Dear people of Christ Church,
This week, we have our monthly summary of the work of your vestry. Particularly notable is that we are in the beginning stages of considering consultants for a capital campaign to supplement historic preservation funds (hopefully!) to be received from the city of Waltham.
A few weeks ago, junior warden Sarah Staley and I attended a conference about church stewardship. In a session called "Money: The Big Taboo" presenter Nick Carter, president of Andover Newton Seminary, talked about how often when we talk about stewardship we get the theology all wrong. We don't give because what is "ours" isn't really ours and we "should" give back to God what belongs to God. We give because we want to be part of things. We give time and money to things we value in support of them, but also--and maybe most importantly--to celebrate. Generosity--giving--is essential to who we were created to be.
In the next issue of the Christ Church Quarterly, you'll hear about so many things to give to--the garden (some very exciting things to come!), to Haiti for our "Easter pigs," to so many ways we try to support the mission of God here. And, yes, eventually (a while off, yet)... a capital campaign. This Sunday, we have our children's Sunday with special diaper collection. There is so much need.
For today, though, just take a moment to pray in thanksgiving for all you have--things you have received, and things you are able to give.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Welcoming the stranger
From May 6, 2010
This week, we met for our last class in our Episcopal Church intro. We talked about Anglican/Episcopal resources for personal prayer. There are as many ways to pray as there are people to pray them, but one of the most characteristically Anglican ones is the Daily Office. (for E Crier Meditations on the daily office, look at the ecrier blog page—I’ve posted a few reflections up there that I did before I started archiving there). Today, our office gave us a text from Leviticus, which made me think of the national debate on Arizona’s new immigration law:
When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God. (Lev. 19: 33-34)
Yesterday, I was talking with an acquaintance and mentioned we were going to Arizona to visit my in-laws. Arizona? Is it safe there? It’s been all over the news!” Perplexed, I said, “Safe?” “Yes,” the person responded, as if assuming I must live in a cave, “All the illegal immigrants. That’s what’s been all over the news.” “Oh, I said. Actually, my in laws have been active in trying to get rid of that law. But it’s perfectly safe.” And then I made a googly eye face at Adah, and was the conversation had ended.
I was troubled by it for a while; immigration is such a complicated issue and there’s no way I could do it justice here, but immigrants as a group are not dangerous! For the most part, they are people, like anyone, trying to make a life for themselves and their families. Whether they have legal documents or not, everyone pays taxes. One statistic I saw says that illegal immigrants pay 7 billion—with a “B”—dollars in social security taxes and 2.5 billion in Medicare taxes. They will never receive any benefit from either system.
We could talk all day about evidence about what immigration does for our country. Biblically, though, it doesn’t matter at all whether people are good” and hardworking or “bad” and just sitting around the house all day. We are all equally created in the image of God and we are all equally loved and treasured by our creator. In the Baptismal Covenant we promise to respect the dignity of every human being—and there aren’t any loopholes to that. Immigration is a complicated issue, and I don't have an easy fix---but a law that makes it a crime to buy groceries without a passport is not part of the solution.
The Leviticus line quoted above is one line in a series of laws that we often skip over in our readings in church. The holiness code also has rules about kindness to the poor—a few verses before the one above, it also says “You shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest…you shall leave them for the poor and the alien.” It explicitly says NOT to collect everything that is yours—it expects the “poor and alien” to make their way through your field and take what they find—they aren’t supposed to have to ask.
Admittedly, there’s a lot in Leviticus that we don’t believe in (like the prohibition against tattooing a few lines earlier)—but this is solid, “love thy neighbor” kind of stuff. What’s interesting to me, too, is that it’s in the context of prohibitions against idolatry. You aren’t just supposed to be generous to the outsider because it’s the kind thing to do; it’s because being generous to the outsider is part of what it is to be human in relation to God. It’s God’s job to be the judge and Creator; it’s our job to be created—to be creatures, and part of being a created being is to recognize your rightful place beside other created beings, which means loving and caring for them and not regarding yourself as more worthy or above them. (I could spin this out theologically about the oil spill in the Gulf, too, but I’ve already gone on for some time)
So where does this leave us on the other side of the country? Advocating, certainly, but also praying. Pray for the immigrants, pray for the police, and pray for those who suffer—on all sides of the border. Those who are victimized by crime, and those who perpetrate it. Pray for Arizona Governor Jan Brewer, too, and for all our legislators who are trying to find creative—and humane—solutions.
