat and immediately, the waves and wind cease; they find they have arrived at their destination.   The meaning is clear. When Jesus gets in to the boat with us, we find stillness, strength and a holy direction.  Without Christ, we are lost to the demons.

The role of our faith and worship is to name the demons; to help us to see them clearly and then to throw them out.  In worship we hear the word of God spoken with authority and with love.  That Word casts out evil; it makes demons flee; it reclaims our true selves.   Let us celebrate Jesus’ authority to heal and protect and transform.  Amen.

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012212 Fish Tales

Fish Tales

Jonah 1:1-6, 11-17; 3:1-10                                                      January 22, 2011

Mark 1:14-20                                                              Russell Eidmann-Hickss

Who here has moved to a new house or new job or no job this year?

Who here has fished or watched someone fish?

Who here has jumped at the chance of doing something wildly different?

Who here has wondered what it would be like to leave everything and start again?

Both of the scriptures this morning are about being called by God to a new life-direction.  It’s about hearing an invitation to move in a new direction, and either running pell-mell in the opposite direction, or saying yes and taking a leap of faith.  We can find ourselves at crossroads in our lives, times of decision and uncertainty, times when we must prayerfully discern what is the best course forward, the most life-giving path, the choice that will reap the finest reward.   And we know that it is often terribly obtuse, scary, and painful.

Robert Frost wrote this familiar poem, The Road Not Taken, to describe this:

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

We hope, with Frost, that one day we will be able to look back on the decision we made and be able to affirm that it was a fruitful decision, one that led to fulfillment and prosperity and thriving.  We hope that it will offer us an open door into a bright possibility. But it is not always clear at the time.

To get somewhere it is helpful to know where we are going.  As someone once said to me, if you don’t know where you are headed, any direction is just as good as another.   If you have no goal, then anywhere you end up is where you’re headed.   As people of faith, we have a goal; we are headed for the joys of salvation, a life of blessing, and the gates of heaven; we are seeking God.  What that means to each of us may differ; but we have a path forward on which we walk.    We are headed for what Jesus called abundant life, eternal life, or the kingdom of God here on earth.  So what does it take to get there?

 

One thing it takes is listening to God’s call.  It takes discerning what is most life-giving and true; what will make our lives enriching and full and true. And it takes the courage to follow that call when we hear it.

Imagine for a moment a lakeshore, a beach with sand and round stones, fishing boats of several colors, bleached and worn by salt and sun, pulled up and tilted to one side, nets drying in the late-day heat.    A circle of fishermen huddle on the shore, some mending nets, while several toss their nets out into the tranquil waters, their muscles flexed and powerful from years of throwing nets, and their skin darkened by years of exposure from wind and sun.   Their catch has dwindled and their livelihoods threatened by overfishing in their area, with an enormous new fishery developed by Herod Antipas in the next town.  They throw their nets, but with little hope of a large catch.  Now they sit idle, wondering how they will feed their families, the hope leeched from their eyes.

 

This scene could be found in our day – in parts of Detroit, MI or Elkhart, IN or Camden, NJ; places where skilled workers hang out at home or in the local coffee shop, wishing for an opportunity, for meaningful work, for someone who would appreciate their talents and pay them a living wage.   The economy has shifted around them and they are left high and dry, like fish in a dry lakebed. No matter how many times they toss their nets into the clear waters, it keeps coming up empty.   The fear gnaws in their guts as they drain their savings and look for ways to buy groceries and to pay for rent and heat, water and lights.

 

This experience can be found in our own lives in times of grief or despair, times of illness or unemployment, times of dislocation or loss. It’s like Jonah in the belly of the whale, lying in the sloppy dark, not knowing what the future may hold, feeling gnawing fear and impending doom.  We find ourselves without a straight path forward, without certain knowledge of what will offer us a future that will be life-sustaining and wholesome.   Many of us face two roads in the woods and don’t know which one to follow.

I had a time like this many years ago, when I decided to drop out of seminary at Yale Divinity School in New Haven, CT, and to figure out what else I was going to do. I was convinced I didn’t have the skills, nor was I good enough as a person to be a parson.  I spent two years working as a VISTA volunteer, living on a tiny stipend that they offered, while living in a meditation center, spending hours each day meditating, walking, and praying.    When these two years wound down, I had to decide what to do next.   My VISTA work was developing self-help programs with the elderly in senior centers and housing projects, and starting support groups, training programs, and other ways for seniors to help one other.   A job opened up in elderly services in the town, and I applied; thinking that this might be my career path.

 

At that time I went off on a three-week solo retreat in a cabin in Maine.   It was my first retreat alone, and I consulted with teachers, who gave me a strict schedule that began at 5am and ended at 9pm; filled with hours of meditation, work cutting trees for firewood, cooking, gathering water, praying, and reading.  It was in an old wooden cabin in a clearing on the side of Flying Moose Mountain in Bucksport.  I had some free time each day and would walk up a trail, bordered by pine trees, ivy, blueberries, and pale lichen.  At the top of the mountain was a glorious vista of surrounding hills and the ocean bay near Blue Hills.   One day I was walking along the rocks at the top and looked up and saw an enormous black bear, up on her hind legs glaring at me, while her two little cubs were running around between us.  I looked her in the eye and said, “Yes, M’am. I understand,” and turned and walked away; afraid that I’d hear the pounding of her paws behind me.  But no, she went one way and I went another.

 

At other times I would sit up there on the rocks and consider what to do next with my life.   I wanted, more than anything, to follow a path of religious training and growth.  I had been a religion major in college and then went to seminary; but I wasn’t sure what would help me the most to live with integrity and health.  I wanted my life to be meaningful and to help others.   I prayed.  I walked.  Then one day, as I rested in the sun in a rocky outcropping, I found myself talking out loud to a small tree that was waving in the breeze.  (After you’ve been along for two or three weeks, you do a lot of weird stuff….) “What way should I go?” I asked the young tree.  “Who am I and what should I do?”   Surprisingly, I received a wonderful answer.   The tree swayed in absolute stillness, letting the wind wash over it, and it spoke to me.  It told me about simplicity and ‘thusness,’ about having no shame or worry or fear.  It spoke of a harsh and unforgiving world, but also of its enjoyment of summer’s warmth.

The tree told me of enormous patience, of being true to myself, open to trusting God, of simply being without obsessive thought, and allowing each day to unfold as it is.   I came back a number of times and consulted with this tree; and each time it gave me wisdom about how to move into my own future.   Oddly, it was a wonderful counselor.

 

I decided on that mountaintop that I would not go into ministry; I felt I didn’t have the skills or the temperament.  I would accept the job in the town and continue to live in the meditation center, living a simple, spiritual life, and growing stronger in faith.  I journeyed back home, confident that I had made a good decision.  I did some odd jobs and I meditated a lot.   But I still found myself discontented and empty, without momentum or a clear vision for my future.   I felt as if I were surrounded by enormous brick walls on every side, without a way forward.  Like Jonah, I had made a dumb decision, and was headed in the wrong direction.

 

You could say I was swallowed up in the belly of the whale.  It was dark and gloomy; I was sloshing around in my own anxiety.  Jonah lay in that whale’s belly for three days, but it must have felt like three years.   Jesus lay in the tomb after his crucifixion for three days, a time of deep silence, but also of tremendous possibility.   After being unemployed and depressed for three or four months, I felt enveloped in anxiety and darkness that I feared would go on for eternity.  But, like Jonah, things were moving, developing, under the surface.  Throughout I was seeking to discover God’s call for me, a pathway toward a meaningful and fruitful life; and it seems God was at work on this too.

 

There was a small UCC church in the city that I had passed many times at work; it was a large brick monstrosity of a building stuck in an impoverished part of town called Fair Haven.   I thought it was closed down; it looked like an abandoned prison, with wire mesh on the windows and an aging brick façade.  I decided to go on a Sunday to see.  In the church I discovered a tiny, dwindling congregation of friendly people, in an enormous sanctuary with glorious Tiffany windows and an aging pipe organ. It was led by a younger minister, who was trying to get the church to grow.  He was recently divorced, smoked like a fiend, cracked rude jokes, and was at odds with many in his congregation.   I started going every week, sang in the choir led by a student from Yale Music School, and found myself enjoying the community and friendships I was making.  It was an odd bunch of people – working class, most elderly, some from Italian Protestant background, some who had been in the church their whole lives.

I helped them to start a soup kitchen, and served as their first chair-person, and wrote grants for them.  I found it to be very fulfilling.   Finally, after about a year, the minister and several leaders in the church approached me and asked if I would consider being called by the church to be their assistant minister.  They thought they could get grant money from the conference to do urban ministry.    Wow.  Suddenly my future, which had seemed so cloudy and uncertain was made clear.  Like Jonah, God had thrown me out on a bright, sunny beach, with great new possibilities ahead of me.  This was, I realized, what I wanted more than anything else in the world.

 

I applied to return to divinity school; I called to turn down the job in elderly services and was told I was their top choice….sorry!   I met with church leaders and wrote grants and got funding, and there I was, on the road to ministry.  I worked in that church for several years.  One day a young seminary student named Martha Eidmann came to that church, and she ended up doing her fieldwork for her divinity school degree there.   Years later we started dating – and we haven’t parted since.  Truthfully I haven’t really looked back.  I chose a path less travelled, but the one God chose and led me to, and the one that has allowed me to prosper in grace-filled ways.

 

God spat Jonah out on the shore near Ninevah; and he finally did what God had called him to do: to preach God’s word to the people and to call them to repentance.   He was successful, much to his surprise; the people of Ninevah responded to his word and changed their hearts, allowing God to forgive their sins.   Jesus walked across the sands by the sea of Galilee and called to Simon, James and John to enter into ministry and to become fishers of people.    It worked.  Through their discipleship, walking with their Savior, many were saved; the church was born, and they began to build, brick by brick, the kingdom of God here on earth.  Instead of empty nets, they filled churches with people.

 

Each of us have received a call by God.  Each of us has a goal, a path forward, ordained by God.  Yet, this call can begin in a time of trial, a waiting in the belly of the whale; it can begin as an agonizing wait that robs us of sleep and that drives us to distraction.  But this can also be a time of renewal and creative redirection, when God opens a door into a new and prosperous land.    We can start out sloshing around in our own fear and sorrow, lost in darkness and worry.  But in the end, God can deposit us on the shore of a new and wondrous land, offering us the opportunity to use our talents and to express our deepest dreams.   Take the road less traveled, the one called by God. Amen.

