Dear People of Christ Church,
Blessed Days of Christmas to you! I’m away from the office until January 2, but wanted to pass this on to you as you make your way through these twelve days between Christmas and Epiphany. I’ve shared it before; it comes from the theologian Howard Thurman, published in his book, The Mood of Christmas and other Celebrations (1973).
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart.
Please come on Sunday for Christmas Lessons and Carols at 10am (no 8:30 service). On Sunday, January 8, we’re back to our regular schedule with children’s education at the 10am service and our usual 8:30 spoken Eucharist as we celebrate the Baptism of Jesus that kicks off Epiphany season!
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Thursday, December 22, 2016
An Advent that's Bigger on the Inside
Dear People of Christ Church,
Continued Advent blessings to you! Thanks to everyone who was part of the pageant on Sunday… it was nice to see it back on Sunday morning, just as it was nice to have it in the evenings for the last few years.
At vestry on Monday night we were invited to reflect on what words tell our Advent story. I shared that, while I’m not as big of a Dr Who fan as many of you are, a line from that comes to mind—this year my Advent has been bigger on the inside. It’s been a slow unfolding all the way back to the weekend after Thanksgiving; as long as the season of Advent ever gets (next year Advent four is on December 24, so we’ll barely have three weeks of it). It has felt spacious in a way that December, with Tuesday night education and the pageant and school concerts and all of it doesn’t always lend itself to.
Advent is waiting and unfolding and preparing and paying attention. There’s often a bit of a let down by the end of it; wishing I’d waited better or contemplated harder or whatever else. This year feels different; not because I think I’ve done such an admirable job of “Adventing” so hard, but simply because I am feeling so grateful to be led forward into this mystery of God. I know it’s not going to all be perfect. I’m not going to brilliantly articulate the meaning of the incarnation in my sermon tomorrow better than I ever have. I’m not going to find some new and profound insight on what it means that God becomes human and why it matters. I’m not going to get my children and my home looking flawless for the holiday. And that’s fine! Rather than looking at my own failures this year, I’m looking at so many blessings. Thank you for being part of the journey together.
Blessings,
Sara+
Continued Advent blessings to you! Thanks to everyone who was part of the pageant on Sunday… it was nice to see it back on Sunday morning, just as it was nice to have it in the evenings for the last few years.
At vestry on Monday night we were invited to reflect on what words tell our Advent story. I shared that, while I’m not as big of a Dr Who fan as many of you are, a line from that comes to mind—this year my Advent has been bigger on the inside. It’s been a slow unfolding all the way back to the weekend after Thanksgiving; as long as the season of Advent ever gets (next year Advent four is on December 24, so we’ll barely have three weeks of it). It has felt spacious in a way that December, with Tuesday night education and the pageant and school concerts and all of it doesn’t always lend itself to.
Advent is waiting and unfolding and preparing and paying attention. There’s often a bit of a let down by the end of it; wishing I’d waited better or contemplated harder or whatever else. This year feels different; not because I think I’ve done such an admirable job of “Adventing” so hard, but simply because I am feeling so grateful to be led forward into this mystery of God. I know it’s not going to all be perfect. I’m not going to brilliantly articulate the meaning of the incarnation in my sermon tomorrow better than I ever have. I’m not going to find some new and profound insight on what it means that God becomes human and why it matters. I’m not going to get my children and my home looking flawless for the holiday. And that’s fine! Rather than looking at my own failures this year, I’m looking at so many blessings. Thank you for being part of the journey together.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Choosing our Pageant Stories
Dear People of Christ Church,
The Christmas Pageant returns to Sunday this week! 10am, all the sheep, goats, angels, innkeepers and magi lead us into the Christmas story. A few weeks ago I heard the cartoonist Alison Bechdel (most recently author of the truly marvelous graphic memoirs Are you My Mother and Fun Home) on the radio show The Takeaway. She was talking about the importance of stories to help us be ourselves—she said they help “organize our thinking.” Stories are what we tell ourselves to remember who we are, to know where we are going, to frame where we have been. She was talking about the post-election world: she needs the characters in her comics, like friends.
Sometimes, of course, stories can get in our way. If you’re wailing about some failure on someone else’s part or some seemingly deadly inadequacy of your own, chances are good that you have developed a narrative that has very little to do with reality. You have, perhaps, lectured yourself for being a hopeless idiot (you’re probably not completely hopeless). You have, perhaps, dismissed another person as incapable of compassion or sensitivity (they may, in fact, be able to muster just a little, once in a while). A Buddhist-influenced spiritual director I had once was always telling me, “Drop the story line” as a way of getting underneath my own judgmental feelings to help me reflect on what was really happening. When someone forgets your birthday, you get angry. It’s one thing, though, to be angry about one particular sadness and another thing to dismiss that person completely as a selfish monster who cares only about themselves and actively wants you to feel bad.
It’s human nature to create stories; we have narrative minds. That’s why it’s so important to be aware of our stories and choose them wisely. This brings me back to the Christmas pageant. Yes, a fun way to invite our kids into the center of our community. Yes, it’s a way to bring out performance and joy and creativity. It’s deeper than that, though. Seeing our own kids as Mary and Joseph and being face to face with Jesus with animals and chaos all around—that gets us into the story on a profoundly different level than just hearing the words.
The pageant smashes the whole story together—Joseph’s dream (the Gospel that’s actually assigned for Sunday) is in Matthew, which also gives us the magi. Luke has shepherds, magnificat, and no room at the inn. Joseph listens to his dreams. The innkeeper finds space. The magi bring gifts that symbolize power and kingship (gold and frankincense) but also death (myrrh for anointing a dead body). Mary sings about a God who comes to the help of those who are poor and suffering, not those who are rich and already have plenty. Any one of those stories could feed your spirit for a year, and there they all are all at once!
The Christmas story is about possibility, solidarity, joy, and love.
Definitely words I want to write my story with.
Blessings,
Sara+
The Christmas Pageant returns to Sunday this week! 10am, all the sheep, goats, angels, innkeepers and magi lead us into the Christmas story. A few weeks ago I heard the cartoonist Alison Bechdel (most recently author of the truly marvelous graphic memoirs Are you My Mother and Fun Home) on the radio show The Takeaway. She was talking about the importance of stories to help us be ourselves—she said they help “organize our thinking.” Stories are what we tell ourselves to remember who we are, to know where we are going, to frame where we have been. She was talking about the post-election world: she needs the characters in her comics, like friends.
Sometimes, of course, stories can get in our way. If you’re wailing about some failure on someone else’s part or some seemingly deadly inadequacy of your own, chances are good that you have developed a narrative that has very little to do with reality. You have, perhaps, lectured yourself for being a hopeless idiot (you’re probably not completely hopeless). You have, perhaps, dismissed another person as incapable of compassion or sensitivity (they may, in fact, be able to muster just a little, once in a while). A Buddhist-influenced spiritual director I had once was always telling me, “Drop the story line” as a way of getting underneath my own judgmental feelings to help me reflect on what was really happening. When someone forgets your birthday, you get angry. It’s one thing, though, to be angry about one particular sadness and another thing to dismiss that person completely as a selfish monster who cares only about themselves and actively wants you to feel bad.
It’s human nature to create stories; we have narrative minds. That’s why it’s so important to be aware of our stories and choose them wisely. This brings me back to the Christmas pageant. Yes, a fun way to invite our kids into the center of our community. Yes, it’s a way to bring out performance and joy and creativity. It’s deeper than that, though. Seeing our own kids as Mary and Joseph and being face to face with Jesus with animals and chaos all around—that gets us into the story on a profoundly different level than just hearing the words.
The pageant smashes the whole story together—Joseph’s dream (the Gospel that’s actually assigned for Sunday) is in Matthew, which also gives us the magi. Luke has shepherds, magnificat, and no room at the inn. Joseph listens to his dreams. The innkeeper finds space. The magi bring gifts that symbolize power and kingship (gold and frankincense) but also death (myrrh for anointing a dead body). Mary sings about a God who comes to the help of those who are poor and suffering, not those who are rich and already have plenty. Any one of those stories could feed your spirit for a year, and there they all are all at once!
The Christmas story is about possibility, solidarity, joy, and love.
Definitely words I want to write my story with.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 8, 2016
Justice & Bread
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, our Advent series on Biblical values continued on the topic of justice. Last week we talked about non-judgment, and next week we tackle inclusion. One of our Scripture texts was a foundational one for me in how I try to live my life: “As you did it to the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25). Those who are suffering demand our attention not as if Christ were with them, but because Christ is there. I’m all for reading Scripture awake and searching for metaphor, but this isn’t one of those times. Matthew 25 calls for more literalist Bible thumping.
Last weekend I was with our bishops and the Commission on Ministry, of which I’m a member (it’s the team that helps interview and support people for the ordination process who want to be priests or deacons). In a serendipitous turn someone forwarded me a daily Advent meditation on the spiritual dimensions of anti racist work from one of the people we spoke to, Olivia Hamilton, who’s working with the Harvard Episcopal Chaplaincy. She shares this from Anne Braden, a white southern Episcopalian who lived in the Jim Crow south and came to devote her life to ending the culture of white supremacy she grew up in.
Braden writes:
The passage from the Bible that impressed me the most deeply in my early religious training was the one from Christ’s story of the Last Judgement: ‘ for I was hungered, and ye gave me no meat, I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a stranger and ye took me not in; naked, and ye clothed me not…Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to the least of these, you did it not to me.’ I thought about that passage a great deal; it worried me almost constantly. And it would have been hard not to worry about it in those days, for this was the 1930s and there was hunger everywhere. The people I knew tried, I think, according to their lights to practice what Christ taught. My family did. They fed many people who were hungry. Sometimes my mother, growing weary of it, would turn away one of the beggars who came to our door, and that would cause me a sleepless night worrying for fear she was going to hell; but most generally she fed them. Especially, she and my father made sure that the Negro family who worked for us from time to time were not hungry or shelterless or naked. If they were short on money to pay the rent, my father provided the money. The family was always clothed because they got our cast off clothes after they were too faded and old for us to want them any more. But something happened to me each time I looked at the Negro girl who always inherited my clothes. Sometimes she would come to our house with her mother, wearing one of the dresses I had discarded. The dresses never fit her because she was fatter than I was. She would sit in a straight chair in our kitchen waiting for her mother, because of course she could not sit in one of our comfortable chairs in the living room. She would sit there looking uncomfortable, my old faded dress binding her at the waist and throat. And someway I knew that this was not what Jesus meant when he said ‘clothe the naked.’ I recalled that Jesus had also said, ‘therefore all things whatsoever ye would that man should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ And I knew that if I were in her place, if I had no clothes, I would not want the old abandoned dresses of a person who would not even invite me to come into her living room to sit down. And I could not talk to her because I felt ashamed. And as I watched her, I would feel a binding sensation around my own throat. And I would feel to see if my own dress was too tight. But of course it was not. My clothes were always well-cut and perfectly fitted. Instead there was a small straightjacket around my soul. (Anne Braden, The Wall Between, 1958)
Braden goes on to talk about how she began to understand how the racism she lived in was damaging to those who perpetuated it as well as to those who experienced the more severe oppression. “Racial bars built walls…around the white people as well, cramping their spirits and causing them to grow in distorted shapes.” In our conversation about Matthew 25, we talked about the shame of living in plenty when others are suffering; the Gospel tells us that meeting the needs of others is for their material need, but it’s also for our own souls. Or, as a quote from Nicolai Berdyaev has it that José Borrás shared with me a number of years ago has it, “Bread for myself is a material question. Bread for my neighbor is a spiritual one.”
Where are you finding bread of all kinds these days?
Who’s sharing with you, and who are you sharing with?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, our Advent series on Biblical values continued on the topic of justice. Last week we talked about non-judgment, and next week we tackle inclusion. One of our Scripture texts was a foundational one for me in how I try to live my life: “As you did it to the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25). Those who are suffering demand our attention not as if Christ were with them, but because Christ is there. I’m all for reading Scripture awake and searching for metaphor, but this isn’t one of those times. Matthew 25 calls for more literalist Bible thumping.
Last weekend I was with our bishops and the Commission on Ministry, of which I’m a member (it’s the team that helps interview and support people for the ordination process who want to be priests or deacons). In a serendipitous turn someone forwarded me a daily Advent meditation on the spiritual dimensions of anti racist work from one of the people we spoke to, Olivia Hamilton, who’s working with the Harvard Episcopal Chaplaincy. She shares this from Anne Braden, a white southern Episcopalian who lived in the Jim Crow south and came to devote her life to ending the culture of white supremacy she grew up in.
Braden writes:
The passage from the Bible that impressed me the most deeply in my early religious training was the one from Christ’s story of the Last Judgement: ‘ for I was hungered, and ye gave me no meat, I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a stranger and ye took me not in; naked, and ye clothed me not…Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to the least of these, you did it not to me.’ I thought about that passage a great deal; it worried me almost constantly. And it would have been hard not to worry about it in those days, for this was the 1930s and there was hunger everywhere. The people I knew tried, I think, according to their lights to practice what Christ taught. My family did. They fed many people who were hungry. Sometimes my mother, growing weary of it, would turn away one of the beggars who came to our door, and that would cause me a sleepless night worrying for fear she was going to hell; but most generally she fed them. Especially, she and my father made sure that the Negro family who worked for us from time to time were not hungry or shelterless or naked. If they were short on money to pay the rent, my father provided the money. The family was always clothed because they got our cast off clothes after they were too faded and old for us to want them any more. But something happened to me each time I looked at the Negro girl who always inherited my clothes. Sometimes she would come to our house with her mother, wearing one of the dresses I had discarded. The dresses never fit her because she was fatter than I was. She would sit in a straight chair in our kitchen waiting for her mother, because of course she could not sit in one of our comfortable chairs in the living room. She would sit there looking uncomfortable, my old faded dress binding her at the waist and throat. And someway I knew that this was not what Jesus meant when he said ‘clothe the naked.’ I recalled that Jesus had also said, ‘therefore all things whatsoever ye would that man should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ And I knew that if I were in her place, if I had no clothes, I would not want the old abandoned dresses of a person who would not even invite me to come into her living room to sit down. And I could not talk to her because I felt ashamed. And as I watched her, I would feel a binding sensation around my own throat. And I would feel to see if my own dress was too tight. But of course it was not. My clothes were always well-cut and perfectly fitted. Instead there was a small straightjacket around my soul. (Anne Braden, The Wall Between, 1958)
Braden goes on to talk about how she began to understand how the racism she lived in was damaging to those who perpetuated it as well as to those who experienced the more severe oppression. “Racial bars built walls…around the white people as well, cramping their spirits and causing them to grow in distorted shapes.” In our conversation about Matthew 25, we talked about the shame of living in plenty when others are suffering; the Gospel tells us that meeting the needs of others is for their material need, but it’s also for our own souls. Or, as a quote from Nicolai Berdyaev has it that José Borrás shared with me a number of years ago has it, “Bread for myself is a material question. Bread for my neighbor is a spiritual one.”
Where are you finding bread of all kinds these days?
Who’s sharing with you, and who are you sharing with?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 1, 2016
The Three Advents
Dear People of Christ Church,
Continued Advent blessings!
