Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’m continuing to mull over the “Meet your Muslim Neighbor” event hosted at Government Center by the new Waltham Center for Community Engagement, and the Waltham League of Women Voters. More than 100 people (including at least ten Christ Churchers!) came to learn, be in solidarity, and meet each other across lines of difference. Attendees were members of the Waltham Islamic Society, who along with the panelists shared stories of gratitude for interfaith connection. I think probably a lot of people could identify with the WIS member who had been on the construction team who said how nice it was to be at government center not trying to get a building permit!
One of the panelists, Unitarian Universalist minister Manish Mishra-Marzetti of First Parish in Lincoln talked about how we as a nation are in a spiritual crisis of fear. I haven’t heard of any stories of interpersonal violence in Waltham, but that doesn’t mean that nothing has happened. The notion that it could be said out loud that an entire religion ought to be banned from entering the United States and that such a position be taken by a leading politician reveals exactly how troubled our culture is.
We are so easily manipulated by fear, but we must find ways to be part of “stories of hope,” as Celene Ibrahim said. The sole woman in the group, she is a PhD candidate at Brandeis and co-director of the Center for Inter-Religious and Communal Leadership Education at Hebrew College and Andover Newton Theological School said (she’s also Muslim Chaplain at Tufts—she is impressive!).
Not just about sharing stories of hope, but being people of hope is what, at their core, all faiths share. The thing that the event on Sunday didn’t quite get to was that being in interfaith dialogue actually makes us better at being who we are in our own faiths as well. The event on Sunday was much more about dispelling myths—speaking into the fear chamber—and that’s very important. One of the panelists pointed out that there is no such thing as radical Islam—there are only radical Muslims. People talk about it as though it’s some monolithic thing, but that really doesn’t exist. There may be a radical community or a radical individual, but terrorists don’t speak for Abdul Cader Asmal, a doctor on the panel, any more than Donald Trump speaks for me.
Chaplain Celene say that in Islam when you pray for others what you’d pray for yourself, that the angels say that prayer for you. How beautiful is that?! We are so enriched by the substance of others’ practices. Learning about others’ experience is about being in relation with each other. It’s not about figuring out who’s right or who’s wrong, or whose practice is more or less liberating or charitable. It’s about the joy of sharing in community, children of a Creator who is beyond all of our grasp.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon Sunday, February 21? It’s here.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Thursday, February 18, 2016
One Wild, Precious [Rule of] Life
Dear People of Christ Church,
Last Sunday both of our Lent groups were full steam ahead, with hearty conversations and good thinking. Our Sunday 9:15 group is on ssje.org, a series of daily videos from the brothers mailed to you on creating a rule of life. What’s a rule of life? The same idea as a ruler—it measures—a rule of life is a way of intentionally considering how you want your life to reflect your relationship with God. Crucially, though, it’s up to each individual to create their own. I could no more write a rule of life for someone else than they could move into my house and take over my spouse and children. The rule of life is about your life, to pinch Mary Oliver’s explanation, your one, wild, precious life, which is yours to do with it as you are called. That’s the thing about having a rule of life that is liberating, not confining: it’s only yours. No one can make you want to pray the Lord’s Prayer eighteen times a day or train for a marathon before you turn forty. A rule of life begins with looking at the life you actually have—that amazing gift—and listening for where God is leading you there.
In our later group (Sundays, 11:45), we listened to the first of several talks from Presiding Bishop Michael Curry about racism. Talking about the Black Lives Matter movement, Bishop Curry said in response to the “all lives matter” rejoinder, “of course all lives matter. But if somebody’s house is on fire, you have to respond. You don’t just run down the street saying that all houses matter.” As with the rule of life conversation, the most important part is the having of the conversation: no one at that table comes to it with the right answer, all ready to fix America for everyone else. White America has a lot of reflecting and repenting to do, one by one, prayer by prayer. It is, after all, Lent. And there’s a concurrent kids’ program on social justice! Come on, everybody!