This week, we met for our last class in our Episcopal Church intro. We talked about Anglican/Episcopal resources for personal prayer. There are as many ways to pray as there are people to pray them, but one of the most characteristically Anglican ones is the Daily Office. (for E Crier Meditations on the daily office, look at the ecrier blog page—I’ve posted a few reflections up there that I did before I started archiving there). Today, our office gave us a text from Leviticus, which made me think of the national debate on Arizona’s new immigration law:
When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God. (Lev. 19: 33-34)
Yesterday, I was talking with an acquaintance and mentioned we were going to Arizona to visit my in-laws. Arizona? Is it safe there? It’s been all over the news!” Perplexed, I said, “Safe?” “Yes,” the person responded, as if assuming I must live in a cave, “All the illegal immigrants. That’s what’s been all over the news.” “Oh, I said. Actually, my in laws have been active in trying to get rid of that law. But it’s perfectly safe.” And then I made a googly eye face at Adah, and was the conversation had ended.
I was troubled by it for a while; immigration is such a complicated issue and there’s no way I could do it justice here, but immigrants as a group are not dangerous! For the most part, they are people, like anyone, trying to make a life for themselves and their families. Whether they have legal documents or not, everyone pays taxes. One statistic I saw says that illegal immigrants pay 7 billion—with a “B”—dollars in social security taxes and 2.5 billion in Medicare taxes. They will never receive any benefit from either system.
We could talk all day about evidence about what immigration does for our country. Biblically, though, it doesn’t matter at all whether people are good” and hardworking or “bad” and just sitting around the house all day. We are all equally created in the image of God and we are all equally loved and treasured by our creator. In the Baptismal Covenant we promise to respect the dignity of every human being—and there aren’t any loopholes to that. Immigration is a complicated issue, and I don't have an easy fix---but a law that makes it a crime to buy groceries without a passport is not part of the solution.
The Leviticus line quoted above is one line in a series of laws that we often skip over in our readings in church. The holiness code also has rules about kindness to the poor—a few verses before the one above, it also says “You shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest…you shall leave them for the poor and the alien.” It explicitly says NOT to collect everything that is yours—it expects the “poor and alien” to make their way through your field and take what they find—they aren’t supposed to have to ask.
Admittedly, there’s a lot in Leviticus that we don’t believe in (like the prohibition against tattooing a few lines earlier)—but this is solid, “love thy neighbor” kind of stuff. What’s interesting to me, too, is that it’s in the context of prohibitions against idolatry. You aren’t just supposed to be generous to the outsider because it’s the kind thing to do; it’s because being generous to the outsider is part of what it is to be human in relation to God. It’s God’s job to be the judge and Creator; it’s our job to be created—to be creatures, and part of being a created being is to recognize your rightful place beside other created beings, which means loving and caring for them and not regarding yourself as more worthy or above them. (I could spin this out theologically about the oil spill in the Gulf, too, but I’ve already gone on for some time)
So where does this leave us on the other side of the country? Advocating, certainly, but also praying. Pray for the immigrants, pray for the police, and pray for those who suffer—on all sides of the border. Those who are victimized by crime, and those who perpetrate it. Pray for Arizona Governor Jan Brewer, too, and for all our legislators who are trying to find creative—and humane—solutions.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Holy Week
Dear People of Christ Church,
Easter is late this year, but I still find it impossible to believe that Holy Week is already here. Last week I wrote in this space about an event at the state house I attended, and this week I was in the legislative water again, this time at a meeting at St Mary’s, our Roman Catholic neighbor, to prepare for a conversation the governor is hosting on Saturday at Government Center on School Street (2pm-4pm). The meeting I attended was hosted in coalition with REACH, our local anti domestic violence organization, (reachma.org) about a program President Obama is encouraging states to adopt. Unfortunately, the “Secure Communities” program promotes neither security nor community—it would send the fingerprints of any person arrested (not convicted, mind you—just charged) to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement, who then would have license to initiate deportation proceedings even against those guilty of no crime. The program has already had a chilling effect in efforts against domestic violence in places where it has been implemented. Anything that makes someone hesitate to call the police does not promote security. So I encourage you to attend the meeting (after our parish clean up) if you are interested in learning more.