Every year we come to this season, and every year we need the Advent call to contemplation, wakefulness, and hope like the desert needs water. This year the Advent invitation to hope, in particular seems very timely. This is the one thing we are called to do in this season: to hope in preparation for the birth of Jesus, to hope in preparation for God’s presence in the world, and to hope for God’s presence in our own lives. One of my favorite explorations of Advent comes from the medieval monk Bernard of Clairvaux. He says there are actually three Advents. The first one is the one we know: the birth of God in the person of Jesus Christ, God taking on our human flesh. We spend these days counting down, lighting candles and eating chocolates, in preparation to be ready. The third Advent is the coming again of Christ, at the end of time: as we say in the Eucharistic prayer, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” Those are visible, in-the-world Advents. But there’s an Advent that comes in between those two in our chronological time. The second Advent is is the Advent of Christ every day: in our hearts and in our world. God invites us to cultivate a space for Jesus every day, not just Christmas. Bernard tells us: “If you wish to meet God, go as far as your own heart.” Thomas Merton was a great interpreter of Bernard: he emphasizes that part of how we connect to this second Advent is in humility, to accept that we must receive all from Christ and not lean on our own power or ego.
One of the fruits of this kind of humble living, I think, is non-judgment. That’s one of the lesser-heard Biblical values we’re looking at in our Advent series. This week we read the story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery in the Gospel of John. Trying to whip Jesus into their frenzy of condemnation, the scribes and Pharisees ask him what they should do to her. But he ignores them; writing in the sand he stays apart, silent. When they push him, he replies: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” One by one they leave, and she’s alone. I chose that particular story because that line is so memorable, but as we read it together I was most moved by Jesus’ solidarity with her. I pictured the woman, afraid for her life, fearful that there would be no one to take her part. She’s alone; the other adulterous participant is not named, and not anywhere present. She has no recourse for justice. Jesus takes her side. Not only will he not condemn, he does so in the face of significant pressure to do so.
This Advent, here’s my wish list: to live in hope with that woman, that Jesus might come to my side. To live in trust, with Thomas Merton, that God will give me the grace to embody Jesus’ solidarity in this fragile world. To find time for silence, to find God in my heart in today’s Advent, as well as tomorrow’s.
Blessings,
Sara+
Continued Advent blessings!
Every year we come to this season, and every year we need the Advent call to contemplation, wakefulness, and hope like the desert needs water. This year the Advent invitation to hope, in particular seems very timely. This is the one thing we are called to do in this season: to hope in preparation for the birth of Jesus, to hope in preparation for God’s presence in the world, and to hope for God’s presence in our own lives. One of my favorite explorations of Advent comes from the medieval monk Bernard of Clairvaux. He says there are actually three Advents. The first one is the one we know: the birth of God in the person of Jesus Christ, God taking on our human flesh. We spend these days counting down, lighting candles and eating chocolates, in preparation to be ready. The third Advent is the coming again of Christ, at the end of time: as we say in the Eucharistic prayer, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” Those are visible, in-the-world Advents. But there’s an Advent that comes in between those two in our chronological time. The second Advent is is the Advent of Christ every day: in our hearts and in our world. God invites us to cultivate a space for Jesus every day, not just Christmas. Bernard tells us: “If you wish to meet God, go as far as your own heart.” Thomas Merton was a great interpreter of Bernard: he emphasizes that part of how we connect to this second Advent is in humility, to accept that we must receive all from Christ and not lean on our own power or ego.
One of the fruits of this kind of humble living, I think, is non-judgment. That’s one of the lesser-heard Biblical values we’re looking at in our Advent series. This week we read the story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery in the Gospel of John. Trying to whip Jesus into their frenzy of condemnation, the scribes and Pharisees ask him what they should do to her. But he ignores them; writing in the sand he stays apart, silent. When they push him, he replies: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” One by one they leave, and she’s alone. I chose that particular story because that line is so memorable, but as we read it together I was most moved by Jesus’ solidarity with her. I pictured the woman, afraid for her life, fearful that there would be no one to take her part. She’s alone; the other adulterous participant is not named, and not anywhere present. She has no recourse for justice. Jesus takes her side. Not only will he not condemn, he does so in the face of significant pressure to do so.
This Advent, here’s my wish list: to live in hope with that woman, that Jesus might come to my side. To live in trust, with Thomas Merton, that God will give me the grace to embody Jesus’ solidarity in this fragile world. To find time for silence, to find God in my heart in today’s Advent, as well as tomorrow’s.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Still a King, Still Vulnerable and Dying
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I’ve been fortunate enough to take some retreat days at the convent at the Sisters of St Anne in Arlington. Rather than fill this space with words, I wanted to invite you to take a minute of prayer with an image of Jesus the sisters have in their garden. Jesus, here, is pictured as a king: crown and jewels and the whole nine yards. But he’s still on the cross.
He’s not the quarterback, not the class president, not the tycoon. There is nothing victorious about this king. That’s the point.
Where do you meet Christ on the cross, still a king, still vulnerable and dying? What ministry does he make possible in you? How can you find ways to serve that Christ in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I’ve been fortunate enough to take some retreat days at the convent at the Sisters of St Anne in Arlington. Rather than fill this space with words, I wanted to invite you to take a minute of prayer with an image of Jesus the sisters have in their garden. Jesus, here, is pictured as a king: crown and jewels and the whole nine yards. But he’s still on the cross.
He’s not the quarterback, not the class president, not the tycoon. There is nothing victorious about this king. That’s the point.
Where do you meet Christ on the cross, still a king, still vulnerable and dying? What ministry does he make possible in you? How can you find ways to serve that Christ in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, November 10, 2016
Midwives of the Love of God
Dear People of Christ Church,
This morning I’m writing in gratitude for the community we share, and in hope for our God who works wonders. Last night we gathered for Eucharist in the choir, about twenty of us, praying for the vulnerable and the afraid, reminding ourselves of God’s great providence and grace. The gospel text I chose for the day was of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry as told in the Gospel of Luke:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
Jesus announces that that prophecy is fulfilled in him, that as the people gather there they are seeing the good news brought to the poor and release proclaimed to captives.The oppressed are free and the blind are given sight. Jesus goes on to do those things—healing, saving, transforming. The love of God in his life was so strong, so brave, that nothing could stop it, not even death.
Hearing those words, we remembered together that the mission of the church is that same mission. Like Jesus, we occupy the place between the truth of God’s power and love and the truth of our broken and fragile world. In God’s dream of transcendent peace, Muslim women aren’t afraid to wear their veils while walking down the street. Immigrant kids don’t worry that their parents will get deported. LGBTQ people don’t worry their marriages will be dissolved. White supremacists don’t get air time next to legitimate political actors. We rest in that dream, at the same time as we live in a world where all of those things happen. One particular heartbreak and inspiration yesterday was reading the letter superintendent Echelson sent to faculty and staff of Waltham schools. Immigrant students are wondering if they should drop out of school, he said, to start making much money as they can, worried they’ll get deported. Arabic speakers are afraid for their safety. Echelson wrote, “Our students, particularly those students who might not feel safe right now because of their immigration status, perceived religion or any other variable, need us to show up for them.”
This is the transcendent, im/possible place: the place of the cross before the resurrection. The love of God is already showing up on the cross. The love of God is with the gay kid getting beat up and the woman being sexually assaulted. The love of God is incarnate in the mosque on Moody Street, at Temple Beth Israel, at St Mary’s and Sacred Heart. The love of God is showing up in Chaplains on the Way, at AA, at the Community Day Center. The love of God has always been there and will continue to be there. There are places where it hasn’t yet been born, but it is there. Our task as people of faith is to be midwives, to stand in support and accompany God’s love into the world.
We can do this: to bring that love to the desolate places, to have the courage to speak love to the dark abyss. To show up. That is our mission no matter who is president, no matter what prejudice seems to become acceptable. That is our mission, too, to those who disagree, to whom we are still bound in faith and love, who no less need the gift of God’s love.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning I’m writing in gratitude for the community we share, and in hope for our God who works wonders. Last night we gathered for Eucharist in the choir, about twenty of us, praying for the vulnerable and the afraid, reminding ourselves of God’s great providence and grace. The gospel text I chose for the day was of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry as told in the Gospel of Luke:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
Jesus announces that that prophecy is fulfilled in him, that as the people gather there they are seeing the good news brought to the poor and release proclaimed to captives.The oppressed are free and the blind are given sight. Jesus goes on to do those things—healing, saving, transforming. The love of God in his life was so strong, so brave, that nothing could stop it, not even death.
Hearing those words, we remembered together that the mission of the church is that same mission. Like Jesus, we occupy the place between the truth of God’s power and love and the truth of our broken and fragile world. In God’s dream of transcendent peace, Muslim women aren’t afraid to wear their veils while walking down the street. Immigrant kids don’t worry that their parents will get deported. LGBTQ people don’t worry their marriages will be dissolved. White supremacists don’t get air time next to legitimate political actors. We rest in that dream, at the same time as we live in a world where all of those things happen. One particular heartbreak and inspiration yesterday was reading the letter superintendent Echelson sent to faculty and staff of Waltham schools. Immigrant students are wondering if they should drop out of school, he said, to start making much money as they can, worried they’ll get deported. Arabic speakers are afraid for their safety. Echelson wrote, “Our students, particularly those students who might not feel safe right now because of their immigration status, perceived religion or any other variable, need us to show up for them.”
This is the transcendent, im/possible place: the place of the cross before the resurrection. The love of God is already showing up on the cross. The love of God is with the gay kid getting beat up and the woman being sexually assaulted. The love of God is incarnate in the mosque on Moody Street, at Temple Beth Israel, at St Mary’s and Sacred Heart. The love of God is showing up in Chaplains on the Way, at AA, at the Community Day Center. The love of God has always been there and will continue to be there. There are places where it hasn’t yet been born, but it is there. Our task as people of faith is to be midwives, to stand in support and accompany God’s love into the world.
We can do this: to bring that love to the desolate places, to have the courage to speak love to the dark abyss. To show up. That is our mission no matter who is president, no matter what prejudice seems to become acceptable. That is our mission, too, to those who disagree, to whom we are still bound in faith and love, who no less need the gift of God’s love.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Showing Up, in North Dakota and the Voting Booth
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, so much on my mind. My husband, Noah Evans, left with a group of 12 Episcopal clergy and lay people for North Dakota yesterday morning to be part of an action to be held tomorrow to stand in solidarity with the Standing Rock Sioux tribe over an oil pipeline that is slated to be built through sacred lands and that would jeopardize the safety of their water. (Theirs, and everyone else who lives below them on the Missouri River.) Approved by the Army Corps of Engineers without due consultation with the tribe, the pipeline is troubling for lots of reasons—it’s not just the climate change question of pipeline vs not-pipeline. Standing Rock has a long relationship to the Episcopal Church; rather than “evangelizing” from the outside as though Native people could be forcibly claimed for the church, the Episcopal Church was actually invited to be part of the reservation by Chief Gall. So their call to Episcopal clergy has some deeper resonance. A mentor of ours in seminary worked on the reservation for a number of years and we visited several times—it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. They’ll pray and listen and support. More about their trip is on Noah’s blog. So there’s that, not to mention the presidential election and 4 important ballot questions. I voted early last night and was pleasantly surprised to see the diversity of the city and patience of those gathered—it took about an hour, possibly even more than if I’d waited for Tuesday! But I’m grateful.
Fortunately, the All Saints jazz mass is on Sunday so we remember that we are not in charge over everything. As we celebrate and sing with drums and saxophone, God’s sovereignty over life and death invites us to center in the fact that even as the stakes are high, God can still work through whatever cataclysms we bring about ourselves. Whether political or environmental or otherwise, it will work itself out. My friend David from our “Two Priests and a Rabbi” interfaith open office hours had this phrase from Mishnah Avot posted on his facebook page yesterday after he voted: “It is not on you to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.”
In my sermon on Sunday I was thinking in a similar vein, about how we don’t have to have everything completely figured out in order for Jesus to come and be with us. He called Zacchaeus the tax collector out of a tree and told him he was coming to his house before Zacchaeus set himself straight, before promises were made to repay extorted funds and commitments made to give half what he owned to the poor. The point is this: we don’t have to have it all figured out before Jesus will have anything to do with us. God wants our open hearts, not perfectly balanced moral checkbooks.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, so much on my mind. My husband, Noah Evans, left with a group of 12 Episcopal clergy and lay people for North Dakota yesterday morning to be part of an action to be held tomorrow to stand in solidarity with the Standing Rock Sioux tribe over an oil pipeline that is slated to be built through sacred lands and that would jeopardize the safety of their water. (Theirs, and everyone else who lives below them on the Missouri River.) Approved by the Army Corps of Engineers without due consultation with the tribe, the pipeline is troubling for lots of reasons—it’s not just the climate change question of pipeline vs not-pipeline. Standing Rock has a long relationship to the Episcopal Church; rather than “evangelizing” from the outside as though Native people could be forcibly claimed for the church, the Episcopal Church was actually invited to be part of the reservation by Chief Gall. So their call to Episcopal clergy has some deeper resonance. A mentor of ours in seminary worked on the reservation for a number of years and we visited several times—it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. They’ll pray and listen and support. More about their trip is on Noah’s blog. So there’s that, not to mention the presidential election and 4 important ballot questions. I voted early last night and was pleasantly surprised to see the diversity of the city and patience of those gathered—it took about an hour, possibly even more than if I’d waited for Tuesday! But I’m grateful.
Fortunately, the All Saints jazz mass is on Sunday so we remember that we are not in charge over everything. As we celebrate and sing with drums and saxophone, God’s sovereignty over life and death invites us to center in the fact that even as the stakes are high, God can still work through whatever cataclysms we bring about ourselves. Whether political or environmental or otherwise, it will work itself out. My friend David from our “Two Priests and a Rabbi” interfaith open office hours had this phrase from Mishnah Avot posted on his facebook page yesterday after he voted: “It is not on you to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.”
In my sermon on Sunday I was thinking in a similar vein, about how we don’t have to have everything completely figured out in order for Jesus to come and be with us. He called Zacchaeus the tax collector out of a tree and told him he was coming to his house before Zacchaeus set himself straight, before promises were made to repay extorted funds and commitments made to give half what he owned to the poor. The point is this: we don’t have to have it all figured out before Jesus will have anything to do with us. God wants our open hearts, not perfectly balanced moral checkbooks.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Making Ourselves at Home in the Church
Dear People of Christ Church,
First, blessings to those who were confirmed and received last Saturday! Three cheers for Mary, Susan, Jackie, Sam and David. Confirmation is the big “I do” in being an Episcopalian and symbolizes the connection of the individual with the wider church (for whom the bishop stands in) as staking our faith in the Christian faith as expressed in the worldwide Episcopal/Anglican family. It is a lovely commitment to make.
I’m grateful to God for those five, and also for the beginning of our conversations about stewardship. As you’ll read in our materials, this year the vestry is in charge of it—not one individual or household, but the whole gathered body of our parish leaders. This Sunday the Jensens will offer our stewardship reflection about belonging—we are at home at church.
Home, at its best, feels safe: that’s the gauzy Thanksgiving holiday image. The truth is, we sometimes have to work at home being home; sometimes nerves fray and tempers flare. Sometimes that deep, spiritual sense of home crumbles: we hurt each other and what is broken can’t be repaired.
I’ve been thinking about that more complicated aspect of home in preparation for Tuesday’s service of hope and healing from domestic violence. In its third year, we do this in cooperation with REACH and other interfaith partners in Waltham. It is a terrible thing that the church has, historically, been complicit in domestic violence. I’ve heard too many stories about someone’s pastor saying “But I know your spouse, they would never do that.” Or “Jesus always forgave, so you should forgive, too.” Jesus did forgive, and we also are called to that. But God never calls us to jeopardize our own safety by tolerating violence. Forgiveness doesn’t happen at the expense of personal safety. The service is a quiet one: we’ll hear survivors speak and have a chance to light candles in prayer. Alison Shea will be singing, along with Rev. Matt from Agape Christian Community, a new UCC church.