Finally, the Tuesday group starts on Tuesday, pending enough sign ups! PLEASE let me know if you are interested, 7pm Lenten Bible Study. We’ll be looking at the Gospel for the coming Sunday. All ages welcome, but readers and up will be most comfortable. 7pm conversation, 8pm Eucharist, again, if there’s interest.
Continued Lenten blessings!
peace,
Sara+
ps—sermon from last Sunday is up!
soundcloud.com/sara-irwin-530951447/lent-1-c-2016
Last Sunday both of our Lent groups were full steam ahead, with hearty conversations and good thinking. Our Sunday 9:15 group is on ssje.org, a series of daily videos from the brothers mailed to you on creating a rule of life. What’s a rule of life? The same idea as a ruler—it measures—a rule of life is a way of intentionally considering how you want your life to reflect your relationship with God. Crucially, though, it’s up to each individual to create their own. I could no more write a rule of life for someone else than they could move into my house and take over my spouse and children. The rule of life is about your life, to pinch Mary Oliver’s explanation, your one, wild, precious life, which is yours to do with it as you are called. That’s the thing about having a rule of life that is liberating, not confining: it’s only yours. No one can make you want to pray the Lord’s Prayer eighteen times a day or train for a marathon before you turn forty. A rule of life begins with looking at the life you actually have—that amazing gift—and listening for where God is leading you there.
In our later group (Sundays, 11:45), we listened to the first of several talks from Presiding Bishop Michael Curry about racism. Talking about the Black Lives Matter movement, Bishop Curry said in response to the “all lives matter” rejoinder, “of course all lives matter. But if somebody’s house is on fire, you have to respond. You don’t just run down the street saying that all houses matter.” As with the rule of life conversation, the most important part is the having of the conversation: no one at that table comes to it with the right answer, all ready to fix America for everyone else. White America has a lot of reflecting and repenting to do, one by one, prayer by prayer. It is, after all, Lent. And there’s a concurrent kids’ program on social justice! Come on, everybody!
Finally, the Tuesday group starts on Tuesday, pending enough sign ups! PLEASE let me know if you are interested, 7pm Lenten Bible Study. We’ll be looking at the Gospel for the coming Sunday. All ages welcome, but readers and up will be most comfortable. 7pm conversation, 8pm Eucharist, again, if there’s interest.
Continued Lenten blessings!
peace,
Sara+
ps—sermon from last Sunday is up!
soundcloud.com/sara-irwin-530951447/lent-1-c-2016
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Swimming During the Rain Storm
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’m looking forward to talking with our kids about Lent in the children’s sermon this Sunday. It’s such an interesting opportunity to think about moving toward Lent with kids, who don’t have any of the same baggage as many of us end up with about the season. We are invited to observe Lent with the same intimacy with God as Jesus did—he went to the wilderness after his baptism to spend time with his Abba. That’s what it’s about for us, too.
But… Intimacy with God for us is a bit trickier than it was for Jesus. When we enter Lent longing for intimacy, we are necessarily called to look at the things that block our closeness with God. The word for that, of course, is sin. The hard part about sin (as if there were only one) is that in trying to figure out sin, we are already wrapped up in it. It’s like trying to get dry after a swim during a rain storm—you can get out of the pool and use as many towels as you want, but it’ll still going to be raining on the walk home and you’ll get wet again. Sin gets us stuck in our own stories about our innocence and others’ guilt. In shame. In paralysis. Vulnerability is embarrassing. We don’t want to ask for help, even from God who loves us more than anything. So even in trying to look honestly at our sin, we end up doing it in kind of a sinful way. Examining my white privilege makes me feel stuck, so I do nothing. Thinking about my lack of compassion for others, I deflect blame on to their slowness, not my impatience. My car uses too much gas and I let my kids watch too much TV. I squeeze prayer in at the margins of my day, not the center. There are many sins. You have your list, I have mine.