This week I found myself “praying with my feet,” as Rabbi Abraham Heschel said of social advocacy. I’ve also been praying with hands and heart--sharing communion in a wide variety of contexts, at coffee tables, kitchen tables, and hospital tables. Monday, I visited parishioner Mary Ellen Oberdorf, who fell over the weekend and broke her ankle quite severely. She has traveled to Pennsylvania to recuperate with her daughter, in the midst of contemplating a permanent move there as well. I’ve had time this week to share communion in the homes of Muriel Nurse and Vivian Travis, and we also shared communion at our daytime book group at the Kerr home. We don’t often think about it on Sunday unless we’re sending a pastoral visitor out, but the sacraments we celebrate here on Sundays don’t just stay in our building. As Christ goes out, so do the sacraments.
There is nowhere in our lives that Christ does not want to go—Christ goes with us to the hospital, Christ goes with us to work, Christ goes with us to the voting booth and with us to our graves. That’s what Holy Week reminds us of—from Palm Sunday’s heights of celebration (which has its own political emphases as well), to Maundy Thursday’s unsettling intimacy of foot washing and food sharing, Good Friday’s desolation at the cross. Christ goes there because we go there.
This week, peering toward the mysteries of Holy Week, take one last Lenten pause and see where Christ has been going with you. See how that Presence enfolds you when you pause to pay attention. If you feel desolate, pray for a knowledge of that presence and ask for reassurance. Let go of the guilt, let go of the anxiety, let go of the exertion. See where Jesus is now. Then next week, maybe, we’ll be ready to go with him through the betrayal, through the cross, and into the resurrection.
Easter is late this year, but I still find it impossible to believe that Holy Week is already here. Last week I wrote in this space about an event at the state house I attended, and this week I was in the legislative water again, this time at a meeting at St Mary’s, our Roman Catholic neighbor, to prepare for a conversation the governor is hosting on Saturday at Government Center on School Street (2pm-4pm). The meeting I attended was hosted in coalition with REACH, our local anti domestic violence organization, (reachma.org) about a program President Obama is encouraging states to adopt. Unfortunately, the “Secure Communities” program promotes neither security nor community—it would send the fingerprints of any person arrested (not convicted, mind you—just charged) to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement, who then would have license to initiate deportation proceedings even against those guilty of no crime. The program has already had a chilling effect in efforts against domestic violence in places where it has been implemented. Anything that makes someone hesitate to call the police does not promote security. So I encourage you to attend the meeting (after our parish clean up) if you are interested in learning more.
This week I found myself “praying with my feet,” as Rabbi Abraham Heschel said of social advocacy. I’ve also been praying with hands and heart--sharing communion in a wide variety of contexts, at coffee tables, kitchen tables, and hospital tables. Monday, I visited parishioner Mary Ellen Oberdorf, who fell over the weekend and broke her ankle quite severely. She has traveled to Pennsylvania to recuperate with her daughter, in the midst of contemplating a permanent move there as well. I’ve had time this week to share communion in the homes of Muriel Nurse and Vivian Travis, and we also shared communion at our daytime book group at the Kerr home. We don’t often think about it on Sunday unless we’re sending a pastoral visitor out, but the sacraments we celebrate here on Sundays don’t just stay in our building. As Christ goes out, so do the sacraments.