 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Let us each answer God’s call.  Amen.

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010812 Spirit Over Waters

Spirit Over Waters

Genesis 1:1-5                                                                                      January 8, 2012

Mark 1:4-11                                                                                        Russell Eidmann-Hicks

John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, met and married a wealthy widow and faithful Christian named Molly Vazeille and adopted her four children at forty-eight years old.  This kicked off, what biographers have since referred to as the ‘thirty years war.’   During his ministry, Wesley traveled twenty-five thousand miles on horseback and reached forty thousand sermons. His belief was that marriage should not change his travel and ministry habits, saying, ‘I cannot understand how a Methodist preacher can answer it to God…to preach one sermon, or travel one day less, in a married than in a single state.’  

In the early days, Molly traveled with John, but became constantly ill.  She asked John to travel less, but he refused.  Sadly, they became bitter enemies.  In the final correspondence between the two, John wrote: ‘I think it right to tell you in my mind once for all without either anger or bitterness…if you were to live a thousand years, you could not undo the mischief that you have done.’

John Wesley had an amazing theology of marriage.  His sermons on marriage are riveting, exemplary, and convincing, which goes to show that you can have a theology of something but not a reality of it.  That’s the power of self-deception.

A rite-of-passage or ritual like marriage should be transforming; it needs to change us from the inside out, and we can’t expect that we are going to be the same person before and after.   It just doesn’t work that way.  |t’s like going through a graduation; it is a passage into a new life.  Marriage does that; so does a terrible illness or loss.  It’s like having a child; it shifts everything in the universe for a family, and if it doesn’t something is wrong.   Doug Brown in our church is going to be going through the rite of ordination soon, as he will take vows to become a minister in the United Church of Christ.  This will change his life, and the lives of those around him – as he takes on vows of ministry.  He will still be the same person, but something fundamental will shift in his life.

In the parable of the Great Banquet Jesus tells of people from the highways and byways being invited into a fabulous banquet given by a king.  Everyone is invited in, passersby and the poor and lame.  But, at the meal the king finds someone who is not wearing a wedding garment.   In other words, this person has not been changed, has not become a new person by the experience of grace and faith, and so is tossed out into the cold.  Change is needed.

In the healing stories in the bible, Jesus changes people’s bodies and souls – he heals paralysis and withered hands; and also casts out demons.  And after each event he says, “Your faith has made you well.”  We are saved through grace by faith.   Our faith allows God to work within us, transforming us from the inside out.

This is true of the sacrament of baptism.   It is meant to be life changing; a shift at the core of our souls.    A person who goes into the water is meant to be a different person when she or he emerges from the baptismal font.   Entering into the water, a person may have be filled with resentment, jealousy or despair; he or she may have sinned terribly, been stained by years of selfish living or hatred or violence.  But in the waters of baptism, we are cleansed, washed clean of evil and sin, and emerge as new creations, shining with the joy of Christ, with a clean slate for the future.  As Jesus entered into three days of death and emerged as resurrected Savior; so we emerge from baptism as newly born.   As God’s spirit moved over the waters of chaos, formed dry ground, and breathed life into all creatures; so baptism re-creates us.  We are newly formed.

 

Most of us, of course, were baptized as babies, so have little memory or understanding of the meaning of this sacrament.   It is meant to signify the possibility that we are able to find renewal and recreation at any moment in our lives.   We are offered the possibility of resurrection.

 

I heard a preacher from 5^th Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York tell this story once.  He related that on one Sunday morning he was preaching and looked up into the balcony and saw a lovely young women staring at him with tears streaming down her cheeks.  This was disturbing, and so after the service he walked up to the balcony and found her still weeping in the same spot on the pew.   He asked her what was her sorrow.  She shared that she was a model working in NY, and had been terribly hurt.   “Can I really start again, start fresh? Is it really possible to begin again?” she asked intensely, while being wracked with sobs.    Yes, that is the promise.

What is astounding about baptism is that it produces extraordinary equality – each person becomes a child of God, member of a holy family, and at one with God’s love and grace.   That person can no longer be ignored or dismissed or tossed aside; each becomes the apple of God’s eye.   That is why baptizing babies is a beautiful thing; at birth each child is treated with equal love and equal possibility.  Of course, we would say that God treats all people with this kind of love, baptized or not; and we are called to do the same.  This is the basis for our understanding of justice and harmony in this world.   We are each to be loved, and given second chances, even the most ill, the most despised, weak, or rejected.

The wonder of baptism, the wonder of God’s love for us, is that each of us at our baptism are revealed as God’s beloved, the one with whom God is well pleased.  We can start fresh – like little babies just born.   The wonder of the Christian faith is that people whom the world would reject, whom many would ignore or spit upon or oppress become God’s most precious ones.   We are welcomed as new creations, as ones newly resurrected and able to start fresh.

Philip Yancey writes this in his book Amazing Grace:  “Friedrich Nietzsche accused the Christian Church as having ‘taken the side of everything weak, base, ill-constituted.’  He scorned a religion of pity that thwarted the law of evolution and its rules favoring power and competition.  Nietzsche put his finger on the scandal of grace, a scandal that he traced back to ‘God on the cross.’”

            “Nietzsche was right.  In Jesus’ parables the rich and healthy never seem to make it to the wedding feast, while the poor and the weak come running.   And throughout the ages, Christian saints have chosen the most un-Darwinian objects for their love.  Mother Teresa’s nuns lavish care on homeless wretches who have mere days if not hours left to live.   Jean Vanier, founder of the l’Arche movement, lives in a home that employs seventeen assistants to work with ten mentally handicapped men and women, none of whom will ever be able to speak or coordinate their hand movements.   Dorothy Day of the Catholic Worker Movement admitted to the folly of her soup kitchen: ‘What a delightful thing it is,’ she said, ‘to be boldly profligate, to ignore the price of coffee and go on serving the long line of destitute men who come to us, good coffee and the finest of bread.’”  (p. 265-266)

 

Baptism is a returning to the primordial waters of creation, the muddy DNA soup out of which we all came, and the oceanic waters of chaos out of which all life springs, infused with the breath, the ‘ruach’ of the spirit.  It is about a new creation; a new chance at life.  It reminds us that we are created in God’s image, with God’s spirit-spark glittering within.   When we rise out of the waters of baptism, we are fresh and newly minted.  We may not have a dove descend over us, but we glow with the radiance of God’s blessing and God’s grace, trailing clouds of glory.

 

 

Change is necessary – metanoia in the greek – catharsis.  We see this in films, when a person with serious character faults is changed and becomes a new person.   A classic example is Ebenezar Scrooge in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.   After a long night of self-examination, his heart is transformed.

 

Years ago I studied in Italy for a semester in college, and a though I was a religion major and took many classes in religious history and theology, I lived in the green-room at the theater.   While I was in Rome, a friend visited who was studying theater at Edinborough in Scotland.  He encouraged me to sign up for an experimental theater project that was going on outside of Venice.  I got my school to allow me some time off, and I travelled to Venice, and found the group I would be with for the next three days.  This experiment was by an innovative theater director named Jersy Grotowski.   He wrote about ‘saintly actors’ who sacrificed themselves on the stage, for whom theater was a profound religious experience.   His experiment was to take an audience through an intense, all night experience of theatrical encounter with a group of actors, so that the audience in the end would lose all inhibitions and become completely transformed into their true and spontaneous selves.   I was in the group going through the experience.  We travelled to a ruined castle in the countryside outside of Venice.   As the sun started to set, we were split into small groups, and taken through a series of wild experiences that lasted the entire night.  We were taken into a room filled with ashes on by one, where we were spun around by several people, brought down into an underground wine cellar filled with fires and smoke with drums playing and dozens of people dancing.  We ran barefoot through the woods in the dark, to a place with a huge fallen tree, where we crawled through a tunnel to meet with a strange man in a cloak who did not speak but who gave me a sweet drink.   Dozens of us danced silently in a clearing the dark forest.  We slide down a muddy slide into a freezing cold pool of water.  Finally, we were brought back to the castle courtyard, where we circled a huge wooden barrel filed with grapes, which they spilled out on the courtyard, and we danced through these, around a huge bonfire.   At dawn we crawled into an enormous pile of warm hay to sleep.  By that point I was covered with mud, cold and exhausted, I had lost my sweater and shirt.   But what a night!

 

In the end Grotowski declared the experiment a failure.   He said that in spite of the intense experiences, the audience still did not lose their self-consciousness.  We still held onto our skepticism and distance.  I can attest to that.  I remember distinctly dancing around the bonfire at the end, and catching the eye of the director, and he recognized my embarrassment.

Our faith is not about changing ourselves; it is about God changing us.  We are saved by grace through faith.  It is God’s grace that changes us, not ourselves. And so any attempt to change ourselves fails, if we do not allow God in.  In the healing stories in the bible, Jesus says, “Your faith has healed you.”   By allowing God into our lives through faith, we are transformed.

 

With that blessing comes a life-time of second chances.  We can be changed, melted down and re-forged.   Just when we feel that God can no longer accept us, when we are sure that the waters of grace have run dry and we are left beached, high and dry like bones in the sand; God reminds us of our baptism.   Just like children who break a window or a prized vase, and are sure that they will be thrown out and rejected forever, we are surprised when our parent God shows us love and forgiveness.   Love transcends rejection, and we can find new life after mistakes and sinful choices.

 

When we begin again, we return to God’s muddy soup and emerge cleansed, saved and newly minted, ready to start fresh.  Let it be so.   Amen.

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010112 Light Up the New Year!

Light Up the New Year

Ecclesiastes 3:1-9                                                                                            January 1, 2012

John 3:16-21                                                                                                    Russell Eidmann-Hicks

To everything, there is a season…a time to be born and a time to die…a time to mourn and a time to laugh…a time to sew and a time to rend apart… As you can see, we experience times of growth and happiness and health; and also times for sorrow, chaos and pain.   In this world we find a time of blossoming and fruitfulness, and also a time of decay and destruction.   We’d prefer the good times to last, the times of joy to carry on; but inevitably we experience the downturn.   As Senator Moynihan said at JFK’s funeral:  “There’s an old Irish saying that eventually this world will break your heart.”   Perhaps that is why wedding vows don’t just vow to be there for better, in riches, health and blessing; but also in worse times of poverty, sickness and grief.