This Sunday will be the second time we hand out “Lent in a bag” for kids at the children’s sermon. None of the symbols in it have anything to do with how terrible we are. They’ll get sand, as a reminder of Jesus’ time in the desert wilderness. Two clothespin people: one larger (Jesus), one smaller (that’s us). A seashell. Are there seashells in the desert? Nope. But the Holy Spirit always has a surprise or two up her sleeve, and we need to remember that. Also: a rock, since things can get hard, and a candle, for light. Also a heart for God’s love.
I was talking to someone recently who commented that they felt in need of Lent, that it had been feeling like a very tender time in their life. I so appreciate that articulation—when we are feeling fragile and sensitive, what better time than Lent to come and remind us of whose we are? The life we find in Lent is real—that list of sins doesn’t go away—so it’s true that it’s not all seashells and hearts and clothespin people. If we are trusting God, though, really, really trusting, it becomes possible to confront our frailties and selfishness and occasional just-plain-being-a-jerk-ness with God, rather than muddling through on our own. Trying to fix all my sinful ways on my own is a sin, too—I’m not going to be able to save myself.
Times like this, I am especially grateful for our liturgical church. I don’t have to understand everything. Next Wednesday, we’ll put ashes on our heads and pray on our knees. God will do the rest. Kids know that, and I look forward to listening with them on Sunday.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week I’m looking forward to talking with our kids about Lent in the children’s sermon this Sunday. It’s such an interesting opportunity to think about moving toward Lent with kids, who don’t have any of the same baggage as many of us end up with about the season. We are invited to observe Lent with the same intimacy with God as Jesus did—he went to the wilderness after his baptism to spend time with his Abba. That’s what it’s about for us, too.
But… Intimacy with God for us is a bit trickier than it was for Jesus. When we enter Lent longing for intimacy, we are necessarily called to look at the things that block our closeness with God. The word for that, of course, is sin. The hard part about sin (as if there were only one) is that in trying to figure out sin, we are already wrapped up in it. It’s like trying to get dry after a swim during a rain storm—you can get out of the pool and use as many towels as you want, but it’ll still going to be raining on the walk home and you’ll get wet again. Sin gets us stuck in our own stories about our innocence and others’ guilt. In shame. In paralysis. Vulnerability is embarrassing. We don’t want to ask for help, even from God who loves us more than anything. So even in trying to look honestly at our sin, we end up doing it in kind of a sinful way. Examining my white privilege makes me feel stuck, so I do nothing. Thinking about my lack of compassion for others, I deflect blame on to their slowness, not my impatience. My car uses too much gas and I let my kids watch too much TV. I squeeze prayer in at the margins of my day, not the center. There are many sins. You have your list, I have mine.
This Sunday will be the second time we hand out “Lent in a bag” for kids at the children’s sermon. None of the symbols in it have anything to do with how terrible we are. They’ll get sand, as a reminder of Jesus’ time in the desert wilderness. Two clothespin people: one larger (Jesus), one smaller (that’s us). A seashell. Are there seashells in the desert? Nope. But the Holy Spirit always has a surprise or two up her sleeve, and we need to remember that. Also: a rock, since things can get hard, and a candle, for light. Also a heart for God’s love.
I was talking to someone recently who commented that they felt in need of Lent, that it had been feeling like a very tender time in their life. I so appreciate that articulation—when we are feeling fragile and sensitive, what better time than Lent to come and remind us of whose we are? The life we find in Lent is real—that list of sins doesn’t go away—so it’s true that it’s not all seashells and hearts and clothespin people. If we are trusting God, though, really, really trusting, it becomes possible to confront our frailties and selfishness and occasional just-plain-being-a-jerk-ness with God, rather than muddling through on our own. Trying to fix all my sinful ways on my own is a sin, too—I’m not going to be able to save myself.
Times like this, I am especially grateful for our liturgical church. I don’t have to understand everything. Next Wednesday, we’ll put ashes on our heads and pray on our knees. God will do the rest. Kids know that, and I look forward to listening with them on Sunday.
Blessings,
Sara+
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