[catchup sermon (11)] Advent 3C

[written as if preached on the actual date]

Advent 3C - December 13, 2009

Zephaniah 3:14-20
Isaiah 12:2-6
Philippians 4:4-7
Luke 3:7-18

We Light the Candle of Joy Today

"You brood of vipers."  That's a harsh thing to say to people who are coming to get baptized.  These are not John's enemies but people who have come to follow the way that John is proclaiming.

John is skeptical, though -- "Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?"  Are our actions truly guided by the stirrings of the Holy Spirit, or are we just following other people?

John exhorts the crowds to "Produce fruit in keeping with repentance" rather than resting in the assurances of their covenantal inheritance.  Similarly, we in the Church today are reminded that it is not enough to merely claim the name Christian -- for out of these stones God can raise up children of the Promise -- but that we must do the work to help bring about a radically just and egalitarian society -- to share with those who have less than we do, to be content with what we have and not manipulate the system or speak falsely about others.

Repentance is a turning, a returning, toward God.  And during Advent, as we reenact the expectant wait for the Christ, we are reminded that God does not always look like we expect, that redemption comes from unexpected places and takes unexpected forms.  And so we continue to keep our eyes and hearts open and attentive, seeking always the Way.

So what is this reading doing on the Sunday of Joy?  All the other lectionary readings today are all about joy.

But is this Gospel reading not about joy?  This Gospel reading ends, after all these demands and a proclamation about the One who is to come, "So, with many other exhortations, John proclaimed the good news to the people."

I love this.  To our ears, John's words are hard to stomach, but to these people they were Good News. God's vision for Creation is of economic justice for all.  This has always been a Jewish ethic, but John goes further.  John proclaims that One is coming with a winnowing fork in hand, to clear the threshing floor, to gather the wheat into the granary -- and to burn the chaff with unquenchable fire.  John proclaims that the vision of God and of the Jewish people for the world will happen.  This is the Good News.

We're in the positions of power -- we in (white) middle-class America where our religion is the dominant one. And so this message of cosmic overturn is scary.  To John's listeners, we look like the chaff that will be burned.

But the chaff to be burned is not people.  It is the parts of us that stand between us and God.  God who is the Love that animates the entire cosmos.  God who wants to draw us closer to Godself.

Wikipedia defines "chaff" as "the inedible, dry, scaly protective casings of the seeds of cereal grain."  To open ourselves up, to make ourselves vulnerable, is a scary thing, and so of course we build up protective casings.  But these casings also keep out that which nourishes and sustains us, and so they need to be broken open, shed, discarded.

God is not out to destroy us but rather to transform us -- like the refiner's fire we heard about last week.

Just before today's lectionary begins, Isaiah proclaims: "You will say in that day: I will give thanks to you, O LORD, for though you were angry with me, your anger turned away, and you comforted me" (Isaiah 12:1).  God's wrath is not everlasting -- God's mercy is.  Like a loving parent, angered at a beloved child's misbehavior, God always welcomes us back into that loving embrace.

And "Surely God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid, for the LORD GOD is my strength and my might; God has become my salvation" (Isaiah 12:2).  "God has become my salvation."  I love that.  We seek salvation in so many things -- well-paying jobs, financial security and the approbation of our peers, weight-loss, romance.  But ultimately, none of those satisfy.  Where we find salvation is in the Breath and Source and Ground of our Being -- the Breath that moved over the waters of Creation, the Love that has known us since before we were formed in the womb, the Ground of our Being that sustains us through all trials with the peace that passes understanding.  This cosmic life force so far beyond our comprehension, yet also pulsing within every cell of our being.  The cosmic God who has set all the stars in all the innumerable galaxies in their places and who also numbers the very hairs on our bodies.  This is the God who is our salvation.  Who enfleshed Herself so as to meet us more fully, who lifts us through death to resurrection, who will never leave us or forsake us.  This is the Good News.

"With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation" (Isaiah 12:3).

Mostly this just makes me think of the hymn, but in really thinking about it, I find myself noticing the phrase "you will draw water" -- there is work involved here.  I love the imagery of water from the wells of salvation -- the water that will never leave us thirsty ... like Jesus tells the Samaritan woman at the well -- "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.  The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life" (John 4:13-14).  But we are not passive recipients -- we are called to draw forth this water.  God has placed it there in the well for us, and invites us to reach out for it, but we must reach out.

And sometimes we can't reach out ourselves but need someone to draw out the water for us.  Which is why community is so important.

In today's Epistle, Paul exhorts us to help each other:

"Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.  I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord.  Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion, help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life" (Philippians 4:1-3).

We are called to do this work together.

We are all co-workers, co-creators of God's Heaven here on Earth.

No one is too small to be counted important in this work.

Whether you are named in the Bible or your name is known only in God's Book of Life, you are belov'd and your work matters.  The work of each and every one of us is necessary to bring forth the Kindom of God.  You all know that passage from 1 Corinthians 12, right?  We are all a part of the Body of Christ -- each and every one of us.  And just as you wouldn't want any part of your body, from your appendix to a thumb, to stop working, so we are called to all be working toward the fulfillment of the Kindom.  But I don't want you to be intimidated.  You do not have to be the body part of an Olympic athlete.  God does glorious things with this flawed Body of Christ, just as persons with disabilities live rich and full lives not in spite of but with the limitations of their bodies.  We are transformed through the resurrecting power of the love of Christ, into new creations -- empowered through the love of God and of community to be more than we could be on our own.

"Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things" (Philippians 4:8).

I don't think this is an exhortation to just "think happy thoughts" -- to turn away from the broken places of the world.  Instead, I think this is a reminder to keep the vision of the Kindom always before us -- to remember the Good News.  Even in the midst of all the pain and suffering, the Good News is still true.

And you will say in that day: Give thanks to the LORD, call on God's name; make known God's deeds among the nations; proclaim that God's name is exalted.  Sing praises to the LORD, for God has done gloriously; let this be known in all the earth.  Shout aloud and sing for joy, O royal Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.  (Isaiah 12:4-5)

God is breaking into our lives -- into the world in which we live and into our hearts.  This is the Christmas event for which we are preparing during Advent -- the coming of Christ.

The prophet Zephaniah says, "The LORD, your God, is in your midst, a warrior who gives victory.  God will rejoice over you with gladness and will renew you in God's love.  God will exult over you with loud singing as on a day of festival" (Zephaniah 3:17-18a).

Through Zephaniah, God proclaims to the people: "I will remove disaster from you, so that you will not bear reproach for it.  I will deal with all your oppressors at that time.  And I will save the lame and gather the outcast, and I will change their shame into praise and renown in all the earth.  At that time I will bring you home, at the time when I gather you; for I will make you renowned and praised among all the peoples of the earth, when I restore your fortunes before your eyes" (Zephaniah 3:18b-20).

God love us so much.  God wants so much good for us.  For all of us.

And so I encourage you to leave this place, in joy, strengthened by the Good News that God loves you and empowered to share that Good News with all you meet by extending that love to them through your words and actions, working toward God's vision of peace and justice.

My facebook status is "cares rather more than she used to about the workings of the prison system."

I love my best friend

She forwarded me the below with the note "I thought this might be relevant to your interests."

Though the public hearing is on a teaching day, and I already wanna take the following day (also a teaching day) off to go to First Church Somerville's prayer retreat.

Subject: Families and friends of prisoners are losing rights in Massachusetts

Hey Friends,
I know there's a lot going on in the world right now but I'm really hoping you can take action on another piece. Massachusetts Department of Corrections is expanding its rules for prisoner visitors, thus making it more difficult for prisoners to get the support they need as they prepare to reenter the community. The following are the primary points being proposed by the DOC:

1) you can only visit one inmate for entire department of correction (this not only breaks up community ties but severely hampers our ability to organize)
2) each inmate can only have 10 pre-approved visitors who all have to submit photo ID and full CORI background check
3) visitors can't talk to each other in the waiting room or anywhere else(!!!!)

Please sign the petition calling for an end to this outrage - http://www.PetitionOnLine.com/visitdoc/petition.html

Please attend the public hearing on February 4 at the Executive Office of Public Safety Building at 1 Ashburton Place - Ashburton Cafe Function Room at 10:00am. You are welcome to gather at the Community Church of Boston from 8:30 - 9:30am for coffee and sign making prior to the hearing.

