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+
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