Dear People of Christ Church,
This week we had a terrific first “Intro to the Episcopal Church” class, with about 9 people gathered to talk about our questions, curiosities, and longings for God’s “new thing” happening in our spiritual lives. It’s so exciting to see how the parish changes and grows—almost none of the 9 people gathered at that table were members a year ago, and there they all were, from Catholic and Evangelical and Lutheran and Methodist and all backgrounds in between. This thing that is the church is a living body, not a building or a list of names.
In my sermon on Sunday I was talking about how, in the Gospels we hear the story of Jesus being Jesus Christ, in the book of Acts, which we read every Sunday in Easter season, we hear the story of the church becoming the church. Rather than one single appointed leader taking the place of Jesus, it’s the church—the whole gathered body—that takes on his ministry and presence in the world. Peter and Paul and Mary Magdalene were all important, but it wasn’t just one of them who carried on the work of God in the risen Christ…that takes a whole church.
The church is the Body of Christ, and it needs all of us to be that.
God in the church needs the curiosity of those returning to faith after a time away.
God in the church needs the hunger for community of those who are looking for a place of transcendence and belonging.
God in the church needs the attentiveness to justice and peace of those who dare to ask the hard questions and sit with the hard answers.
God in the church needs your passion for the environment, for children, for elders.
Maybe most important, and first, God in the church needs just your presence. God needs your love, your reverence, your longing for stillness and simplicity.
This past Sunday in our Episcopal Church class we talked about how the basic impulse of Anglicanism, all the way back to King Henry VIII and his somewhat sketchy motivations, is about trying to dwell closer to the ground. In our governance, in our thinking, in our theology, we are all about trying to think and pray in response to the world as it is. When Christ Church developed our parish vision statement a number of years ago we settled on a description of the parish as “grounded in tradition, yet open to the world.” This Sunday, we’ll hear the story in Acts about how the early church grappled with its diversity—Jews and non-Jews didn’t eat together, ever, in ordinary life, much less form a whole community around sharing a meal! But God gives the church a vision of broad inclusion that makes space for every kind of person and every kind of food. One of the best lines in all of Scripture is in this story—“Who was I to hinder God?” Who are we to hinder God? Where is God breaking through your barriers and obstacles this week? Where are you becoming more deeply part of God’s church that needs all of you?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, April 21, 2016
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Great News About the Roof
A version of this message is also going out to the parish mailing list—we really want to be sure you get it!
We write with amazing news on several fronts.
First, we are thrilled to let you know that we have received 32 pledges for our roof campaign, for a total of $106,038 committed over the next several years toward the work so desperately needed at Christ Church this year. From our newest to our oldest members, from graduate students to professional families to retirees, it is only through the strength and diversity of our congregation that we have met this incredible milestone.
We write with thanks for the generosity of this parish, but also with the equally astonishing (and perhaps even less expected) news that our insurance provider, Church Insurance, has agreed to pay for the roof replacement itself due to a catastrophic hail storm over the summer that further impacted our already fragile roof. Because we did not know what the outcome of the insurance evaluation would be or the scope of the covered repairs, we began our campaign at the same time as we began pursuing that claim. The good news is that much of what is required is covered. The vestry authorized Wellesley Roofing to pursue the claim on our behalf, and they have successfully navigated that process along with our building committee and wardens. An independent adjuster has approved the work for the roof proper totaling $203,000 and the work is scheduled to begin in early to mid-May.
We also knew, as has become clear, that a roof isn’t “just a roof.” In addition to the roof itself, siding, under roof decking, gutters, and downspouts will also need to be replaced. At this moment, we are in discernment over an additional $61,000 of work that has been proposed for things like gutters, siding, and an additional decking system for water sealing and insulation. More structural issues may come up as we begin demolition, as well.
If you’d like to talk more about what is to come or share any concerns, please contact wardens Chris Leonardo or Sasha Killewald. Doug Whittington can answer any questions about the roof process as well. Given that the project is happening very soon and pledges are given over a period of years, we are in contact with the Diocese to discuss our financing options. And, of course, our 2011 capital campaign continues, with renovations of downstairs bathrooms and more to come.
All thanks to you and to God for the amazing things happening at Christ Church!
We write with amazing news on several fronts.
First, we are thrilled to let you know that we have received 32 pledges for our roof campaign, for a total of $106,038 committed over the next several years toward the work so desperately needed at Christ Church this year. From our newest to our oldest members, from graduate students to professional families to retirees, it is only through the strength and diversity of our congregation that we have met this incredible milestone.
