Dear People of Christ Church,
When in my sermon on Sunday I talked about the place of fear in American culture, about the latest shooting in Colorado when a gunman murdered three people at a Planned Parenthood clinic, I did not expect so soon to need to review my comments in light of yet another attack, yet another tragic scene of mayhem and tragedy. Whether at the hands of Christians or Muslims or white supremacists, our world knows tragedy, suffering, and evil. Jesus knew these as well.
What I said on Sunday still holds—the Gospel good news of Jesus’ invitation to lift up our heads and not be afraid (Luke 21:25-36). Even as the National Rifle Association insists that guns make us safer. Even as every politician, from Donald Trump to Barack Obama, insists that war can lead to peace, Jesus tells us to lift up our heads and not be afraid. Even as it seems the world is spinning out of control, Jesus’ answer is the same: do not be afraid.
An image from the New York Daily News front page response to politicians’ weak announcements of “prayers for the victims” declares boldy that “God isn’t fixing this.” Some people have said they’re condemning prayer, but I don’t think that’s it at all. The condemnation is of empty prayer, prayer that isn’t backed up by action. We do need to pray. Sometimes it feels like it’s all we can do, and surely it’s the first thing we should do. But we also need to allow our prayers and God’s will for the world to soak into our lives, to permeate every cell, so they also lead us to act. The guns used in the San Bernardino shooting were purchased legally. The guns were operating as intended. God can’t fix that. God can only fix us.
And the Spirit moves in the world. That’s the other thing—Advent reminds us that God is acting. That’s where there is cause for hope. Hopefully, we will cease to fear each other. Hopefully, as the Spirit moves in the world, Muslims will cease being targeted for their faith. Hopefully, as the Spirit moves in the world, our hearts and minds will be moved to act to prevent violence. My friend Tom, who pastors at First Lutheran, told a story today in our interfaith clergy group about how he had gone to the Mosque on Moody Street the day after the Paris attacks to ask how he and his congregation could be of support in the days ahead. Imam Abdallah told him just one thing—to know that Islam is a religion of peace and love. Peace and love. As a Christian, I don’t want to claim the person who committed the attacks in Colorado last week any more than he wants to claim any terrorist acts committed in the name of his religion. We need to know and respect one another for who we are.
Finally, in our prayer and sadness, it seems important also to remember that these are the places where God enters. I’ll share this quote from Jean Vanier, a theologian who founded the L’Arche communities for those who are developmentally disabled and those who are not to live together.
Our brokenness is the wound
through which the full power of God
can penetrate our being and transfigure us in God.
Loneliness is not something from which we must flee
but the place from where we can cry out to God,
where God will find us and we can find God.
Yes, through our wounds
the power of God can penetrate us
and become like rivers of living water
to irrigate the arid earth within us.
Thus we may irrigate the arid earth of others,
so that hope and love are reborn.
– Jean Vanier
The Broken Body (1988, Paulist Press). Quoted by Suzanne Guthrie at www.edgeofenclosure.org
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Thanksgiving Blessings
Dear People of Christ Church,
Whenever I send out the e-crier during Thanksgiving week, I always share the litany from the prayer book for thanksgiving—for a secular holiday, Thanksgiving is a very theological idea. The other thing I always share at this time of year are resources around end of life issues. We live in the shadow of the cross, but the light is cast by resurrection—our faith gives us a freedom to consider our death as a time when “life is changed, not ended,” so we can be brave in discussing these questions even if the wider culture tells us it’s “morbid” or “negative.” It’s real, and pretending we won’t die does not make it so.
Every summer, our own Rob Atwood, a social worker for hospice care, and I lead a conversation about planning for the end of life. What kind of medical interventions do you think you want? Who is authorized to make those decisions for you? What hymns shall we sing at your funeral? Answering as many of these questions in advance as possible is one of the greatest gifts you can give your loved ones. The guide Rob and I put together is here, and there will be print copies in the entryway narthex on Sunday.