In the same way, God’s promise is with us in all of these seasons, in all of the ups and downs of this life:

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;

As we step today into the open door of 2012, we peer ahead hoping for a glimpse of what is in store.   It would be great if we could have a preview of coming attractions, with movie trailers that would give us a sense of what we’re going to have to deal with.    The big difference between a New Year and movies is that the movies have already been made by the time the previews have come out.   In the New Year we truly don’t know what’s going to occur, and so we’re not able to be sure – like figuring out what movie to watch.    We have no way to illuminate the path forward, except with our faith and hope.

I did hear that about 70% of Americans believe that 2012 is going to be better than 2011.  Too many people have been saying that they will be very glad to see and end to this past year.   We’ve had enough of bleak economic news and stock market roller coasters and weird, dangerous weather and disasters and war.    Enough.  We’re ready for something brighter.

We have a light to guide us – a star, a lantern, a candle; a light that can guide us from the darkness of lost despair to a safe haven of radiant peace.   We have a Savior who reminds us that self-giving love and self-emptying are the ways toward fulfillment and joy.  And whatever happens, God will be with us.  No matter what run-down stable we end up sheltering within, God will be there.  No matter how scary Herod’s soldiers are, no matter what floods threaten or locusts attack, no matter how dark the shadow of the cross, God’s light still shines a pathway forward.   No matter what burden we will have to bear, God is still there…mysteriously, faithfully, inevitably.

 

Brenda was a young woman who was invited to go rock climbing. Although she was scared to death, she went with her group to a tremendous granite cliff. In spite of her fear, she put on the gear, took hold on the rope and started up the face of that rock. Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather. As she was hanging there, the safety rope snapped against Brenda’s eye and knocked out her contact lens.

 

Well, here she is on a rock ledge, with hundreds of feet below her and hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and looked and looked, hoping it had landed on the ledge, but it just wasn’t there. Here she was, far from home, her sight now blurry. She was desperate and began to get upset, so she prayed to the Lord to help her to find it. When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye and her clothing for the lens, but there was no contact lens to be found. She sat down, despondent, with the rest of the party, waiting for the rest of them to make it up the face of the cliff. She looked out across range after range of mountains, thinking of that Bible verse that says, “The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth.” She thought, “Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know every stone and leaf, and You know exactly where my contact lens is. Please help me.”

 

Finally, they walked down the trail to the bottom. At the bottom there was a new party of climbers just starting up the face of the cliff. One of them shouted out, “Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?” Well, that would be startling enough, but you know why the climber saw it?    An ant was moving slowly across the face of the rock, carrying it.

 

Brenda told me that her father is a cartoonist. When she told him the incredible story of the ant, the prayer, and the contact lens, he drew a picture of an ant lugging that contact lens with the words, “Lord, I don’t know why You want me to carry this thing. I can’t eat it, and it’s awfully heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I’ll carry it for You.”  I think it would probably do some of us good to occasionally say, “God, I don’t know why you want me to carry this load. I can see no good in it and it’s awfully heavy. But, if you want me to carry it, I will.”

We’ve got burdens that we are bearing into the New Year.  We are carrying loads that are heavy, and that weigh us down.  And we often question why God is asking us to carry this: illness, sorrow, fear, sin, hurt, longing.   But when we’ve got hope in our hearts and prayers on our tongues, then light shines and the burden is easier to bear. We are able to move into operating rooms under the surgeon’s knife and trust in God’s grace and healing powers.   We are inspired to hold the hand of the sick and to pray with strength and hope.   We are able to walk into the dark of unemployment or grief with a friend at our side.  The burden becomes lighter and the way brighter.

 

With patience and trust we can expect for things to become clear over time, to open up into understanding and insight.   As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote to a young poet a century ago:

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart

and try to love the questions themselves…

Don’t search for the answers,

they could not be given to you now,

because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is, to live everything.

Live the questions now.

Perhaps then, someday in the future,

you will gradually, without even noticing it,

live your way into the answer.

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926), Austria

 

Yes, things are unclear and dim; we don’t get the answer sheet ahead of the exam; things still fall apart and decay…but new shoots spring up out of the cold dirt of spring.  Light dawns and we find answers to our questions. As much as things seem to be spinning out of control and sinking into death, cries of newborns still resound in nursery wards.    When we fear to see leaves tumbling and hear winter winds blow; seeds are sending up shoots to greet the glow of spring’s sunshine.   We can trust that as one season passes, a new one can begin.   From seasons of sorrow, another possibility can arise from the ashes of the old.

 

It’s a hot summer morning in the rural community of Tyler, Alabama, about 10 miles outside of Selma.  There is a secluded clearing in the woods where volunteers are picking up the last of the debris from the church that once stood there.  Soon they will begin pouring the foundation for a brand-new church.

An arsonist burned the tiny church to the ground six months earlier.  To the small, African-American congregation, it was just another tragic example of racial hatred in an area that has already known more than its share of hatred.  But now the work has stopped.  This morning is special because they have a guest. His name is Chris Deer, and he is coming to apologize to the congregation, because he is the arsonist.

He begins to apologize for his efforts.  He had a speech all prepared in his head.  But all he can do is blurt out, “I’m sorry,” before he dissolves into tears.  And then Pastor Pettway, puts his arms around the shoulders of the sobbing white boy, and says, “It’s OK, son.  You don’t have to say anything else.  We forgive you.”

Later, Pastor Pettway and the congregation demonstrate their forgiveness by appearing in the courtroom where Chris is being tried for arson.  And they come as character witnesses on behalf of the accused.

Six months later an overflow crowd is jammed into the brand new church.  They are black and white, Presbyterian and Baptist, young and old.  They are there to celebrate rebirth.  At the front of the church there is a simple wooden cross over the pulpit.  It represents hope.  But at the back of the church, there is a cross made from the fire-scarred timbers of the old church.  It represents forgiveness.

We are lovers of light…those who believe in new beginnings and sunrises and full moons.   We can be patient with our burdens because we trust that God has a reason for our efforts and our heartaches. We seek stars that guide the wise across desolate wastes.   We are followers of dreamers and visionaries who seek the out-of-the-way stables where unexpected new life is born.   We are determined explorers of spiritual treasure, seeking glimmers of gold in wild and gloomy locations.

What star are you following in this season?  What do you seek in 2012?  Is it more of the same; is it decay or doom?   Or are you willing to put your faith in a God who can make all things new, who can shoulder our burdens and open doors in the darkest of alleyways?    Happy New Year!  Bring it on, 2012! Amen.

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122411 Make a Joyful Noise

Make a Joyful Noise!

Psalm 98                                                                                                Russell Eidmann-Hicks

Luke 1,2                                                                                                Christmas Eve 2011

She’s already got a latest generation Kindle with Wi-Fi and 6″ display, and she’s got an Invicta women’s Angel diamond stainless steel chronographic watch.  And he’s got the new Kodak Zi8 pocket video camera, a Vizio 22-Inch full HD LED LCD TV with more letters I don’t even understand, like the VIA Internet app this TV comes with. He’s got a Diamondback Response Sport Mountain Bike with 26-inch wheels.   What he probably does not have is a new stylish Wi-Fi Detector Shirt. This is an interactive T-shirt with glowing bars on the front dynamically change and glow as the surrounding Wi-Fi signal strength fluctuates as he walks down the street or a corridor in the mall. Finally he can get the attention he deserves as others bow to him as their Wi-Fi god, while geeky chicks swoon in his presence.
One of the classic Christmas dilemmas is trying to figure out what to get the person who has “everything.” These are the people who have supposedly been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, punched the ticket and seen it all. Whatever you’re going to put under the tree is going to be a real yawner for them, so you bail out and go with the gift card — impersonal, but never awkward.  Truth is, though, that even in a culture as prosperous as ours, nobody has everything. As comedian Steven Wright puts it, though, if you really did have everything, where would you put it?     And if we’ve got everything, then where do we look for joy and contentment?

What we strive for when we give gifts is for that moment of pure joy we see on the face of a loved one when they open a gift and get just what they wanted: the boy who gets the nerf-bazooka-rocket launcher that shoots just the kind of nerf-bombs he saw on TV; or the little girl who the baby doll that talks, eats, cries – and wets.   Joy is what we seek, real joy.  But in our age of over-consumption and hype and jingoism, it gets harder and harder to do.  Joy is not something easy to claim in our cynical and overfed era, and we are left empty.

 

Lasting joy is eclipsed by our search for rushes of instant ecstasy and selfish desire.   If it feels good, even for a moment, then it’s worth it – buying that big gift, even if it means sinking into debt for the next 12 months, a strong drink, a quick pill, a surge of pleasure; it’s all so seductive and immediate and strong.  Other deeper, long lasting joys are pushed aside.

I saw Steve Martin on TV the other night giving a Saturday Night Live special spoofing a Christmas message.  He’s sitting in a comfortable chair with a Christmas Tree behind him, music playing in the background – and in a soupy, charming, Steve Martin voice he shares that his first Christmas wish is for all the children in the world to sing together in harmony.  Lovely thought.  Big smile.  Then he offers his second Christmas wish: $30 million dollars in pre-tax cash in a Swiss savings bank for himself alone.  His third wish is for personal control over all the universe, lovely women, and then vengeance on his enemies. The little children singing in harmony gets demoted to fifth or sixth on his list.  That’s often our story: our impulses and selfish desires overtake our deepest hopes for a world of justice and righteousness.  It’s easier to take the drink, the iPhone, the plasma TV, and the cash, over hopes for peace or spiritual rest.  But in the end, after sugar-rushes of pleasure, we are left longing and empty inside.

 

The good news is that the really deep joys of Christmas are eternal, available to all of us, and offer true satisfaction.  Psalm 98 expresses this kind of strong, eternal joy, that goes so much deeper and lasts so much longer than momentary thrills from gifts or entertainment.

 

Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth;
break forth into joyous song and sing praises.
Sing praises to the Lord with the lyre,
with the lyre and the sound of melody.