We write with thanks for the generosity of this parish, but also with the equally astonishing (and perhaps even less expected) news that our insurance provider, Church Insurance, has agreed to pay for the roof replacement itself due to a catastrophic hail storm over the summer that further impacted our already fragile roof. Because we did not know what the outcome of the insurance evaluation would be or the scope of the covered repairs, we began our campaign at the same time as we began pursuing that claim. The good news is that much of what is required is covered. The vestry authorized Wellesley Roofing to pursue the claim on our behalf, and they have successfully navigated that process along with our building committee and wardens. An independent adjuster has approved the work for the roof proper totaling $203,000 and the work is scheduled to begin in early to mid-May.
We also knew, as has become clear, that a roof isn’t “just a roof.” In addition to the roof itself, siding, under roof decking, gutters, and downspouts will also need to be replaced. At this moment, we are in discernment over an additional $61,000 of work that has been proposed for things like gutters, siding, and an additional decking system for water sealing and insulation. More structural issues may come up as we begin demolition, as well.
If you’d like to talk more about what is to come or share any concerns, please contact wardens Chris Leonardo or Sasha Killewald. Doug Whittington can answer any questions about the roof process as well. Given that the project is happening very soon and pledges are given over a period of years, we are in contact with the Diocese to discuss our financing options. And, of course, our 2011 capital campaign continues, with renovations of downstairs bathrooms and more to come.
All thanks to you and to God for the amazing things happening at Christ Church!
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Stations of the Cross
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, our Stations of the Cross really came home (for more Q and A about them and where they came from and why, see this from January. For pictures from St John’s Bowdoin Street and the installation at Christ Church, see my own blog, SaraIwrites.
They are striking and surprising and brand new and at the same time look like they’ve been there since the church was built. They are, in fact, from the same time period—they’re dated 1888, but the woodwork that David Moseley created for them matches the church in a completely phenomenal way. (David is a longtime friend of Christ Church—he did the repair work in our new combined outreach space for Diaper Depot/Grandma’s Pantry and is married to Cathy Hughes’ older daughter Betsy). As happens so often, the thing that surprised was not the thing that I thought would be remarkable. I expected to react more strongly to the overall sight of them, but that’s not the most interesting thing.
This week I was here for Tuesday evening formation and had my kids along. For whatever reason, the only other person who came was Andrea, so we chatted for a while but by 7:30 figured no one else was planning to come. I told my kids to pack up their stuff, we were leaving, but 6 ½ year old Adah declared that she was not ready to leave church. I asked her if it was because she wanted to have communion and she said no, she just thought we should have church. So Adah and Andrea and I decided to do the liturgy for Stations of the Cross. (Older brother Isaiah decided to hang out for a while and play video games for a few minutes, but ended up joining us later).
So, so often, my children make me see things I wouldn’t otherwise, and that’s what happened that night. After having been dragged along during the installation of the frames for two hours on Sunday, they had already spent a lot of time with the pieces and they were over it. “Art,” Adah had declared on our way to Waltham that afternoon, “is boring.” I don’t know what it was that made her not ready to leave, but as we stayed and went around the church, I heard the words of the liturgy in a different way. By the time we got to the station where Jesus meets his mother, Adah was beginning to regret her desire to stay. At that moment, though, I became profoundly grateful to be there with them. To look at Jesus trying to hold both his cross and take his mother’s arm while my own kids bounced around, I imagined her thinking of the days when Jesus was small. I thought about her wanting to protect him and being unable to. The line “A sword will pierce your own soul, too” in the prayers made me think about how much all of those we love face, and how we can’t protect them. We can only trust God for them and on their behalf.
The thing about our particular stations of the cross that continues to show me new things is how they offer a wider lens on the events of the Passion. You can see the two criminals along side of whom Jesus was killed. You can see the detail of Jesus and his mother and all the people around them. There are people everywhere all around in them—how often have you thought about all the people who just were around when Jesus was on his way to the crucifixion? It’s not just him and the Romans and Simon of Cyrene.
The Stations of the Cross do change the dynamic of the space. I suspect it will take us a while to figure out exactly what they mean. I do know that in seeing the events of the Passion displayed as they are, that I also see the events of the Resurrection in a new way. The other thing in the church that is that same light color is the baptismal font. It no longer sits by itself in the corner, but ties in with the movement around the church. Also crucially, the Stations of the Cross circle the space, but the altar is still at the center. That’s the place where we still meet Jesus in the Eucharist. By seeing the crucifixion in a new way, by really seeing it, we see the Resurrection in a new way. They go together.
Again and again, that’s what I’m most grateful for about being a Christian. It’s not some happy pastel fantasy that everything works out in the end and we should just keep our chins up. Jesus weeps and suffers. He loves. He fears. The Stations of the Cross help me see all of those aspects. We are all here because we believe, or want to believe, in resurrection. But we all also know pain. Walking the events of Christ’s passion, we see where God has gone before.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on Sunday, March 13? It’s here.