Some other resources:
MOLST Medical Orders for Life-Sustaining Treatment is a Massachusetts state document that presents clear and concise summaries of choices that are made at the end of life; this is filled out by a patient in cooperation with their doctor
A 2013 WBUR story on home death care has fabulous information. One of the people they interview likens it to the choice for a home birth as not right for everyone, but still a right that everyone has.
The Conversation Project was founded by journalist Ellen Goodman and has locals like Liz Walker and Donald Berwick among their advising team, has great conversation starters and a “starter kit” you can download to get yourself thinking about what you want for the end of your life.
Finally, the Litany for Thanksgiving…
Let us give thanks to God for all the gifts so freely bestowed upon us.
For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth and sky and sea,
We thank you, God.
For all that is gracious in the lives of your people, revealing the image of Christ,
We thank you, God.
For our daily food and drink, our homes and families, and our friends,
We thank you, God.
For minds to think, and hearts to love, and hands to serve,
We thank you, God.
For health and strength to work, and leisure to rest and play,
We thank you, God.
For the brave and courageous, who are patient in suffering and faithful in adversity,
We thank you, God.
For all valiant seekers after truth, liberty, and justice,
We thank you, God.
For the communion of saints, in all times and places,
We thank you, God.
Above all, we give you thanks for the great mercies and promises given to us in Christ Jesus our God;
To Christ be praise and glory, with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, now and for ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
Whenever I send out the e-crier during Thanksgiving week, I always share the litany from the prayer book for thanksgiving—for a secular holiday, Thanksgiving is a very theological idea. The other thing I always share at this time of year are resources around end of life issues. We live in the shadow of the cross, but the light is cast by resurrection—our faith gives us a freedom to consider our death as a time when “life is changed, not ended,” so we can be brave in discussing these questions even if the wider culture tells us it’s “morbid” or “negative.” It’s real, and pretending we won’t die does not make it so.
Every summer, our own Rob Atwood, a social worker for hospice care, and I lead a conversation about planning for the end of life. What kind of medical interventions do you think you want? Who is authorized to make those decisions for you? What hymns shall we sing at your funeral? Answering as many of these questions in advance as possible is one of the greatest gifts you can give your loved ones. The guide Rob and I put together is here, and there will be print copies in the entryway narthex on Sunday.
Some other resources:
MOLST Medical Orders for Life-Sustaining Treatment is a Massachusetts state document that presents clear and concise summaries of choices that are made at the end of life; this is filled out by a patient in cooperation with their doctor
A 2013 WBUR story on home death care has fabulous information. One of the people they interview likens it to the choice for a home birth as not right for everyone, but still a right that everyone has.
The Conversation Project was founded by journalist Ellen Goodman and has locals like Liz Walker and Donald Berwick among their advising team, has great conversation starters and a “starter kit” you can download to get yourself thinking about what you want for the end of your life.
Finally, the Litany for Thanksgiving…
Let us give thanks to God for all the gifts so freely bestowed upon us.
For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth and sky and sea,
We thank you, God.
For all that is gracious in the lives of your people, revealing the image of Christ,
We thank you, God.
For our daily food and drink, our homes and families, and our friends,
We thank you, God.
For minds to think, and hearts to love, and hands to serve,
We thank you, God.
For health and strength to work, and leisure to rest and play,
We thank you, God.
For the brave and courageous, who are patient in suffering and faithful in adversity,
We thank you, God.
For all valiant seekers after truth, liberty, and justice,
We thank you, God.
For the communion of saints, in all times and places,
We thank you, God.
Above all, we give you thanks for the great mercies and promises given to us in Christ Jesus our God;
To Christ be praise and glory, with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, now and for ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, November 19, 2015
A Container for Grace
Dear People of Christ Church,
Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who are making our annual stewardship and roof campaign possible. From stewardship co-chairs Heather and Chris Leonardo who have invited us into our dreaming and reflecting on our past, present and future, to Michael Mailman reminding us of how the light comes through the windows and Jonathan Duce presenting us with the shingles that had blown off the roof, to Doug telling us the story of our 2011 campaign and how his family had just joined, and how far we’ve come since then. I spoke in my sermon about how our building is a container for grace—how this is a place where transformation happens. Whether people coming for AA, or Chaplains on the Way contemplative prayer, or REACH’s trainings on elder violence or yoga for survivors, or each one of you, your imagination caught by some indescribable something that reminds you of how God is present and moving in your life—750 Main Street is a place where things happen.