There are a lot of occasions to pray together coming up—we’ll also be offering an election eve Eucharist on November 7 at 6:30pm in cooperation with Santuario and First Lutheran. Christ Church will host, Pastor Tom Maehl of First Lutheran will preach, and Padre Angel of Santuario will celebrate communion (Angel is one of my partners in crime with Two Priests and a Rabbi). We’re also considering holding the church open all day for prayer—let me know if that would be meaningful to you (and if you’re interested in helping out—we’d need to take shifts).
Speaking of elections—this Sunday I’ll invite some conversation on the four Massachusetts ballot initiatives after church. Where does your faith have you leaning? Have you made up your mind about them all? Christians of good faith and goodwill can always learn from each other (and disagree, too). I look forward to our conversation.
Blessings,
Sara+
First, blessings to those who were confirmed and received last Saturday! Three cheers for Mary, Susan, Jackie, Sam and David. Confirmation is the big “I do” in being an Episcopalian and symbolizes the connection of the individual with the wider church (for whom the bishop stands in) as staking our faith in the Christian faith as expressed in the worldwide Episcopal/Anglican family. It is a lovely commitment to make.
I’m grateful to God for those five, and also for the beginning of our conversations about stewardship. As you’ll read in our materials, this year the vestry is in charge of it—not one individual or household, but the whole gathered body of our parish leaders. This Sunday the Jensens will offer our stewardship reflection about belonging—we are at home at church.
Home, at its best, feels safe: that’s the gauzy Thanksgiving holiday image. The truth is, we sometimes have to work at home being home; sometimes nerves fray and tempers flare. Sometimes that deep, spiritual sense of home crumbles: we hurt each other and what is broken can’t be repaired.
I’ve been thinking about that more complicated aspect of home in preparation for Tuesday’s service of hope and healing from domestic violence. In its third year, we do this in cooperation with REACH and other interfaith partners in Waltham. It is a terrible thing that the church has, historically, been complicit in domestic violence. I’ve heard too many stories about someone’s pastor saying “But I know your spouse, they would never do that.” Or “Jesus always forgave, so you should forgive, too.” Jesus did forgive, and we also are called to that. But God never calls us to jeopardize our own safety by tolerating violence. Forgiveness doesn’t happen at the expense of personal safety. The service is a quiet one: we’ll hear survivors speak and have a chance to light candles in prayer. Alison Shea will be singing, along with Rev. Matt from Agape Christian Community, a new UCC church.
There are a lot of occasions to pray together coming up—we’ll also be offering an election eve Eucharist on November 7 at 6:30pm in cooperation with Santuario and First Lutheran. Christ Church will host, Pastor Tom Maehl of First Lutheran will preach, and Padre Angel of Santuario will celebrate communion (Angel is one of my partners in crime with Two Priests and a Rabbi). We’re also considering holding the church open all day for prayer—let me know if that would be meaningful to you (and if you’re interested in helping out—we’d need to take shifts).
Speaking of elections—this Sunday I’ll invite some conversation on the four Massachusetts ballot initiatives after church. Where does your faith have you leaning? Have you made up your mind about them all? Christians of good faith and goodwill can always learn from each other (and disagree, too). I look forward to our conversation.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Blessing the Animals
Dear People of Christ Church,
St Francis Day Sunday is this week!
St Francis Day Sunday is one of the (perhaps too few) days in the church year we do just for the simple hilarity and joy of it, of blessing our pets. Whether furry or feathered (or in a photograph), we say prayers for gratitude and praise to God for the ways our animals and God’s creation bless our lives. I wrote this space last year about the woodchucks that live in our garden, and now have my own furry dog friend, North (aka Sir Snuggles aka Streudel), and offer thanks even more.
It seems to me that there is something profoundly countercultural about the way we nurture our relationships with creation and with the animals in our lives. Not just “real” animals, either; there is a yellow stuffed teddy in our household who I am sure I would leap through a flames to rescue. Both our “lemon bear” and our actual dog represent love, only love. It is unlikely that your guinea pig will ever earn its keep. It won’t pull itself up by its bootstraps and get organized. It do anything useful or inspirational or brave. It will just be there to look at you and love you, and then love you some more. Maybe then chew the carpet, but afterwards return to love. It won’t ever buy anything or sell anything or need anything other than food, water, and your company.
An animal in itself is an invitation to patience and acceptance, too. This is something we are working on a lot on in our house. Like people, animals can experience trauma—our dog wandered in the woods possibly for weeks before coming to us as a stray into our campsite in a national forest this summer. We have no idea what kind of situation he might have been in before he ended up there; his list of intolerances is long. He can’t deal with loud noises. He can’t deal with the postal service. He is afraid of the waffle maker. Until we started feeding him on a tray, he wouldn’t even eat food out of a bowl (claustrophobia?). That’s just what he’s like. We’ll do what we can to address whatever is underneath it and hope he calms down a bit, but he just might not. We have to accept him for who he is. I mean, God sent this dog to us, right? He’s not trying to change us so we can imagine offering the same grace to him.
So that’s what we do for St Francis Day. St Francis, who preached to the birds and would rather strip naked in the town square than follow wealth the way his family expected him to. Francis who gave everything he had to follow Jesus and “Lady Poverty,” and found joy and peace beyond measure beyond measure beyond measure.
I’ll close with part of Francis’ “Canticle of the Sun,” which we sing on Sunday.
Dear mother earth, who day by day
Unfoldest blessings on our way,
O praise God! Alleluia!
The flowers and fruits that in thee grow,
Let them God’s glory also show.
O praise God! O praise God! Alleluia!! Alleluia!!
Blessings,
Sara+
St Francis Day Sunday is this week!
St Francis Day Sunday is one of the (perhaps too few) days in the church year we do just for the simple hilarity and joy of it, of blessing our pets. Whether furry or feathered (or in a photograph), we say prayers for gratitude and praise to God for the ways our animals and God’s creation bless our lives. I wrote this space last year about the woodchucks that live in our garden, and now have my own furry dog friend, North (aka Sir Snuggles aka Streudel), and offer thanks even more.
It seems to me that there is something profoundly countercultural about the way we nurture our relationships with creation and with the animals in our lives. Not just “real” animals, either; there is a yellow stuffed teddy in our household who I am sure I would leap through a flames to rescue. Both our “lemon bear” and our actual dog represent love, only love. It is unlikely that your guinea pig will ever earn its keep. It won’t pull itself up by its bootstraps and get organized. It do anything useful or inspirational or brave. It will just be there to look at you and love you, and then love you some more. Maybe then chew the carpet, but afterwards return to love. It won’t ever buy anything or sell anything or need anything other than food, water, and your company.
An animal in itself is an invitation to patience and acceptance, too. This is something we are working on a lot on in our house. Like people, animals can experience trauma—our dog wandered in the woods possibly for weeks before coming to us as a stray into our campsite in a national forest this summer. We have no idea what kind of situation he might have been in before he ended up there; his list of intolerances is long. He can’t deal with loud noises. He can’t deal with the postal service. He is afraid of the waffle maker. Until we started feeding him on a tray, he wouldn’t even eat food out of a bowl (claustrophobia?). That’s just what he’s like. We’ll do what we can to address whatever is underneath it and hope he calms down a bit, but he just might not. We have to accept him for who he is. I mean, God sent this dog to us, right? He’s not trying to change us so we can imagine offering the same grace to him.
So that’s what we do for St Francis Day. St Francis, who preached to the birds and would rather strip naked in the town square than follow wealth the way his family expected him to. Francis who gave everything he had to follow Jesus and “Lady Poverty,” and found joy and peace beyond measure beyond measure beyond measure.
I’ll close with part of Francis’ “Canticle of the Sun,” which we sing on Sunday.
Dear mother earth, who day by day
Unfoldest blessings on our way,
O praise God! Alleluia!
The flowers and fruits that in thee grow,
Let them God’s glory also show.
O praise God! O praise God! Alleluia!! Alleluia!!
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Forgive Us Our Debts
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week my friends’ and my plot to get ourselves out of our offices—”two priests and a rabbi drinking coffee” resulted in another great conversation. Angel and David and I sat with one person who grew up Catholic and later converted to Judaism, one Christian new to Waltham in search of a church home, and one repeat customer who might call himself “spiritual but not religious.” Our word for the day: Hell.
Not usually one of my go-to spiritual concepts, but it was on my mind since it comes up in our Gospel for Sunday in the parable of Lazarus and the rich man. In the story, Lazarus (not to be confused with the guy who was raised from the dead) rests on Abraham’s breast, finally at peace after a lifetime sitting outside the gate of a rich man’s home begging. That rich man has also died, but he has been sent to the lake of fire in Hades. A great chasm is fixed between the two; Lazarus couldn’t help even if he wanted to.
The chasm is not, however, new: it ruptured while the two were alive, when the rich man chose not to see Lazarus. God didn’t create it as punishment: it simply was. “Hades” in the story is a nod to Greek mythology, not Jesus talking about God’s plans for us in the afterlife. But it comes with a hard question: the rich man didn’t see Lazarus. What are we not seeing? Then, as now, what does it mean to be part of a world where it’s so easy not to see?
This parable follows the parable of the dishonest manager, which we heard last week. In that one, we sit across the table from the manager who asks us: how much do you owe?
How much do I owe? Good grief, how much. A lot. Nobody is comparing me to a poisonous candy. Nobody is going to shoot me if my car breaks down (no matter where my hands are, and especially not if they are up in the air).
Why think of this as a debt? Many others do not have this thing that I have. And I certainly did not earn my citizenship or my pale skin or my access to education. My debt is to God, through those who suffer in this world. My debt is to them, through God. Easy to forget those lines in the Lord’s Prayer that really in the original language are more correctly translated as “debts.” Forgive us our debts, God, as we forgive our debtors. We say “trespasses,” which makes it a lot harder to say that as a confession.
Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
Forgive us, God, all the things we don’t see, and give the grace and courage to open our eyes and hearts to your call.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week my friends’ and my plot to get ourselves out of our offices—”two priests and a rabbi drinking coffee” resulted in another great conversation. Angel and David and I sat with one person who grew up Catholic and later converted to Judaism, one Christian new to Waltham in search of a church home, and one repeat customer who might call himself “spiritual but not religious.” Our word for the day: Hell.
Not usually one of my go-to spiritual concepts, but it was on my mind since it comes up in our Gospel for Sunday in the parable of Lazarus and the rich man. In the story, Lazarus (not to be confused with the guy who was raised from the dead) rests on Abraham’s breast, finally at peace after a lifetime sitting outside the gate of a rich man’s home begging. That rich man has also died, but he has been sent to the lake of fire in Hades. A great chasm is fixed between the two; Lazarus couldn’t help even if he wanted to.
The chasm is not, however, new: it ruptured while the two were alive, when the rich man chose not to see Lazarus. God didn’t create it as punishment: it simply was. “Hades” in the story is a nod to Greek mythology, not Jesus talking about God’s plans for us in the afterlife. But it comes with a hard question: the rich man didn’t see Lazarus. What are we not seeing? Then, as now, what does it mean to be part of a world where it’s so easy not to see?
This parable follows the parable of the dishonest manager, which we heard last week. In that one, we sit across the table from the manager who asks us: how much do you owe?
How much do I owe? Good grief, how much. A lot. Nobody is comparing me to a poisonous candy. Nobody is going to shoot me if my car breaks down (no matter where my hands are, and especially not if they are up in the air).
Why think of this as a debt? Many others do not have this thing that I have. And I certainly did not earn my citizenship or my pale skin or my access to education. My debt is to God, through those who suffer in this world. My debt is to them, through God. Easy to forget those lines in the Lord’s Prayer that really in the original language are more correctly translated as “debts.” Forgive us our debts, God, as we forgive our debtors. We say “trespasses,” which makes it a lot harder to say that as a confession.
Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
Forgive us, God, all the things we don’t see, and give the grace and courage to open our eyes and hearts to your call.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Two Priests and a Rabbi
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’m excited to share the news that our first “Two Priests and a Rabbi Drinking Coffee” open office hours at Café on the Common last week was a success. It sounds like a bad joke. That’s the point. The rabbi David Finkelstein of Temple Beth Israel (the temple behind Hannaford). The other priest is the Rev. Angel Marrero, the pastor of a new Spanish speaking Lutheran Congregation, Santuario, which meets at First Lutheran on Eddy Street. Angel and David and I have worked together on several different projects over the last few years since they’ve each ministered in Waltham. The idea is that we just have an open space to sit and talk together with whoever walks by about whatever comes up. Yes, it’s that technical. We’re going to start by having a word of the day as a conversation starter, but I expect that the topics will range widely.
David and Angel and I all lead radically different spiritual communities—we’re not out to convert anyone to “our” brand of religious experience. But we also have a lot in common. We’re all under 40—in Angel’s case, way under 40, unlike David and me!). Angel’s husband is in seminary and both David and I are married to other clergy. We’re all politically progressive, but our religious expression rooted in ancient tradition. Last week our conversation veered toward worship: what is it? Why does that word elicit such strong responses, both positively and negatively? We all have something we worship, whether or not we put that label on it. You can worship at the altar of looking good or being successful and it occupies just as big a place in your mind as, perhaps, one might wish God would.
Why are we doing this again?
In a world where many people have deep questions and profound wonderings about God and faith but fewer and fewer people are part of religious communities, I want to be part of creating a space where people can begin to have those conversations in a different kind of context. The best of religious community–exists not just for the aid or inspiration of its members, but for the surrounding community. Sure, we have a mission is to make Christians. But that’s not done by banging people over the head. Most broadly, our mission is to make a certain kind of world where God can be known and God’s people can be whole. I love the Episcopal church, but we don’t have an exclusive lock on the presence of the holy. Neither does David’s congregation. Or Angel’s. There will be some people who don’t find God in ANY of our communities. And we want to hold space for them, too. And I need to get out of my office! Faith doesn’t just happen between our four walls. We are called further afield.
So far on our list we have the following for our words of the day:
Television
Food
Bad neighbors
Community
Fear
Belonging
Anger
The City
We meet next on Wednesday, September 21, at 2:00 at Café on the Common and hope to continue weekly. Come, and check out our facebook page!
Blessings,
Sara+
This week I’m excited to share the news that our first “Two Priests and a Rabbi Drinking Coffee” open office hours at Café on the Common last week was a success. It sounds like a bad joke. That’s the point. The rabbi David Finkelstein of Temple Beth Israel (the temple behind Hannaford). The other priest is the Rev. Angel Marrero, the pastor of a new Spanish speaking Lutheran Congregation, Santuario, which meets at First Lutheran on Eddy Street. Angel and David and I have worked together on several different projects over the last few years since they’ve each ministered in Waltham. The idea is that we just have an open space to sit and talk together with whoever walks by about whatever comes up. Yes, it’s that technical. We’re going to start by having a word of the day as a conversation starter, but I expect that the topics will range widely.
David and Angel and I all lead radically different spiritual communities—we’re not out to convert anyone to “our” brand of religious experience. But we also have a lot in common. We’re all under 40—in Angel’s case, way under 40, unlike David and me!). Angel’s husband is in seminary and both David and I are married to other clergy. We’re all politically progressive, but our religious expression rooted in ancient tradition. Last week our conversation veered toward worship: what is it? Why does that word elicit such strong responses, both positively and negatively? We all have something we worship, whether or not we put that label on it. You can worship at the altar of looking good or being successful and it occupies just as big a place in your mind as, perhaps, one might wish God would.
Why are we doing this again?
In a world where many people have deep questions and profound wonderings about God and faith but fewer and fewer people are part of religious communities, I want to be part of creating a space where people can begin to have those conversations in a different kind of context. The best of religious community–exists not just for the aid or inspiration of its members, but for the surrounding community. Sure, we have a mission is to make Christians. But that’s not done by banging people over the head. Most broadly, our mission is to make a certain kind of world where God can be known and God’s people can be whole. I love the Episcopal church, but we don’t have an exclusive lock on the presence of the holy. Neither does David’s congregation. Or Angel’s. There will be some people who don’t find God in ANY of our communities. And we want to hold space for them, too. And I need to get out of my office! Faith doesn’t just happen between our four walls. We are called further afield.
