Dear People of Christ Church,
Today I’m super excited about plans for fall Tuesdays for all ages—as we did last in Lent, Erin Jensen is graciously leading a program for kids concurrent with the adult program. We’re adopting the same format as worked well last Lent, with groups meeting at 6pm for everyone to eat dinner together, and then kids and adult separating from 6:40-7:30. Then we rejoin for Eucharist at 7:30 for those who want to stay, and welcome group 2, a second adult module that begins at 8pm after the service. The 8pm group will again be facilitated by Anna and Victoria, and my partner for the earlier group will be Heather Leonardo.
But what is the program? God, dirt, and love: Five Conversations about Things that Matter. Each week we’ll have a different topic and begin with readings from Scripture or other writings to begin with, and then explore what their meaning is in our own lives. The schedule, so far, is:
9/30: Spirituality + Church
10/7: Creation + Place (all ages together for the early group)
10/14: Family + Relationships
10/21: Peace + Justice
10/28: Money + Stewardship
The kids will be doing a similar program, but with some activities around the topics in addition to the Bible study. Erin Jensen will lead the program for school aged kids, and we’re hoping to offer some more nursery-like care for the younger ones.
One of the things vestry has been working on is discerning around different opportunities for us to be in deeper community with each other—to go beyond coffee hour (great as coffee hour can be, of course). I got the idea building on last fall’s group, which read the book Free: Spending your Time and Money on What Matters Most—and was thinking about, exactly, we do build our lives around what’s most important.
How can church be a place of nourishment and grounding, rather than just another thing to compete with already-full lives of kids’ sports and work meetings? What are the places you love, the dirt that calls you and makes you want to care for creation because you love it, not just because you ought to? What makes our families and partnerships tick? What does Scripture say about the relation between God’s love and human love? How can we honestly engage in financial decision making, to share our resources in important ways but also enjoy the fruits of our labor?
I know what my questions are—what are yours? Each group will have leaders, of course, but the content and direction of the conversation will be different for each group. See you then!
Blessings,
Sara+
Friday, September 19, 2014
Friday, September 12, 2014
Forgiving Again
Dear People of Christ Church,
Peter came and said to Jesus, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.
77 times.
Peter, here, in the Gospel we’ll read this Sunday, thinks he is going after the gold star. He knows Jesus is a big fan of forgiveness—so, he thinks, I’ll just suggest some wild number of times to forgive, and he’ll be impressed with me. As usual, Jesus blows him out of the water—not 7, but 77.
How many times do I have to forgive. How many times do I have to feel the tightening in my throat, the stinging in my eyes, the sense of exposure. How many times, again and again. 13 years later, now, and probably 23, 10 years from now.
Today, the thirteenth anniversary of September 11, 2001, how many times do I have to tell the story. My first day of seminary. Living 2 ½ miles from the World Trade Center, the chapel bells ringing and ringing. How many times remember the blue of the sky, how many times grieve war without end, today as President Obama commits the US more deeply into strikes against militants in Syria and Iraq. How many times forgive. Not just terrorists, not just politicians starting wars, not just myself, for feeling like I’m not doing enough to work for peace. How many times. How many Saturdays will Sue and Jose and Norm and friends stand on Waltham Common keeping vigil for peace, as wars turn into other wars.
Yes. I am tired of remembering and tired of forgiving.
Forgetting, of course, is not an option. Last year in this space I complained about the “Never Forget” slogans about 9/11/01—nobody’s forgetting that it happened. Maybe, though, we are forgetting about the long work of mourning and forgiving, and the way that forgiveness means living differently. Maybe we’re forgetting about that initial drive not to be defined by the attacks themselves. My seminary classmates and I were all gallows humor in 2001—you HAVE to have another piece of pie, because otherwise “the terrorists win”—you have to go to the movies, buy some beer, finish your ten page paper— or “the terrorists win.” There were many examples. President Bush at the time said we should go shopping—unfortunately he wasn’t kidding.