There is nowhere in our lives that Christ does not want to go—Christ goes with us to the hospital, Christ goes with us to work, Christ goes with us to the voting booth and with us to our graves. That’s what Holy Week reminds us of—from Palm Sunday’s heights of celebration (which has its own political emphases as well), to Maundy Thursday’s unsettling intimacy of foot washing and food sharing, Good Friday’s desolation at the cross. Christ goes there because we go there.
This week, peering toward the mysteries of Holy Week, take one last Lenten pause and see where Christ has been going with you. See how that Presence enfolds you when you pause to pay attention. If you feel desolate, pray for a knowledge of that presence and ask for reassurance. Let go of the guilt, let go of the anxiety, let go of the exertion. See where Jesus is now. Then next week, maybe, we’ll be ready to go with him through the betrayal, through the cross, and into the resurrection.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Litany for Japan (Teresa Berger)
Dear People of Christ Church,
Today, I'd like to share a moment of prayer with you. Following along the Lenten carbon fast, I've been very aware of how the choices we make in using resources have real costs, particularly in the unfolding nuclear dangers. So pray for us--for wisdom and conservation--as well as those who suffer from the earthquake and tsunami, both in Japan and in other areas around the globe which were affected. The following litany comes from Teresa Berger, a professor at Yale.
A Litany, for Japan
by Teresa Berger
... that all the lives that have been lost may find their eternal rest in You
... that those grieving the loss of loved ones, especially their children, and the loss of entire families and communities, may find glimpses of hope and life
... that those injured and those fighting for their lives may find solace, hope, and healing
... that a nuclear catastrophe may be averted
... that those searching for loved ones may be sustained in their turmoil and struggle
... that those waiting for water, food, and the basic necessities of life may be able to strengthen each other and share meager resources
... that those who are especially vulnerable - the children, the elderly, the women waiting to give birth, the sick - may find others to care for them
... for all aid workers, that they may discover within themselves deep reservoirs of strength, generosity, and compassion
... for the rising up of human beings who know how to heal, to restore, to rebuild, and to birth anew life and hope
... for ourselves, that our lives may be strengthened in their witness to God's holy and ever-healing presence
Amen.
Today, I'd like to share a moment of prayer with you. Following along the Lenten carbon fast, I've been very aware of how the choices we make in using resources have real costs, particularly in the unfolding nuclear dangers. So pray for us--for wisdom and conservation--as well as those who suffer from the earthquake and tsunami, both in Japan and in other areas around the globe which were affected. The following litany comes from Teresa Berger, a professor at Yale.
A Litany, for Japan
by Teresa Berger
... that all the lives that have been lost may find their eternal rest in You
... that those grieving the loss of loved ones, especially their children, and the loss of entire families and communities, may find glimpses of hope and life
... that those injured and those fighting for their lives may find solace, hope, and healing
... that a nuclear catastrophe may be averted
... that those searching for loved ones may be sustained in their turmoil and struggle
... that those waiting for water, food, and the basic necessities of life may be able to strengthen each other and share meager resources
... that those who are especially vulnerable - the children, the elderly, the women waiting to give birth, the sick - may find others to care for them
... for all aid workers, that they may discover within themselves deep reservoirs of strength, generosity, and compassion
... for the rising up of human beings who know how to heal, to restore, to rebuild, and to birth anew life and hope
... for ourselves, that our lives may be strengthened in their witness to God's holy and ever-healing presence
Amen.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
Tuesday night, we had our first Lenten Tuesday meeting, which was just delightful. The book we are reading, Resurrection, by Rowan Williams (written back in 1982, when he was an ordinary priest and theologian, not archbishop of Canterbury), is a little dense in parts, but we had a great conversation wading through and puzzling over what it means for us, now. It's easy to wonder what use it is to think about theology; it doesn't put food on the table or house the homeless, and sometimes it gives you a headache.