So far on our list we have the following for our words of the day:
Television
Food
Bad neighbors
Community
Fear
Belonging
Anger
The City
We meet next on Wednesday, September 21, at 2:00 at Café on the Common and hope to continue weekly. Come, and check out our facebook page!
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, September 8, 2016
God the Potter
Dear People of Christ Church,
In the children’s sermon this past Sunday, we played with clay—our text was the passage from Jeremiah where the prophet talks about God as a potter, forming us. The scripture text gets a little dark—God tells Jeremiah the pot can be crushed, if the potter desires. It seems to come with a threat: God will “shape evil” against the people if God desires.
God might, but God doesn’t.
The Bible is a record of God’s doings in history, but it’s also a record of the people of God trying to understand their experience and God’s action in the world. Again and again, we might think that God will give up on us, or send calamity or trial or tempest. We feel like unsteady pieces of clay sometimes, going around and around the potter’s wheel. Will we be strong and perfect? Will we be weak and wobbly? Will we go astray and get flung off the wheel and into the corner? Will the potter just give up and get something better?
Here’s where the similarity to the potter ends.
I took a class once in pottery, learning the painstaking way a potter has to have just the right balance of gentle pressure. Too little support for the thin walls of a pot on a potter’s wheel, and the clay tears and falls down. Building the wall of the pot too thick doesn’t work, either—then you end up with a door stopper instead. Too little water on the pot as it spins will make it impossible to shape. Too much water will do the same. It’s a marvel any potter can make anything at all without throwing it all in the corner.
Again and again, though, God doesn’t throw the whole thing in the corner. As a not-even-second-rate potter, I gave up all the time and threw the clay back in the bin or, worse, in the trash. But God never does. This week we’ll hear the parable of the lost coin and the lost sheep. Leaving 99, the shepherd goes after the one who’s gone astray. Losing one coin, the woman turns her house upside down until she finds it—and then she throws a party! These are not the actions of a potter who’s going to give up on the clay.
This is the time of year of new beginnings. Even though it’s now been 13 years since I started a new academic year as a student, I still feel a sense of promise as the air begins to cool in the fall. This is the year, I tell myself, I’m really going to get organized. Whether I do or not, though, by now I’m beginning to learn: it doesn’t matter. I’ll do my best, imperfectly tending the garden of my life. Either way, fall will give into winter. Either way, winter will give into spring. Either way, God’s love will encircle us.
Blessings,
Sara+
In the children’s sermon this past Sunday, we played with clay—our text was the passage from Jeremiah where the prophet talks about God as a potter, forming us. The scripture text gets a little dark—God tells Jeremiah the pot can be crushed, if the potter desires. It seems to come with a threat: God will “shape evil” against the people if God desires.
God might, but God doesn’t.
The Bible is a record of God’s doings in history, but it’s also a record of the people of God trying to understand their experience and God’s action in the world. Again and again, we might think that God will give up on us, or send calamity or trial or tempest. We feel like unsteady pieces of clay sometimes, going around and around the potter’s wheel. Will we be strong and perfect? Will we be weak and wobbly? Will we go astray and get flung off the wheel and into the corner? Will the potter just give up and get something better?
Here’s where the similarity to the potter ends.
I took a class once in pottery, learning the painstaking way a potter has to have just the right balance of gentle pressure. Too little support for the thin walls of a pot on a potter’s wheel, and the clay tears and falls down. Building the wall of the pot too thick doesn’t work, either—then you end up with a door stopper instead. Too little water on the pot as it spins will make it impossible to shape. Too much water will do the same. It’s a marvel any potter can make anything at all without throwing it all in the corner.
Again and again, though, God doesn’t throw the whole thing in the corner. As a not-even-second-rate potter, I gave up all the time and threw the clay back in the bin or, worse, in the trash. But God never does. This week we’ll hear the parable of the lost coin and the lost sheep. Leaving 99, the shepherd goes after the one who’s gone astray. Losing one coin, the woman turns her house upside down until she finds it—and then she throws a party! These are not the actions of a potter who’s going to give up on the clay.
This is the time of year of new beginnings. Even though it’s now been 13 years since I started a new academic year as a student, I still feel a sense of promise as the air begins to cool in the fall. This is the year, I tell myself, I’m really going to get organized. Whether I do or not, though, by now I’m beginning to learn: it doesn’t matter. I’ll do my best, imperfectly tending the garden of my life. Either way, fall will give into winter. Either way, winter will give into spring. Either way, God’s love will encircle us.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Looking Forward to Our New Year
Dear People of Christ Church,
Whenever I’m back from vacation I always start out this message by saying that it’s nice to be back, but that has a different resonance now that I feel more solidly back, knowing that my family won’t be moving to Central New York! I’m excited for Dio CNY and for Rev. DeDe, who will be consecrated as their bishop in December. I’m also really, really looking so forward to our new year. There are great things happening at Christ Church:
+ Our new combined outreach space will launch both Diaper Depot and Grandma’s Pantry into a cozier, brighter, and bigger space. These ministries are crucial to what God is doing at Christ Church. Victoria Sundgren has led Diaper Depot so ably and steadily for the last several years and will hand over the reins to Erin (and Chloe!) Jensen. Sally Lobo, Christ Churcher since birth, continues to lead Grandma’s Pantry with unparalleled dedication to this church and the city of Waltham. If you see them, say thank you—better yet, consider volunteering. Grandma’s Pantry is on Fridays from 9-11am, and diapers are distributed the third Saturday of the month from 10-12. To help prepare for distribution by packaging diapers, you can help out on your schedule.
+ Our children’s education is thriving, with exciting new curricula for our grades 4-5 and 6-8 classes. Grades 4-5 will cover the big stories, like the flood and Exodus, with more complex reasoning than GP storytelling is conducive to, and grades 6-8 focus on big questions like “Why does the Bible contradict itself” and “Can it be proven that God exists?” Special congratulations to last year’s big class of third graders who move out of Godly Play and will begin learning in new ways. It’s also exciting times for our rising ninth graders, Chloe Jensen, Alicia Duce, and Jennifer Coates. High school formation will pick up where last year’s middle school work left off with small group conversation and participant-focused instruction.
+In other formation news, please let me know if you would be interested in an “Intro to the Episcopal Church” class that would run after church on Sundays from September 11-October 9. This is for anyone who would like preparation for reception or confirmation as an Episcopalian or who just wants to learn more about our liturgy, history, and theology. It would be similar to the class that just concluded in June. Confirmation comes right up on October 15, held at Redeemer Lexington. Hopefully Christ Church will have a decent-sized group this year!
+ Our now year-long Stations of the Cross project is coming to a close. The remaining broken Stations are out for restoration thanks to several generous donors, and we look forward to getting them back for hanging this fall.
+On September 4, Labor Day Weekend, we’ll bless all the books and bags and laptops and smartphones we use to make our work go as part of the children’s sermon.
In my wider work in the church, I continue to serve as dean for the Alewife Deanery (our local cluster of 13 Episcopal Churches) and on the Commission on Ministry. I’m excited to see how our partnership with Chaplains on the Way will unfold, and glad for our continued conversation with St Peter’s as they discern their place in our wider diocese under our new bishop’s staff.
Finally, I’m excited because I got a dog! When we were camping a sweet furry friend wandered into our site in the Jefferson National Forest two weeks ago. After ten days in his “stray hold” waiting to see if anyone came forward to claim him, North, (named for North Creek, where he turned up) will occasionally make his way into the office here on Main St. He looks like a cross between a black lab and a terrier and, of course, I think he’s the sweetest thing ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
Whenever I’m back from vacation I always start out this message by saying that it’s nice to be back, but that has a different resonance now that I feel more solidly back, knowing that my family won’t be moving to Central New York! I’m excited for Dio CNY and for Rev. DeDe, who will be consecrated as their bishop in December. I’m also really, really looking so forward to our new year. There are great things happening at Christ Church:
+ Our new combined outreach space will launch both Diaper Depot and Grandma’s Pantry into a cozier, brighter, and bigger space. These ministries are crucial to what God is doing at Christ Church. Victoria Sundgren has led Diaper Depot so ably and steadily for the last several years and will hand over the reins to Erin (and Chloe!) Jensen. Sally Lobo, Christ Churcher since birth, continues to lead Grandma’s Pantry with unparalleled dedication to this church and the city of Waltham. If you see them, say thank you—better yet, consider volunteering. Grandma’s Pantry is on Fridays from 9-11am, and diapers are distributed the third Saturday of the month from 10-12. To help prepare for distribution by packaging diapers, you can help out on your schedule.
+ Our children’s education is thriving, with exciting new curricula for our grades 4-5 and 6-8 classes. Grades 4-5 will cover the big stories, like the flood and Exodus, with more complex reasoning than GP storytelling is conducive to, and grades 6-8 focus on big questions like “Why does the Bible contradict itself” and “Can it be proven that God exists?” Special congratulations to last year’s big class of third graders who move out of Godly Play and will begin learning in new ways. It’s also exciting times for our rising ninth graders, Chloe Jensen, Alicia Duce, and Jennifer Coates. High school formation will pick up where last year’s middle school work left off with small group conversation and participant-focused instruction.
+In other formation news, please let me know if you would be interested in an “Intro to the Episcopal Church” class that would run after church on Sundays from September 11-October 9. This is for anyone who would like preparation for reception or confirmation as an Episcopalian or who just wants to learn more about our liturgy, history, and theology. It would be similar to the class that just concluded in June. Confirmation comes right up on October 15, held at Redeemer Lexington. Hopefully Christ Church will have a decent-sized group this year!
+ Our now year-long Stations of the Cross project is coming to a close. The remaining broken Stations are out for restoration thanks to several generous donors, and we look forward to getting them back for hanging this fall.
+On September 4, Labor Day Weekend, we’ll bless all the books and bags and laptops and smartphones we use to make our work go as part of the children’s sermon.
In my wider work in the church, I continue to serve as dean for the Alewife Deanery (our local cluster of 13 Episcopal Churches) and on the Commission on Ministry. I’m excited to see how our partnership with Chaplains on the Way will unfold, and glad for our continued conversation with St Peter’s as they discern their place in our wider diocese under our new bishop’s staff.
Finally, I’m excited because I got a dog! When we were camping a sweet furry friend wandered into our site in the Jefferson National Forest two weeks ago. After ten days in his “stray hold” waiting to see if anyone came forward to claim him, North, (named for North Creek, where he turned up) will occasionally make his way into the office here on Main St. He looks like a cross between a black lab and a terrier and, of course, I think he’s the sweetest thing ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Follow the Path of Love
Dear People of Christ Church,
I’m back in the office now for two weeks between last week’s trip to Central New York to meet people in advance of the Episcopal election there and my family vacation, which we’re taking the second and third weeks of August. I heard good things about your time with the Rev. Thea Keith-Lucas, Episcopal Chaplain at MIT, who will be back again for one Sunday in August. (Norm is taking the other.)
As you may know, my husband Noah is a candidate for bishop in the Episcopal Diocese of Central NY. Last week they had the “Walkabout” Meetings where the candidates answered questions from the diocese and we all visited ministries of the diocese. The transition and discernment committees’ hospitality was wonderful, even in the midst of long days. From Wednesday – Saturday, we all got on the bus around 10AM each day and got back to our hotel at 10PM. The diocese spans south to the Pennsylvania border, east to the Adirondacks, West to Ithaca and Elmira, and then north to Lake Ontario and the city of Watertown.
I have said many times that there is blessing on all sides—blessings if Noah is elected and new communities and ministries come into our life—and blessings if we stay in Massachusetts with our communities at Grace Medford and Christ Church. All along in this process it has been an exercise in “yes” to invitations—yes to the invitation for Noah to be nominated, yes to the discernment committee’s retreat, and then yes to joining the slate. Now that journey has come to an end, and it’s up to the people of Central NY. (Quick primer on bishop elections in the Episcopal Church: Each parish has lay voting delegates. Every canonically resident clergy person also votes. The final decision is made when a candidate has been elected in both the lay and clergy orders. They begin voting in the morning, and vote until there’s a clear decision. Church wide, there are 7 other couples of a bishop married to a priest; yes, I could still do parish ministry!)
It’s one thing, though, to believe that either outcome is a blessing (which they both would be) and another thing to stay centered in the midst of the not-knowing. The slate was first released on May 1 (after a months-long process of interviews and retreats for the candidates). Ten days now until the election, it’s even harder to know what either outcome would feel like.
Last week’s Gospel told us to pray: “God in heaven, your will be done.” But then what?
In June I quoted in this space a piece from Carlo Carretto, an Italian desert monastic (1910-1988) who wrote the book Letters from the Desert. Stay or go, be active or contemplative, city or country—the only decision there is to make is to follow the path of love. Reading Carretto in this time of my own uncertainty reminds me of an image of one of the speakers I heard at Wild Goose Festival earlier in July. Gabrielle Stoner talked about how we get attached to stories about ourselves— “I always ___” or “I could never ___”. Rather than be convinced of this insistence on narrow identity, in our spiritual lives we are invited to “widen the aperture”: to look wider than just the current moment or current question to a more transcendent consciousness. Spending time with Carretto’s invitation to focus on love rather than endless obsession on personal circumstance and clever understanding takes me out of the current roller coaster of wondering what will happen on August 6.
Here’s more about what Carretto says about prayer:
“As long as we pray only when and how we want to, our life of prayer is bound to be unreal. It will run in fits and starts. The slightest upset—even a toothache—will be enough to destroy the whole edifice of our prayer-life. ‘You must strip your prayers,’ the novice master told me. You must simplify, deintellectualize. Put yourself in front of Jesus as poor—not with any big ideas, but with living faith. Remain motionless in an act of love…don’t try to reach God with your understanding; that is impossible. Reach [God] in love; that is possible. (13)
Reach God in love. That is possible.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon Sunday 7/24? It’s here!
I’m back in the office now for two weeks between last week’s trip to Central New York to meet people in advance of the Episcopal election there and my family vacation, which we’re taking the second and third weeks of August. I heard good things about your time with the Rev. Thea Keith-Lucas, Episcopal Chaplain at MIT, who will be back again for one Sunday in August. (Norm is taking the other.)
As you may know, my husband Noah is a candidate for bishop in the Episcopal Diocese of Central NY. Last week they had the “Walkabout” Meetings where the candidates answered questions from the diocese and we all visited ministries of the diocese. The transition and discernment committees’ hospitality was wonderful, even in the midst of long days. From Wednesday – Saturday, we all got on the bus around 10AM each day and got back to our hotel at 10PM. The diocese spans south to the Pennsylvania border, east to the Adirondacks, West to Ithaca and Elmira, and then north to Lake Ontario and the city of Watertown.
I have said many times that there is blessing on all sides—blessings if Noah is elected and new communities and ministries come into our life—and blessings if we stay in Massachusetts with our communities at Grace Medford and Christ Church. All along in this process it has been an exercise in “yes” to invitations—yes to the invitation for Noah to be nominated, yes to the discernment committee’s retreat, and then yes to joining the slate. Now that journey has come to an end, and it’s up to the people of Central NY. (Quick primer on bishop elections in the Episcopal Church: Each parish has lay voting delegates. Every canonically resident clergy person also votes. The final decision is made when a candidate has been elected in both the lay and clergy orders. They begin voting in the morning, and vote until there’s a clear decision. Church wide, there are 7 other couples of a bishop married to a priest; yes, I could still do parish ministry!)