Let the sea roar, and all that fills it;
the world and those who live in it.
Let the floods clap their hands;
let the hills sing together for joy
at the presence of the Lord, for God is coming
to judge the earth.
God will judge the world with righteousness,
and the peoples with equity.

 

God comes to restore justice and righteousness. God treats all with equality.  God still speaks visions of peace, fulfillment, and hope.   This psalm inspired Isaac Watts to write… “Joy to the World… let heaven and nature sing… fields and floods, rocks and hills, and plains repeat the sounding joy.”    We gather tonight under dark, chilly skies, yet in this warm and bright sanctuary, to repeat resounding joy and sing again of our joy to have God with us – Emmanuel.

 

What does it mean to experience God with us?  What does it mean to have God here and now, leading and inspiring us – and not all of the other voices and gizmos and toys and electronics and buzz around us?

 

I just received news this week about a devastating flood in the Philippines, in the towns of Illigan and Cagayan de Oro in Mindanao.   I was there six years ago, and visited a church where 1,200 people are now sheltered, without electricity or other comforts.   A friend, Goel Bagandol, is youth minister there, and he wrote this piece last week about what it means to have God with us…

 

‎”Can somebody tell me what so merry about Christmas in this time of crisis?” This question made me pause for a while, and I thought of the real meaning of Christmas, especially in this time of crisis. I will never forget the images I just saw from our field survey of the most affected areas of the typhoon. Cars were lying vertically on each other, debris from the houses that once stood, lifeless bodies lying in a mass identification session where chemicals damaged our vision. Horrible, catastrophic, gruesome scenes that pulled us down to our grave, and darken the sight of hope. Is there a need of celebration?  

I answered the young lad, “Yes, there is still a need of celebration.”  We are celebrating Christmas without consumerism and traditional worries or glitter. God our Emmanuel- God is with us in this time of crisis. God is with us at a time when we have lost our loved ones; God is with us at a time when we lost our homes. Jesus our Emmanuel assures us that everything will be well- mambo sawa-sawa, everything will have its place.  Kaka and Jonathan are our pianists, who are also victims of the flood. They realized that material things are temporary and are dispensable anytime; one should not be too attached to them. All that matter is, lives need to be saved.

  In this calamity, I not only saw horrid scenes of life, but also gained sight of God’s miraculous act of intervention, God’s act of nearness.”                        Thank you, Goel, for your faith and your message….

 

God is with us, right here, even in our losses and fears…..God with us…in our fears and sorrows, but also our joys: a baby’s glowing face; in family and friends around a table with laughter and sharing; in deep worship when our hearts fill with inner peace.   God is with us in mystery, beauty and light.

 

As we hear from St. John: “Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy.  When a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world.  So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.”  (John 16:20-22)

 

The beauty of the Christmas story is that nobody has much to spend – except the Sages with their gold, frankincense and myrrh.   Mary and Joseph are too poor to give perfume, Xboxes, or digital picture frames; they can’t even afford a decent cradle.   The shepherds, forgetaboutit.   Angels don’t carry cash.    The animals just stand around.  Nobody gives stuff, except the wise guys.  What they give is their hearts.  But their joy is deeper and more sustained than what any mound of toys or packages can offer.

 

How do you experience real joy?   What brings you inner peace and contentment?  Is there something you’re missing?   You’ve got a New Year approaching to work on this.  A good place to start is here in church, where you can work on this joy and this inner satisfaction; this righteousness and justice – week after week – month after month – until it finally sinks in and grows and blossoms into genuine, radiant, profound joy.  There’s your invitation. Think about it.    Have a Merry, Merry Christmas!

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121811 Angels to Watch Over Me

Angels to Watch Over Me

SCRIPTURE & REFLECTION            Genesis 28:10-17

Angels Ascending & Descending

Jacob “dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.”   Later… “Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, ‘Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!’ And he was afraid, and said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’  (Gen 28:17)

God is in this place, even though we do not know it.  Angels are ascending and descending all around us.   Do you see them?  Do you hear or feel them?  Right now, here in this life, is divinity, majesty and mystery.

All we seem to notice in our day is what is loud and glittery, or what appeals to our desires and impulses.   We pay attention to selfish itches needing scratching, or to ways to accumulate bigger and brighter piles of stuff, but then ignore the soft, subtle and sweet sounds of God’s whisper in the winds of the spirit.

 

Martha and I were walking yesterday in Doorbrook Park, along the paved trail by the lake; and as we were chatting I heard a movement in the woods, as though someone was stepping in the leaves.  I looked, and there beside a tree was a lovely doe, with huge eyes, watching attentively.  She waited as we walked down the path, and then she stepped out into the field, followed by six of her lovely friends, all tentative and intensely aware, and yet beautiful in their natural splendor.

I believe angels are like this – sent directly from God, shrouded in silence and serene mystery – sharing the natural glory of life itself – but giving us a message.  It is not a message about gold or treasure or a pot of coins at the end of a rainbow.  It is not selfish, or about our greed. It is about the wonder of the divine and the beauty of God’s presence. It is about God’s peace and love.

Angels are heavenly messengers, spirits or heavenly beings who sing of the will of God.   The word “angel” actually comes from the Greek word aggelos, which means “messenger.” The matching Hebrew word mal’ak has the same meaning.   They deliver God’s good news – to Abraham or to Jacob or to Moses or to young Mary, speaking of God’s plans and promises.

 

 

Matthew 1  “An angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:  ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’

 

UNISON PRAYER

O God, our Creator, you come to us in Christ and dwell with us, though we know it not.   Angels ascend and descend all around us. Allow us to build everyday altars in your name to open our eyes to your presence.  Amen.

 

SCRIPTURE & REFLECTION                        Matthew 18:10-14

Each of ‘these little ones’ have angels in heaven

            To be honest, I have never noticed this small passage tucked into the center of this reading, which goes like this: “for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven.”  Jesus is saying is that each “little one,” each person, no matter how lowly, or poor, or insignificant, has an angel in heaven that resides in God’s presence; every one of us.   We each have an angel; and this angel is connected to God.  Jesus implies that each of us has infinite and divine worth;  each person is to be treated with the care and respect and honor we would give to angels or to God.  Like a shepherd who has 99 sheep, but who searches for the one who is lost with passion; so we are to value and shepherd each child of God.

 

Wow. Every one of us has an angel hovering over us and looking out for our care.   “Someone to watch over me.”    One of the job descriptions of angels is that they are to protect and bless; they watch out for those they are assigned to care for.   Angels surround the throne of God and are in continuous praise.  But Jesus seems to be saying that each of these angels in worship are also keeping an eye out for every one of us, watching over us, protecting and guiding us.

 

Exodus 23:20
     “See, I am sending an angel before you, to guard you on the way and bring you to the place I have prepared.

Psalm 91:11
    “For God commands the angels to guard you in all your ways.”

In the book of Revelation we hear that each church has an angel, not only each person.   Seven letters are sent – not to the churches but to the angels in the seven churches.    Each church has an angelic spirit, watching over the church, protecting and guiding it, and acting as a messenger of God’s good news.

 

Rev. 1:20-21
    “This is the secret meaning of the seven stars you saw in my right hand, and of the seven gold lampstands: the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands are the seven churches.”

Every church, every person is precious and worthy of divine protection and help.   Every single one of us is worthy of angelic notice.  So no one is to be dismissed or forgotten or ignored.   We are being guided and prompted to follow the path God wants us to follow.

 

Years ago, I remember staying up all night in a shelter for the homeless that opened in a church I was serving in New Haven, CT.  It was bitterly cold outside, and I was talking with a weathered, craggy-faced homeless guy, who’d been on the streets for years and years.  He surprised me by telling me of his faith in the “old man,” who watched over him and kept him from dying, and who carried him when he had not strength of his own.  It took me a while to figure out that he was talking about God.  He amazed me by the depth of his trust and gratitude and faith in God’s providence and grace, even for him, a great sinner. He trusted in his angel, and knew that someone was watching over him.

 

UNISON PRAYER

O God our Redeemer, we each have an angel watching over us; we each are created in God’s image, both human and divine.  Now we wait to welcome the Christ child, who teaches us how to live with the radiance of angels.  Amen.

 

MUSIC

 

SCRIPTURE & REFLECTION                         Luke 1:26-38

The Angel Gabriel appears to Mary

         A young woman alone in her room is suddenly surrounded by radiant light and heavenly songs, heralding the presence of the angel, Gabriel.   Why did she deserve this? She wasn’t particularly talented, her grades were probably not the best, she didn’t win the lottery, nor did she win a beauty contest.  She was from a poor, peasant family, with few prospects for success or fame.   But she, in her lowly state, was deemed worthy of a visit by angel royalty.   She was blessed by God, just as she was, and she responded with deep humility: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be with me according to your word.”  (Lk 1:37)

 

Angels come to reveal mysteries to mortals, to unwrap meaning, and to open us up to the glories of divine reality, that elude us in our everyday lives.   We are touched by the divine and our lives share in the glory of God’s radiance.

Shakespeare speaks of this in his play Hamlet, when Hamlet talks about his own depression, that does not allow him to see this:

 

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in
Reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving
how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel!
in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
world! the paragon of animals!  And yet to me, what is
this quintessence of dust?   Hamlet Act 2: Scene 2

 

Too often we share in Hamlet’s reduced vision of humanity – and see only dust, when God sees beauty, and divine worth.   We only see only the poor peasant woman, one of too many over-populating and polluting this planet, uneducated and seemingly without worth.  But in God’s eyes, she is precious and infinitely worthy, and an essential actor in the divine plan.

 

Angels offer us strength and encouragement.   Gabriel gave Mary more than good news; he offered her courage and vision, saying that God is with her and that she is part of a much greater design.    As lowly as she is, Mary has divine connections and is surrounded by the holy.   We are too.  We may not know it, but we are part of a divine blueprint, and have a valuable part to play in God’s effort to establish God’s Kingdom here on earth.   We are each building something, birthing something, bringing something to fruition that we do not undersand.   Angels remind us of this, if we are open to hearing their message.

 

UNISON PRAYER

O God of depth and mystery, you are born within us in faith.  Angels announce your arrival, though we often reject this message; and ignore the Christ within.   Allow us to say with Mary: “Here I am.”  Amen.