Please take this action! Even if you don't spend your time advocating for prisoners please also think about the families and friends of prisoners who are going to suffer from these new regulations.

With love and faith,

Jason

--
the thirteenth amendment did not abolish slavery, it just moved it to the prison industrial complex. support the moratorium on massachusetts prisons and jails.

www.blackandpink.org www.massdecarcerate.org

a saint is just a sinner who fell down and got up again

From: RevLauraRuth Jarrett
Sent: Wed, January 20, 2010 11:14:32 AM
Subject: [FirstChurch Mailing List] The election, the earthquake, and Rest and Bread

Dear Beloved,

We had a little political earthquake in Massachusetts. Some of us thought that Martha Coakley would be a shoo in. Some of us thought that Scott Brown would be the best person to represent Massachusetts in the national Congress. Some of us were distracted or were too busy and didn't vote - all of this and a thousand other thoughts, wishes, hopes, and dreams exist in our congregation this morning.

Our work as a congregation is to be community together, to hear each other, to learn from each other, to listen for God's direction and walk Jesus' way of peace, to align ourselves with the divine. Instead of thinking about who is right (or wrong) or what should have happened, instead, I gently and respectfully request we speak together of our spiritual, physical and emotional needs and how our needs informed how we voted. In this way, we may know about how to pray for each other, how to serve each other, how to negotiate complicated ideas and complex needs with simple love and without judgment. In this way, we grow more centered in our purpose, grow flexible in our ability to see God. I pray this might be our journey.

We have a listserv called: First Church Chat for such discussion. You can join it here: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/firstchurchchat/

The real earthquake is in Haiti, complete with aftershocks. We raised $2560 to give to the Holy Bible Baptist Church, our sister church in Davis Sq. Owen Robinson, Christy, Simon, Izzy Zuzelo, and I walked it down. We got a quick hug and heartfelt thanks. How amazing it was to be welcomed with our gift into that community!

The folks at HBBC will be putting together survival kits for kids. Myriam from HBBC said they could use some hands to put these kits together. You can see what they're doing and what they need at http://www.holybiblebaptistchurch.org/.

Church World Service is doing the same. You can see what they're doing and what they need at http://www.churchworldservice.org/site/PageServer?pagename=kits_main

We can pray together about all these things, to reaffirm that we are the body of Christ regardless of whom we voted for, that we are all in spiritual need at Rest and Bread tonight at 6:30. Music for meditation begins at 6:15.

Church Council follows.

Peace, dear ones, and love from me,
Laura Ruth

I replied:

Thank you for the acknowledgment that not everyone in this congregation/listserv was necessarily anti- Scott Brown.

And for having a forum other than this main listserv for partisan conversation.

And for reminding us of what we as Church are called to.

<3
Elizabeth

Rest and Bread

The readings were Matthew 5:14-16 and part of an article from today's Boston Globe.

I was a little uncomfortable with Laura Ruth's Reflection because hi, I am just war girl, but I can't really argue with the fact that Jesus' message was about loving and taking care of people.

Afterward, we were invited to reflect aloud (and light a candle) on being a peacemaker, on being light in the world, on seeing light in others. Laura Ruth was the first to go, and she said that she thought that Scott Brown was a nobody, that she didn't have to think about him, but now she does; "I'm sorry." I know I'm not remembering the middle part exactly, but what really struck me was the "I'm sorry" that she said at the end, because what I heard in that was, "I'm sorry for discounting the humanity of a beloved child of God" -- because dismissing people as not worth thinking about is in some ways dismissing their humanity (though yes I know plenty of people just thought of course the Democrat would win and they were merely making a political calculus, not any sort of verdict on any person's inherent worth).

A friend today posted excerpts from G.K. Chesterton's "On Certain Modern Writers and the Institution of the Family," in Heretics, including:

We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next-door neighbour. Hence he comes to us clad in all the careless terrors of nature; he is as strange as the stars, as reckless and indifferent as the rain. He is Man, the most terrible of the beasts. That is why the old religions and the old scriptural language showed so sharp a wisdom when they spoke, not of one's duty towards humanity, but one's duty toward one's neighbour. The duty towards humanity may often take the form of some choice which is personal or even pleasurable. That duty may be a hobby; it may even be a dissipation. We may work in the East End because we are peculiarly fitted to work in the East End, or because we think we are; we may fight for the cause of international peace because we are very fond of fighting...We may be so made as to be particularly fond of lunatics or specially interested in leprosy...But we have to love our neighbour because he is there-- a much more alarming reason for a much more serious operation. He is the sample of humanity which is actually given us. Precisely because he may be anybody he is everybody. He is a symbol because he is an accident.

Much on my mind is this recent slactivist post on "The Logic of Hell" -- which I just read today. And this one, which points out that:

When Jesus stood to read in the synagogue he looked over the whole of the scriptures and selected the one thing he wanted to say out of all that he might have read and he read this as his motto, his mission statement, the signature and standard of his ministry and its meaning:

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and release to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.

[sermon #10] Baptism of Jesus (C) - January 10, 2010

Baptism of Jesus (C) - January 10, 2010

Isaiah 43:1-7
Psalm 29
Acts 8:14-17
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Will you pray with me?

Creating, Sustaining, Redeeming God, I invite your Holy Spirit to move in this place, that the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts may bring us into your Light, O God.

Amen.

The day after Thanksgiving, just a few days after I'd agreed to preach this Sunday, I was at a dinner party, and one Jewish woman asked, "Why did Jesus need to get baptized?  Wasn't he, like, The Man?"

"Therein lies a tale," said one of the other Christians in the room.

Which tale we are told in the Gospel of Matthew:

¹³Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John.  ¹⁴But John tried to deter Jesus, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?"

¹⁵Jesus replied, "Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness."  Then John consented.  (Matthew 3:13-15)

Okay, so it still doesn't really answer the question.

My NRSV says, "Righteousness, right conduct in accord with God's will as revealed in scripture."

So I still don't know why Jesus was supposed to be baptized.

John Howard Yoder says: Before Paul and the new humanity, even before Jesus, baptism also meant repentance and cleansing.  It meant "You can leave your past behind." (Body Politics, page 41)

This is a useful formulation for me -- the idea of baptism as marking a new start.

In their book The First Christmas, Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan posit that it is not that some of the Gospels are missing some of the years of Jesus' early life but that "all the years are missing until the story of Jesus begins---as it does in all four gospels---with John's baptism of Jesus" (40).  They posit the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke as overtures to the story of Jesus' adult life and ministry, as parables rather than historical accounts.  I'm not going to get into a discussion of the birth narratives here, I merely mention it to provide the appropriate context for that line that so strikes me -- "the story of Jesus begins---as it does in all four gospels---with John's baptism of Jesus."

The birth narratives have marked Jesus as special in various ways, but here Jesus is publicly marked out.

“You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

You know this baptismal liturgy from the many times Tiffany has told this story -- "You are a bright, brilliant, beloved Child of God.  And you are beautiful to behold."

Jesus is named and claimed by God, undeservedly.  This is a moment of grace -- not something we earn.

God says to Jesus, "with you I am well pleased," but there's no indication that Jesus has done anything particularly to merit this.  Luke tells the story of young Jesus in the Temple, but other than that Jesus hasn't done anything to earn this distinction.

Something I read recently commented on the fact that Jesus is marked as Chosen before the temptation in the wilderness.  While we might expect someone to not be publicly named as Chosen until after a period of testing, God makes a commitment here -- at the beginning of the story in some of the Gospels, certainly at the beginning of Jesus' adult life as recorded in the Gospels.

The Isaiah passage we read echoes this -- God says, "I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you" (Isaiah 43:1-2).  The hearer is named as redeemed, with no indication of merit or even a reason.

This reading opens Chapter 43 of Isaiah.  The preceding chapter, Chapter 42, closes with, "Who gave up Jacob to the spoiler, and Israel to the robbers?  Was it not God, against whom we have sinned, in whose ways they would not walk, and whose law they would not obey?  So God poured upon them the heat of God's anger and the fury of war; it set them on fire all around, but they did not understand; it burned them, but they did not take it to heart."

The people Israel have turned against God, and God has punished them, and they still haven't gotten the message.

"But now thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob, who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear."

We remember that exhortation "Do not fear" from the Christmas story, right?  "Do not be afraid.  For I bring you good tidings of great joy that shall be for all the people.  Unto you is born this day in the city of David a savior."

"Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.  And now, you will conceive and bear a child, whom you will name Jesus.  This child will be great and will be called the Child of the Most High."

"Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard.  Your wife Elizabeth will bear a child and you will name the child John.  You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at this birth."

When God speaks to you, it usually means your life is going to get turned upside down -- so opening with "Do not be afraid" makes a lot of sense (though Mary at least got a "Hello").

No one cautions Jesus not to be afraid.

I think because Jesus chose this.  Divine messengers and messages are usually reported as coming to people who aren't particularly seeking them, but Jesus is stepping into this baptism with full knowledge of the sort of path that lies ahead.

This is Jesus' coming out.

John has been proclaiming and enacting a baptism of repentance -- calling people to return to God, to begin a new chapter in their lives, preparing the way for the coming of One who will begin a new chapter in the life of the world.  So when Jesus shows up and asks to be baptized, John says, "What do you have to repent of?  You are the Holy One, the Child of God.  You should be baptizing me, so that I may follow you."

But Jesus recognizes the necessity of this baptism.  We don't know what stories Mary and Joseph told their firstborn about the angels, the shepherds, the magi, Simeon and Anna at Jesus' presentation at the Temple -- even what stories were told about Mary's visit to pregnant Elizabeth, or any of the other stories Jesus and John might have grown up hearing about themselves and each other.  But in whatever way, Jesus has spent three decades preparing for this moment.

In Acts we read that Peter and John went to Samaria and prayed for the people there that they might receive the Holy Spirit "for as yet the Spirit had not come upon any of them; they had only been baptized in the name of Jesus."  I've come to be a big proponent of believer's baptism (rather than infant baptism), but at the same time I'm not fond of the privileging of the moment of personal conversion (accepting Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior), so I really like this idea that yes, these people had accepted the word of God, had been baptized in the name of Jesus, but their journey was not complete -- God was still working on them.

Whatever commitment we make before God and others, it is not the end of the journey.

John even tells those gathered at the Jordan: "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming [...] who will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire."

Our baptism in water is an outward marker of our commitment to begin a new chapter in our lives, but it is our baptism with the Holy Spirit that sustains us throughout that journey.

After Jesus is baptized, "the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus in bodily form like a dove."  I have this image of a six-foot-tall dove descending and enveloping Jesus is an embrace.

And indeed, we are beloved both spiritually and physically.

The Incarnation reminds us that we most fully encounter God in humanity, and the physical act of baptism reminds us that we are an embodied people.

So I invite you, as you move throughout this week, to remember your belovedness, to be attentive to the movements of the Holy Spirit, and to to live each moment as if you are a new creation in Christ -- because you are.

Amen.

I love the Internet, but sometimes I wonder about people.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2567723/why_are_women_posting_bra_colors_in.html

So that explains why I saw a bunch of facebook Statuses last night that were just a color.

With NO explanation. How is that supposed to raise awareness about ANYTHING?

How about a facebook Status that says, "I personally have known X number of women diagnosed with breast cancer. Click here [link] to donate to [breast cancer related charity]."

Tikkun Olam

One of the professors I work for sent me a PDF document to print out for him and commented that I might be interested. One of its bullet points references “Arvut Hadadit" and “Tikkun Olam” and so of course I Googled them. One of the top-listed results for the second term was a 2007 article. Excerpt:

Rather than reject the term altogether as meaningless, I suggest a re-imagining of tikkun olam that combines the four understandings of the term that we have seen in traditional text: 1) the Aleynu’s concept of tikkun as the destruction of any impurities that impede the full manifestation of the divine presence; 2) the literalist midrashic understanding of tikkun olam as the establishment of a sustainable world; 3) the rabbinic willingness to invoke tikkun ha’olam as a justification for changing untenable laws; and 4) the Lurianic belief that individual actions can affect the fate of the world as a whole.

• From the Aleynu conception, our understanding of tikkun olam will include an emphasis on the elimination of evil and the restoration of the world to a perfected divine state.
  
• The midrashic emphasis on the physical maintenance of creation reminds us of the need to work to preserve the world at a time when human behavior is having a negative impact on global temperatures, hurricane systems, and other natural phenomena
  
• The rabbinic understanding of tikkun ha’olam as the creation of a workable social and religious system leads to a definition of tikkun olam as a mandate to correct the systems that make our own society dysfunctional.
  
• Finally, the Lurianic belief that individual actions can have a permanent effect on the cosmos offers hope that our efforts toward tikkun will succeed.

These four strands, though complementary in some ways, also remain in tension with one another in some other important ways. The Aleynu prayer has the potential to direct Jews toward an inward focus on connecting with God and on spreading divinity through less tangible means, such as prayer or basic kindness, rather than through attention to more concrete human needs. The midrashic focus on the physical maintenance of the world might lead to an emphasis only on issues that affect the physical world – such as global warming, deforestation, or the extinction of animal species—and a concurrent disregard for human problems, such as poverty and health concerns. The rabbinic attention to fixing loopholes that disrupt the legal and social system may limit the definition of tikkun olam to issues that are understood to interfere with the large-scale functioning of society to the exclusion of issues that primarily affect a certain segment of the population. The Lurianic emphasis on the restoration of divine wholeness easily leads to an otherworldly focus, and a minimization of one’s sense of obligation toward the here and now.

By combining the major themes of these four strands, we come to a definition of tikkun olam as the process of fixing large societal problems, while maintaining a belief that our actions can have a positive effect on the greater human and divine world. When I think about my own tikkun olam commitments, I ask myself whether the work I am doing makes our society, as a whole function in a more positive way; whether the work allows even the most vulnerable members of society to live fully realized lives; and whether the work contributes to establishing a world in which the divine presence is more readily apparent. If we each ask these questions of ourselves, we can help to ensure that our work is worthy of being deemed tikkun olam.

If we each ask these questions of ourselves, we can help to ensure that our work is worthy of being deemed tikkun olam.

***

One of the articles on the sidebar was "Why I Study Sabbateanism." In discussing Jacob Frank, the author writes: "If you see a boundary, cross it - that's the view, because it's what God did, mixing Godself with the impurity of the material world." I was a little thrown to hear a Jewish writer saying this, because hello Christian Incarnationalism, but of course the God of Abraham has been coming down and dwelling amidst God's people since Creation.

in which i continue to have a heart made of stone (or something)

In anticipation of my preaching next Sunday, Tiffany asked me, "please let me know which texts you want read (knowing you, I suspect all 4) and if you have any hymns or other pieces of liturgy (call to worship, prayers, etc) that you want included. The whole bulletin is open for you to write. Just let me know how much or how little you want to do."

My instinctual first choice was "I was there to hear your borning cry," except I looked up the words and really I only want the first verse. ("In a blaze of light you wandered off to find where demons dwell" is BRILLIANT -- especially for Baptism of Jesus Sunday. The Temptation in the Wilderness immediately follows the Baptism.) The rest of the song is very meh (and wow have I become That Person -- I read "If you find someone to share your time and you join your hearts as one," and thought, "That excludes polyamorous people").

Anyway, my heart is made of stone because apparently lots of people just sob through this hymn -- because it evokes for them their earthly parent/child relationship. Which is a totally sensible reading of the beginning of the hymn -- even though I think I consistently hear the speaker as the Divine Parent. And it is a moving hymn (even though I wish the poetry were better). But yeah.

I reread "She Comes Sailing on the Wind" (and actually didn't register the male pronouns for Jesus on the first read-through -- I mean, I understood the implied referent, but I didn't have a negative reaction to Jesus being gendered as male as I am more and more these days) and like it. Though I feel a little bit weird using it for Baptism of Jesus Sunday.

[critique] Celebrating the Coming Epiphany

On Sunday, Gusti posted a facebook note (a sermon, essentially) entitled "The Wisdom of the Star." Excerpt:

We have to pass through Herod to get to Jesus, I’m afraid. We have to look straight into the fear that grips our hearts.

But if I am wise—if you are wise—if any of us are wise—we know exactly where this Star of fear and doubt is heading, and we don’t want any part of it. Not in this new year. Not in this new decade.

The great 20th century theologian Karl Barth urged Christians to approach the world with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. And I agree. The wisdom of our time sheds light on the biblical tradition, and the wisdom of the biblical tradition sheds light on our time.