It’s one thing, though, to believe that either outcome is a blessing (which they both would be) and another thing to stay centered in the midst of the not-knowing. The slate was first released on May 1 (after a months-long process of interviews and retreats for the candidates). Ten days now until the election, it’s even harder to know what either outcome would feel like.
Last week’s Gospel told us to pray: “God in heaven, your will be done.” But then what?
In June I quoted in this space a piece from Carlo Carretto, an Italian desert monastic (1910-1988) who wrote the book Letters from the Desert. Stay or go, be active or contemplative, city or country—the only decision there is to make is to follow the path of love. Reading Carretto in this time of my own uncertainty reminds me of an image of one of the speakers I heard at Wild Goose Festival earlier in July. Gabrielle Stoner talked about how we get attached to stories about ourselves— “I always ___” or “I could never ___”. Rather than be convinced of this insistence on narrow identity, in our spiritual lives we are invited to “widen the aperture”: to look wider than just the current moment or current question to a more transcendent consciousness. Spending time with Carretto’s invitation to focus on love rather than endless obsession on personal circumstance and clever understanding takes me out of the current roller coaster of wondering what will happen on August 6.
Here’s more about what Carretto says about prayer:
“As long as we pray only when and how we want to, our life of prayer is bound to be unreal. It will run in fits and starts. The slightest upset—even a toothache—will be enough to destroy the whole edifice of our prayer-life. ‘You must strip your prayers,’ the novice master told me. You must simplify, deintellectualize. Put yourself in front of Jesus as poor—not with any big ideas, but with living faith. Remain motionless in an act of love…don’t try to reach God with your understanding; that is impossible. Reach [God] in love; that is possible. (13)
Reach God in love. That is possible.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon Sunday 7/24? It’s here!
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Praying for Salvation, Working for Justice
Dear People of Christ Church,
Last week I was out of the office to attend the Wild Goose Festival, a gathering in the mountains of North Carolina my family and I have attended for the last four years. My shorthand description of it is “Progressive Christians in the mud”—speakers come from all over the map from self-titled “recovering evangelicals” to pacifist Roman Catholics to anti-racist suburban mom bloggers. And folk music rock stars Dar Williams and the Indigo Girls!
The workshops I attended were all over the map—I went to one talk by a lay friend of a silent order of Cistercian monks about meditation, one about pilgrimage and laying down your metaphorical and literal baggage, and several talks by the womanist ethicist scholar Emilie Townes (womanism is a politics centered in the experiences of black women). Jim Wallis, founder of the social justice group Sojourners and author of a whole slew of books about American society and Christian faith and politics, was there this year, speaking again about Racism as America’s Original Sin (also his latest book). What I love about Wild Goose is the sense of community that emerges—I can tell our kids to disappear for an hour and they’ll come back jubilant and covered in dirt, along with a new best friend and an invitation for lunch at someone’s campsite. That doesn’t work in metro Boston.
Backgrounded in all of the beauty, of course, was pain—at this moment the pain of racism in this country and the pain that it is a system that we are all enmeshed in, like a spider web that clings to our bodies and won’t let us free. If everybody believed that black lives matter, we wouldn’t have to say it. The “All lives” of contemporary America does not, when the rubber hits the road, actually include “all.” The Black Lives Matter movement is about changing that.
It is a lifelong task to be aware of how racism works in America and how those of us who are white benefit from that system. We are never finished. We will never have done enough. But it’s not about guilt or innocence, not about being paralyzed by shame or longing for exoneration. It’s a journey. Step by step, thought by thought, day after day paying attention. The way we interact with the racism of contemporary America is a moral and political question. That sounds very “exterior,” but it’s also a spiritual journey. We are called to pay attention to white privilege and racial discrimination because where discrimination happens Jesus is present. Jesus is always present where there is suffering. And white people—we are not suffering in contemporary America in the same way that people of color are suffering. We are not. Jesus is on the other side of that. Always. With Philando Castile and Alton Sterling AND with the Dallas police officers who were murdered. In the same way that the assassin at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando didn’t represent Islam, the shooter in Dallas didn’t represent the Black Lives Matter movement.
Writing about our trip to Wild Goose Festival last year I shared a quote from a talk I attended that year with Paul Fromberg, a priest in San Francisco. He said “I don’t believe in progress. I believe in salvation.” I don’t know if I am making much progress in my own journey around race. Am I doing the best I can? Most of the time. I will pray for salvation, too.
Blessings,
Sara+
PS—Please keep my husband, Noah, and me in your prayers as we travel to Central New York next week for the series of meetings leading up to the bishop election on August 6. I’ll be out of the office from July 19-24. Thanks to the Rev. Thea Keith-Lucas, Episcopal Chaplain at MIT, who will be guest celebrant and preacher on July 24. In case of a pastoral emergency, the clergy from Redeemer Lexington will be on call.
Last week I was out of the office to attend the Wild Goose Festival, a gathering in the mountains of North Carolina my family and I have attended for the last four years. My shorthand description of it is “Progressive Christians in the mud”—speakers come from all over the map from self-titled “recovering evangelicals” to pacifist Roman Catholics to anti-racist suburban mom bloggers. And folk music rock stars Dar Williams and the Indigo Girls!
The workshops I attended were all over the map—I went to one talk by a lay friend of a silent order of Cistercian monks about meditation, one about pilgrimage and laying down your metaphorical and literal baggage, and several talks by the womanist ethicist scholar Emilie Townes (womanism is a politics centered in the experiences of black women). Jim Wallis, founder of the social justice group Sojourners and author of a whole slew of books about American society and Christian faith and politics, was there this year, speaking again about Racism as America’s Original Sin (also his latest book). What I love about Wild Goose is the sense of community that emerges—I can tell our kids to disappear for an hour and they’ll come back jubilant and covered in dirt, along with a new best friend and an invitation for lunch at someone’s campsite. That doesn’t work in metro Boston.
Backgrounded in all of the beauty, of course, was pain—at this moment the pain of racism in this country and the pain that it is a system that we are all enmeshed in, like a spider web that clings to our bodies and won’t let us free. If everybody believed that black lives matter, we wouldn’t have to say it. The “All lives” of contemporary America does not, when the rubber hits the road, actually include “all.” The Black Lives Matter movement is about changing that.
It is a lifelong task to be aware of how racism works in America and how those of us who are white benefit from that system. We are never finished. We will never have done enough. But it’s not about guilt or innocence, not about being paralyzed by shame or longing for exoneration. It’s a journey. Step by step, thought by thought, day after day paying attention. The way we interact with the racism of contemporary America is a moral and political question. That sounds very “exterior,” but it’s also a spiritual journey. We are called to pay attention to white privilege and racial discrimination because where discrimination happens Jesus is present. Jesus is always present where there is suffering. And white people—we are not suffering in contemporary America in the same way that people of color are suffering. We are not. Jesus is on the other side of that. Always. With Philando Castile and Alton Sterling AND with the Dallas police officers who were murdered. In the same way that the assassin at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando didn’t represent Islam, the shooter in Dallas didn’t represent the Black Lives Matter movement.
Writing about our trip to Wild Goose Festival last year I shared a quote from a talk I attended that year with Paul Fromberg, a priest in San Francisco. He said “I don’t believe in progress. I believe in salvation.” I don’t know if I am making much progress in my own journey around race. Am I doing the best I can? Most of the time. I will pray for salvation, too.
Blessings,
Sara+
PS—Please keep my husband, Noah, and me in your prayers as we travel to Central New York next week for the series of meetings leading up to the bishop election on August 6. I’ll be out of the office from July 19-24. Thanks to the Rev. Thea Keith-Lucas, Episcopal Chaplain at MIT, who will be guest celebrant and preacher on July 24. In case of a pastoral emergency, the clergy from Redeemer Lexington will be on call.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Love, the Motive for All Good
Dear People of Christ Church,
In our Gospel on Sunday, the response to Jesus and his disciples is pretty ambivalent. It seems that people want to follow him, but that they all have something to do first—to care for a dying father, to say goodbye to those at home, we could probably all add to the list. We all have a list of things we “need” to do…
Jesus is pretty unimpressed and appears to dismiss them—“”No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” Ok! Leave everything, and right away. Except… Last week, the person Jesus healed says he wants to follow Jesus, and Jesus says no. Stay. Stay and talk about what God has done for you.
So which is it? Does staying home with your commitments render you unfit for the kingdom of God, or is it the most faithful thing you can do to honor God through the care and relationships God has given you?
Both, of course, and more.
Trying to spin out a general rule out of Scripture is like untangling a spider web; each individual story can be read on so many different levels. The soft fibers get caught everywhere in your hair and hands, and all you were trying to do was find one set of instructions. But there is no one set of instructions, unless you step way, way, way, back. Staying or leaving might both be the most faithful choice, or God might have something else in mind. I want to share something I found recently by the Italian monk Carlo Carretto. (1910-1988) He had had a very “productive” activist career and had accomplished a lot, but left to be a monk in the desert in favor of contemplation and simplicity. He wondered if he’d made the right choice, if he were wasting his life. Here’s where he came down:
Only one thing in this world is not problematic: charity, love. Love alone is not a problem for him who lives it. To those who ask me if I am wasting my time, I can only say. “Live love, let love invade you. It will never fail to teach you what you must do.”
Charity, which is God in us, will point to the way ahead. It will say to you “Now kneel,” or “Now leave.” Don’t worry about what you ought to do. Worry about loving. Don’t interrogate heaven repeatedly and uselessly saying, “What course of action should I pursue?” Concentrate on loving instead.
And by loving you will find out what is for you. Loving, you will listen to the Voice. Loving, you will find peace. Love is the fulfillment of the law and should be everyone’s rule of life; in the end it’s the solution to every problem, the motive for all good…
And if the will of God urges you to seek out the poor, to give up all you possess, or to leave for distant lands, what does the rest matter? Or if it calls you to found a family, or take on a job in a city, why should you have any doubts?
Why should you have any doubts? Only love.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/19? It’s here!
In our Gospel on Sunday, the response to Jesus and his disciples is pretty ambivalent. It seems that people want to follow him, but that they all have something to do first—to care for a dying father, to say goodbye to those at home, we could probably all add to the list. We all have a list of things we “need” to do…
Jesus is pretty unimpressed and appears to dismiss them—“”No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” Ok! Leave everything, and right away. Except… Last week, the person Jesus healed says he wants to follow Jesus, and Jesus says no. Stay. Stay and talk about what God has done for you.
So which is it? Does staying home with your commitments render you unfit for the kingdom of God, or is it the most faithful thing you can do to honor God through the care and relationships God has given you?
Both, of course, and more.
Trying to spin out a general rule out of Scripture is like untangling a spider web; each individual story can be read on so many different levels. The soft fibers get caught everywhere in your hair and hands, and all you were trying to do was find one set of instructions. But there is no one set of instructions, unless you step way, way, way, back. Staying or leaving might both be the most faithful choice, or God might have something else in mind. I want to share something I found recently by the Italian monk Carlo Carretto. (1910-1988) He had had a very “productive” activist career and had accomplished a lot, but left to be a monk in the desert in favor of contemplation and simplicity. He wondered if he’d made the right choice, if he were wasting his life. Here’s where he came down:
Only one thing in this world is not problematic: charity, love. Love alone is not a problem for him who lives it. To those who ask me if I am wasting my time, I can only say. “Live love, let love invade you. It will never fail to teach you what you must do.”
Charity, which is God in us, will point to the way ahead. It will say to you “Now kneel,” or “Now leave.” Don’t worry about what you ought to do. Worry about loving. Don’t interrogate heaven repeatedly and uselessly saying, “What course of action should I pursue?” Concentrate on loving instead.
And by loving you will find out what is for you. Loving, you will listen to the Voice. Loving, you will find peace. Love is the fulfillment of the law and should be everyone’s rule of life; in the end it’s the solution to every problem, the motive for all good…
And if the will of God urges you to seek out the poor, to give up all you possess, or to leave for distant lands, what does the rest matter? Or if it calls you to found a family, or take on a job in a city, why should you have any doubts?
Why should you have any doubts? Only love.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/19? It’s here!
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Hearing God in Sheer Silence
Dear People of Christ Church,
I’ve been continuing to think about the sound of “sheer silence” that we heard God speaking in to the prophet Elijah in the book of Kings reading for Sunday. At vestry we always have a check in question for people to share something of themselves before we start our work. My question for this month was “Where have you heard God in sheer silence lately?”
Our answers were, I think, pretty typical for any group of 21st century people. Kissing a sleeping child goodnight is about as exquisite as any silence can be, and holy, too. There’s silence in listening for God to invite us into the next step in our lives, silence in being with a person who is dying, silence in being finished with a huge project, our anxieties stilled for a moment. We’re all doing our best to find God in stillness. The lovely thing, too, is that you are also all doing your best to be present with God in the noise. That came up in our Episcopal Church newcomer class as well—as people of faith we long for a deeper sense of connection with God and want to include God in more places in our lives, wherever we find ourselves and whatever we’re doing. Praying for others and finding ways to pray always—and all ways—is all part of a life of seeking God.
This message from the SSJE brothers’ daily “word” came through on Tuesday morning:
Silence invites slowing down, restoring sleep, savoring food, being attentive to self and the Divine. It’s a “healing gift” we intentionally foster to give and receive. Compared to the cacophony of the world, silence keeps catching us off-guard, inviting wonder at being so loved by God. —Br. Luke Ditewig
Brother Luke, I think, nails something here—that any time we can be more intentional and focused on what’s in front of us is a time for interior silence, no matter what is going on outside of us. Silence leaves us open to God, allowing us to close off our own busy-ness and sense of anxiety and responsibility. Silence isn’t the same as quiet. You can have an interior monologue that shouts all alone in an empty room; the background noise can take over: What do you have to do later? What’s the weather going to be like when you’re on vacation? What if your babysitter is late again? And on and on. Not silent. At the same time, you can have an enormous crowd around you shouting and laughing, while you take a single sip of the drink in front of you and feel an interior stillness that can’t be shaken.
Where’s your quiet? Where’s your noise? Where is God waiting in the silence under both of those?
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/19? It’s here!
I’ve been continuing to think about the sound of “sheer silence” that we heard God speaking in to the prophet Elijah in the book of Kings reading for Sunday. At vestry we always have a check in question for people to share something of themselves before we start our work. My question for this month was “Where have you heard God in sheer silence lately?”
Our answers were, I think, pretty typical for any group of 21st century people. Kissing a sleeping child goodnight is about as exquisite as any silence can be, and holy, too. There’s silence in listening for God to invite us into the next step in our lives, silence in being with a person who is dying, silence in being finished with a huge project, our anxieties stilled for a moment. We’re all doing our best to find God in stillness. The lovely thing, too, is that you are also all doing your best to be present with God in the noise. That came up in our Episcopal Church newcomer class as well—as people of faith we long for a deeper sense of connection with God and want to include God in more places in our lives, wherever we find ourselves and whatever we’re doing. Praying for others and finding ways to pray always—and all ways—is all part of a life of seeking God.
This message from the SSJE brothers’ daily “word” came through on Tuesday morning:
Silence invites slowing down, restoring sleep, savoring food, being attentive to self and the Divine. It’s a “healing gift” we intentionally foster to give and receive. Compared to the cacophony of the world, silence keeps catching us off-guard, inviting wonder at being so loved by God. —Br. Luke Ditewig
Brother Luke, I think, nails something here—that any time we can be more intentional and focused on what’s in front of us is a time for interior silence, no matter what is going on outside of us. Silence leaves us open to God, allowing us to close off our own busy-ness and sense of anxiety and responsibility. Silence isn’t the same as quiet. You can have an interior monologue that shouts all alone in an empty room; the background noise can take over: What do you have to do later? What’s the weather going to be like when you’re on vacation? What if your babysitter is late again? And on and on. Not silent. At the same time, you can have an enormous crowd around you shouting and laughing, while you take a single sip of the drink in front of you and feel an interior stillness that can’t be shaken.