 

MUSIC                It Came Upon a Midnight Clear            No 153

 

SCRIPTURE & REFLECTION             Luke 2:8-14

Angels appear to poor shepherds

            Again we hear the message that angels come as freely to the poor and ignored in our world, as to the rich and powerful, as we hear in the book:

The First Christmas by Marcus Borg & John Crossan:  (p. 192)

            “The angelic revelation comes to shepherds…Shepherds were from the marginalized peasant class, the class that most acutely experienced oppression and exploitation by Rome and her client rulers.   They were therefore among the ‘lowly’ and ‘hungry’ of Mary’s Magnificat hymn….That they are the first ones to hear of Jesus’ birth is significant: the good news comes to the poor and despised.   It is consistent with the portrait of Jesus in the gospels…that Jesus’ message and activity were directed primarily to the peasant class….As Luke later puts it, Jesus’ message was ‘good news to the poor,” “release to the captives,” “sight to the blind,” and “to let the oppressed go free.”

 

Angels are used to slumming it.  They sing to all, even those most on the edge of respectability and honor.   They fly down to bring good news even to those with dirt under their fingernails and manure on their shoes.   They proclaim God’s glorious vision, even to those defined as unworthy by society.

 

We are called to act like the angels, to give to those in need, to reach out to those on the margins, and to give honor to all people, even those spit upon by the ‘respectable people’ of our day.

 

Last Friday evening a group of us were with the Bridges at the Shore program that went out to Freehold, Red Bank and Keansburg.    Others in our church spent time feeding neighbors at the St. Mark’s Kitchen, offering a hot meal and help.   Friday as I pulled into the parking lot at the 1^st Baptist Church in Freehold, I saw an enormous line of people, mainly women with lots of children, lined up by the door to the church’s basement, where their Head Start program is housed.   It was far beyond my wildest expectation, hundreds of people.   My first worry was, “We don’t have enough.”   Other cars and vans soon arrived, and we carted all of our provisions and gifts and toys into the basement and then the Head Start leaders sent in families, ten at a time.   Of course, the kids headed straight for the toys – and we handed them out, one by one.  Many of these kids were truly in need, and their eyes lit up to see what they could find.  Parents also found clothing and hats, coats, and food.  The toys were sparse after the first several rounds, but we had enough clothes and other items.   Finally, we packed up all of the excess clothes and shoved them into our cars.

 

Just when we were saying our good-byes, a poor family walked across the dark parking lot: a woman with a baby, two little children and a father.   They were clearly recently arrivals in this country, wearing layers of old clothes, looking as if they’d just stepped from the mountains of Guatemala or Mexico.    We shook our heads, saying we had nothing left.   Then Aida, the leader of the Head Start program, said, “I just found that have two gift certificates left!”  She handed them to the mother, explaining how to use them.   It felt so right to offer help to this family, on the margin, lost and cold, and yet filled with hope.

 

God calls us to be like God’s angels, seeking the lost, offering help to those in need, bringing light and good news into the darkness.

 

John Rutter sings this carol that expresses this:

 Shepherds and wisemen will kneel and adore him, Seraphim round him their vigil will keep; Nations proclaim him their Lord and their Savior, but Mary will hold him and sing him to sleep.  

 Candlelight, angel light, firelight and starglow, shine on his cradle till breaking of dawn. Gloria, Gloria in excelsis deo! Angels are singing; the Christ Child is born.

UNISON PRAYER

O God of light, we fear the mystery and wonder around us, and quake when angels appear.  Yet, we also seek this depth and beauty to enrich our lives.  Grant us glimpses of angels and allow them to guide us to Bethlehem. Amen.

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120411 Comfort, Comfort My People

Comfort, Comfort My People…

Isaiah 40:1-11

Mark 1:1-8

After a very long and boring sermon, the parishioners filed out of the church saying nothing to the preacher. Toward the end of the line was a thoughtful person who always commented on the sermons. “Pastor, today your sermon reminded me of the peace and love of God!”  The pastor was thrilled. “No one has ever said anything like that about my preaching before. Tell me why.”
“Well,” said the parishioner, “it reminded me of the Peace of God because it passed all understanding and the Love of God because it endured forever!”

This Advent season is a time for us to yearn for, to wait for, to hope for the peace and love of God.   Yes, God’s peace passes understanding; it is more than we can hope for in this world, which so often seems harsh, cruel and without mercy.   Yet, God’s love endures forever; it is found even in unlikely places: a run-down stable at the edge of town, in a desert under a wandering star, on wild hills speckled with sheep where angels softly tread.  Peace comes to us in unlikely places: even in the midst of terrible grief, even in the dark of despair, even in the midst of war or trauma: comfort finds its way.

I am reading a book entitled “The Dovekeepers” by Alice Hoffman, about a group of women in ancient Israel at the time of the destruction of the second temple in 70AD.  They flee from the Roman devastation through the desert to Masada, where they end up facing the whole Roman army.   The loss and grief they face is enormous.  It made me realize again that sorrow, loss and mourning are themes that run through the bible like seams of rich, black coal.  It runs from Adam & Eve’s shame and loss to the shadow of the cross.  Grief is always present in scripture, and is the dark backdrop to the message of hope for salvation and the grace and love of God.   Grief is also always present in the background of our lives; it is the empty cold of space in which the stars of our lives shine.  In a small scene in this book a young woman is fleeing across the desert with her father and others, and she shares this brief image of sadness:

“A pale rain fell and spattered our fire so that even cooking was difficult.  Our feast was a dove I had trapped in my scarf.   The creature sang tirr tirr, a lovely song that sounds like tor, our word for turtledove.  I looked upon a bush of myrtle and saw the dove’s mate waiting there.  Later in the season, when the turtledoves would migrate south, I wondered if the one perched on the branch would leave alone, or if she would stay and mourn.   I thought of Solomon’s words to his beloved, Behold thou art fair; thou hast doves eyes.   I saw grief staining the dark eyes of the one perched in the bushes, and a tenderness I had never seen in humankind.  I walked toward the lone dove, wondering if I should do away with its loneliness, but it flitted off to a higher branch, its pale feathers gleaming, too lovely a creature for me to destroy.”  (p. 47)

In the background of our scripture lesson from Isaiah this morning is the destruction of Jerusalem and of the 1^st Temple in 596 BCE and 70 long years of exile in Babylon.  The hopes of the people were severely tested by loss and suffering, slavery and hardship.   Yet, finally, after these grueling years of barren oppression they hear these words: “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.  Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term.” (Is 40:1)

Many within our congregation are coming into this Christmas season with fresh sorrow and hurt.  Many have lost loved ones or are going through health crises.   In our families or within our own experience, we can feel terrible grief – a shattering of love into shards that are sharp and cut and wound.  Grieving is a long process, wearing down sharp edges of hurt like glass in the ocean, in the salt waters of our tears.  Grief for us is also a backdrop, also like a seam of coal.

I just saw the movie Sarah’s Key this week, which speaks of grief that lasts for generations.   It is a the little known story of how French police detained thousands of French Jews in Paris during WWII, and then sent them on to the death camps.  It focuses on a little girl, Sarah, who, when the police came to take her family away, hides her little brother in a closet and locks the door, thinking she’d be back in a short while.  Her mother and father and she are taken to the Velodrome, a bicycle arena in Paris, where they survive with thousands in unspeakable conditions for days and days.  Her father tries to escape, to rescue his trapped son, but doesn’t succeed.  They are put in trucks and taken to the camps, where they are separated forever.  Sarah manages to escape with a friend from the concentration camp, and after being taken in by a farm family, finds her way back to Parish, where she returns in desperation to her family’s apartment.  Sadly, when the closet is opened with the key, nothing but sorrow remains.  She carries the key her whole life.   And finally, in spite of being a lovely and successful young woman, happily married, she cannot cope with the weight of grief that surrounds her.    It finally destroys her.

Our hearts break when hope is not enough, when hate is too great, when grief is overwhelming.   Our hearts break when it seems that comfort is no where to be found.  In this season when others seem to be so hopeful and so joyful, sorrow can feel even more raw and lonely.   The irony of the season is that people begin to believe that their inner emptiness, grief and loss can be filled with things – with items on sale – with glittering packages, bags and boxes wrapped in fancy wrap.  But somehow we know that these can help for a moment, but leave us just as disappointed and empty as before.

Saint Augustine had it right when he said, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you” (Confessions, Book I, Chapter 1).  True peace and comfort will escape us until our restless hearts begin to rest in God.  Serenity cannot be granted by a diploma, a promotion, a McMansion or a luxury sedan. It comes to us as a gift from God, and it includes forgiveness of sin and the restoration of our relationship with the Lord.  It comes to us as a gracious gift of peace, that passes all human understanding.

According to The Christian Science Monitor (April 8, 2011), an artist named Franck de Las Mercedes is taking the idea of peace packages literally. He mails small boxes with abstract designs on the outside to anyone, anywhere in the world — for free. Pasted under the address is a label that reads: “Fragile. Handle with Care. Contains Peace.”   Franck says that we expect something of value to come in a box, like a shirt or a book — especially at Christmas!  But his boxes are empty of everything except a message that has no price, such as “Peace,” “Love” or “Hope.”  Since 2006, the artist and his wife have mailed more than 9,000 boxes to people around the world, and all he asks is that recipients send him e-mails with photos of themselves and the boxes. Franck’s hope is that people who receive his boxes will devote some thought and conversation to intangibles such as peace, love and hope. The idea has now spread to schools and churches that are making their own boxes.

Thomas Merton once wrote:  “Peace is not something you must hope for in the future. Rather, it is a deepening of the present, and unless you look for it in the present you will never find it.”    Peace and comfort must be found right here in our own hearts and in our own sorrows, here and now.

What are the intangibles that you would like to receive in this Advent season?  In what ways does grief leave you longing for something more, some way to fill the inner emptiness and sorrow?

What gift of peace would you want to receive?

The emptiness we feel is very similar to the void that remains deep within us after we earn a degree, start a job, move into a bigger house, or drive a new car off the lot. We know how fortunate we are. We appreciate God’s favor toward us. But we wonder why everything we thought we wanted still isn’t enough. We wonder why good fortune in this life gives us everything but a sense of peace.