But here’s the thing. The wise ones don’t stop with Herod or the Arizona Daily Star or the intimidation or the name-calling, not even in the name of the prophetic tradition that is so important to us at St. Mark’s.

The wise ones don’t stop with fear. They keep going. Because they are following the star of Christ, and they won’t stop until the star does. And this star rises on a baby who is not afraid to be born in a manger to an unwed mother far away from home. And this star rises on a baby who is not afraid to tell the truth in the temple as a teenager while his parents search for him frantically. And this star rises on a baby who is not afraid to denounce the devil in the desert as a disciple . . . or touch the most tragically ill as a teacher . . . or cry out in the agony of crucifixion as a Christ . . . or rise up through resurrection as a Redeemer.

Because this star that we follow is about light and hope, not darkness and despair, and this wisdom we cling to transcends violence and destruction and fear and intolerance . . . and we may not have any idea where the star will lead us in the end . . . but we must follow it at all costs if we have any hope for salvation.

The wise men brought what they had. They followed a star. And they never, ever followed Herod’s star again.

So we bring our treasure to this place of hope, as the wise men do, whatever treasure we have, even if we can’t imagine how God will use it. Gold. Frankincense. Myrrh. What can a baby do with these things, we might ask?

But God can take anything we have to offer and use it in ways we never imagined. There’s that first century college education fund to start that we didn’t know existed. Maybe Jesus can go to rabbinical school now. There’s that flight into Egypt that has to get paid for somehow. There’s an adult Jesus ministry that needs to get seed money from somewhere. Who knows? Maybe that gold, frankincense and myrrh really were good baby gifts. Maybe they have gone on giving, even up to today.

So bring your gifts to God on this Epiphany Sunday—and every Sunday—following that star of hope and light and wisdom and grace. Keep praying toward the light on this Epiphany Sunday—and every Sunday—keep looking all around . . . at the wise women and men from every part of the world, right here in this sanctuary, right here on this journey to Bethlehem together, bringing every treasure we possess . . . to share with a baby, who will share it with the world.

And God will use our gifts in ways we never imagined possible. In this new year. And every year. Amen.

I was really struck by that line that opens the excerpt. Because when I was debriefing morning church with my housemate and her guest on Sunday, I commented that I don't really understand why the magi stop at Jerusalem and ask Herod for directions if they have a star that they're following, so I was really struck by "We have to pass through Herod to get to Jesus, I’m afraid. We have to look straight into the fear that grips our hearts."

I was telling Ari last night about Tiffany's Epiphany Sunday sermon and about how Tiffany really grooves on being a prophet of woe -- by which we mean talking at length about how the world sucks -- and how despite my constant critique (and even cynicism) I am always asking, "But what is the Good News, Tiffany?"

I was reminded of how the first episode I saw of House (1.07 "Fidelity") I said it was too cynical for me ("Everybody lies") and I couldn't watch it.

Ari and I talked about how there's a difference between dwelling in how much the world is a broken mess versus critiquing individuals/institutions.

I said critiquing is what I do -- or, at least, pointing people to critiques other people have made (e.g., James Cameron's Avatar).

Ari said, "You're a vessel for critique."

I laughed and thought of Mary (bearer of the Christ Child) except of course this is more like being the bearer of John the Baptist and oh yeah.

I think that part of it is that critique is an active, creative, enterprise. I say that I'm much better at critique than I am at constructive suggestions for how to improve things, but even targeted critique gives you a place to start. Bemoaning the state of the world leaves you without any agency -- the Powers are corrupt, the world's a mess, it's all so overwhelming and beyond our control. But if you tell me that language I use is hurtful or that media I'm enjoying perpetuate harmful ideas or that I'm marginalizing people in what I claim is an inclusive community ... I can do something about that. Not only is it a learning process (and I think learning is inherently exciting) but it's something I can actively be a part of -- even if that just means pointing out to someone the flaws in a movie they're talking about.

[unpreached sermon #9] We Light the Candle of Peace Today

Advent 2C - December 6, 2009

Malachi 3:1-4
Luke 1:68-79
Philippians 1:3-11
Luke 3:1-6

We Light the Candle of Peace Today

I find it a little ironic that this is the Sunday of Peace, having read through the week's daily lectionary with lots of passages of wrath and judgment.  It's also weird because today's Sunday lectionaries are all about preparing the way for the coming savior -- oh, and Paul saying nice things about the Philippians.  "Peace" is not a theme I would intuitively extract from this set of readings.

So, when I can't figure out what to do with the lectionary, I go back and summarize each text.

First, we have Malachi, which has two parts.  One, a messenger is coming to prepare the way of God.  Two, the coming of God will be purifying like a refiner's fire purifying silver.

Next, we have the first of two passages from Luke.  This first is what is known as the Canticle of Zechariah.

Again, it's in two parts.  God has honored the covenant of old and shown mercy on us, sending us a savior.  And you, child, shall be the prophet who comes before this savior, telling the people of their salvation.  Dawn from on high will break upon us, giving light to those who sit in darkness, and guiding our feet into the way of peace.

Third is the epistle in which Paul praises the Philippians, longs to be with them, and prays that they may continue to grow in love and insight.

And fourth, the opening of the third chapter of Luke.  At a particular socio-historical moment, under imperial rule, the word of God came to John in the wilderness, and we hark back to the prophet Isaiah -- prepare the way of the Holy One; everything will be smoothed out, and "and all flesh shall see the salvation of God."

So what do I do with all this?

I was tempted to just ignore the Epistle because it doesn't really seem to fit (and who besides me preaches on all four lectionary texts, anyway?) -- but I'm stubborn and perverse, so this actually made me want to focus on the Epistle more.

There's a song that goes, "the one who began a good work in you, will be faithful to complete it."  I've always found it a bit of a weird song, but of course it gets in my head every time I read this lectionary passage this week, so I've been thinking about it.

We are works in progress.

And God has begun good works, which God will complete.  Both events to which Advent is looking forward -- the Christ child and the eschatological Second Coming -- are not about wiping something out and starting afresh but rather about bringing something to its fullest fruition and completion.

The refiner's fire that Malachi speaks of takes mineral from the earth and turns it into something you can make into a work of art or function (or both) -- order out of chaos.  I was telling Tiffany on our Advent planning call that in reading the lectionary texts this year, I found myself troubled by that classic Isaiah quotation -- "Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low..." -- because on a literal level I don't like the idea of all the landscape variation being erased; but that on a metaphorical level it can still resonate with me -- the rough ways shall be made smooth.

So, we are preparing the way of God.  What does that mean?  Does that mean a carpet of palm fronds like the crowds on Palm Sunday?  The triumphal king enters the Holy City, the dwelling place of God, on a donkey, and comes not to overthrow the occupying imperial powers or even the temple authorities but rather willingly gives himself (herself) up to be executed by the authorities.

In their book The First Christmas, Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan talk about the imperial environment into which Jesus was born.  The Roman Empire wanted peace, too, and succeeded -- the Pax Romana.  Except that was peace through violence -- not true peace at all, but merely a lull.

The peace that Jesus is about is peace through justice.  Where relationships are not defined by nonconsensual power-over but rather where we are all gathered together at an abundant table with FAMILY -- and not the family of origin which is so fraught for many of us, but family of choice.  God has chosen each one of us -- named us and claimed us, declaring us the Beloved.

And we are called to help bring about that peace.

When I read the Canticle of Zechariah I get as far as, "And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High," and I remember Tiffany preaching on how we are ALL called to be messengers of the Most High [I suspect I'm remembering this].

In continuing to think about what it means to help bring about this promised peace, I am also reminded of one of Marla's favorite phrases: "we make the road by walking." I think I first heard this when she preached on the David and Goliath story this past June.  She talked about how there's a lot that's really problematic in that text -- Goliath trash-talks David and David gives it right back, talking about the destruction he is going to rain down on the Philistines.  Not exactly modeling an ethic of "love your enemy" and abundant table fellowship. But she pointed out that there's also the stuff about how the Israelites try to clothe David in armor and none of it fits him.

David is victorious despite not because of the assistance of the powers of the world.

Personally, I'm really big on working within the system; but it's also good for me to be reminded that the systems of the world are not God's system.

We are called to do this work -- knowing that God is bringing Creation to full fruition rather than destroying and starting over, strengthened by the assurance that this broken world will be redeemed.

So let us go forth, to prepare the way of peace -- to make that road by walking it.