More pictures from moving the Stations of the Cross from St John's, Bowdoin Street, to Christ Church, Waltham!
This week, our Stations of the Cross really came home (for more Q and A about them and where they came from and why, see this from January. For pictures from St John’s Bowdoin Street and the installation at Christ Church, see my own blog, SaraIwrites.
They are striking and surprising and brand new and at the same time look like they’ve been there since the church was built. They are, in fact, from the same time period—they’re dated 1888, but the woodwork that David Moseley created for them matches the church in a completely phenomenal way. (David is a longtime friend of Christ Church—he did the repair work in our new combined outreach space for Diaper Depot/Grandma’s Pantry and is married to Cathy Hughes’ older daughter Betsy). As happens so often, the thing that surprised was not the thing that I thought would be remarkable. I expected to react more strongly to the overall sight of them, but that’s not the most interesting thing.
This week I was here for Tuesday evening formation and had my kids along. For whatever reason, the only other person who came was Andrea, so we chatted for a while but by 7:30 figured no one else was planning to come. I told my kids to pack up their stuff, we were leaving, but 6 ½ year old Adah declared that she was not ready to leave church. I asked her if it was because she wanted to have communion and she said no, she just thought we should have church. So Adah and Andrea and I decided to do the liturgy for Stations of the Cross. (Older brother Isaiah decided to hang out for a while and play video games for a few minutes, but ended up joining us later).
So, so often, my children make me see things I wouldn’t otherwise, and that’s what happened that night. After having been dragged along during the installation of the frames for two hours on Sunday, they had already spent a lot of time with the pieces and they were over it. “Art,” Adah had declared on our way to Waltham that afternoon, “is boring.” I don’t know what it was that made her not ready to leave, but as we stayed and went around the church, I heard the words of the liturgy in a different way. By the time we got to the station where Jesus meets his mother, Adah was beginning to regret her desire to stay. At that moment, though, I became profoundly grateful to be there with them. To look at Jesus trying to hold both his cross and take his mother’s arm while my own kids bounced around, I imagined her thinking of the days when Jesus was small. I thought about her wanting to protect him and being unable to. The line “A sword will pierce your own soul, too” in the prayers made me think about how much all of those we love face, and how we can’t protect them. We can only trust God for them and on their behalf.
The thing about our particular stations of the cross that continues to show me new things is how they offer a wider lens on the events of the Passion. You can see the two criminals along side of whom Jesus was killed. You can see the detail of Jesus and his mother and all the people around them. There are people everywhere all around in them—how often have you thought about all the people who just were around when Jesus was on his way to the crucifixion? It’s not just him and the Romans and Simon of Cyrene.
The Stations of the Cross do change the dynamic of the space. I suspect it will take us a while to figure out exactly what they mean. I do know that in seeing the events of the Passion displayed as they are, that I also see the events of the Resurrection in a new way. The other thing in the church that is that same light color is the baptismal font. It no longer sits by itself in the corner, but ties in with the movement around the church. Also crucially, the Stations of the Cross circle the space, but the altar is still at the center. That’s the place where we still meet Jesus in the Eucharist. By seeing the crucifixion in a new way, by really seeing it, we see the Resurrection in a new way. They go together.
Again and again, that’s what I’m most grateful for about being a Christian. It’s not some happy pastel fantasy that everything works out in the end and we should just keep our chins up. Jesus weeps and suffers. He loves. He fears. The Stations of the Cross help me see all of those aspects. We are all here because we believe, or want to believe, in resurrection. But we all also know pain. Walking the events of Christ’s passion, we see where God has gone before.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on Sunday, March 13? It’s here.
More pictures from moving the Stations of the Cross from St John's, Bowdoin Street, to Christ Church, Waltham!
Thursday, March 10, 2016
We Are Worthy
Dear People of Christ Church,
I recently had some time to spend with my kindle, and found Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection. I’ve read a lot of her stuff before, but hadn’t spent much time with this one. Brown’s research started out being about shame—our fear of being unworthy of love and belonging. Since love and belonging are two of the most central human emotional and spiritual needs, shame feels profoundly dangerous to us, and we try to avoid it at all costs. What’s worse, we have a tendency to further isolate ourselves when we feel shame, by bringing in secrecy, silence, and judgment of others to insulate ourselves from the pain. This then spirals out again, which leads to further isolating, further judging, and further suppressing of our feelings. The good news is that we can do things differently—if instead of nurturing our shame we nurture ourselves and remember our inherent worthiness, that cycle is broken. Reaching out to others, reminding ourselves that we aren’t defined by our failures, that we are worthy of love no matter what—Brown calls the capability for that work “shame resilience.”