Williams' basic point in the book is that all Christian doctrine, or belief, is ultimately a reflection on Easter-the resurrection. The resurrection is about Jesus, of course, and God's response to the crucifixion, but it's also about violence-about ending the power of violence over us. It's also about our guilt; our violence is what crucified Christ. Each of us born into that same world that produced the crucifixion. Each one of us lash out in violence because we, first, have been hurt-born into a web of suffering analogous to, but less personal than what we usually call "original sin-" a pendulum of suffering that swings back and forth, from pain to pain. Christ, the victim of our violence, is also the One who releases us by forgiveness. Christ is always there in those who suffer-the guilty as well as the innocent. And, so, our hope is in those we victimize-in Christ as well as in the woman working in a factory for sub-standard wages so we can buy cheap electronics. Our hope is in Christ, and Christ in in her.
So why go to all this trouble of thinking about all of this? Isn't it enough to participate in the sacraments, to be kind, to believe? Of course that is what faith is about. But reflecting on faith has a particular grace to give us. This reflection changes the way we behave, but it takes a long time. Another, maybe counter-intuitive reason we reflect, is that it reminds us just how much there is to know-and just how much we don't know. Just as surely as kindness and joy are part of our faith, so, too, is humility. Theology helps us to realize we don't have it all figured out, and that helps us in conversation with others. I sometimes feel like I say this like a broken record, but one of the reasons I so strongly believe in giving communion to children is that they show us how just to accept being fed; they don't "understand" in a traditional way what any of this stuff is about, but we adults flatter ourselves when we think that we do. A good, dense theology read can make four year olds out of all of us-and that's a good thing.
So many things we don't understand-devastaion and earthquake, nuclear meltdown, tsunami that reaches all the way to Hawaii and California-we are all connected. This Sunday, we'll have an opportunity for offering to Episcopal Relief and Development. The handy thing about being part of an international church is that there are always people already on the ground in a disaster. From The Most Rev. Nathaniel M. Uematsu,
Primate of Japan and Bishop of Hokkaido: "What we can do right now...is pray. Prayer has power. I hope and request that you pray for the people who are affected, for those who have died and for their families. Pray for the people involved with the rescue efforts, and in particular pray for Tohoku and Kita Kanto dioceses and their priests and parishioners during this time of Lent."
See you Sunday!
Blessings,
Sara+
PS: Happy St Patrick's Day! For Mission St Clare's daily prayer service, click here.
Tuesday night, we had our first Lenten Tuesday meeting, which was just delightful. The book we are reading, Resurrection, by Rowan Williams (written back in 1982, when he was an ordinary priest and theologian, not archbishop of Canterbury), is a little dense in parts, but we had a great conversation wading through and puzzling over what it means for us, now. It's easy to wonder what use it is to think about theology; it doesn't put food on the table or house the homeless, and sometimes it gives you a headache.
Williams' basic point in the book is that all Christian doctrine, or belief, is ultimately a reflection on Easter-the resurrection. The resurrection is about Jesus, of course, and God's response to the crucifixion, but it's also about violence-about ending the power of violence over us. It's also about our guilt; our violence is what crucified Christ. Each of us born into that same world that produced the crucifixion. Each one of us lash out in violence because we, first, have been hurt-born into a web of suffering analogous to, but less personal than what we usually call "original sin-" a pendulum of suffering that swings back and forth, from pain to pain. Christ, the victim of our violence, is also the One who releases us by forgiveness. Christ is always there in those who suffer-the guilty as well as the innocent. And, so, our hope is in those we victimize-in Christ as well as in the woman working in a factory for sub-standard wages so we can buy cheap electronics. Our hope is in Christ, and Christ in in her.
So why go to all this trouble of thinking about all of this? Isn't it enough to participate in the sacraments, to be kind, to believe? Of course that is what faith is about. But reflecting on faith has a particular grace to give us. This reflection changes the way we behave, but it takes a long time. Another, maybe counter-intuitive reason we reflect, is that it reminds us just how much there is to know-and just how much we don't know. Just as surely as kindness and joy are part of our faith, so, too, is humility. Theology helps us to realize we don't have it all figured out, and that helps us in conversation with others. I sometimes feel like I say this like a broken record, but one of the reasons I so strongly believe in giving communion to children is that they show us how just to accept being fed; they don't "understand" in a traditional way what any of this stuff is about, but we adults flatter ourselves when we think that we do. A good, dense theology read can make four year olds out of all of us-and that's a good thing.