“The terrorists” is not a moral category. Violence, however, is. The “powers of evil that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God” (as the Baptismal Covenant puts it) is a moral category, too. And violence does win when we respond to violence with violence. That’s the whole point of the cross—it becomes the way of life because Jesus lived, and died, in peace and love. Only the full, self-emptying love of God can overcome death. Difficult to translate into foreign policy, for sure, but what’s the alternative? More death? Today President Obama said Americans never give into fear. But it is not fearless to march into another war.
The call to peace is complicated. It’s messy. The way is not always clear. In our own lives and in the world, we have to tell the story again and again. We forgive again and again. We get angry again and again. But in the labyrinthine ways of the will of God, our spirits do come closer. We can live into the power of Christ that transforms the world through love. As Martin Luther King Jr said, “hate is too great a burden to bear.”
Blessings,
Sara+
Peter came and said to Jesus, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.
77 times.
Peter, here, in the Gospel we’ll read this Sunday, thinks he is going after the gold star. He knows Jesus is a big fan of forgiveness—so, he thinks, I’ll just suggest some wild number of times to forgive, and he’ll be impressed with me. As usual, Jesus blows him out of the water—not 7, but 77.
How many times do I have to forgive. How many times do I have to feel the tightening in my throat, the stinging in my eyes, the sense of exposure. How many times, again and again. 13 years later, now, and probably 23, 10 years from now.
Today, the thirteenth anniversary of September 11, 2001, how many times do I have to tell the story. My first day of seminary. Living 2 ½ miles from the World Trade Center, the chapel bells ringing and ringing. How many times remember the blue of the sky, how many times grieve war without end, today as President Obama commits the US more deeply into strikes against militants in Syria and Iraq. How many times forgive. Not just terrorists, not just politicians starting wars, not just myself, for feeling like I’m not doing enough to work for peace. How many times. How many Saturdays will Sue and Jose and Norm and friends stand on Waltham Common keeping vigil for peace, as wars turn into other wars.
Yes. I am tired of remembering and tired of forgiving.
Forgetting, of course, is not an option. Last year in this space I complained about the “Never Forget” slogans about 9/11/01—nobody’s forgetting that it happened. Maybe, though, we are forgetting about the long work of mourning and forgiving, and the way that forgiveness means living differently. Maybe we’re forgetting about that initial drive not to be defined by the attacks themselves. My seminary classmates and I were all gallows humor in 2001—you HAVE to have another piece of pie, because otherwise “the terrorists win”—you have to go to the movies, buy some beer, finish your ten page paper— or “the terrorists win.” There were many examples. President Bush at the time said we should go shopping—unfortunately he wasn’t kidding.
“The terrorists” is not a moral category. Violence, however, is. The “powers of evil that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God” (as the Baptismal Covenant puts it) is a moral category, too. And violence does win when we respond to violence with violence. That’s the whole point of the cross—it becomes the way of life because Jesus lived, and died, in peace and love. Only the full, self-emptying love of God can overcome death. Difficult to translate into foreign policy, for sure, but what’s the alternative? More death? Today President Obama said Americans never give into fear. But it is not fearless to march into another war.
The call to peace is complicated. It’s messy. The way is not always clear. In our own lives and in the world, we have to tell the story again and again. We forgive again and again. We get angry again and again. But in the labyrinthine ways of the will of God, our spirits do come closer. We can live into the power of Christ that transforms the world through love. As Martin Luther King Jr said, “hate is too great a burden to bear.”
Blessings,
Sara+
Friday, September 5, 2014
Chasing Newness
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, we’re back to our regular schedule at 8:30 and 10. It’s been nice to have a more relaxed pace on Sunday mornings with just one service, but I miss our 8:30—it’s quiet and contemplative and I pray so well with that shape of liturgy! We’ll bless backpacks and laptops and lunch boxes and whatever else you bring—prayers for new beginnings and new endeavors.
A lot is new, but a lot is the same. Still, there is a spiritual quality to newness. Paul writes to the Church in Corinth that whoever is in Christ is a new creation. In the book of Revelation, the fantastical vision is of a new heaven and a new earth. In Ezekiel, God promises a new heart and a new spirit. Why do we need all this newness? Aren’t things fine the way they are?
Yes, yes, and no.