This is a place where things happen for us and for our city. Where the hungry are fed at Grandma’s Pantry, the wet baby gets dry at Diaper Depot, and our Sunday School classes invite our children into times of wonder and joy at the stories of God’s living Word.
Our 2011 campaign is on track—bathrooms and carpets and parking lot are all being funded and rolling along, but to avoid jeopardizing all of that good work we need to attend to the roof. When he started working here last summer, Daniel, our music director, didn’t know that it sometimes rains over the organ! So there is much to do, and so many people passionate for the work of God who are doing it. If you weren’t in church, please check out their videos on youtube. I’m also sharing a recording of my sermon here.
Finally, I can’t let this week go without offering some words about the current moment in our country regarding Syrian refugees. The fact that a Syrian passport was found near one of the terrorist’s bodies after the attacks in Paris has led fully half of US governors, including our own Charlie Baker, to say that Syrians are not welcome in their states. Not only are the vetting processes for refugees coming to the United States among the most stringent in the world, to single out a single nation as somehow more suspect than any other is simple intolerance. You can read their whole letter here, but let me close with these words from Christian leaders across the state, including our own bishops Alan and Gayle, as well as Mass Council of Churches Executive Director Laura Everett:
Refugees do not bring terror, they are fleeing from it.
As Christians we try to live our lives in accordance with Jesus’ Great Commandment—to love our neighbors as ourselves. We want safe homes, the freedom to worship, stable governments and opportunities to thrive. Our Syrian neighbors desire the same. Our faith also teaches us to welcome the stranger. Syrians seeking refuge, as well as the Somalians, Bhutanese, Iraqis, Central Americans and others, are neighbors worthy of our welcome and in need of our care. Our nation is founded on this welcome. We must make sure that we do not allow fear to overwhelm us, crowd out our compassion, or fundamentally change our character. We refuse to live as a Commonwealth scared of those unlike us.
Amen, Amen, Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who are making our annual stewardship and roof campaign possible. From stewardship co-chairs Heather and Chris Leonardo who have invited us into our dreaming and reflecting on our past, present and future, to Michael Mailman reminding us of how the light comes through the windows and Jonathan Duce presenting us with the shingles that had blown off the roof, to Doug telling us the story of our 2011 campaign and how his family had just joined, and how far we’ve come since then. I spoke in my sermon about how our building is a container for grace—how this is a place where transformation happens. Whether people coming for AA, or Chaplains on the Way contemplative prayer, or REACH’s trainings on elder violence or yoga for survivors, or each one of you, your imagination caught by some indescribable something that reminds you of how God is present and moving in your life—750 Main Street is a place where things happen.
This is a place where things happen for us and for our city. Where the hungry are fed at Grandma’s Pantry, the wet baby gets dry at Diaper Depot, and our Sunday School classes invite our children into times of wonder and joy at the stories of God’s living Word.
Our 2011 campaign is on track—bathrooms and carpets and parking lot are all being funded and rolling along, but to avoid jeopardizing all of that good work we need to attend to the roof. When he started working here last summer, Daniel, our music director, didn’t know that it sometimes rains over the organ! So there is much to do, and so many people passionate for the work of God who are doing it. If you weren’t in church, please check out their videos on youtube. I’m also sharing a recording of my sermon here.
Finally, I can’t let this week go without offering some words about the current moment in our country regarding Syrian refugees. The fact that a Syrian passport was found near one of the terrorist’s bodies after the attacks in Paris has led fully half of US governors, including our own Charlie Baker, to say that Syrians are not welcome in their states. Not only are the vetting processes for refugees coming to the United States among the most stringent in the world, to single out a single nation as somehow more suspect than any other is simple intolerance. You can read their whole letter here, but let me close with these words from Christian leaders across the state, including our own bishops Alan and Gayle, as well as Mass Council of Churches Executive Director Laura Everett:
Refugees do not bring terror, they are fleeing from it.