Where’s your quiet? Where’s your noise? Where is God waiting in the silence under both of those?
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/19? It’s here!
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Hear Our Prayer
Dear People of Christ Church,
As we continue to unfold ourselves, both personally and culturally, from the grief of the violence in Orlando last week, I wanted to share instead of more words, more prayers. Others have offered wonderful words of challenge, comfort, and Christ—most recently two posts from my Lutheran friend, The Rev. Angel Marrero, pastor of Santuario Waltham: A Pastoral Response from a Gay Latino Priest and, for considering the place of the church in anti-LGBT sentiment, The Pulse Martyrs: Confession Before Communion.
In the meantime, I offer only prayers—here are some I compiled for our Interfaith Vigil service on Monday. We had a beautiful service of light and prayer, and our collection for Waltham House, our local LGBT group home for teens, raised close to $300.
___
From one another and from God, we pray forgiveness for our part in the way our communities have been bruised and our world torn apart. We repent for words and deeds that provoke prejudice, hatred, and revenge. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from suspicions and fears that stand in the way of reconciliation, particularly holding in love those who are Muslim who experience discrimination. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from our unwillingness to confront our own privilege: racial, economic, by gender or sexual orientation, God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
For the community of the Pulse nightclub. For bartenders and bouncers, for DJs and dancers. For all who made it a place of refuge and safety, that a sanctuary may be restored. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in hope that our beautiful world can be transformed through love and beauty. For all who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender. For hearts to know God’s love revealed in all God’s children. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in thanksgiving for our many religious traditions, and for the many names by which you are known, O God. For Yhwh, Allah, Spirit, and Christ. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray for fair politics and brave leaders. For an end to gun violence, for an end to the quiet assumption that nothing can be done and that carnage is inevitable. Give us the gift of holy hope,
And by your grace and healing presence join our hearts to yours.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/12? It’s here!
As we continue to unfold ourselves, both personally and culturally, from the grief of the violence in Orlando last week, I wanted to share instead of more words, more prayers. Others have offered wonderful words of challenge, comfort, and Christ—most recently two posts from my Lutheran friend, The Rev. Angel Marrero, pastor of Santuario Waltham: A Pastoral Response from a Gay Latino Priest and, for considering the place of the church in anti-LGBT sentiment, The Pulse Martyrs: Confession Before Communion.
In the meantime, I offer only prayers—here are some I compiled for our Interfaith Vigil service on Monday. We had a beautiful service of light and prayer, and our collection for Waltham House, our local LGBT group home for teens, raised close to $300.
___
From one another and from God, we pray forgiveness for our part in the way our communities have been bruised and our world torn apart. We repent for words and deeds that provoke prejudice, hatred, and revenge. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from suspicions and fears that stand in the way of reconciliation, particularly holding in love those who are Muslim who experience discrimination. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from our unwillingness to confront our own privilege: racial, economic, by gender or sexual orientation, God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
For the community of the Pulse nightclub. For bartenders and bouncers, for DJs and dancers. For all who made it a place of refuge and safety, that a sanctuary may be restored. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in hope that our beautiful world can be transformed through love and beauty. For all who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender. For hearts to know God’s love revealed in all God’s children. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in thanksgiving for our many religious traditions, and for the many names by which you are known, O God. For Yhwh, Allah, Spirit, and Christ. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray for fair politics and brave leaders. For an end to gun violence, for an end to the quiet assumption that nothing can be done and that carnage is inevitable. Give us the gift of holy hope,
And by your grace and healing presence join our hearts to yours.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/12? It’s here!
Thursday, June 9, 2016
In the Season of Church Retreats
Dear People of Christ Church,
In the “institutional church” structures where I run, this is the season of the long-meeting-masquerading-as-retreat. I serve on several diocesan bodies, and we are all having our annual “retreats” this time of year—actually, just really long meetings that are labeled retreats so we’ll all feel better about blocking off huge time chunks on our calendars. We had our “retreat” for the Commission on Ministry, the group that works with the ordination process for priests and deacons and came out of it with a whole lot of great “fixes” for our work together, but it was short of a retreat. Next week I have a 5 hour meeting with the bishop and the council of deans—my guess is that we will come out of that with some great ideas, too, but that it might be just short of spiritually refreshing. I’m proud to say that our own annual vestry retreat is, in fact, a retreat!
Today, though, I had the pleasure of one of those long meetings that actually was a retreat. A small group of those ministering in Waltham have been meeting for many years as the interfaith “Waltham Ministerial Association” for support and community. Rabbi David from Temple Beth Israel led us in a storytelling workshop. Rev. Marc from First Parish made lentil soup. In the afternoon, Becky from Chaplains on the Way offered us the labyrinth that COTW uses in their ministry. Since COTW has moved to Christ Church, they host monthly labyrinth walks for their community right here in our parish hall, most recently this past Wednesday.
I’ve always really loved the labyrinth as a symbol—the idea is found in all kinds of spiritual communities. In Christianity, though, they began to catch on in the middle ages when it became popular for people to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem and other sacred sites. For those who couldn’t, the labyrinth was presented as a way of engaging the prayer of movement and spiritual journey without the hardship of actual travel. One of the most famous ones is in Chartres Cathedral. There’s one on the cover of our Pentecost bulletins. I have one on my ankle, too.
In a labyrinth, the pilgrim has a destination: there is a center to it, and each step brings you closer. This is as opposed to a maze, which tries to get you lost. The circuits of a labyrinth bring you closer to the center, then further out, then close again. You think you’re almost there, but then find yourself in a different direction. You think you are furthest away from your destination, and suddenly it appears close on the horizon. As you walk, your breathing has a chance to calm, your body settles, and, ever so silently, you might hear God whispering.
Blessings,
Sara+
Have a few minutes? “Walk” a labyrinth with author Jan Richardson. The video is 9 minutes long. Find it on youtube.
In the “institutional church” structures where I run, this is the season of the long-meeting-masquerading-as-retreat. I serve on several diocesan bodies, and we are all having our annual “retreats” this time of year—actually, just really long meetings that are labeled retreats so we’ll all feel better about blocking off huge time chunks on our calendars. We had our “retreat” for the Commission on Ministry, the group that works with the ordination process for priests and deacons and came out of it with a whole lot of great “fixes” for our work together, but it was short of a retreat. Next week I have a 5 hour meeting with the bishop and the council of deans—my guess is that we will come out of that with some great ideas, too, but that it might be just short of spiritually refreshing. I’m proud to say that our own annual vestry retreat is, in fact, a retreat!
Today, though, I had the pleasure of one of those long meetings that actually was a retreat. A small group of those ministering in Waltham have been meeting for many years as the interfaith “Waltham Ministerial Association” for support and community. Rabbi David from Temple Beth Israel led us in a storytelling workshop. Rev. Marc from First Parish made lentil soup. In the afternoon, Becky from Chaplains on the Way offered us the labyrinth that COTW uses in their ministry. Since COTW has moved to Christ Church, they host monthly labyrinth walks for their community right here in our parish hall, most recently this past Wednesday.
I’ve always really loved the labyrinth as a symbol—the idea is found in all kinds of spiritual communities. In Christianity, though, they began to catch on in the middle ages when it became popular for people to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem and other sacred sites. For those who couldn’t, the labyrinth was presented as a way of engaging the prayer of movement and spiritual journey without the hardship of actual travel. One of the most famous ones is in Chartres Cathedral. There’s one on the cover of our Pentecost bulletins. I have one on my ankle, too.
In a labyrinth, the pilgrim has a destination: there is a center to it, and each step brings you closer. This is as opposed to a maze, which tries to get you lost. The circuits of a labyrinth bring you closer to the center, then further out, then close again. You think you’re almost there, but then find yourself in a different direction. You think you are furthest away from your destination, and suddenly it appears close on the horizon. As you walk, your breathing has a chance to calm, your body settles, and, ever so silently, you might hear God whispering.
Blessings,
Sara+
Have a few minutes? “Walk” a labyrinth with author Jan Richardson. The video is 9 minutes long. Find it on youtube.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Finding our Moral Footing
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, our Episcopal Church Class will take on “Contemporary Moral Issues,” and wow, there seem to be a lot of them swirling around. On Sunday in my sermon I mentioned how God had “shown up” in a powerful (and surprising to all of us, I think) way at a conference I attended in Portland, OR the week before. What was going to be a fun and creative time for a group of Millennial and Generation X clergy to hang out and talk shop became a revelatory witnessing about sexism in the church. Sexism is a moral issue.
On Sunday, I, along with many clergy across the country, will wear orange stoles to remember victims of gun violence. Why orange? It’s the color hunters wear for safety. The idea came about from friends of Hadiya Pendleton, a 15 year old high school student who was shot to death on the south side of Chicago a week after marching in President Obama's second inaugural parade in 2013. June 2 is her birthday. Gun violence is a moral issue.
Today, Charlie Baker has announced that law enforcement will be permitted to be detain undocumented immigrants on behalf of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement authority. How we treat “the alien who resides with you…as a citizen” (Leviticus 19:34) is a moral issue.
This week, the MA house and senate voted on bills to protect the right of public accommodations access for transgendered persons. How we respect the dignity of every human being, of every gender identity, is a moral issue.
The Boston anti defamation league announced today that just halfway into the year, Massachusetts has already seen almost as many anti Semitic acts (56) as in all of last year (61). Such events were reported at 23 schools and colleges. How we treat those of other faiths is a moral issue.
All of these are moral issues, yet we live in a world that so often tramples the bodies of the oppressed and seduces us into the lie that who we are is determined by how much we have. In baptism we make all kinds of promises about how we’ll engage the world and each other. We study a Bible that’s full of stories of Jesus Christ going toward the margins of society and toward people in need. What happens next?
The “next” is our whole lives. The “next” is how we go, day by day, examining how we treat others and how we create communities of care, concern, and hospitality. We are also called into lives in which we “love our neighbors as ourselves”… sometimes the “love yourself” part of the equation is the one that comes out with the shorter stick. Sometimes we internalize the false stories of our broken-yet-precious world, and oppression turns inward. I came out of last week’s conversation about discrimination against women last week with some critical questions for the wider church. I came out with some critical questions for myself, too (and will hopefully have something on my own blog about it in the next few days).
What moral issues are you struggling with these days?
How can this Christian community help you to find your footing in responding to them?
What issues aren’t we seeing?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, our Episcopal Church Class will take on “Contemporary Moral Issues,” and wow, there seem to be a lot of them swirling around. On Sunday in my sermon I mentioned how God had “shown up” in a powerful (and surprising to all of us, I think) way at a conference I attended in Portland, OR the week before. What was going to be a fun and creative time for a group of Millennial and Generation X clergy to hang out and talk shop became a revelatory witnessing about sexism in the church. Sexism is a moral issue.
On Sunday, I, along with many clergy across the country, will wear orange stoles to remember victims of gun violence. Why orange? It’s the color hunters wear for safety. The idea came about from friends of Hadiya Pendleton, a 15 year old high school student who was shot to death on the south side of Chicago a week after marching in President Obama's second inaugural parade in 2013. June 2 is her birthday. Gun violence is a moral issue.
Today, Charlie Baker has announced that law enforcement will be permitted to be detain undocumented immigrants on behalf of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement authority. How we treat “the alien who resides with you…as a citizen” (Leviticus 19:34) is a moral issue.
This week, the MA house and senate voted on bills to protect the right of public accommodations access for transgendered persons. How we respect the dignity of every human being, of every gender identity, is a moral issue.
The Boston anti defamation league announced today that just halfway into the year, Massachusetts has already seen almost as many anti Semitic acts (56) as in all of last year (61). Such events were reported at 23 schools and colleges. How we treat those of other faiths is a moral issue.
All of these are moral issues, yet we live in a world that so often tramples the bodies of the oppressed and seduces us into the lie that who we are is determined by how much we have. In baptism we make all kinds of promises about how we’ll engage the world and each other. We study a Bible that’s full of stories of Jesus Christ going toward the margins of society and toward people in need. What happens next?
The “next” is our whole lives. The “next” is how we go, day by day, examining how we treat others and how we create communities of care, concern, and hospitality. We are also called into lives in which we “love our neighbors as ourselves”… sometimes the “love yourself” part of the equation is the one that comes out with the shorter stick. Sometimes we internalize the false stories of our broken-yet-precious world, and oppression turns inward. I came out of last week’s conversation about discrimination against women last week with some critical questions for the wider church. I came out with some critical questions for myself, too (and will hopefully have something on my own blog about it in the next few days).
What moral issues are you struggling with these days?
How can this Christian community help you to find your footing in responding to them?
What issues aren’t we seeing?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Outward and Visible Signs
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week at our Episcopal Church class we talked about the shape of the liturgy. In the Episcopal Church, that’s also to have a conversation about what we believe theologically—we “do” theology as we “do” church. It’s also to have a conversation about our history, since the way our practices have changed is also part of the story of how our context has changed. The Episcopal Church is part of the Anglican tradition (Anglican just means "of England"—we are one of the many branches of a tree that reaches back to the Reformation in England in the 16th century), and the Anglican tradition is very, very wide in its variety of practices.
This past Sunday, though, with our combination of incense and jazz mass, was definitely an unusual pairing. There are places where you hear saxophones in church, and there are places where you smell incense every week, but they are not frequently in the same place. AND we got to sprinkle holy water at the baptism! Putting them together is not so much a “more is better” attitude—it’s not always—so much as it’s a way of thinking about liturgy in terms of embodied experience. Church is the only place most of us ever sing. It engages our souls and bodies in a new way. Watching the incense rise and being enveloped in the sweet smell of frankincense reminds us that our prayer moves out of our sight and into the heavens, that all of our senses are part of our encounter of God in the world. Why in the world would we want church to be less engaging than our regular lives?
Worship, at its best, should be a time to connect with mystery and transcendence. We don’t just go to church to hear a nice sermon (though hopefully the preaching is engaging enough to come back). We don’t just go to church to be fed at communion and buoyed enough to slog through the rest of the week. It’s not just about coffee hour and having good conversation. Hopefully church is about instilling in us a certain way of seeing that can permeate all of our lives. We practice our faith—not just in the sense of completing particular tasks, but also in the sense of inculcating a particular attitude toward the world.
The Episcopal Catechism, which I absolutely adore in its paradoxical duality of precision and openness, tells us that a sacrament is “an outward and visible sign of an inward invisible grace.” We need the sacraments and our embodied worship to remind us to look behind what we see, to remember that what you see isn’t always what you get. God’s vision is exponentially broader than our own. (I did hear recently that the real test of Christian faith in implausible things was not believing that Jesus could be present in bread at communion, but that the wafers we use are actually bread…that’s a point for a different day.).
How does church help you practice your wider vision? How could our practices at Christ Church do that better?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week at our Episcopal Church class we talked about the shape of the liturgy. In the Episcopal Church, that’s also to have a conversation about what we believe theologically—we “do” theology as we “do” church. It’s also to have a conversation about our history, since the way our practices have changed is also part of the story of how our context has changed. The Episcopal Church is part of the Anglican tradition (Anglican just means "of England"—we are one of the many branches of a tree that reaches back to the Reformation in England in the 16th century), and the Anglican tradition is very, very wide in its variety of practices.
This past Sunday, though, with our combination of incense and jazz mass, was definitely an unusual pairing. There are places where you hear saxophones in church, and there are places where you smell incense every week, but they are not frequently in the same place. AND we got to sprinkle holy water at the baptism! Putting them together is not so much a “more is better” attitude—it’s not always—so much as it’s a way of thinking about liturgy in terms of embodied experience. Church is the only place most of us ever sing. It engages our souls and bodies in a new way. Watching the incense rise and being enveloped in the sweet smell of frankincense reminds us that our prayer moves out of our sight and into the heavens, that all of our senses are part of our encounter of God in the world. Why in the world would we want church to be less engaging than our regular lives?