Putting my son on the school bus to 2nd grade this week, I was vividly aware of how much everything changes, and fast. Next fall his sister will be on that bus with him—to kindergarten—how I became the parent of school aged children already is anyone’s guess. I have a front row seat to everything new in their lives, but there’s plenty new in my life, too, and yours, I’ll bet—new presences as well as new absences. Not all the new is shiny and compelling; sometimes it’s raw and tender. When someone we love dies, we change, too. There’s newness of tragedy, too, when we thought the world was safe and it turned out not to be. The stray bullet out of nowhere and the tumor that doesn’t shrink both bring their share of newness, a kind we’d never wish on anyone, nevermind seek for ourselves.
I wonder, too, about the newness in ourselves that we don’t notice. Our brains are primed to crave novelty—we want new stuff to buy, new stuff to look at—the pleasure-centers in our brains light up and crave that kind of transient newness again and again. We can be insatiable. But it takes more sustained attention to seek the spiritual newness that, I think, is more like what the apostle Paul and the prophet Ezekiel are talking about. What’s the newness that comes when you let go of a fear? What’s the newness that comes when you make a commitment, the newness that comes out of faithfulness over time or learning something about yourself you’d never seen? What fears have you released over the years? What anxiety over status or appearance or the judgment of others have you let go?
What is the new, really new, that you’re looking for? Something more solid than novelty, but a good and life-giving change? Let me know what you’re thinking about, and let’s talk about how we can support each other in those ventures. I’m still planning for October Tuesday education, so give me your ideas.
But still bring your STUFF that brings newness on Sunday… your new diaper bag or lunch box (daughter Adah has one with a transformer on the front with flashing lights for eyes). The gear might not change your life, but it’s still fun.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, we’re back to our regular schedule at 8:30 and 10. It’s been nice to have a more relaxed pace on Sunday mornings with just one service, but I miss our 8:30—it’s quiet and contemplative and I pray so well with that shape of liturgy! We’ll bless backpacks and laptops and lunch boxes and whatever else you bring—prayers for new beginnings and new endeavors.
A lot is new, but a lot is the same. Still, there is a spiritual quality to newness. Paul writes to the Church in Corinth that whoever is in Christ is a new creation. In the book of Revelation, the fantastical vision is of a new heaven and a new earth. In Ezekiel, God promises a new heart and a new spirit. Why do we need all this newness? Aren’t things fine the way they are?
Yes, yes, and no.
Putting my son on the school bus to 2nd grade this week, I was vividly aware of how much everything changes, and fast. Next fall his sister will be on that bus with him—to kindergarten—how I became the parent of school aged children already is anyone’s guess. I have a front row seat to everything new in their lives, but there’s plenty new in my life, too, and yours, I’ll bet—new presences as well as new absences. Not all the new is shiny and compelling; sometimes it’s raw and tender. When someone we love dies, we change, too. There’s newness of tragedy, too, when we thought the world was safe and it turned out not to be. The stray bullet out of nowhere and the tumor that doesn’t shrink both bring their share of newness, a kind we’d never wish on anyone, nevermind seek for ourselves.
I wonder, too, about the newness in ourselves that we don’t notice. Our brains are primed to crave novelty—we want new stuff to buy, new stuff to look at—the pleasure-centers in our brains light up and crave that kind of transient newness again and again. We can be insatiable. But it takes more sustained attention to seek the spiritual newness that, I think, is more like what the apostle Paul and the prophet Ezekiel are talking about. What’s the newness that comes when you let go of a fear? What’s the newness that comes when you make a commitment, the newness that comes out of faithfulness over time or learning something about yourself you’d never seen? What fears have you released over the years? What anxiety over status or appearance or the judgment of others have you let go?
What is the new, really new, that you’re looking for? Something more solid than novelty, but a good and life-giving change? Let me know what you’re thinking about, and let’s talk about how we can support each other in those ventures. I’m still planning for October Tuesday education, so give me your ideas.
But still bring your STUFF that brings newness on Sunday… your new diaper bag or lunch box (daughter Adah has one with a transformer on the front with flashing lights for eyes). The gear might not change your life, but it’s still fun.
Blessings,
Sara+
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