So many things we don't understand-devastaion and earthquake, nuclear meltdown, tsunami that reaches all the way to Hawaii and California-we are all connected. This Sunday, we'll have an opportunity for offering to Episcopal Relief and Development. The handy thing about being part of an international church is that there are always people already on the ground in a disaster. From The Most Rev. Nathaniel M. Uematsu,
Primate of Japan and Bishop of Hokkaido: "What we can do right now...is pray. Prayer has power. I hope and request that you pray for the people who are affected, for those who have died and for their families. Pray for the people involved with the rescue efforts, and in particular pray for Tohoku and Kita Kanto dioceses and their priests and parishioners during this time of Lent."
See you Sunday!
Blessings,
Sara+
PS: Happy St Patrick's Day! For Mission St Clare's daily prayer service, click here.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Coming closer to God
Dear People of Christ Church,
I hope your Ash Wednesday is yielding some fruit for the beginning of Lent. We just finished our noon service, and will have another at 7 pm. I'll see you then.
There are some marvelous ways of coming near to God this year here at Christ Church, and I hope you'll take advantage. I'd like to share something with you I wrote in this space a few years ago-about this quote from Jeremiah.
Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit (Jeremiah 17:7-8).
Lent is a season of evaluating. We are asked to take a critical look at the way we live our lives. It's specific; Lent is emphatically not about 40 days to remind ourselves that we are sinners. It is, the words of our Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, a time for a tune up; like checking out all of the parts of the car to see if they operate correctly, Lent is a time to look at all the parts of ourselves and ask if they are working effectively.
Do you need to make more time to talk with your spouse? What about how you take care of yourself? Do you need to eat better, or exercise more? Do you need to give more money to global poverty relief or to community organizations, or your church? Where are you in your family relationships? In your work?
One reason it's so hard to do this work of self-evaluation is that we are afraid of what we might find. We're afraid we won't be able to change (or, perhaps more frightening, that we will). I think that's why I find today's text about trust from Jeremiah so compelling. It's almost as if the very grammar of our language can't accommodate the magnitude of God's intimacy with us. All of our usual ways of thinking will have to go. We tend to think of trust in terms of transaction; when someone has disappointed us, we say they have to "earn" our trust. If you do something nice for me, then you deserve my trust. I then give you my trust-as if it were a set of keys. I can then take the keys back-or, more aptly, change the locks-whenever I want. Christian faith is different. The love of God is so broad and so deep that God's very self can be our trust and God's promise can be our hope. We can become constituted by the trust of God-that trust can be as part of us as the blue in your eyes or the brown in your hair. That trust can permeate each cell. As Jeremiah writes, our roots will spread wide and our leaves stay green, even in seasons of drought.
That trust gives us the courage to take stock of our lives and to know that God will love us and be with us no matter what we find. The love of God isn't just something that makes us feel good; it empowers us to love each other and ourselves more deeply. It gives us the boldness to make change in the world and in our lives and catches us when we fall. It impels us outward as well as inward. What does it look like? The answer to that question is up to each of us to discern for ourselves. I think it is something to do with living courageously. A priest I know told me a story about a teenager who was going to be baptized. When she asked him why he wanted to be, she thought he would say something about pleasing his mother, or pleasant ritual. But he told her that it was because he wanted to know that the future could be different from the past. That faith in God's power of transformation for the future is as good a vision as I can imagine of what it means for God to be your trust. What is it for you?
Blessings,
Sara+
I hope your Ash Wednesday is yielding some fruit for the beginning of Lent. We just finished our noon service, and will have another at 7 pm. I'll see you then.
There are some marvelous ways of coming near to God this year here at Christ Church, and I hope you'll take advantage. I'd like to share something with you I wrote in this space a few years ago-about this quote from Jeremiah.
Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit (Jeremiah 17:7-8).