Worship, at its best, should be a time to connect with mystery and transcendence. We don’t just go to church to hear a nice sermon (though hopefully the preaching is engaging enough to come back). We don’t just go to church to be fed at communion and buoyed enough to slog through the rest of the week. It’s not just about coffee hour and having good conversation. Hopefully church is about instilling in us a certain way of seeing that can permeate all of our lives. We practice our faith—not just in the sense of completing particular tasks, but also in the sense of inculcating a particular attitude toward the world.
The Episcopal Catechism, which I absolutely adore in its paradoxical duality of precision and openness, tells us that a sacrament is “an outward and visible sign of an inward invisible grace.” We need the sacraments and our embodied worship to remind us to look behind what we see, to remember that what you see isn’t always what you get. God’s vision is exponentially broader than our own. (I did hear recently that the real test of Christian faith in implausible things was not believing that Jesus could be present in bread at communion, but that the wafers we use are actually bread…that’s a point for a different day.).
How does church help you practice your wider vision? How could our practices at Christ Church do that better?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Ascensiontide, Season for Uncertainty
Dear People of Christ Church,
In my sermon on Sunday I was thinking with you about the uncertainty of Ascensiontide. Not like “tide” like waves, but like time (—in the church we just stick “tide” as a suffix to whatever we want to extend past its traditional expiration date). The disciples experience Jesus as having been lifted away from them, literally into the sky. Renaissance paintings just show feet at the top of the canvas. However that spatial metaphor works or doesn’t, I said, in my sermon, there is something decidedly new in the disciples’ experience. Jesus was with them in the post resurrection experiences, and then he wasn’t. He stopped showing up with breakfast on the beach, stopped walking along with them pretending to be a stranger, stopped telling them not to be afraid. All of that just stopped. In our Gospel for Sunday we hear Jesus talking about sending the Holy Spirit, that he has to leave for it Spirit to show up. The Greek word is “advocate”—the Paraclete.
Easter season might be the liturgical season for joy, but if there were a liturgical season for uncertainty, ascensiontide would be it. In our lives, uncertainty doesn’t have a season. There is always plenty of it to go around, anytime. Just like you don’t need Lent to realize your distance from God, you don’t need a painting of the tips of Jesus’ feet to know ambiguity. The invitation to think about it in an intentional way comes from the disciples—this time of year we are trying to hang out with them for a while in this in-between space.
We’ve been doing a lot of that in Easter season, just hanging out with the disciples and seeing what’s going on. I think of that as one of the goals of preaching—to bring us all into the text and see what’s happening, listen in on those long-ago conversations and see what’s there for us. Taking the disciples up on their invitation can feel kind of like a strange choice to make, admittedly. It takes a certain willingness to suspend disbelief, not to know the answers ahead of time about what you’ll find, and just jump in. The past is the past, but through Scripture it’s a living past that touches the present in an unexpected way. We are in community with those disciples and with Jesus as we are in community with each other.
What are you finding in this season of uncertainty? Pentecost is coming up on Sunday and we turn toward the Holy Spirit, her rushing wind and tongues of fire. But we have a few more days of quiet. What have you heard here?
Blessings,
Sara+
In my sermon on Sunday I was thinking with you about the uncertainty of Ascensiontide. Not like “tide” like waves, but like time (—in the church we just stick “tide” as a suffix to whatever we want to extend past its traditional expiration date). The disciples experience Jesus as having been lifted away from them, literally into the sky. Renaissance paintings just show feet at the top of the canvas. However that spatial metaphor works or doesn’t, I said, in my sermon, there is something decidedly new in the disciples’ experience. Jesus was with them in the post resurrection experiences, and then he wasn’t. He stopped showing up with breakfast on the beach, stopped walking along with them pretending to be a stranger, stopped telling them not to be afraid. All of that just stopped. In our Gospel for Sunday we hear Jesus talking about sending the Holy Spirit, that he has to leave for it Spirit to show up. The Greek word is “advocate”—the Paraclete.
Easter season might be the liturgical season for joy, but if there were a liturgical season for uncertainty, ascensiontide would be it. In our lives, uncertainty doesn’t have a season. There is always plenty of it to go around, anytime. Just like you don’t need Lent to realize your distance from God, you don’t need a painting of the tips of Jesus’ feet to know ambiguity. The invitation to think about it in an intentional way comes from the disciples—this time of year we are trying to hang out with them for a while in this in-between space.
We’ve been doing a lot of that in Easter season, just hanging out with the disciples and seeing what’s going on. I think of that as one of the goals of preaching—to bring us all into the text and see what’s happening, listen in on those long-ago conversations and see what’s there for us. Taking the disciples up on their invitation can feel kind of like a strange choice to make, admittedly. It takes a certain willingness to suspend disbelief, not to know the answers ahead of time about what you’ll find, and just jump in. The past is the past, but through Scripture it’s a living past that touches the present in an unexpected way. We are in community with those disciples and with Jesus as we are in community with each other.
What are you finding in this season of uncertainty? Pentecost is coming up on Sunday and we turn toward the Holy Spirit, her rushing wind and tongues of fire. But we have a few more days of quiet. What have you heard here?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Each Could Understand the Other
Dear People of Christ Church,
Lots going on in the coming weeks, with this Sunday being back to our usual first Sunday of the month children’s sermon, May 8 the Mother’s Day Walk for Peace, and May 15, Pentecost Sunday! This year at Pentecost we’ll have our parish jazz ensemble (let Daniel know if you want to play), and the baptisms of the O’Toole family, and even, if the altar guild sets it up, a rare Sunday morning appearance of incense! We also read the Pentecost story in all our various languages, so please let me know if you want to contribute to the reading.
We were talking about all of the varieties of Christian denominations in the Episcopal Church class last week. We are not a “Pentecostal” church, with speaking in tongues and dramatic worship, but we do celebrate in the light of Pentecost. On that first Pentecost, told in the book of Acts, the diversity of human community was all in one place. We think Waltham is diverse! Jerusalem had more cultures, more languages, more beliefs than we could imagine, all in one place. Even more people than usual were in Jerusalem for Pentecost on that day 2000 years ago—50 days after Passover, they gathered to give thanks to God for Mt Sinai, when God called the people of Israel into covenant. So it wasn’t only the ordinary diversity of Jerusalem, it was every last breed of traveler and pilgrim, on top of all the year round inhabitants of Jerusalem, pagan, Jewish, Christian, all there to give thanks.
All there, and all very seriously divided by substantial issues—the question of circumcision, of women, of dietary laws—all of these topics were incredibly contentious. We argue over different issues today, but they are no less—and probably no more—fervently debated. Last week’s story of Peter being told that no one should call profane what God has called clean is a prologue to all of the astonishing unity given in Christ. The lives of all God’s people are treasured. No one is “unclean,” a fact our brothers and sisters would do well to remember in conversations about gender and bathroom usage!
Even in the midst of Jerusalem’s diversity, a glorious outpouring of the Spirit gave birth to the church. Pentecost teaches us that Church is more of a verb than anything else. Church happens when each of those different people heard what the other was saying, even though they spoke different languages, even though they came from different places, and probably believed pretty different things. Pentecost teaches us that church isn’t a club. It’s not about like minded people coming together to improve themselves, or even coming together to improve the world. Pentecost is about a new reality, a reversal of those old divisions and desires for ownership and control that came to be at the tower of Babel, that ancient precursor of division. Pentecost is about our souls and bodies being a home for Jesus Christ.
On Pentecost, each could understand the other; but each understood in his or her own language. The languages—the differences—were preserved. The Gospel is about unity, not homogeneity. We are unified in our love of God, in the grace of the Holy Spirit that we have each received at baptism. But the song of that love is sung with different words in all of our lives.
One of my favorite prayers in the prayer book shows up in some different places—
—at the Easter Vigil, but also Good Friday, and the liturgy for ordinations. Our church is a “wonderful and sacred mystery.” We don’t quite know how it really works, or why. How some relationships begin, how others end. So much comes down to mystery—an invitation to us for humility, I think, to remember we don’t have it all figured out. How is it that we in the Anglican Communion can share a faith and be so different? What would it be like, really, to truly trust in God?
O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by the One through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
Lots going on in the coming weeks, with this Sunday being back to our usual first Sunday of the month children’s sermon, May 8 the Mother’s Day Walk for Peace, and May 15, Pentecost Sunday! This year at Pentecost we’ll have our parish jazz ensemble (let Daniel know if you want to play), and the baptisms of the O’Toole family, and even, if the altar guild sets it up, a rare Sunday morning appearance of incense! We also read the Pentecost story in all our various languages, so please let me know if you want to contribute to the reading.
We were talking about all of the varieties of Christian denominations in the Episcopal Church class last week. We are not a “Pentecostal” church, with speaking in tongues and dramatic worship, but we do celebrate in the light of Pentecost. On that first Pentecost, told in the book of Acts, the diversity of human community was all in one place. We think Waltham is diverse! Jerusalem had more cultures, more languages, more beliefs than we could imagine, all in one place. Even more people than usual were in Jerusalem for Pentecost on that day 2000 years ago—50 days after Passover, they gathered to give thanks to God for Mt Sinai, when God called the people of Israel into covenant. So it wasn’t only the ordinary diversity of Jerusalem, it was every last breed of traveler and pilgrim, on top of all the year round inhabitants of Jerusalem, pagan, Jewish, Christian, all there to give thanks.
All there, and all very seriously divided by substantial issues—the question of circumcision, of women, of dietary laws—all of these topics were incredibly contentious. We argue over different issues today, but they are no less—and probably no more—fervently debated. Last week’s story of Peter being told that no one should call profane what God has called clean is a prologue to all of the astonishing unity given in Christ. The lives of all God’s people are treasured. No one is “unclean,” a fact our brothers and sisters would do well to remember in conversations about gender and bathroom usage!
Even in the midst of Jerusalem’s diversity, a glorious outpouring of the Spirit gave birth to the church. Pentecost teaches us that Church is more of a verb than anything else. Church happens when each of those different people heard what the other was saying, even though they spoke different languages, even though they came from different places, and probably believed pretty different things. Pentecost teaches us that church isn’t a club. It’s not about like minded people coming together to improve themselves, or even coming together to improve the world. Pentecost is about a new reality, a reversal of those old divisions and desires for ownership and control that came to be at the tower of Babel, that ancient precursor of division. Pentecost is about our souls and bodies being a home for Jesus Christ.
On Pentecost, each could understand the other; but each understood in his or her own language. The languages—the differences—were preserved. The Gospel is about unity, not homogeneity. We are unified in our love of God, in the grace of the Holy Spirit that we have each received at baptism. But the song of that love is sung with different words in all of our lives.
One of my favorite prayers in the prayer book shows up in some different places—
—at the Easter Vigil, but also Good Friday, and the liturgy for ordinations. Our church is a “wonderful and sacred mystery.” We don’t quite know how it really works, or why. How some relationships begin, how others end. So much comes down to mystery—an invitation to us for humility, I think, to remember we don’t have it all figured out. How is it that we in the Anglican Communion can share a faith and be so different? What would it be like, really, to truly trust in God?
O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by the One through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, April 21, 2016
Dwelling Closer to the Ground
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week we had a terrific first “Intro to the Episcopal Church” class, with about 9 people gathered to talk about our questions, curiosities, and longings for God’s “new thing” happening in our spiritual lives. It’s so exciting to see how the parish changes and grows—almost none of the 9 people gathered at that table were members a year ago, and there they all were, from Catholic and Evangelical and Lutheran and Methodist and all backgrounds in between. This thing that is the church is a living body, not a building or a list of names.
In my sermon on Sunday I was talking about how, in the Gospels we hear the story of Jesus being Jesus Christ, in the book of Acts, which we read every Sunday in Easter season, we hear the story of the church becoming the church. Rather than one single appointed leader taking the place of Jesus, it’s the church—the whole gathered body—that takes on his ministry and presence in the world. Peter and Paul and Mary Magdalene were all important, but it wasn’t just one of them who carried on the work of God in the risen Christ…that takes a whole church.
The church is the Body of Christ, and it needs all of us to be that.
God in the church needs the curiosity of those returning to faith after a time away.
God in the church needs the hunger for community of those who are looking for a place of transcendence and belonging.
God in the church needs the attentiveness to justice and peace of those who dare to ask the hard questions and sit with the hard answers.
God in the church needs your passion for the environment, for children, for elders.
Maybe most important, and first, God in the church needs just your presence. God needs your love, your reverence, your longing for stillness and simplicity.
This past Sunday in our Episcopal Church class we talked about how the basic impulse of Anglicanism, all the way back to King Henry VIII and his somewhat sketchy motivations, is about trying to dwell closer to the ground. In our governance, in our thinking, in our theology, we are all about trying to think and pray in response to the world as it is. When Christ Church developed our parish vision statement a number of years ago we settled on a description of the parish as “grounded in tradition, yet open to the world.” This Sunday, we’ll hear the story in Acts about how the early church grappled with its diversity—Jews and non-Jews didn’t eat together, ever, in ordinary life, much less form a whole community around sharing a meal! But God gives the church a vision of broad inclusion that makes space for every kind of person and every kind of food. One of the best lines in all of Scripture is in this story—“Who was I to hinder God?” Who are we to hinder God? Where is God breaking through your barriers and obstacles this week? Where are you becoming more deeply part of God’s church that needs all of you?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week we had a terrific first “Intro to the Episcopal Church” class, with about 9 people gathered to talk about our questions, curiosities, and longings for God’s “new thing” happening in our spiritual lives. It’s so exciting to see how the parish changes and grows—almost none of the 9 people gathered at that table were members a year ago, and there they all were, from Catholic and Evangelical and Lutheran and Methodist and all backgrounds in between. This thing that is the church is a living body, not a building or a list of names.
In my sermon on Sunday I was talking about how, in the Gospels we hear the story of Jesus being Jesus Christ, in the book of Acts, which we read every Sunday in Easter season, we hear the story of the church becoming the church. Rather than one single appointed leader taking the place of Jesus, it’s the church—the whole gathered body—that takes on his ministry and presence in the world. Peter and Paul and Mary Magdalene were all important, but it wasn’t just one of them who carried on the work of God in the risen Christ…that takes a whole church.
The church is the Body of Christ, and it needs all of us to be that.
God in the church needs the curiosity of those returning to faith after a time away.
God in the church needs the hunger for community of those who are looking for a place of transcendence and belonging.
God in the church needs the attentiveness to justice and peace of those who dare to ask the hard questions and sit with the hard answers.
God in the church needs your passion for the environment, for children, for elders.
Maybe most important, and first, God in the church needs just your presence. God needs your love, your reverence, your longing for stillness and simplicity.
This past Sunday in our Episcopal Church class we talked about how the basic impulse of Anglicanism, all the way back to King Henry VIII and his somewhat sketchy motivations, is about trying to dwell closer to the ground. In our governance, in our thinking, in our theology, we are all about trying to think and pray in response to the world as it is. When Christ Church developed our parish vision statement a number of years ago we settled on a description of the parish as “grounded in tradition, yet open to the world.” This Sunday, we’ll hear the story in Acts about how the early church grappled with its diversity—Jews and non-Jews didn’t eat together, ever, in ordinary life, much less form a whole community around sharing a meal! But God gives the church a vision of broad inclusion that makes space for every kind of person and every kind of food. One of the best lines in all of Scripture is in this story—“Who was I to hinder God?” Who are we to hinder God? Where is God breaking through your barriers and obstacles this week? Where are you becoming more deeply part of God’s church that needs all of you?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Great News About the Roof
A version of this message is also going out to the parish mailing list—we really want to be sure you get it!