As Christians we try to live our lives in accordance with Jesus’ Great Commandment—to love our neighbors as ourselves. We want safe homes, the freedom to worship, stable governments and opportunities to thrive. Our Syrian neighbors desire the same. Our faith also teaches us to welcome the stranger. Syrians seeking refuge, as well as the Somalians, Bhutanese, Iraqis, Central Americans and others, are neighbors worthy of our welcome and in need of our care. Our nation is founded on this welcome. We must make sure that we do not allow fear to overwhelm us, crowd out our compassion, or fundamentally change our character. We refuse to live as a Commonwealth scared of those unlike us.
Amen, Amen, Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Big Dreams
Dear People of Christ Church,
Last Sunday, parishioner Maria Aleman invited us to think about our “big dream” for Christ Church. She talked about how delighted she and her wife had been to find a community where they could ground their marriage in their faith. She talked about how Christ Church reaches out into the community in welcome and love. She said her big dream was for us to be a place for learners—where a school could ground people in love of God and love of knowledge. Or a place for newcomers to the US who need to learn English, to offer support and instruction for those in need of new skills. She talked about her big dreams. What are your big dreams?
A colleague of mine recently described me to someone as the priest from “the diaper church,” because we are known for our outreach to families in need. When I first started working here the parish used to hold 4 rummage sales a year, taking over the whole lower hall for months at a time. Our “white elephant” room was well known around town. I once received a phone call from someone asking, “Is this the church where you come and get people’s stuff when they die?” Indeed we were. We’re also the senior food pantry church, the church that has a Ugandan Church, and “the big stone church.” Those are all ways that we’ve been known, and are known. How do you know us?
Maria’s talk got me thinking about how my big dreams have changed over the years. When we started planning our work on the entryway narthex and our tower in 2011, we learned that the whole structure was unstable, from the floor of the narthex to the cross at the top—at that point, the big dream was that no one would risk bodily injury coming to church! Those dreams were dreams I never even imagined we’d need to tackle—and while it sounds modest to dream about a secure building, in the year 2015 it’s actually not. Waltham has said goodbye to Immanuel Methodist and to the Evangelical Covenant Church, both beautiful, historic churches that were once part of the lifeblood of our town. The Episcopal Church in Wayland closed last summer, and we’re receiving the Stations of the Cross from St John the Evangelist, which closed this fall.
So, yes, my dreams do include the stability of our building, because I love what other dreams it makes possible. My big dreams are of a place where everyone knows that God loves them, that Christ can be found in every single person. My big dreams are of a place that gets to be the church that really, truly welcomes everyone, where you walk in and think, “Wow, something is happening here that is getting me curious about what God might be doing in my life.” My big dream is of a place where you can lose yourself in transcendence and awe and then walk out the doors and remember that Jesus is hanging out on the park bench as well, not only met in bread and wine. My big dream is that we can remember that, to paraphrase the prayer book, we come for “strength, as well as solace, for renewal, as well as forgiveness.” My big dream for Christ Church is that we become a place where we take risks together, knowing that Christ’s heart beating in us makes us strong. My big dream is that wandering toddlers bless us all with their sense of freedom while elders bless us with their wisdom and generosity.
What’s your dream?
Blessings,
Sara+
P.S. Here’s the link—apologies for the cut off! (watch here).
Last Sunday, parishioner Maria Aleman invited us to think about our “big dream” for Christ Church. She talked about how delighted she and her wife had been to find a community where they could ground their marriage in their faith. She talked about how Christ Church reaches out into the community in welcome and love. She said her big dream was for us to be a place for learners—where a school could ground people in love of God and love of knowledge. Or a place for newcomers to the US who need to learn English, to offer support and instruction for those in need of new skills. She talked about her big dreams. What are your big dreams?