Amen.

"But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be."

Tiffany's weekly email Saturday night included:

This week at CWM we will hold a quiet meditative service focusing on the Magnificat, Mary's song of joy.

Please stay safe during the impending storm. While we will have services at CWM, we encourage you to stay warm and safe.

There were ultimately 7 of us gathered (including the pastor).

We did a group conversation Reflection like we've been doing in Advent Bible Study.  The Scripture was Luke 1:26-56.

We talked about the issue of whether Mary consents.  We talked about how even if it was a rape (either the Divine acting without Mary's consent or Mary being raped and inventing this story as a cover), something so redemptive comes out of that (which doesn't deny the horror of that, but also speaks to the transformative power of love).  I said that I am so invested in my idea of a benevolent God that I have to see her as having consented -- that if she had said no, Gabriel would have chosen someone else, and that I see in Mary a modeling of radical openness to God, an affirmation that even when things seem so strange and frightening we can trust God.

We talked about how Mary is really prophetic in the Magnificat and how that subverts the traditional ideas of her as meek and submissive.  We talked about how in opposition to the Fall narrative which blames Eve, all of this redemption starts with women (Elizabeth, Mary).  Carolyn cited the "he abhors not the Virgin's womb" line (from "O Come, All Ye Faithful") and talked about how that really resonated for her about pushing back against the idea that women's bodies are bad and cause people to sin and etc.; Marla countered that it feels to her like setting apart virgin!Mary as special and different from all other women (thus reifying the trope that female bodies are bad/sinful).  We talked about the question of whether people believed Mary's story (Carolyn said, "I bet her best friend believed her," and Marla said, "I'm not sure I would believe my best friend if she told me that story").  We talked about how Mary stays three months at Elizabeth's and so she comes home great with child and doesn't that make her story look even more discreditable and why does Joseph believe her -- I said, "Matthew sends him an angel," but of course we were in the Luke story.

We talked about how the Magnificat comes after Mary has gone to see Elizabeth and after Elizabeth has rejoiced and affirmed her.  (At the end, Tiffany asked us what we would take with us from this for the coming week, and I said for me I would take that with me, that reminder that within the beloved community we can find love and joy even in the midst of events that are so scary and confusing.)  We talked about the possibility that Mary hadn't really accepted it until she talked to Elizabeth, and my tellings-and-retellings self suggested that maybe she went to this hill country town to abort the baby (maybe she had just been placating the angel ... how does one know if an angel is truly from God anyway?) and changed her mind after seeing Elizabeth.

"Welcome, Yule."

Friday night, I went to Revels with my mom.  I had basically zero expectation, but I actually enjoyed it a lot.

It opens with an excerpt from "Black Elk Speaks" -- "Black Elk's Vision," about Black Elk's vision of the Tree of Life (I thought of Revelation, of course).  At one point he's tending the [invisible] tree and a little white boy asks him what he's doing and he tells him and asks the boy, "Do you see the tree?" and the little white boy says no, and Black Elk says something like, "Well I guess I'll have to try harder," which I found so powerful (hi, I am a child of CWM, where we are so about embodying God's Kindom here on Earth).

At one point, a little girls asks him what his people do in the winter, and he tells her that they gather together inside and tell stories.  She says something like, "We do that, too.  I like stories," and I almost cried.  Though I almost-cry like all the freaking time these days.

I was a little disturbed by the representation of Native people/culture.  In part because when they were in groups they were usually (a) in full-body costumes that hide their faces, which felt a little dehumanizing/Othering to me (though it also meant I didn't have the visual squick of White people playing Native Americans) and (b) felt like an interlude passing through, without real connection either to the other characters on the stage or to the narrative as a whole.

And after a point at which Black Elk is lamenting that the Tree is withering, he sees white kids finishing a Tree of Life quilt and asks them the story of it, and they tell a weird folk tale about pregnant!Mary and a cherry tree, and most of the rest of the Second Act is Christmas music. I mean, I know it's called "The Christmas Revels" (the "In Celebration of the Winter Solstice" subtitle notwithstanding) but I felt a little bit like the subtext was, "The Tree of Life is Jesus Christ -- Native Americans couldn't keep that Tree alive; it takes Christ[ianity] to make that happen."  I mean, I do think in some ways that the story of Jesus Christ is The Greatest Story Ever Told -- that God incarnated, enfleshed God's self, dwelt among us amidst the marginalized people, proclaimed an open and abundant table to all, endured death and triumphed over IT, resurrecting in body and spirit, promising the same (present and future) hope for us -- Christ stands between us and the powers of darkness, assures us that nothing can separate us from the love of God.  But at the same time, it feels problematic to me to imply "our story is the culmination of your story."

There were a bunch of parts where we sang along (the last song before Intermission was "Lord of the Dance," and we sang the chorus, and as they exited into the atrium, they brought the people sitting in the front rows with them, dancing).  The guy leading us in that, as he had us practice, said: "I love harmony.  There are no wrong notes, just poor choices in the moment.  And then we move on to the next moment, with new choices."

[unpreached sermon #8] We Light the Candle of Hope Today

Advent 1C - November 29, 2009

Jeremiah 33:14-16
Psalm 25:1-10
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
Luke 21:25-36

We Light the Candle of Hope Today

This is the first Sunday of Advent.  The first Sunday of Year C -- the new liturgical year.  Happy New Year, Church.

I have a complicated relationship with Advent.  I love this season -- the candles and evergreens, talismans against the darkness; the Advent wreath increasingly filled with light even as (here in the Northern Hemisphere) there is increasingly less sunlight in our days.  But so much of what I love is the celebration -- which feels inappropriate in a season that is defined by waiting.  I love the joy -- and that's not for two more Sundays.  The first Sunday in Advent is the Sunday of Hope.  I think so much of what I love about Advent is that it means that Christmas is almost here.  My joy in Advent is a joy about all the things I have loved around Christmas before and which I know (or hope) I will experience again.  Which maybe isn't so inappropriate after all.

Earlier this week I was feeling very anti-Advent, very anti-waiting.  I was feeling sad and lonely and I wanted to focus on the Easter truths -- Christ is Risen; we are a resurrection people, redeemed, reclaimed, named, and sustained; death has lost its power over us; we are bright, brilliant, beloved children of God, and we are beautiful to behold.  I didn't want to be in the dark waiting period; I wanted to hold on to the fierce power of the Easter truths.  And of course at the same time, I knew that the waiting was a good practice.  A lot of what was making me sad was that I wanted resolution to things that are a process, that I wanted time and affirmation and renewal and all sorts of things NOW -- in my time rather than in the time of those would be offering these gifts to me.

And so with that in mind, I return to the lectionary.

The prophet Jeremiah says:

"The days are surely coming," says HaShem, "when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah.  In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; who shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.  In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety.  And this is the name by which it will be called: 'HaShem is our righteousness.' "

The days are surely coming.

We do not know when those days will be, but we can trust in the assurance that they are coming.

My NRSV informs me that the Hebrew word for "righteousness" is tzedeq, which also means "legitimate," and talks about issues of legitimate rule.  However, when I read that Hebrew word, my first thought was of tzedakah, which Jonathan Sacks devotes an entire chapter to in the the book The Dignity of Difference.  Sacks introduces it with a passage from Genesis, where God says to Abraham: "For I have chosen Abraham so that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep my way by doing what is right [tzedakah] and just [mishpat]" (Genesis 18:19a).  Sacks says that mishpat means retributive justice, or the rule of law, while tzedakah refers to distributive justice; but he goes on to say that tzedakah combines the notions of charity and justice.  Sacks say that tzedakah can be understood as what is often called "social justice" and goes on to explain this as "meaning that no one should be without the basic requirements of existence, and that those who have more than they need must share some of that surplus with those who have less" (114) and as being "about alleviating poverty in a way that makes for self-respect and independence" (125).

This surely sounds familiar to those of us at Cambridge Welcoming, the vision of God's Kindom which we are working toward.

My best friend's church is focusing on money and consumption as their theme this Advent, and if I were doing that, I would talk about how Sacks talks about what we have being held in trusteeship from God and what that means, and it would be a great sermon.  But that's not the sermon I'm interested in preaching today.  So instead we're going to continue to move through the lectionary.

Next is the Psalm.  My favorite part of Psalm 25 is verses 6 and 7:

Be mindful of your mercy, O HaShem, and of your steadfast love,
    for they have been from of old.
Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
    according to your steadfast love remember me,
    for your goodness' sake, O HaShem!