We write with amazing news on several fronts.
First, we are thrilled to let you know that we have received 32 pledges for our roof campaign, for a total of $106,038 committed over the next several years toward the work so desperately needed at Christ Church this year. From our newest to our oldest members, from graduate students to professional families to retirees, it is only through the strength and diversity of our congregation that we have met this incredible milestone.
We write with thanks for the generosity of this parish, but also with the equally astonishing (and perhaps even less expected) news that our insurance provider, Church Insurance, has agreed to pay for the roof replacement itself due to a catastrophic hail storm over the summer that further impacted our already fragile roof. Because we did not know what the outcome of the insurance evaluation would be or the scope of the covered repairs, we began our campaign at the same time as we began pursuing that claim. The good news is that much of what is required is covered. The vestry authorized Wellesley Roofing to pursue the claim on our behalf, and they have successfully navigated that process along with our building committee and wardens. An independent adjuster has approved the work for the roof proper totaling $203,000 and the work is scheduled to begin in early to mid-May.
We also knew, as has become clear, that a roof isn’t “just a roof.” In addition to the roof itself, siding, under roof decking, gutters, and downspouts will also need to be replaced. At this moment, we are in discernment over an additional $61,000 of work that has been proposed for things like gutters, siding, and an additional decking system for water sealing and insulation. More structural issues may come up as we begin demolition, as well.
If you’d like to talk more about what is to come or share any concerns, please contact wardens Chris Leonardo or Sasha Killewald. Doug Whittington can answer any questions about the roof process as well. Given that the project is happening very soon and pledges are given over a period of years, we are in contact with the Diocese to discuss our financing options. And, of course, our 2011 capital campaign continues, with renovations of downstairs bathrooms and more to come.
All thanks to you and to God for the amazing things happening at Christ Church!
We write with amazing news on several fronts.
First, we are thrilled to let you know that we have received 32 pledges for our roof campaign, for a total of $106,038 committed over the next several years toward the work so desperately needed at Christ Church this year. From our newest to our oldest members, from graduate students to professional families to retirees, it is only through the strength and diversity of our congregation that we have met this incredible milestone.
We write with thanks for the generosity of this parish, but also with the equally astonishing (and perhaps even less expected) news that our insurance provider, Church Insurance, has agreed to pay for the roof replacement itself due to a catastrophic hail storm over the summer that further impacted our already fragile roof. Because we did not know what the outcome of the insurance evaluation would be or the scope of the covered repairs, we began our campaign at the same time as we began pursuing that claim. The good news is that much of what is required is covered. The vestry authorized Wellesley Roofing to pursue the claim on our behalf, and they have successfully navigated that process along with our building committee and wardens. An independent adjuster has approved the work for the roof proper totaling $203,000 and the work is scheduled to begin in early to mid-May.
We also knew, as has become clear, that a roof isn’t “just a roof.” In addition to the roof itself, siding, under roof decking, gutters, and downspouts will also need to be replaced. At this moment, we are in discernment over an additional $61,000 of work that has been proposed for things like gutters, siding, and an additional decking system for water sealing and insulation. More structural issues may come up as we begin demolition, as well.
If you’d like to talk more about what is to come or share any concerns, please contact wardens Chris Leonardo or Sasha Killewald. Doug Whittington can answer any questions about the roof process as well. Given that the project is happening very soon and pledges are given over a period of years, we are in contact with the Diocese to discuss our financing options. And, of course, our 2011 capital campaign continues, with renovations of downstairs bathrooms and more to come.
All thanks to you and to God for the amazing things happening at Christ Church!
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Stations of the Cross
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, our Stations of the Cross really came home (for more Q and A about them and where they came from and why, see this from January. For pictures from St John’s Bowdoin Street and the installation at Christ Church, see my own blog, SaraIwrites.
They are striking and surprising and brand new and at the same time look like they’ve been there since the church was built. They are, in fact, from the same time period—they’re dated 1888, but the woodwork that David Moseley created for them matches the church in a completely phenomenal way. (David is a longtime friend of Christ Church—he did the repair work in our new combined outreach space for Diaper Depot/Grandma’s Pantry and is married to Cathy Hughes’ older daughter Betsy). As happens so often, the thing that surprised was not the thing that I thought would be remarkable. I expected to react more strongly to the overall sight of them, but that’s not the most interesting thing.
This week I was here for Tuesday evening formation and had my kids along. For whatever reason, the only other person who came was Andrea, so we chatted for a while but by 7:30 figured no one else was planning to come. I told my kids to pack up their stuff, we were leaving, but 6 ½ year old Adah declared that she was not ready to leave church. I asked her if it was because she wanted to have communion and she said no, she just thought we should have church. So Adah and Andrea and I decided to do the liturgy for Stations of the Cross. (Older brother Isaiah decided to hang out for a while and play video games for a few minutes, but ended up joining us later).
So, so often, my children make me see things I wouldn’t otherwise, and that’s what happened that night. After having been dragged along during the installation of the frames for two hours on Sunday, they had already spent a lot of time with the pieces and they were over it. “Art,” Adah had declared on our way to Waltham that afternoon, “is boring.” I don’t know what it was that made her not ready to leave, but as we stayed and went around the church, I heard the words of the liturgy in a different way. By the time we got to the station where Jesus meets his mother, Adah was beginning to regret her desire to stay. At that moment, though, I became profoundly grateful to be there with them. To look at Jesus trying to hold both his cross and take his mother’s arm while my own kids bounced around, I imagined her thinking of the days when Jesus was small. I thought about her wanting to protect him and being unable to. The line “A sword will pierce your own soul, too” in the prayers made me think about how much all of those we love face, and how we can’t protect them. We can only trust God for them and on their behalf.
The thing about our particular stations of the cross that continues to show me new things is how they offer a wider lens on the events of the Passion. You can see the two criminals along side of whom Jesus was killed. You can see the detail of Jesus and his mother and all the people around them. There are people everywhere all around in them—how often have you thought about all the people who just were around when Jesus was on his way to the crucifixion? It’s not just him and the Romans and Simon of Cyrene.
The Stations of the Cross do change the dynamic of the space. I suspect it will take us a while to figure out exactly what they mean. I do know that in seeing the events of the Passion displayed as they are, that I also see the events of the Resurrection in a new way. The other thing in the church that is that same light color is the baptismal font. It no longer sits by itself in the corner, but ties in with the movement around the church. Also crucially, the Stations of the Cross circle the space, but the altar is still at the center. That’s the place where we still meet Jesus in the Eucharist. By seeing the crucifixion in a new way, by really seeing it, we see the Resurrection in a new way. They go together.
Again and again, that’s what I’m most grateful for about being a Christian. It’s not some happy pastel fantasy that everything works out in the end and we should just keep our chins up. Jesus weeps and suffers. He loves. He fears. The Stations of the Cross help me see all of those aspects. We are all here because we believe, or want to believe, in resurrection. But we all also know pain. Walking the events of Christ’s passion, we see where God has gone before.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on Sunday, March 13? It’s here.
More pictures from moving the Stations of the Cross from St John's, Bowdoin Street, to Christ Church, Waltham!
This week, our Stations of the Cross really came home (for more Q and A about them and where they came from and why, see this from January. For pictures from St John’s Bowdoin Street and the installation at Christ Church, see my own blog, SaraIwrites.
They are striking and surprising and brand new and at the same time look like they’ve been there since the church was built. They are, in fact, from the same time period—they’re dated 1888, but the woodwork that David Moseley created for them matches the church in a completely phenomenal way. (David is a longtime friend of Christ Church—he did the repair work in our new combined outreach space for Diaper Depot/Grandma’s Pantry and is married to Cathy Hughes’ older daughter Betsy). As happens so often, the thing that surprised was not the thing that I thought would be remarkable. I expected to react more strongly to the overall sight of them, but that’s not the most interesting thing.
This week I was here for Tuesday evening formation and had my kids along. For whatever reason, the only other person who came was Andrea, so we chatted for a while but by 7:30 figured no one else was planning to come. I told my kids to pack up their stuff, we were leaving, but 6 ½ year old Adah declared that she was not ready to leave church. I asked her if it was because she wanted to have communion and she said no, she just thought we should have church. So Adah and Andrea and I decided to do the liturgy for Stations of the Cross. (Older brother Isaiah decided to hang out for a while and play video games for a few minutes, but ended up joining us later).
So, so often, my children make me see things I wouldn’t otherwise, and that’s what happened that night. After having been dragged along during the installation of the frames for two hours on Sunday, they had already spent a lot of time with the pieces and they were over it. “Art,” Adah had declared on our way to Waltham that afternoon, “is boring.” I don’t know what it was that made her not ready to leave, but as we stayed and went around the church, I heard the words of the liturgy in a different way. By the time we got to the station where Jesus meets his mother, Adah was beginning to regret her desire to stay. At that moment, though, I became profoundly grateful to be there with them. To look at Jesus trying to hold both his cross and take his mother’s arm while my own kids bounced around, I imagined her thinking of the days when Jesus was small. I thought about her wanting to protect him and being unable to. The line “A sword will pierce your own soul, too” in the prayers made me think about how much all of those we love face, and how we can’t protect them. We can only trust God for them and on their behalf.
The thing about our particular stations of the cross that continues to show me new things is how they offer a wider lens on the events of the Passion. You can see the two criminals along side of whom Jesus was killed. You can see the detail of Jesus and his mother and all the people around them. There are people everywhere all around in them—how often have you thought about all the people who just were around when Jesus was on his way to the crucifixion? It’s not just him and the Romans and Simon of Cyrene.
The Stations of the Cross do change the dynamic of the space. I suspect it will take us a while to figure out exactly what they mean. I do know that in seeing the events of the Passion displayed as they are, that I also see the events of the Resurrection in a new way. The other thing in the church that is that same light color is the baptismal font. It no longer sits by itself in the corner, but ties in with the movement around the church. Also crucially, the Stations of the Cross circle the space, but the altar is still at the center. That’s the place where we still meet Jesus in the Eucharist. By seeing the crucifixion in a new way, by really seeing it, we see the Resurrection in a new way. They go together.
Again and again, that’s what I’m most grateful for about being a Christian. It’s not some happy pastel fantasy that everything works out in the end and we should just keep our chins up. Jesus weeps and suffers. He loves. He fears. The Stations of the Cross help me see all of those aspects. We are all here because we believe, or want to believe, in resurrection. But we all also know pain. Walking the events of Christ’s passion, we see where God has gone before.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on Sunday, March 13? It’s here.
More pictures from moving the Stations of the Cross from St John's, Bowdoin Street, to Christ Church, Waltham!
Thursday, March 10, 2016
We Are Worthy
Dear People of Christ Church,
I recently had some time to spend with my kindle, and found Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection. I’ve read a lot of her stuff before, but hadn’t spent much time with this one. Brown’s research started out being about shame—our fear of being unworthy of love and belonging. Since love and belonging are two of the most central human emotional and spiritual needs, shame feels profoundly dangerous to us, and we try to avoid it at all costs. What’s worse, we have a tendency to further isolate ourselves when we feel shame, by bringing in secrecy, silence, and judgment of others to insulate ourselves from the pain. This then spirals out again, which leads to further isolating, further judging, and further suppressing of our feelings. The good news is that we can do things differently—if instead of nurturing our shame we nurture ourselves and remember our inherent worthiness, that cycle is broken. Reaching out to others, reminding ourselves that we aren’t defined by our failures, that we are worthy of love no matter what—Brown calls the capability for that work “shame resilience.”
It’s striking to think about shame in this way as we head into Holy Week beginning with Palm Sunday on March 20. Though we often forget it, Scripture can be profoundly psychologically insightful. Unfortunately we often do profoundly un-psychologically insightful things with Scripture!
In thinking about the crucifixion, we sometimes say that Jesus took on our shame and sin, to offer it to God, to heal us. The liturgy for the Stations of the Cross is full of this. That’s true, but Jesus didn’t do that as though we had a dirty shirt on and he took it off of us and put it on his own body. Instead. Jesus’ transformation of our humanity comes from the inside; his birth, ministry, death, and resurrection (yes, all four) symbolize God’s insistent, constant presence with us. It’s true that Jesus’ peaceful response to the violence he faced saved us. That’s true. In a very literal way, yes, we are saved by the cross. But we’re not “more saved” because it was “more worse.” We just are saved. Because God loves us. We just are worthy. Again, because God loves us.
Much is made of the crucifixion as being a particularly grisly and fear-inducing method of enforcing capital punishment. Many people were put to death in the Roman Empire, some by crucifixion, but by no means all. Crucifixion was a warning sign—it served to instill fear. That was its purpose. Yes, it was also shameful. But to say that Jesus’ death was uniquely shameful I think misses the point. The point is that Jesus’ death was not uniquely shameful. It was a way an abusive regime kept its people in line. That’s part of what’s salvific about it—that God experienced, from the inside, the worst of humanity. And God’s love would not be defeated.
We are all worthy—shame doesn’t have the last word for Jesus or for us. I’m getting ahead of us and close to Easter—there is a ways to go—but the resurrection is always true, even in the depths of Lent.
Blessings,
Sara+
I recently had some time to spend with my kindle, and found Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection. I’ve read a lot of her stuff before, but hadn’t spent much time with this one. Brown’s research started out being about shame—our fear of being unworthy of love and belonging. Since love and belonging are two of the most central human emotional and spiritual needs, shame feels profoundly dangerous to us, and we try to avoid it at all costs. What’s worse, we have a tendency to further isolate ourselves when we feel shame, by bringing in secrecy, silence, and judgment of others to insulate ourselves from the pain. This then spirals out again, which leads to further isolating, further judging, and further suppressing of our feelings. The good news is that we can do things differently—if instead of nurturing our shame we nurture ourselves and remember our inherent worthiness, that cycle is broken. Reaching out to others, reminding ourselves that we aren’t defined by our failures, that we are worthy of love no matter what—Brown calls the capability for that work “shame resilience.”
It’s striking to think about shame in this way as we head into Holy Week beginning with Palm Sunday on March 20. Though we often forget it, Scripture can be profoundly psychologically insightful. Unfortunately we often do profoundly un-psychologically insightful things with Scripture!
In thinking about the crucifixion, we sometimes say that Jesus took on our shame and sin, to offer it to God, to heal us. The liturgy for the Stations of the Cross is full of this. That’s true, but Jesus didn’t do that as though we had a dirty shirt on and he took it off of us and put it on his own body. Instead. Jesus’ transformation of our humanity comes from the inside; his birth, ministry, death, and resurrection (yes, all four) symbolize God’s insistent, constant presence with us. It’s true that Jesus’ peaceful response to the violence he faced saved us. That’s true. In a very literal way, yes, we are saved by the cross. But we’re not “more saved” because it was “more worse.” We just are saved. Because God loves us. We just are worthy. Again, because God loves us.
Much is made of the crucifixion as being a particularly grisly and fear-inducing method of enforcing capital punishment. Many people were put to death in the Roman Empire, some by crucifixion, but by no means all. Crucifixion was a warning sign—it served to instill fear. That was its purpose. Yes, it was also shameful. But to say that Jesus’ death was uniquely shameful I think misses the point. The point is that Jesus’ death was not uniquely shameful. It was a way an abusive regime kept its people in line. That’s part of what’s salvific about it—that God experienced, from the inside, the worst of humanity. And God’s love would not be defeated.
We are all worthy—shame doesn’t have the last word for Jesus or for us. I’m getting ahead of us and close to Easter—there is a ways to go—but the resurrection is always true, even in the depths of Lent.
Blessings,
Sara+
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