Lent is a season of evaluating. We are asked to take a critical look at the way we live our lives. It's specific; Lent is emphatically not about 40 days to remind ourselves that we are sinners. It is, the words of our Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, a time for a tune up; like checking out all of the parts of the car to see if they operate correctly, Lent is a time to look at all the parts of ourselves and ask if they are working effectively.
Do you need to make more time to talk with your spouse? What about how you take care of yourself? Do you need to eat better, or exercise more? Do you need to give more money to global poverty relief or to community organizations, or your church? Where are you in your family relationships? In your work?
One reason it's so hard to do this work of self-evaluation is that we are afraid of what we might find. We're afraid we won't be able to change (or, perhaps more frightening, that we will). I think that's why I find today's text about trust from Jeremiah so compelling. It's almost as if the very grammar of our language can't accommodate the magnitude of God's intimacy with us. All of our usual ways of thinking will have to go. We tend to think of trust in terms of transaction; when someone has disappointed us, we say they have to "earn" our trust. If you do something nice for me, then you deserve my trust. I then give you my trust-as if it were a set of keys. I can then take the keys back-or, more aptly, change the locks-whenever I want. Christian faith is different. The love of God is so broad and so deep that God's very self can be our trust and God's promise can be our hope. We can become constituted by the trust of God-that trust can be as part of us as the blue in your eyes or the brown in your hair. That trust can permeate each cell. As Jeremiah writes, our roots will spread wide and our leaves stay green, even in seasons of drought.
That trust gives us the courage to take stock of our lives and to know that God will love us and be with us no matter what we find. The love of God isn't just something that makes us feel good; it empowers us to love each other and ourselves more deeply. It gives us the boldness to make change in the world and in our lives and catches us when we fall. It impels us outward as well as inward. What does it look like? The answer to that question is up to each of us to discern for ourselves. I think it is something to do with living courageously. A priest I know told me a story about a teenager who was going to be baptized. When she asked him why he wanted to be, she thought he would say something about pleasing his mother, or pleasant ritual. But he told her that it was because he wanted to know that the future could be different from the past. That faith in God's power of transformation for the future is as good a vision as I can imagine of what it means for God to be your trust. What is it for you?
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Crying out, sitting still, from Egypt to Wisconsin
Dear People of Christ Church,
This morning, I was over with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington. Like many things in life, the ones we most try to avoid can be the most life-giving-I didn't feel like coming up with something to say, being cheerful and leaving the house at 7:30 AM to fight Mass Ave traffic. Of course, God creeps up on us even more on our most petulant and reluctant days, and as I stepped into their quiet chapel, facing those 6 women (5 sisters and one retreatant), the Holy One patted me on the head and forgave me for my hard heartedness.
The Gospel was the story of blind Bartimaeus in Mark. Leaving Jericho, a blind beggar sits at the side of the road. Everyone tells him to be quiet, but he just yells louder. It's a familiar healing story-he gets his sight in the end, and follows Jesus. But until I read it out loud during the service, I never quite heard the most noteworthy thing in all of it: Jesus stood still. This is all the more striking since it's the Gospel of Mark, where everything is fast, fast, fast-it uses the word "immediately" more than any other Gospel, even though it's the shortest-but the writer is moved enough by Jesus' action (or lack of action!) to first describe him standing still.
Jesus stood still. When did you last stand still?