A colleague of mine recently described me to someone as the priest from “the diaper church,” because we are known for our outreach to families in need. When I first started working here the parish used to hold 4 rummage sales a year, taking over the whole lower hall for months at a time. Our “white elephant” room was well known around town. I once received a phone call from someone asking, “Is this the church where you come and get people’s stuff when they die?” Indeed we were. We’re also the senior food pantry church, the church that has a Ugandan Church, and “the big stone church.” Those are all ways that we’ve been known, and are known. How do you know us?
Maria’s talk got me thinking about how my big dreams have changed over the years. When we started planning our work on the entryway narthex and our tower in 2011, we learned that the whole structure was unstable, from the floor of the narthex to the cross at the top—at that point, the big dream was that no one would risk bodily injury coming to church! Those dreams were dreams I never even imagined we’d need to tackle—and while it sounds modest to dream about a secure building, in the year 2015 it’s actually not. Waltham has said goodbye to Immanuel Methodist and to the Evangelical Covenant Church, both beautiful, historic churches that were once part of the lifeblood of our town. The Episcopal Church in Wayland closed last summer, and we’re receiving the Stations of the Cross from St John the Evangelist, which closed this fall.
So, yes, my dreams do include the stability of our building, because I love what other dreams it makes possible. My big dreams are of a place where everyone knows that God loves them, that Christ can be found in every single person. My big dreams are of a place that gets to be the church that really, truly welcomes everyone, where you walk in and think, “Wow, something is happening here that is getting me curious about what God might be doing in my life.” My big dream is of a place where you can lose yourself in transcendence and awe and then walk out the doors and remember that Jesus is hanging out on the park bench as well, not only met in bread and wine. My big dream is that we can remember that, to paraphrase the prayer book, we come for “strength, as well as solace, for renewal, as well as forgiveness.” My big dream for Christ Church is that we become a place where we take risks together, knowing that Christ’s heart beating in us makes us strong. My big dream is that wandering toddlers bless us all with their sense of freedom while elders bless us with their wisdom and generosity.
What’s your dream?
Blessings,
Sara+
P.S. Here’s the link—apologies for the cut off! (watch here).
Thursday, November 5, 2015
The Search for Justice
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week our Old Testament reading is from Ruth—we leave Job, and move into several weeks of Old Testament texts about women. Naomi and Ruth this week, Hannah in the book of Samuel next week. Then before we know it, it’s Advent! In trying to come up with something that speaks to a week of elections, though, I find myself back with Job.
Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. (Job 1:21).
Job comes to mind not because I feel particularly long-suffering about any of the results of the elections this week, but more because I was looking for something to put in context both the joy and sorrow of human politics. Whether your candidate won or lost, it’s worth it to remember that as vital as these contests are, God’s presence with us is unchanging. Unfolding, yes, revelatory, yes, contextualized, yes, but still unchanging.
No matter who the mayor is, there are still hungry to be fed. No matter who the president is, there will still be peace to build. No matter who sits on city council, there will still be those for whom we must advocate. This fall, my husband’s church spent several weeks reading the beatitudes for their adult formation time. Noah and I walk together almost every morning, and our conversations would often turn to what each of us were thinking about for work. His refrain for the conversations at Grace Church during that time was always, “Not a tweak.” To dry the tears of the weeping? Not a tweak. To see how the poor are blessed? Not a tweak. To give your cloak as well as your shirt? Not a tweak. To be serious about making peace? Again. Not a tweak. You can’t just go on ahead with business as usual with a little extra sprinkling of discipleship on top. The invitation is for our faith in God to be woven throughout our lives, not an extra cherry to make things look nice.
If we are serious about being disciples of Jesus, our whole lives will require a turning toward the good news of God in Christ. It’s not about giving to the poor when you happen to have money in your pocket; it’s about making sure you don’t come up empty handed when it’s time. If you never have cash in your pocket, you can honestly and kindly say “No, I don’t have any change,” when someone asks. It’s a little like confronting a kid after Halloween who has chocolate streaked over their chin with the question of whether they have any candy. With open hands, the kid says, “No! Of course not! No candy here!” but only because he just stuffed it in his mouth.
Electoral politics are important, but will also only take you so far. As clear as it seems to me that Jesus would vote for “my” candidate, I am also aware of the caution offered by, I think, Anne Lamott: You know your faith is in trouble when you assume that God hates the same people you do.