I love this idea that God's love for us is so much deeper than our sins and transgressions.  We so often turn away from God and outright hurt God, and when others do that to us we often hold a grudge, but God's love is so deep and abiding that we can trust that God will remember us with love.

Again, we are modeling the Kindom -- As far as the east is from the west, so far have our sins been removed from us (Psalm 103:12).  Which, as Paul is at pains to tell us over and over again, does not give us license to sin, but instead we are assured that no matter how much we turn away from God, God is always welcoming us back.

In the letter to the Thessalonians, Paul writes:

How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you?  Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you face to face and restore whatever is lacking in your faith.

Now may our God and Mother herself and our Sovereign Jesus direct our way to you.  And may Christ make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you.  And may Christ so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Mother at the coming of our Sovereign Jesus with all the saints.

This passage almost makes me forget that we're in the Sunday of Hope rather than the Sunday of Joy.  But of course, all of Paul's joy is an anticipatory hopeful joy -- the hope of joyful face-to-face encounter with those who are at the moment distant from us but to whom we are still connected in deep love.  Yeah, you see where I'm going with that.

Paul also expresses his hope that the Thessalonians will be "blameless" before God at the Second Coming.  I know it's easy to read this as some sort of demand that we be "good enough," that we be "worthy," but in working on this sermon I keep thinking of the parable of the maidens waiting for the bridegroom, and so when I hear Paul here I think of wanting to be our best for someone we love.  Part of waiting for the Second Coming is preparing ourselves.

Moving on to the Gospel, I'm struck by verse 34 from the Luke passage -- "Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly."

Weighed down with drunkenness.

I'm not used to thinking of drunkenness as something that weighs you down.  I'm used to thinking of it (at least in a Biblical context) as something that gives you such energy and takes you so out of yourself -- recall the times people have been accused of being drunk: Hannah's prayer to God with her lips moving but no sound coming out, the disciples at Pentecost speaking such that all gathered heard in their native language, ...

But Luke cautions us as we wait that our hearts not be "weighed down with drunkenness."  The whole passage in Luke is about being alert for the Second Coming of the Christ -- complete with lots of doom and gloom imagery, but what is most important to me in that passage is the emphasis on being alert so that the Second Coming does not catch us unawares.  How many times have you been so caught up in the worries of the day that you have failed to see the Holy Spirit moving in the world and in your life?  I opened this sermon by talking about how I'd been feeling really down and so I didn't want to do Advent, I wanted to skip ahead to Easter.  But of course I know that each day brings with it both joys and sadnesses, and I know the importance of being awake to the moments of joy.

World AIDS Day is this Tuesday -- December 1.

This past week, I saw a blogpost that said, "The HIV travel ban will officially be lifted on January 4.  It's about time."  I had no idea there was such a ban.

According to the L.A. Times, "The ban on infected foreigners began in 1987, when federal health officials added HIV to the list of communicable diseases that prevented people from entering the country. In 1993, Congress made it law."

I was four years old in 1987 and ten in 1993.  I remember junior high school health classes that talked about Ryan White.  I remember part of the NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt being displayed in the gymnasium when I was in high school.  When I first knew real live gay men -- in 2000, 2001 -- I don't think AIDS occurred to me.  I'd binged on GLBT books (mostly fiction) a few years prior, and many years later I came across one of the books I'd read -- Earthshine by Theresa Nelson -- on a list of young adult fiction about people with AIDS.  I had remembered that book as a powerful book, though I couldn't tell you any details about it, and I was completely surprised to see it on a list of books about AIDS.  I still haven't gone back to the book to see if I just completely failed at retention or if it named the disease obliquely.

Last week, I also read a piece in The Economist about a report from the World Health Organisation and UNAIDS.  The report estimated a 17% drop in the annual number of new infections compared with 2001.  The report also states that over the five years to 2008, the number of AIDS-related deaths around the world fell by 10%.  Admittedly, this still means that 2 million people die each year of AIDS-related causes, and each year 2.7 million new people are infected -- 1.9 million of them in Africa.

It's easy for me to stand up here a white, middle-class, cisgendered, American citizen, and talk about Hope.

I have hope about Christmas because I have experienced it before.  What does it mean to hope for something you have never experienced?

The Christ child born in a stable to a couple of peasants was not how anyone was expecting the promised Messiah to enter the world, and throughout Jesus' life -- and death, and resurrection -- people's expectations about the Messiah were overturned.

Similarly, the Kindom of God will not be what we expect.

This first Sunday of Advent, I invite us to reflect on what it is that we are hoping for -- in our lives, in this Advent season, and in the Kindom.

Amen.

[unpreached sermon #7] Last Sunday of Year B - November 22, 2009

Last Sunday of Year B - November 22, 2009

2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-12
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37

I forget that the Sunday before Advent is "Christ the King" or "Reign of Christ."  Apparently I also have a Thanksgiving option, as my country observes that holiday this coming week.  But of course you know which one I picked.

The Transgender Day of Remembrance was this Friday.  I admit to DateFail and had longstanding plans to go see a folksinger perform, having forgotten that November 20th is the Transgender Day of Remembrance.  My privilege, let me show you it.  And I chose to keep that commitment -- in part because I was going with my mom, whom I wanted to spend time with; and also because I know I'm antisocial and probably wouldn't hike out to Allston even if I stayed in town.  But I felt kind of guilty about my choice all week.

I know at Cambridge Welcoming Ministries we have talked about how it's problematic that the one time that we (the queer and allied community) specifically remember trans people is at a memorial service.  What kind of message does that give our young people (and our not-so-young people, for that matter)?  Hence our having a TranSpire service in February of 2008.  (I had forgotten, actually, that April 6 is Transgender Day of Empowerment.)

My best friend lives in Kansas City, and she was noting the lack of community events around the Transgender Day of Remembrance this year.  She realized that probably the people who would be involved in creating those events are the same people who are involved in the World AIDS Day events -- which is happening in just over a week on December 1 -- and commented on how it's unfortunate that these two events often get lumped together.

This season in the Northern Hemisphere already feels like a season of death -- less sunlight, colder air.  We wrap ourselves up in so many layers that we are barely recognizable, and we spend as little time as possible outside of temperature-controlled environments.  We hide from each other and from ourselves.

Having read all the week's lectionary readings, one thing that struck me when I was reading up on the Transgender Day of Remembrance was the statement: "Although not every person represented during the Day of Remembrance self-identified as transgender [...] each was a victim of violence based on bias against transgender people.."  [cite]

Our Gospel reading today is from Jesus' trial before Pilate.  Pilate keeps asking Jesus, "Are you the King of the Jews?" and Jesus never answers.  Jesus asks, "Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?"  Jesus says, "My kingdom is not from this world."  Jesus says, "You say that I am a king."  But Jesus never says, "Yes I am" or "No I am not."

Jesus wasn't necessarily crucified for who he was but rather for who he was perceived to be.

Which I think is an interesting "in" into "Christ the King" Sunday.  Jesus is not who we expect him to be.

There are things we think of when we hear the phrase "Christ the King," but that isn't necessarily what Jesus has in mind as to who he is.

(And wow do I feel really uncomfortable with all these male pronouns for Jesus.  I mean, I know that the historical Jesus was incarnate in a male body -- though one of these days my best friend's gonna write a lesbian christology -- in epic prose poem format -- and it's gonna be awesome -- but still.  I really hope someone somewhere is preaching today on a Jesus who is Sophia Wisdom as a drag king.)

And honestly, there's almost nothing about "kingship" in the actual lectionary.  Our Psalm today includes God swearing to David:

One of the children of your body
    I will set on your throne.
If your children keep my covenant
    and my decrees that I shall teach them,
their children also, for evermore,
    shall sit on your throne.
-Psalm 132 11b-12

Well, David's children didn't sit continue on his literal throne forever, so we're already operating at some sort of metaphorical level -- some level of "When we say Jesus is 'King,' we don't mean it in the way you would normally understand that word."

It feels weird to me that Christ the King Sunday comes right before Advent, and then I remembered that this is the last Sunday of Year B.  It makes sense to end the church year commemorating the fullness of the central figure of our faith.  Though it makes for a bit of whiplash that we then move in to reenacting the expectant hope for the newborn Messiah (with a side of eschatology -- awaiting the Second Coming as well).