When God sends a peace package, the box is never empty. Psalm 85 tells us that God the Lord will “speak peace to God’s people,” and will call for them to respond by turning “in their hearts” (v. 8).  God is generous with peace and salvation, but God requires a response. The way to benefit from this gift is to receive it by turning to God in our hearts and offering the honor, humility and love that God deserves.  Each of us can accept this package in our hearts, instead of choosing to “return to sender,” unopened.  When we open it, a precious collection of treasures spills out. “Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet,” says the psalm, “righteousness and peace will kiss each other. Faithfulness will spring up from the ground, and righteousness will look down from the sky. The Lord will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase.” (vv. 10-13).  “Comfort, comfort my people, says our God.”

God’s peace package contains more than meets the eye. Packed into this box is the entire character of God: Steadfast love, faithfulness, righteousness, peace and goodness. All of these qualities are intertwined and mutually supportive, since love is connected closely to faithfulness, and true peace is always dependent on the presence of justice and righteousness.  We are called to a new way of living, with integrity, caring, and virtue. In this package is hope for a new life, a pathway toward inner peace and wholeness, and healing from the ravages of grief and trauma.

 

As we share communion this morning, consider our own need for comfort, our own grief and inner emptiness, our own longing for peace.  Through divine self-giving, God enters more deeply into our lives, so that our hearts will no longer be restless, but instead will rest in God.  Take the elements of God’s grace into our body and your heart and find peace, healing, and grace.
“Comfort, comfort you my people.”   Amen.

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112011 Anne Hutchinson

Anne Hutchinson

Based upon the book, American Jezebel, by Eve LaPlante

            I am grateful to be with you, friends and fellow Christians in this season of harvest.  It is pleasant to have the opportunity to tell my story, which has remained hidden lo these many years.  I am impressed that you have allowed me to speak thus.  Men often feel threatened by a woman of ability and understanding, in my day and even still in yours.  I admit that I feel vindicated to see faith traditions in this country transformed to reflect freedom of conscience and speech, and the free exercise of religion. The Holy Spirit has blown through the hearts of settlers in this land, and kindled a mighty fire that cannot be extinguished.

 

My trial began in November of 1637, when I had just turned 46 years of age, mother of 12 living children, and grandmother of one: just five days old as it began.  Most in the room knew me well.  I was wife of William Hutchinson, able textile merchant and friend of many.   As midwife and nurse, I had been in most houses in Boston, and knew the wives of the men seated in judgment around me.  As leader of a weekly bible study group, which often had 100 present at a time, I knew the souls and faith life of many of these women, and some of the men.   Yet here I was held captive and accused of heresy and concourse with the devil, because of my heartfelt faith and deep knowledge of scripture.

 

Forty magistrates sat in judgment upon me that November day, along with eight ministers in their black robes.   On my side, I had only two faithful ministers: my brother-in-law John Wheelwright – who had already been censured by this same court, and banished four days before.  And Reverend John Cotton, wise and strong teacher of God’s truth, beloved of his church; but only one among many enemies.   I heard later that Governor Winthrop had hastily appointed two judges to replace three who expressed support for me.   Such was his justice and balance!   I realize now that King Charles was considering revoking the charter of the colony granted in 1629, because of the Puritan’s religious designs and independent nature of its government.   Winthrop had no choice but to counter my independent spirit.   “Reducing” me, correcting and silencing me would show the King his strength and unify the colonies.  Yet, why make me an example, a poor woman simply expressing her love of God.  And how could I silence the Spirit of God within me?

 

My bible classes began on evenings in 1635.  They were meant to simply be a time for us women to give support and instruction to each other.  Soon, talk would turn to the weekly sermon, and I would delve into its meaning, and we would discuss its import, in light of other scripture.  Soon, the women invited me to sit in the high chair and for them to ask me questions, which I would then expound upon in light of Holy Scripture, yet sometimes countering what the preacher had said that past Sunday.   In 1636, men began to accompany their wives, and my lessons expanded to two or three sessions a week, including lectures on diverse topics. To my utter surprise scholars and men of learning, magistrates and gentlemen, and even captains and soldiers began to attend my classes.   For this I was condemned. The Reverend Weld lamented that members of this group “being tainted, conveyed the infection to others.”   Reverend Hugh Peter of Salem summed up like this:  “She had rather been a husband than a wife, and a preacher than a hearer, and a magistrate than a subject.”   Was I to silence what God put within me?

 

Governor Winthrop wore a large ruff collar that stood out brightly against the black of his coat.  “Mistress Hutchinson,” he began, “You are called here as one of those that have troubled the peace of the commonwealth and the churches here.”    And thus it began.   I had little hope of success.  “Do you assent and hold to these opinions and factions?” asked Judge Winthrop.   After a moment’s pause, I responded: “I am called here to answer before you, but I hear no things laid to my charge.”   I wanted him to spell out of what I was being accused.  I had done nothing criminal; they had no legal right to accuse me.   I stood before them for hours, shifting from one foot to the next, not able to sit.  I was so tired.  I was still nursing my 19-month-old boy, and believed myself to be pregnant for the 16^th time.   And that morning I was obliged to take the five-mile walk to Cambridge on foot, because the ice could easily break a horse’s leg. Now I ached and wished to sit, as the men sat before me.

 

They wished for me to confess to transgressions of the law.   I responded, “That is a matter of conscience, sirs.”   Yes, it is up to my conscience as a follower of our Savior, not because of their dictates or dogmas! I challenged him to prove it from scripture.  “If you have a rule for it from God’s word, you may,” I responded. “If it please you by authority to put my teaching down, I will freely let you.”   He refused to answer me directly, but just said, “You do not show by what authority you be such a public instructor.” I wanted to shout.  “By God’s will, which is more powerful than your own, dear sir!”  I had a line from scripture, from Titus, yet before I could answer, I all went black.  I had fainted to the courtroom floor.

Finally, after being cared for by my husband and others, I was offered a chair and a brazier of coals to warm my feet.  After regaining my composure, I responded from Paul’s letter to Titus, that an older woman is given the ability to instruct younger, and that is my authority.   The trial, sadly, was far from over.

 

One of the heresies the divines of Boston accused me of, was that of believing to know that I was among the elect, saved, and favored by God; and that I could ascertain whom else was of the elect.   This was not pride.   I simply felt this way because of my knowledge of God’s Word, which was clearly superior to most.  This was also evident because of the glow of peace and harmony that radiated from my heart when I read the Word of God and taught God’s precepts.  Some reservoir of spiritual delight flooded my soul in prayer, or even when walking to market, or caring for my babies.  I saw this as a sign of election.  I looked for that joy in others around me.   Sadly, I found little joy in the dour expressions and critical scowls of the clergy of my day, or in the pompous Puritans who presided at my trial.    What would they know of rejoicing?  What do they know of the Holy Spirit, that entered into my soul, and  directs my thoughts? They would fear they were beset by fever or pox or insanity, rather than to let a smile creep across their lips, or admit that God’s spirit was at work in them.

 (Interruption of the sermon….)

Rev. Weld (standing in the congregation):            Mistress Hutchinson, I will not stand for your disrespect for our established clergy.   And how can you speak thus of the Holy Spirit, as if it were your own possession?  This is heresy!  You’d best be content with Biblical laws and humble yourself before the leaders of this land!

 

Hutchinson:  I will not renounce Christ who dwells within me! I will not take other direction than that of Christ.    Seek better establishment in Christ, not comfort in duties, which are only sandy foundations compared to Christ’s Spirit, which is rocklike and secure!”

 

Rev. Weld: I be preached to by a woman, when it is her duty to remain silent in church and to obey the teachings of her husband and of men who are teachers and parents of our church! Nor will I will not remain in this church when this woman speaks against the wisdom of our faith!

 

Anne Hutchinson:  It is not my fault that God has chosen me as an instrument through which to teach, nor can I believe that God has caused one half of humanity to be silenced by the other.   Women have the ability to reason and to speak equally to men, and I cannot believe otherwise.

 

Rev. Peter Weld:  Well, I can choose to refuse your counsel and that of the devil!  I will be gone. Farewell!  I renounce your authority and that of this church!  (He storms out…)

 

Anne:  Well, now you see what I have been contending with these past years.  (She sighs….)   When will they learn?  When will they see that the Holy Spirit is not constrained by such ignorance?  When will they see that women can be called to ministry the same as any man?  I am tired of such divisions.

 

Like Roger Williams, I oppose warfare with the native tribes. He, like myself, believed that the Native Americans had a right to their lands and disagreed with English attempts to vanquish them.    I do not understand how bloodshed, violence and contention can establish a blessed society here in this new land.  Warfare only causes resentments, hatreds and simmering rebellions.  If only we sought to plant a true Eden here in this Promised Land!  If only we could learn from our Savior about compassion, dignity, and equality.

 

Thomas Dudley, the deputy governor, came at me with these words: “About three years ago we were all in peace,” Dudley said, referring to how long I had been in the colonies.  “Then Mistress Hutchinson, from that time she came, hath made a disturbance, and vented diverse of her strange opinions and now she hath a potent party in the country.”   He was less concerned about my beliefs and knowledge of faith, and more concerned by the numbers who supported and believed in me.  He made as if I was waging war. This was when the judges and ministers began to wag their heads, point, and murmur amongst themselves.   It was then that I saw that my cause was lost.  I would be banished into exile, myself and my family; strangers in a strange land.

 

Indeed, their verdict was for my removal and banishment, sent in the middle of winter with my 12 children out into the frigid snows of the New England wilderness.   As the trial ended my response were these words:  “The Lord judges not as man judges.   Better to be cast out of the church than to deny Christ.”    Thankfully, we had friends and supporters, who sheltered us and provided for our nourishment and travel. We found our way to the community that Roger Williams had established in Rhode Island, and I lived among the Baptists, Quakers and other outcasts in the community of Portsmouth, near Newport.   We had a good and pleasant life, with our family growing, and a prosperous farm and livelihood.

 

At 51 years of age, after my husband died, I relocated to live amongst the Dutch in New Amsterdam, with my younger children, and we established a farm there.  In the summer of 1642 I sent our furniture and other heavy belongings over land, on carts, along with our horses, cattle and hogs. I then hired boats to convey my party of sixteen to our new home along the river. We needed to make a new start.