So wherever you land this election week Thursday, here’s my prayer.
May your heart be enlarged by the compassion of Christ, your vision widened by a God who holds everyone precious in the divine sight, your mind set on fire by the Spirit’s relentless search for justice. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week our Old Testament reading is from Ruth—we leave Job, and move into several weeks of Old Testament texts about women. Naomi and Ruth this week, Hannah in the book of Samuel next week. Then before we know it, it’s Advent! In trying to come up with something that speaks to a week of elections, though, I find myself back with Job.
Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. (Job 1:21).
Job comes to mind not because I feel particularly long-suffering about any of the results of the elections this week, but more because I was looking for something to put in context both the joy and sorrow of human politics. Whether your candidate won or lost, it’s worth it to remember that as vital as these contests are, God’s presence with us is unchanging. Unfolding, yes, revelatory, yes, contextualized, yes, but still unchanging.
No matter who the mayor is, there are still hungry to be fed. No matter who the president is, there will still be peace to build. No matter who sits on city council, there will still be those for whom we must advocate. This fall, my husband’s church spent several weeks reading the beatitudes for their adult formation time. Noah and I walk together almost every morning, and our conversations would often turn to what each of us were thinking about for work. His refrain for the conversations at Grace Church during that time was always, “Not a tweak.” To dry the tears of the weeping? Not a tweak. To see how the poor are blessed? Not a tweak. To give your cloak as well as your shirt? Not a tweak. To be serious about making peace? Again. Not a tweak. You can’t just go on ahead with business as usual with a little extra sprinkling of discipleship on top. The invitation is for our faith in God to be woven throughout our lives, not an extra cherry to make things look nice.
If we are serious about being disciples of Jesus, our whole lives will require a turning toward the good news of God in Christ. It’s not about giving to the poor when you happen to have money in your pocket; it’s about making sure you don’t come up empty handed when it’s time. If you never have cash in your pocket, you can honestly and kindly say “No, I don’t have any change,” when someone asks. It’s a little like confronting a kid after Halloween who has chocolate streaked over their chin with the question of whether they have any candy. With open hands, the kid says, “No! Of course not! No candy here!” but only because he just stuffed it in his mouth.
Electoral politics are important, but will also only take you so far. As clear as it seems to me that Jesus would vote for “my” candidate, I am also aware of the caution offered by, I think, Anne Lamott: You know your faith is in trouble when you assume that God hates the same people you do.
So wherever you land this election week Thursday, here’s my prayer.
May your heart be enlarged by the compassion of Christ, your vision widened by a God who holds everyone precious in the divine sight, your mind set on fire by the Spirit’s relentless search for justice. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Deeply Seen by Jesus
Dear People of Christ Church,
I’m still mulling over the Gospel for Sunday, Jesus’ encounter with the rich young man. It’s an astonishing and tragic moment: he comes up to Jesus and bows down, offering deference and respect. “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” We can imagine that maybe he’s expecting to be told he’s doing well; he says he has kept all the commandments. But something unanticipated happens—Jesus looks at him, and loves him. In that loving glance, Jesus sees him and knows him, and tells him what he’s missing: “You lack one thing. Go, sell all you own, and give the money to the poor. Then come, follow me.” The man was looking for approval, not grace. Certainly not this kind of love that will change his life. So he leaves. The text says, “He went away grieving, for he had many possessions.”
This, it seems to me, is as clear a picture of hell as we ever see in the New Testament. Never mind all that stuff about the eternal fire where the worm never dies we heard a few weeks ago. This is the real thing. All of the promises of God’s eternity so close he could touch it, and instead he turns his back. The psychological keenness of the Gospel story is so striking—he went away grieving. Giving in to his fear, he can’t listen to his sorrow. He walks away into hell, rejecting the invitation and love of Jesus.