But the fullness of the central figure of our faith is not a reification of the structures of power and hierarchy we see operating in our world.  To proclaim that Christ is King is to proclaim that Caesar is not -- to proclaim that all which has power over us now will not ultimately conquer us.

One of the things that struck me in the daily lectionary readings was from Zechariah -- Chapter 12, verse 10; and Chapter 13, verse 1:

"And I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a Spirit of grace and supplication.  They will look on me, the one they have pierced, and they will mourn for me as one mourns for an only child, and grieve bitterly for me as one grieves for a firstborn child.  [...]  On that day a fountain will be opened to the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, to cleanse them from sin and impurity."

This struck me particularly being so close to the Transgender Day of Remembrance.

One of these days, the perpetrators of violence will recognize what they have done and will mourn their actions.  We suffer, but that suffering will end.  This is the theme of a lot of the daily lectionary readings -- often phrased in ways that are uncomfortable for us, with its language of one's enemies being crushed and etc., but an overarching message which I think is important for us to hear.

In 2 Samuel, God says to David: "One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land."  This is the kind of ruler we are supposed to see in Christ -- one who is like the light of morning.  Light in the darkness.

In the daily lectionary, we have 2 Kings about Hilkiah finding the book of the Law, and it's mostly a story I'm not all that interested in, but I like that we have a story about finding the Word of God.  Admittedly, in this story it's very Law-centered, and the punchline is about routing all the idolatrous priests, but I still like this story about finding the Word.  As our friends in the UCC say, "God is still speaking."

There is also stuff about the dwelling place of God.  In the Psalm today, I love that David swears, "I will not sleep until I have found a dwelling place for my God."  It is important for God to dwell among us.  And it is important for us to make space for that.  RJ of "when love comes to town" blog says, "There are two models of transformation in Advent: John the Baptist and the young Mary," and invites us this Advent to learn from the Marian model, to bear Christ for the world.

We are ending the Christian year and looking ahead to the next year -- Advent, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost, Ordinary Time -- periods of preparation and periods of action, periods of mourning and periods of joy, periods of confusion and periods of clarity.  This is what it is to be alive.  This is what it is to be a Christian.

As the Christian year draws to a close and we prepare to begin anew, I invite us to reflect on what it means to claim Jesus Christ as the central figure of our faith -- what it means to make a dwelling place for this figure of light and healing.

Amen.

[sermon #6: Pentecost 24B] Approaching Advent ("This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.")

[Yes, I know this is basically two sermonettes.]

Pentecost 24 (Year B) - November 15, 2009

1 Samuel 1:4-20
1 Samuel 2:1-10
Hebrews 10:11-25
Mark 13:1-8

Approaching Advent ("This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.")

We're making our way toward Advent.

In today's lectionary passages there's lots of strength and power-over (particularly in Hannah's hymn to God -- e.g.,  "The LORD! His adversaries shall be shattered; the Most High will thunder in heaven. The LORD will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king, and exalt the power of his anointed." 1 Samuel 2:10 -- but also some in the Letter to the Hebrews as well) but I'm more interested in light in the darkness.

Marl talks a lot about signs of the apocalypse, of the End Times, but at the end, Jesus says, "This is but the beginning of the birthpangs" (Mark 13:8b).  I love birthing imagery around God and Creation.

The sun hasn't yet officially risen at the time I get up in the morning, and it has most definitely set when I leave work.  But we know that the lighter days are coming.  We have not yet reached the darkest days (the days which have the fewest hours of sunlight), but although we know darker days are coming, we know lighter days are coming after those.

Last Sunday we concluded the semi-continuous reading in the Book of Ruth with the birth of Obed, restorer of life and nourisher of Naomi's old age, ancestor of Jesse and of David.  In the daily lectionary readings this week, we read about Rebekah being found as a wife for Isaac, and about Samuel -- about the circumstances leading up to his birth to Hannah and about his Call from God.

Subtle, right?  In the line of Jesse and David is born a child who will be a restorer of life, and Abraham finds a partner for the child of his old age, and to another woman is born a child who is dedicated to God and who hears God's call "in those days [when] the word of God was rare [and] there were not many visions."

Our theme over and over is the birth of children who are a light in the darkness -- new life in periods of emptiness and barrenness.

This is the Good News.

Not the magic of children per se, but the fact that God is over and over again bringing life out of death, light out of the darkness.

Even in the midst of all our darkness and conflict, God's Spirit is moving.

Tiffany talked about how Hannah bypassed the temple authorities to confront God directly, but what strikes me is how this is echoed in Pentecost.

Hannah was praying silently; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard; therefore Eli thought she was drunk. So Eli said to her, "How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine."  But Hannah answered, "No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before God."
-1 Samuel 1:13-15

And from Acts:

All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" But others sneered and said, "They are filled with new wine."

But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, "People of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say.  Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o'clock in the morning.  No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

"In the last days it will be," God declares, "that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young ones shall see visions, and your old ones shall dream dreams.  Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.  And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist.  The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of God's great and glorious day.  Then everyone who calls on the name of God shall be saved." [Joel 2:28-32]

-Acts 2:12-20

The INTOXICATING power of connection with God.  And I hasten to caveat this because I know that not everyone has positive experiences with intoxication, and I want to keep this a safe space for all who have suffered the effects of substance abuse.  And personally, alcohol mostly makes me tired.  But I love this idea of being so filled with the Spirit of God that observers think, "You cannot be acting under your own power."  Because when we are our best selves we aren't -- we are tapping into that power and energy in which we all live and move and have our being, of the Ground of All Being, of that which sustains all of us, that same breath of life which breathed life into the first humans when they were but molded earth.

Through the prophet Joel, God tells us: "your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young ones shall see visions, and your old ones shall dream dreams.  Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit."  No one is too lowly to be filled with the power of God.

We are invited, in these November days which here in Massachusetts are so often cold and dark, to be filled with the warming, life-giving, spirit of God.

+

Let us return to the Gospel.

Jesus and the disciples are leaving the Temple -- leaving the dwelling place of God -- and one of the disciples says, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!"

Look at the towering, strong, enduring, ROCK SOLID, systems built by humans.

Jesus replies, "Do you see these great buildings?  Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down."

Since the time of Genesis, humans have been trying to reach the heavens with their own power, with their own earthen buildings, to cross over into God's realm so that we can say, "This is my land now -- I know God, I control God, I am like unto God."

Just as that Tower was knocked to the ground, so too these buildings, so too these systems.  No human system endures forever.  God always breaks through, upsets the established order -- Isaiah tells us that, "Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain" (Isaiah 40:4).

Jesus' disciples ask, "Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?"

When will God's Kin-dom break through?  How long must we wait, O God, how long?

And Jesus doesn't really answer them.

Jesus warns them not to be led astray by those who will come in Christ's name, and tells them not to be alarmed by wars and natural disasters, but that's it.  Our Gospel reading today (which admittedly is not the end of this particular speech by Jesus -- though I can assure you that we don't get much additional clarity in the rest of the chapter) ends with Jesus saying, "This is but the beginning of the birthpangs."

There is going to be a beautiful new Creation on the other side, but in order to get there, you need to LABOR.

And labor is hard.  Sure, sometimes it's easy.  But sometimes it's hard.  It feels like it lasts forever, and it's bloody and sweaty and filled with screaming and groaning, and sometimes it even kills us.  But usually it doesn't.

And through it all we have the comfort of the constant presence of our God.

And so I invite us to be inspired -- to be filled with the power and the presence of God, to help birth the Kindom of God on Earth.

Amen.

[unpreached sermon #5] Salvation Through Relationship (Pentecost 23B)

Salvation Through Relationship

Pentecost 23 (Year B) - November 8, 2009

Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44

In beginning to prepare for this sermon, I was reading The Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, which summarizes Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17 as "Ruth wins the favor of Boaz."  I was really not excited about that, but it's not actually an accurate representation at all.

Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, "My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you.  Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working.  See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing-floor.  Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing-floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking.  When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do."
    Ruth said to her, "All that you tell me I will do."

So Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife.  When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son.
    Then the women said to Naomi, "Blessed be God, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin; and may this child's name be renowned in Israel!  This child shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age; for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him."
    Then Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom, and became his nurse.
    The women of the neighbourhood gave him a name, saying, "A son has been born to Naomi."  They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.