 

The trip to our new home was glorious; moving out into the ocean, and then along the sound to the Hudson River, and then up to the islands, within the mix of tidal marsh and forest.   Blue heron and white egrets dotted the reeds along the way, rising in glorious flight as we passed.   Later, we used these reeds for roofing and insulation as we built our new settlement.    We had few neighbors with whom we could speak, since most were Dutch, but my family flourished, with new grandchildren arriving with regularity, and many hands to help with the work.   We prepared great stews of seafood, meal and fowl, and berry pies.  In the spring of 1643 I planted an herb garden like those I had tended in times past.

 

My Dutch neighbors warned that of an impending attack by the Siwanoy tribe that summer, but I refused to uproot myself, preferring rather to negotiate with them directly. I trusted in the will of God.  And I believed in peace. Yet, the next day, Siwanoy warriors stampeded into our tiny settlement, hatred in their eyes, seeking to burn every house.   No Indians gave ear to my cries, nor were willing to speak, but only to scalp and kill.  And kill they did, myself and my darling children, burning the house down around us.   I bled to death, watching my family cut down around me.  “God giveth and God taketh away; blessed be the name of God.”

 

Some say that I should be credited with the beginnings of Harvard College, rather than John Harvard and his library.  In 1637, just a week after my trial and banishment, colonial leaders and the privileged men of Boston started Harvard to educate the young male citizens to prevent another charismatic leader, such as myself, from holding sway in Massachusetts.   Heaven forbid that a woman might be taught academic studies and sacred theology!  What would become of the world?!

 

It is wonderful to be with you today, on this Thanksgiving Sunday and in this United Church of Christ, knowing that you, ancestors of the Puritans, were the first to ordain a woman, Antoinette Brown, in 1853.  You fought for emancipation for slaves, and for just treatment of workers and you continue to speak up for equality, freedom of conscience and private judgment.  After all these years, I feel vindicated, seeing that you affirm a faith in which all of our voices are heard and respected, women and men alike.  Thank you.  Thank you.  May God bless this church.  Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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111311 Dig a Hole

Dig a Hole

1 Thessalonians 5:1–11                                                       November 13, 2011

Matthew 25:14-30                                                                        Russell Eidmann-Hicks

Digging a hole and putting your life savings in it sounds like a pretty good idea right now.  We’ve seen markets shoot up and then down and our nest eggs fly into the air, tossed into the unknown, tumbling up and down; and we fear that they will crash and shatter on the ground….Burying our 401(k)’s or pensions or savings in a deep hole seems to make a lot of sense these days.   Our parable this morning speaks about the challenge of investing; of risking our security for profit, without guarantee of success.   In shifting sands of fortune that characterize our world, we face difficult choices to make a living.

I just read about a theologian named Kathryn Tanner from my seminary: Yale Divinity School, who writes about connections between Christian doctrine and the world’s economy.   She says that the last 35 years have seen enormous growth in financial markets worldwide, but along with that has come extreme volatility – and risks, not only for countries, but for private citizens.   We have experienced dizzying swings of property values, savings rates, employment, and income.   Tanner, as a theologian, speaks of the fears that we face, the risks that we take, but asserts that as Christians we have a foundation on which to stand.  She writes, “Belief in a Creator-Redeemer—confidence in God’s love, mercy and intentions for us beyond our own precarious daily fortunes—offers a fundamentally different understanding of risk and insecurity….Faith may be itself a risk, but what faith has faith in is an eminently secure source of profit: God.”   She continues: “Whatever the risks one takes, there is a floor beneath which one cannot fall, established by God’s loving regard for one, as one’s creator and redeemer. Benefits are assured in that sense, and such a belief is what gives one the confidence to take the risks of faith and hazard oneself in the eyes of the world; one needn’t fundamentally fear, as the risk-filled world of finance tells one to.”  This is faith-based economics 101!  In this view we have a foundation, an alternative source of security and providence: God.   God offers what no 401(k) or pension fund can, a solid source of confidence that nothing in this world can shake.

If only we had sufficient confidence and trust in God’s providence and the courage in our convictions, as we gaze into our future.   If only we could move forward with the kind of guts that the two investors have in our story today.

In spite of the fact that the guy they work for is a steely-eyed, hard-nosed mogul, they leveraged their silver talents without batting an eye.   Sadly, the poor guy who was given only one silver talent didn’t feel the same.  He was terrified about risking its loss, and couldn’t trust that his luck would be there for him, and so he dug a hole, buried his talent in the ground, and covered it with dirt.   It’s certainly understandable, in the same way we can understand people cashing out their savings in dollars or in gold and sticking it all under a mattress.   It’s scary out there, and there are no guarantees.  Look at what happened to John Corzine recently, when he made a bad bet on European debt, and lost his shirt.   Look what’s happening to Silvio Berlusconi in Italy.   Markets shift, luck runs out, and we can be left in ruin.   Of course, it is not only dollars or investments that are of value…..

If we dig a big hole and throw in our gold, or our hopes and dreams, or our visions and deepest desires, or our true love, then what are we throwing away?  If we bury what we value most, then what is the meaning of our lives? If we only live for the future, then what is the present? The danger is that we bury a part of our souls, the gold of our inner holiness and beauty, the joy of vivid experience, the challenge of our true calling.    The hole we dig may be a grave for our real living.

The poet Robert Bly, in his book Iron John, comments on the ancient fairy tale about Iron John, a mythical monster.  In one part of the book he talks about a young prince growing up in a castle, who is playing with a golden ball, which rolls across the courtyard into the cage containing the monster.   Bly’s interpretation is that we are each born with a golden ball: our radiant souls, our personalities, the gifts and capabilities given by God.  But over time, we end up losing our gold; we are told to be ashamed of being too exuberant, too loud, too expressive, and so we bury parts of ourselves underground.   Our task as adults is to dig up those parts of ourselves we have lost and buried; as we mature we reclaim our gold.    So, growth in the spiritual life has to do with digging up what we’ve lost.

 

So how do we live in the fears and shifting sands of this life? How do we invest the gold that God has given to us?  How do we live full and non-anxious lives, when all around us is swirling change?

 

Jesus tells us is to trust God, and depend on God’s provision for our basic spiritual needs.   Kathryn Tanner writes again about spiritual economics: “Swings between abject fear and false hope are avoided through confidence in an abiding source of divine love and mercy that lies beyond all the usual shifting.”   In other words trust in God’s underlying truth.  From Jesus we hear: build on rock and not on sand.   “That is like a man building a house, who dug deeply and laid the foundation on rock; when a flood arose, the river burst against that house but could not shake it, because it had been well built.”  (Luke 6:47-48) Jesus also encourages us to create a treasure in heaven, that moths or rust cannot consume.   It’s about discovering an inner calm or still center that is not tossed around by our anxieties and worries.

 

Here is what the theologian, Helmut Thielicke, writes about this in his book Life Can Begin Again: “We should not artificially turn away from our worries by constantly listening to the radio, for example, or running to the movies, or some other kind of busywork, but rather direct our cares to him who wills to bear and share all our sin and all our suffering and therefore all our cares. No diversion, but directing our cares. This is what to do. Jesus did not say: Look at the ostrich, how it buries its head in the desert sand and so tries to escape the fear of danger. No, he said: Look at the birds of the air, keep your eyes open, stand up straight and look to the heights where God makes known his grace and care.”

 

From Isaiah we hear: “Trust in the Lord for ever, for in the Lord God you have an everlasting rock.”  (Is 26:4)   God is the Source and foundation of our lives, and we can trust God.

 

Another chunk of advice Jesus offers is to give without pause or self-concern, to live courageously, and to risk moving out onto thin ice.  Jesus says get out and give of ourselves – no matter what the cost. Look at his faith that allowed him to journey into Jerusalem, knowing what the price would be. Look what it cost him: his life on the cross. So we are asked to give, to walk with confident steps into the uncertainty of the unknown.  He does this in love.

 

Here is a story by Annie Dillard from her book Traveling Mercies, that speaks of this kind of courage, this kind of risk that leads to a life of fullness and spiritual wealth.  She shows what it means to invest in faith and love.

“One of our newer members, a man named Ken Nelson, is dying of AIDS, disintegrating before our very eyes.   He came in a year ago with a Jewish woman who comes every week to be with us, although she does not believe in Jesus.  Shortly after the man with AIDS started coming, his partner died of the disease.  A few weeks later Ken told us that right after Brandon died, Jesus had slid into the hole in his heart that Brandon’s loss left, and had been there ever since.   Ken has a totally lopsided face, ravaged and emaciated, but when he smiles, he is radiant.   He looks like God’s crazy nephew Phil.  He says that he would gladly pay any price for what he has now, which is Jesus, and us.

“There’s a woman in the choir named Ranola, who is large and beautiful and jovial and black and as devout as can be, who has been a little standoffish toward Ken. She has always looked at him with confusion, when she looks at him at all.  Or she looks at him sideways, as if she wouldn’t have to quite see him if she didn’t look at him head on.  She was raised in the South by Baptists, who taught her that his way of life – that he – was an abomination.   It is hard for her to break through this.  I think she and a few other women in church are, on the most visceral level, a little afraid of catching the disease. 

 

But Kenny has come to church almost every week for the last year and won almost everyone over.  He finally missed a couple of Sundays when he got too weak, and then a month ago he was back, weighing almost no pounds, his face even more lopsided, as if he’d had a stroke.   Still, during the prayers of the people, he talked joyously of his life and his decline, of grace and redemption, of how safe and happy he feels these days. 

            So on this one particular Sunday, for the first hymn, the so-called Morning Hymn, we sang “Jacob’s Ladder,” which goes, “Every rung goes higher, higher,” while ironically Kenny couldn’t even stand up.  But he sang away sitting down, with the hymnal in his lap.  And then when it came time for the second hymn, the Fellowship Hymn, we were to sing “His Eye is on the Sparrow.”  The pianist was playing and the whole congregation had risen – only Ken remained seated, holding the hymnal in his lap – and we began to sing.  “Why should I feel discouraged?  Why do the shadows fall?”   And Ranola watched Ken rather skeptically for a moment, and then her face began to melt and contort like his, and she went to his side and bent down to lift him up – lifted up this white rag doll, this scarecrow.  She held him next to her, draped over and against her like a child while they sang.  And it pierced me.