There is a stained glass window at Grace Church in Medford, where my husband is the rector, that has a person with exactly the same expression as I imagine Jesus offering this young man. It’s full of compassion and love, a deep, knowing comfort. In this all-encompassing gaze, you are seen, deeply seen. All of your fears, all of your vulnerability, all of your joy and strength. And I imagine when this young man encountered Jesus looking at him like that, he just couldn’t manage it. It was too much. This is where the depth of this story really hits home—that glance. How often do I let my fear of vulnerability take over? How often do I rely on the safety of invisibility rather than the risk of transformation?
What would I do if I heard that call to sell everything I own and give it to the poor? Jesus is really clear here—it’s give the money. Not to a charitable organization that will “responsibly” dole out assistance. It’s about the cash, here, giving it up and giving it to those who don’t have any. Is this the call of the Gospel now? With every home improvement project and nice sweater I buy, am I walking step by step away from the promises of eternal life? Is it possible still to inch closer and closer, slowly, slowly, near to God’s dream of peace and justice, however often we become distracted and confused? How about you? Where are you encountering that love of Jesus, and how are you turning toward it?
Blessings,
Sara+
P.S. So—when I say I like the window—I really like the window. I sat opposite it when I was on sabbatical three years ago and sang in the choir at Grace, and started contemplating it as a tattoo. This fall I took the plunge—more about that process on my own blog.
I’m still mulling over the Gospel for Sunday, Jesus’ encounter with the rich young man. It’s an astonishing and tragic moment: he comes up to Jesus and bows down, offering deference and respect. “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” We can imagine that maybe he’s expecting to be told he’s doing well; he says he has kept all the commandments. But something unanticipated happens—Jesus looks at him, and loves him. In that loving glance, Jesus sees him and knows him, and tells him what he’s missing: “You lack one thing. Go, sell all you own, and give the money to the poor. Then come, follow me.” The man was looking for approval, not grace. Certainly not this kind of love that will change his life. So he leaves. The text says, “He went away grieving, for he had many possessions.”
This, it seems to me, is as clear a picture of hell as we ever see in the New Testament. Never mind all that stuff about the eternal fire where the worm never dies we heard a few weeks ago. This is the real thing. All of the promises of God’s eternity so close he could touch it, and instead he turns his back. The psychological keenness of the Gospel story is so striking—he went away grieving. Giving in to his fear, he can’t listen to his sorrow. He walks away into hell, rejecting the invitation and love of Jesus.
There is a stained glass window at Grace Church in Medford, where my husband is the rector, that has a person with exactly the same expression as I imagine Jesus offering this young man. It’s full of compassion and love, a deep, knowing comfort. In this all-encompassing gaze, you are seen, deeply seen. All of your fears, all of your vulnerability, all of your joy and strength. And I imagine when this young man encountered Jesus looking at him like that, he just couldn’t manage it. It was too much. This is where the depth of this story really hits home—that glance. How often do I let my fear of vulnerability take over? How often do I rely on the safety of invisibility rather than the risk of transformation?
What would I do if I heard that call to sell everything I own and give it to the poor? Jesus is really clear here—it’s give the money. Not to a charitable organization that will “responsibly” dole out assistance. It’s about the cash, here, giving it up and giving it to those who don’t have any. Is this the call of the Gospel now? With every home improvement project and nice sweater I buy, am I walking step by step away from the promises of eternal life? Is it possible still to inch closer and closer, slowly, slowly, near to God’s dream of peace and justice, however often we become distracted and confused? How about you? Where are you encountering that love of Jesus, and how are you turning toward it?
Blessings,
Sara+
P.S. So—when I say I like the window—I really like the window. I sat opposite it when I was on sabbatical three years ago and sang in the choir at Grace, and started contemplating it as a tattoo. This fall I took the plunge—more about that process on my own blog.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
I Give my Heart To
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’m delighted to share that our Tuesday night education for all ages went off swimmingly, with about 15 of us gathered for dinner, conversation (both a kids’ section and one for adults), and Eucharist. We all looked at the same lessons from the book of Kings—the adults with text and the kids with felt and wood. We heard about the prophet Elijah, as he was fed by ravens, supported by a widow, and imparted his “Spirit” to Elisha, his prophetic successor. Godly Play defines a prophet as “someone who comes so close to God and God comes so close to them, they know what God wants.” I am not a prophet and I’m not sure who in our world now I’d offer that appellation, but I know that the prophetic call is part of our faith, even if we wouldn’t adopt that identity. To be close to God and listen for what God wants—both for the world and for ourselves.