These Sunday readings are also excerpts from Tuesday and Friday's daily lectionary.  As my best friend commented: Clearly they were the important parts of the story :)

I could do a whole annotated Book of Ruth highlighting the (potential) queerness, and that IS my preferred reading of the text, but I don't actually need to do that here.  This story isn't about Ruth and Boaz perpetuating heteronormativity; it's about Ruth becoming more fully integrated into the family; it's about restoration and sustenance for Naomi, who might otherwise have been left alone.  The Old Testament is full of exhortations to care for the widow and the orphan, because they are the most vulnerable.  Earlier in the Book of Ruth we have seen Boaz indeed be kind to Ruth, but I love that it is Naomi who makes this happen -- Naomi who has rejected her name and told those who knew her in earlier times to call her "Mara," which means bitter.  She says that she is bitter, laments that God has brought her back empty -- and yet she still seeks to provide for this foreigner who has returned with her, and tells her exactly how to go about it.

Last week we read about Ruth choosing to go with her mother-in-law rather than returning to her own people.  Here, she becomes more fully integrated into Naomi's people by partnering with Boaz.  I could use this as a segue into talking about modern life, about how regardless of the pledges you and someone else have made to each other with your hearts and souls, in order to access full legal protections, society requires something more official, like marriage -- and I hope that someone did preach that sermon, this Sunday after Election Day 2009, after the referendum on Maine's same-sex marriage law -- but that's not the sermon I'm interested in preaching right now.

She will become the ancestor of David, the greatest of all the Israelite kings -- and we Christians can't hear about Jesse and David without thinking of that other Davidic king: Jesus the Christ.  If this were a different church, I would interrupt my sermon to play part of the Hallelujah Chorus -- king of kings, and lord of lords, and he shall reign for ever and ever.  I am really really excited about Advent.

I know, I know, we don't like kings and lords -- ours is not a hierarchical God with power-over, but rather a God of an egalitarian Kin-dom.  But I can't help but be thrilled not only by the music of the Hallelujah Chorus but by its idea -- of the Creator of the world once again reigning over it, of the world being as it should be.  When I think about prayers of confession, I think about turning back to God, of the Jewish concept of teshuvah.  I think about walking with God, of God's will and our will being aligned.  And so the idea of the Reign of God doesn't necessarily conjure up for me images of some enthroned guy in the sky waving a scepter.

We're still in Hebrews for the Epistle reading.  It's getting to the point where I'm not sure which I dislike more -- that I keep having to deal with what reads to me like substitutionary blood atonement or that each week's lectionary passage seems to say the same thing.

I read Marcus Borg's The Heart of Christianity this week, and Borg argues that in the first century CE, the statement "Jesus is the sacrifice for sin" had quite a different meaning than the one that is common today.

According to temple theology, certain kinds of sin and impurities could be dealt with only through sacrifice in the temple.  Temple theology thus claimed an institutional monopoly on the forgiveness of sins; and because the forgiveness of sins was a prerequisite for entry into the presence of God, temple theology also claimed an institutional monopoly on access to God.
    In this setting, to affirm "Jesus is the sacrifice for sin" was to deny the temple's claim to have a monopoly on forgiveness and access to God.  It was an antitemple statement.  Using the metaphor of sacrifice, it subverted the sacrificial system.  It meant: God in Jesus has already provided the sacrifice and has thus taken care of whatever you think separates you from God; you have access to God apart from the temple and its system of sacrifice.  It is a metaphor of radical grace, of amazing grace.  (p. 94-95)

God in Jesus has [...] taken care of whatever you think separates you from God.  I really like that.  God is always with us ("close to us as breathing and distant as the farthest star" as a UCC prayer puts it -- which reminds me of the Quranic statement that Allah is closer to a person than that person's jugular) and it is we who build up walls and stumbling blocks, it is we who think that anything -- death or life, angels or principalities or powers, things present or things to come, height or depth, or any other created thing -- can separate us from the love of God.

Critiques and rejections of the exclusive temple system also evoke this week's Gospel passage -- where Jesus warns against the scribes who gloat on their appearances and then notes the widow who gave her last two coins to the treasury.

I'm not actually sure what to do with this passage, as I'm not really a fan of giving up absolutely everything you have materially -- and giving it to an institution, to boot -- so I'm wary of the apparent exhortation to give everything we have to live on.  I mean, I've talked before about "credo" meaning "to give one's heart to," and I am totally on board with the exhortation to love God with our entire selves, with all that we have.  But give all my money to the church?  I love my church, but I am also attached to making my rent payment, for example.

Last week we heard (from a scribe no less -- they're not all bad): To love God and to love neighbor, "this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices."

So we are called not necessarily to material sacrifice, but to love -- knowing, of course, that the former often comes with the latter.

In this week's daily lectionary, Paul says, "Since we have now been justified by Christ's blood, how much more shall we be saved from God's wrath through Christ!  For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of God's Child, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through Christ's life!" (Romans 5:9-10)

Leaving aside the implicit blood atonement theology, I love this idea that even when we were God's "enemies," God so wanted to reconcile with us that God sacrificed SO MUCH.  This is not a God who is going to say, "You didn't hold the proper tenets, too bad for you."  This is a God who, as I say during the Call to Confession every Wednesday, is always reaching out to us.

Our Psalm today begins: "Unless God builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless God guards the city, the guard keeps watch in vain.  It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for while they sleep God provides for those God loves."

One thing I hear a lot at the church I grew up in is: "God's work, done in God's way, never lacks God's supply."  Google attributes this quotation to J. Hudson Taylor.

This always makes me uncomfortable because it has the same ideas as Prosperity Gospel -- that your material success (prosperity) is directly proportional to how much God approves of you.

A number of this week's daily lectionary passages are from Paul's Letter to the Romans, exhorting us: "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." (Romans 12:21) and "Love does no harm to its neighbor.  Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law." (Romans 13:10).

A book I was reading recently points out that the famous passage on Love from Paul's letter to the Corinthians (1 Corinthians 13) comes after a list of the gifts of the Spirit.  You might get all this awesome stuff which we would parse as Fruits of the Spirit -- prophecy, healing, etc. -- but if you don't have love, it's not worth anything.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.  (1 Corinthians 13:1-3, NIV)

Love is what is most important.

I like to think that is what the Psalmist is talking about about God building the house and guarding the city.  God is Love.  And we can build our insular communities and guard our wealth of privilege, but if we are not working in alignment with God, if Love is not the spirit that moves through our hearts and hands and mouths as we do this work, our work will ultimately crumble.

I'm cheating again, writing the sermon AFTER the Sunday in question.

I've been frustrated recently with sermons that water down the radical, challenging message of the Gospel to make it palatable for middle-class Americans.  But maybe I'm being too harsh.

I mean, I can talk a good game about radical servanthood or whatever, but I'm still a selfish bitch.  How helpful really is it for me to exhort people to do things I'm definitely not doing myself?

The day after the Sunday this sermon is for, I ended up in a fight with one of the people I love most in the world.  One of the things that struck me in processing it was my feeling that THIS of all things is something I want to do right by and yet I can't manage it.  And giving money to the New Sudan Education Initiative or whatever seems so beside the point when I continue to hurt people I love.

We live our lives in the day-to-day.

And we live in a global community, so I'm not suggesting that we turn our back on those concerns, but I wonder if in all the focus on faceless charitable giving we lose our attention to the ways in which we can better live out Love in our daily lives, with those close to us.  Ruth was a foreigner working Boaz's fields, but her mother-in-law was kin to him, and so she was also family, even before their marriage.  And maybe he would have married her even if she had been his neighbor's Moabite daughter-in-law, and I absolutely think that we are called to be radically hospitable to the stranger, but maybe this week we can think a little bit more about how to be hospitable to those we are already in relationship with -- to be more charitable, more gracious, to cultivate a generosity of spirit ... to be kinder and gentler to those around us, to pay attention to where they're coming from rather than making snap judgments and reacting thoughtlessly.

When we sang "Won't You Let Me Be Your Servant?" in morning church on Pentecost 21, verse 3 literally made me cry.

I will hold the Christ-light for you in the shadow of your fear;
I will hold my hand out to you, speak the peace you long to hear.

This is what we are called to do -- to embody the light and life of Christ in the world, for strangers and for those we love (and for those who are neither strangers nor loved ones as well, of course).

Go now, to love and serve God.