The other thing that was wonderful about hearing this Gospel this morning was the connection to all the things now happening in the world-maybe in direct contrast to standing still! Movements of people organizing from Wisconsin to Algeria, Ohio to Egypt, Washington DC to Libya. Whatever your political interpretation of events, it is an amazing thing to witness people rising up, reveling in the strength of their communities and the clarity of their vision. The more amazing thing is the way people's struggles are, if not linked in terms of the issues they raise, linked in terms of their shared humanity. A friend of mine on Facebook has posted a picture of a bulletin board in a pizza shop in Wisconsin that has been delivering food to the people camped out in protest. People from China, Finland, Costa Rica, Uganda, Iran, Sri Lanka, Egypt, and all fifty states have heard about the actions in Wisconsin and are offering support. What does someone in Iran have in common with someone in Wisconsin? You can't even make an international call except from a hospital, which someone snuck into in order to order the pizzas. A gulf (a solar system!) of privilege separates them. When your own government suppresses your rights as much as Iran's does, how could you possibly be bothered if someone thousands of miles away doesn't want to lose their union rights? But they are! Like blind Bartimaeus, people are crying out and people are hearing each other-standing still and listening, offering the support they can. Even though their concerns are different, even though they may not even agree with each other, they are listening and recognizing each other's humanity. Most of the people in Bahrain, Egypt, or Yemen, are not Christian. Probably a fair number of the Wisconsin folks are, but maybe not. A person camped out on the Libyan border does not have a lot in common with someone sleeping at the Madison statehouse. Still, all were created in the image of God, and all are drawing on that shared created nature as they support each other.
Stand still, shout out, pray-there are so many ways to give glory to God. On this clear cold day, offer a prayer of thanksgiving for all the ways God blesses you, and in thanksgiving for all the ways that others' love (which, of course, is also God's love) gives you life.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning, I was over with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington. Like many things in life, the ones we most try to avoid can be the most life-giving-I didn't feel like coming up with something to say, being cheerful and leaving the house at 7:30 AM to fight Mass Ave traffic. Of course, God creeps up on us even more on our most petulant and reluctant days, and as I stepped into their quiet chapel, facing those 6 women (5 sisters and one retreatant), the Holy One patted me on the head and forgave me for my hard heartedness.
The Gospel was the story of blind Bartimaeus in Mark. Leaving Jericho, a blind beggar sits at the side of the road. Everyone tells him to be quiet, but he just yells louder. It's a familiar healing story-he gets his sight in the end, and follows Jesus. But until I read it out loud during the service, I never quite heard the most noteworthy thing in all of it: Jesus stood still. This is all the more striking since it's the Gospel of Mark, where everything is fast, fast, fast-it uses the word "immediately" more than any other Gospel, even though it's the shortest-but the writer is moved enough by Jesus' action (or lack of action!) to first describe him standing still.
Jesus stood still. When did you last stand still?
The other thing that was wonderful about hearing this Gospel this morning was the connection to all the things now happening in the world-maybe in direct contrast to standing still! Movements of people organizing from Wisconsin to Algeria, Ohio to Egypt, Washington DC to Libya. Whatever your political interpretation of events, it is an amazing thing to witness people rising up, reveling in the strength of their communities and the clarity of their vision. The more amazing thing is the way people's struggles are, if not linked in terms of the issues they raise, linked in terms of their shared humanity. A friend of mine on Facebook has posted a picture of a bulletin board in a pizza shop in Wisconsin that has been delivering food to the people camped out in protest. People from China, Finland, Costa Rica, Uganda, Iran, Sri Lanka, Egypt, and all fifty states have heard about the actions in Wisconsin and are offering support. What does someone in Iran have in common with someone in Wisconsin? You can't even make an international call except from a hospital, which someone snuck into in order to order the pizzas. A gulf (a solar system!) of privilege separates them. When your own government suppresses your rights as much as Iran's does, how could you possibly be bothered if someone thousands of miles away doesn't want to lose their union rights? But they are! Like blind Bartimaeus, people are crying out and people are hearing each other-standing still and listening, offering the support they can. Even though their concerns are different, even though they may not even agree with each other, they are listening and recognizing each other's humanity. Most of the people in Bahrain, Egypt, or Yemen, are not Christian. Probably a fair number of the Wisconsin folks are, but maybe not. A person camped out on the Libyan border does not have a lot in common with someone sleeping at the Madison statehouse. Still, all were created in the image of God, and all are drawing on that shared created nature as they support each other.
Stand still, shout out, pray-there are so many ways to give glory to God. On this clear cold day, offer a prayer of thanksgiving for all the ways God blesses you, and in thanksgiving for all the ways that others' love (which, of course, is also God's love) gives you life.
Blessings,
Sara+
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