In Scripture, there’s a unity between the prophet and God’s desire—God’s desires become their desires. And, maybe, their desires become God’s desire. God provides, not always as they might want, but as God wills. Someone in Tuesday’s conversation laid it straight on the table—“Am I really supposed to believe this?” That someone lived in the wilderness and didn’t starve because the birds fed him? That the widow who gave him her last morsel of food had a miraculous bag of flour and bottle of oil that never ran out? Here, as I often do, I find it’s helpful to hold the meaning of “belief” a little lightly. I believe in the wonder of a God who makes something out of nothing, in ways both small and great. I believe that, as we remembered the prayer of St Francis on Sunday, “in giving we receive,” and that each of our small generosities add up to something enormous and holy, something that’s only possible in community. I believe in a world in which three women at our service for domestic violence month could get up in front of the church and speak the truth about their experience, that they were done wearing masks or pretending things were fine. That going forward is not the same as “moving on.” That those who are hurt by violence and evil can respond with love, kindness, and generosity without giving those who hurt them the last word. These are all prophetic tasks, whether or not those who embody these graces would claim that title for themselves.
So yes, yes I do think we can believe it, but maybe more in the traditional Latin sense of the word credo, rather than the usual sense of the English. Credo means “I give my heart to.” Sometimes it’s intentional, choosing to invest ourselves in something bigger than ourselves. Sometimes we slip into it, like falling in love unexpectedly. And sometimes it’s something like faith, where the answer is sometimes yes, and sometimes no, but step by step we walk the path together.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week I’m delighted to share that our Tuesday night education for all ages went off swimmingly, with about 15 of us gathered for dinner, conversation (both a kids’ section and one for adults), and Eucharist. We all looked at the same lessons from the book of Kings—the adults with text and the kids with felt and wood. We heard about the prophet Elijah, as he was fed by ravens, supported by a widow, and imparted his “Spirit” to Elisha, his prophetic successor. Godly Play defines a prophet as “someone who comes so close to God and God comes so close to them, they know what God wants.” I am not a prophet and I’m not sure who in our world now I’d offer that appellation, but I know that the prophetic call is part of our faith, even if we wouldn’t adopt that identity. To be close to God and listen for what God wants—both for the world and for ourselves.
In Scripture, there’s a unity between the prophet and God’s desire—God’s desires become their desires. And, maybe, their desires become God’s desire. God provides, not always as they might want, but as God wills. Someone in Tuesday’s conversation laid it straight on the table—“Am I really supposed to believe this?” That someone lived in the wilderness and didn’t starve because the birds fed him? That the widow who gave him her last morsel of food had a miraculous bag of flour and bottle of oil that never ran out? Here, as I often do, I find it’s helpful to hold the meaning of “belief” a little lightly. I believe in the wonder of a God who makes something out of nothing, in ways both small and great. I believe that, as we remembered the prayer of St Francis on Sunday, “in giving we receive,” and that each of our small generosities add up to something enormous and holy, something that’s only possible in community. I believe in a world in which three women at our service for domestic violence month could get up in front of the church and speak the truth about their experience, that they were done wearing masks or pretending things were fine. That going forward is not the same as “moving on.” That those who are hurt by violence and evil can respond with love, kindness, and generosity without giving those who hurt them the last word. These are all prophetic tasks, whether or not those who embody these graces would claim that title for themselves.
So yes, yes I do think we can believe it, but maybe more in the traditional Latin sense of the word credo, rather than the usual sense of the English. Credo means “I give my heart to.” Sometimes it’s intentional, choosing to invest ourselves in something bigger than ourselves. Sometimes we slip into it, like falling in love unexpectedly. And sometimes it’s something like faith, where the answer is sometimes yes, and sometimes no, but step by step we walk the path together.
Blessings,
Sara+
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