“I can’t imagine anything but music that could have brought about this alchemy.  Maybe it’s because music is about as physical as it gets: your essential rhythm is your heartbeat; your essential sound, the breath.   We’re walking temples of noise, and when you add tender hearts to this mix, it somehow lets us meet in places we couldn’t get to any other way…”

“On that Sunday, Ranola and Ken, of whom she was so afraid, were trying to sing.   He looked like a child who was singing simply because small children sing all the time – they haven’t made the separation between speech and music. Then both Ken and Ranola began to cry.  Tears were pouring down their faces, and their noses were running like rivers, but as she held him up, she suddenly lay her black, weeping face right up against his and let all those spooky fluids mingle with hers.

“I thought, I do not know if what happened at church was an honest-to-God little miracle…I suddenly thought, ‘This is plenty of miracle for me to rest in now.”  

 

Miracles happen when we risk self-giving love.   Miracles happen when we push away from the edge of pool into deeper water.  Miracles happen when we journey out into the mists of the unknown with faith, and with confidence that God is out there, possibilities will unfold, and talents will grow. Our fears keep us tied down, shut down.  But we can risk growth, like those in our parable, rather than digging a hole and dropping hopes and dreams down into the dark.

 

DH Laurence has a poem that speaks to this:

What is knocking?  What is knocking on the door in the night?

It is somebody wants to do us harm.

No, no, it is the three strange angels.

Admit them, admit them.

 

          Let us trust in God’s providence and grace, admit them into our hearts, and invest in hope.  Let us not dig a hole and drop down our hopes and dreams, but rather, walk forward into uncertainty, in trust and in love.   Amen.

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110611 Mission #1

Mission One

Isaiah 58:6-12                                                                                                Nov. 6, 2011

Matthew 25:31-46                                                                        Russell Eidmann-Hicks

 

#1            Today is about the poor.  This is Mission #1.  It is primary.  It is not about spare change or if you feel sentimental or if someone gives you a good sales pitch with a sad picture of a starving child.  No.  It comes first from the get-go.

 

#2            This is the heart of Jesus’ message: his Mission #1.  Feed the hungry.  Care for the orphan, the widow, the sojourner.  Help the poor.   Visit the sick and imprisoned.  Give clothing. Jesus’ core vision: envision a world based on compassion: that is the Kingdom of God here on earth.   The poor are at the heart of our tradition; compassion is a spiritual pathway.  This is the heart of God; and transforms us into disciples.  Jesus had compassion on the crowds of people who came to him for healing.  He taught about the way the father in the Prodigal Son story had compassion on his son when he asked for forgiveness.  This is Mission #1 to Jesus, not code-words or catch-phrases or sacrifices or pious prayers.

 

#3            Myth #1:  God is only worried about our sin.  Yes, we need to work on our sin; but one great way to do that is to shift our concern from ourselves to others.  When we do this, we change our hearts and transform selfishness into kindness.  We mirror God.  Jesus did not only give his life to overcome our sin; he died to show us how to live: with self-giving love.  As we are compassionate, God is compassionate to us; we create a world of grace and hope.  It is the same with forgiveness – as we forgive others, we are forgiven ourselves.

 

#4            Annie Lamott in her book Traveling Mercies says this:

            “A few days later I was picking Sam up at the house of another friend and noticed a yellowed clipping taped to the refrigerator with “FORGIVENESS” written at the top – as though God had decided to abandon all efforts at subtlety and just plain noodge.   The clipping said forgiveness meant that God is for giving, and that we are here for giving too, and that to withhold love or blessings is to be completely delusional.   No one knew who had written it.  I copied it down and taped it to my refrigerator.”

 

Compassion is central; we are here for giving.

 

#1            We often believe that the point of religious life is to get ourselves a ticket into heaven, a stamp in the back of our hands to get us into the hereafter in the sweet by and by.   The way to do that is to say the right code words: Jesus is my Lord and Savior. Done. Sold.  End of story.  That’s why we come to church, right?

 

#2            But then we hear a parable by Jesus himself that says something far different.  It says that we will be chosen as worthy to enter into heaven based on whether we fed someone, gave them water to drink, clothes to wear, cared for them when they were sick, and visited them in prison.   Weird.  When do you hear that in St. Peter jokes about heaven?  It’s usually some strange riddle you have to answer: “how do you spell Philadelphia?”  It’s never about the poor.  Today it’s about the poor – that we are for giving.   This is Mission #1.

 

#3            Myth #2:            We shouldn’t be talking about the poor in church because that is political, and has nothing to do with religion. 

What is religion, if not compassion? Jesus said that all of the law and the prophets can be boiled down to two laws: love God and love your neighbor as yourself.  It is not just about ritual and prayers.  Jesus didn’t tell his disciples to build churches and wear fancy robes.  He taught them to heal, to teach, to give.  He didn’t pull this compassion stuff out of the blue; he learned it from the Bible and especially from the prophets.     Here are the words of the prophet Amos from the 7^th century BC:

I hate, I despise your festivals,
and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.
Even though you offer me your burnt-offerings and grain-offerings,
I will not accept them…
Take away from me the noise of your songs;
I will not listen to the melody of your harps.
But let justice roll down like waters,
and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (Amos 5:18-24)

 

#4            Amos was incensed that the poor were being treated with contempt and yet the religious people of the day were only concerned about ritual and sacrifice.   He cried out:

 “They who trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth, and push the afflicted out of the way.  They sell the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of sandals…

 

#1            Other prophets echoed this call to justice and caring for the most vulnerable.  Religion is about justice and kindness and not only worship and candles and hymn singing.   It is about caring for the ‘least of these’ and not just those who consider themselves sacred and holier-than-thou.

 

#2            Myth #3:            There’s not enough to go around.  If I give, then there’s less for me.

 

#3            We huddle afraid, in a mindset of scarcity.  We worry for our own bottom line.  Yet, around us is abundance, if we share, if we consider the needs of others.   A central parable in the New Testament is that of the feeding of the 5,000.   A huge crowd followed Jesus and the disciples out into the wilderness – away from stores and restaurants and from the mall.   It is late; people are hungry; what are they to do?   There’s no place to buy food.

 

#4         The first response is fear and worry.   One of the disciples contributes his own negativity by bringing a boy to Jesus who has generously offered his lunch, saying, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish.  But what are they among so many people?”  What good is this? It’s so little?  It is a reasonable question; we ask it all the time.    Look at the problems around us – the hunger in the world, warfare, global poverty and debt – and we say, “Well I could give $25 but how is that going to solve the problem?   It’s all so huge, why even bother?”    Yes it is reasonable.  But It is also negative and defeatist.   It gives us an excuse to sit on our hands and do nothing.

#1         Mission #1 says: “Let’s do something.  Let’s gather food, offer blankets, coats, some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and friendly conversation.  It’s better than nothing.”

#2         That is what Jesus does.   Instead of throwing up his hands and saying, ‘it’s hopeless’, he takes what has been given and passes it out.    Some say the bread and fish multiplied and expanded and reproduced miraculously, like God sending ‘manna’ down to Moses and the Israelites in the desert centuries before.  Others would say that the example of this little boy opened the hearts of all those gathered so that they opened up their knapsacks and pocketbooks and traveling bags and shared the bread and fish and cheese and grapes and dates that they brought along for the journey with their neighbors. Suddenly there was lots and lots, with big baskets full left over.  It became an enormous pot-luck supper.   When the spirit of God is present and true community is found, then generous hearts create abundance that we don’t find elsewhere.

#3         Most of us live with scarcity in our hearts: “there’s not enough for everyone, if I don’t protect mine, I’ll be left out and look stupid.”    Scarcity: “I need to hold onto what I’ve got with both hands and squeeze every nickel before it leaves my hand, or else, farther down the road I’ll be in big trouble. I fear I will never feed the many hungers I have within.” We look through the lens of our money – like the eye on the dollar bill – thinking that is our only reality.

#4         Jesus is saying that another reality is at work in the world.   The scarcity we fear is real – Jesus lived in a time of great poverty and lack. But God’s grace creates a different way of living, a highway to harmony.

#1         The hero of this story is the young boy – who is willing to part with his lunch – all five barley loaves and two fish.    He doesn’t calculate the cost or worry about the next day.  He gives his lunch wholeheartedly – and even perhaps, a little foolishly.    But out of that giving comes a feast of generosity that expands and expands until all five thousand folk are filled and satisfied, and there are 12 baskets of leftovers to enjoy later.     If we can live with a spirit of self-giving and joy and trust, then the world is a very different place; than if we live with a spirit of scarcity, negativity, mistrust and greed.

#2            Myth #4:            This is a bummer.  Why are we talking about something so depressing?  It’s bringing me down.  

 

#3            The truth is that sharing and giving can make us happy.   It is a common human response.    In the article “Generosity a Pleasure” by  Nicholas Kristoff  (NYT 10/30/11) we hear this:

 

#4            In recent years, researchers have found that generosity isn’t always a sacrifice; instead, it often exhilarates us.   One set of experiments at the University of Oregon involved young women hooked up to brain scanners as they were presented with modest amounts of money.  Sometimes the money was then ‘taxed,’ sometimes they were given the chance to donate to charity, and sometimes they were given additional money.  Their pleasure centers lit up when they received money, as one might expect – but also when they gave money away.  About half of the women seemed to derive as much pleasure from giving money as from receiving it.  The other half enjoyed receiving the money more.  Not surprisingly, the latter contributed less to charity….

            …to me the most fascinating insight is that for at least half of humans it truly does seem to be as blessed to give as to receive.”  

 

#1            When we open our hands, then our hearts can open up a little in happiness, and we sense that we are contributing to a better world.  Compassion is a pathway toward fulfillment and inner joy.  The more we give, the more we mirror the love of God, and unite with God’s abundant grace.   It is not a bummer, but buoyancy; not a downer but a delight.

 

#2            Mission #1.  This is what we do.  This is who we are.  As we share communion this morning – as we offer food to the hungry – let us rejoice that we are able to share – and that our God is calling us to a world of abundant giving, and graceful living.

 

#3            “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”  (Matt 25:42)

 

#4               We are here “for giving”.

 

All:              Mission One!

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