It’s striking to think about shame in this way as we head into Holy Week beginning with Palm Sunday on March 20. Though we often forget it, Scripture can be profoundly psychologically insightful. Unfortunately we often do profoundly un-psychologically insightful things with Scripture!
In thinking about the crucifixion, we sometimes say that Jesus took on our shame and sin, to offer it to God, to heal us. The liturgy for the Stations of the Cross is full of this. That’s true, but Jesus didn’t do that as though we had a dirty shirt on and he took it off of us and put it on his own body. Instead. Jesus’ transformation of our humanity comes from the inside; his birth, ministry, death, and resurrection (yes, all four) symbolize God’s insistent, constant presence with us. It’s true that Jesus’ peaceful response to the violence he faced saved us. That’s true. In a very literal way, yes, we are saved by the cross. But we’re not “more saved” because it was “more worse.” We just are saved. Because God loves us. We just are worthy. Again, because God loves us.
Much is made of the crucifixion as being a particularly grisly and fear-inducing method of enforcing capital punishment. Many people were put to death in the Roman Empire, some by crucifixion, but by no means all. Crucifixion was a warning sign—it served to instill fear. That was its purpose. Yes, it was also shameful. But to say that Jesus’ death was uniquely shameful I think misses the point. The point is that Jesus’ death was not uniquely shameful. It was a way an abusive regime kept its people in line. That’s part of what’s salvific about it—that God experienced, from the inside, the worst of humanity. And God’s love would not be defeated.
We are all worthy—shame doesn’t have the last word for Jesus or for us. I’m getting ahead of us and close to Easter—there is a ways to go—but the resurrection is always true, even in the depths of Lent.
Blessings,
Sara+
I recently had some time to spend with my kindle, and found Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection. I’ve read a lot of her stuff before, but hadn’t spent much time with this one. Brown’s research started out being about shame—our fear of being unworthy of love and belonging. Since love and belonging are two of the most central human emotional and spiritual needs, shame feels profoundly dangerous to us, and we try to avoid it at all costs. What’s worse, we have a tendency to further isolate ourselves when we feel shame, by bringing in secrecy, silence, and judgment of others to insulate ourselves from the pain. This then spirals out again, which leads to further isolating, further judging, and further suppressing of our feelings. The good news is that we can do things differently—if instead of nurturing our shame we nurture ourselves and remember our inherent worthiness, that cycle is broken. Reaching out to others, reminding ourselves that we aren’t defined by our failures, that we are worthy of love no matter what—Brown calls the capability for that work “shame resilience.”
It’s striking to think about shame in this way as we head into Holy Week beginning with Palm Sunday on March 20. Though we often forget it, Scripture can be profoundly psychologically insightful. Unfortunately we often do profoundly un-psychologically insightful things with Scripture!
In thinking about the crucifixion, we sometimes say that Jesus took on our shame and sin, to offer it to God, to heal us. The liturgy for the Stations of the Cross is full of this. That’s true, but Jesus didn’t do that as though we had a dirty shirt on and he took it off of us and put it on his own body. Instead. Jesus’ transformation of our humanity comes from the inside; his birth, ministry, death, and resurrection (yes, all four) symbolize God’s insistent, constant presence with us. It’s true that Jesus’ peaceful response to the violence he faced saved us. That’s true. In a very literal way, yes, we are saved by the cross. But we’re not “more saved” because it was “more worse.” We just are saved. Because God loves us. We just are worthy. Again, because God loves us.
Much is made of the crucifixion as being a particularly grisly and fear-inducing method of enforcing capital punishment. Many people were put to death in the Roman Empire, some by crucifixion, but by no means all. Crucifixion was a warning sign—it served to instill fear. That was its purpose. Yes, it was also shameful. But to say that Jesus’ death was uniquely shameful I think misses the point. The point is that Jesus’ death was not uniquely shameful. It was a way an abusive regime kept its people in line. That’s part of what’s salvific about it—that God experienced, from the inside, the worst of humanity. And God’s love would not be defeated.
We are all worthy—shame doesn’t have the last word for Jesus or for us. I’m getting ahead of us and close to Easter—there is a ways to go—but the resurrection is always true, even in the depths of Lent.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, March 3, 2016
"I Will Come the Rest of the Way to You"
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’ve been spending a lot of time with the prodigal son, part of our Gospel Passage for Sunday. On Tuesday nights our Bible study is on the Scripture for the coming Sunday, so we spent time listening for what this passage says to us now. Usually we read the prodigal son by itself, but in a happy accident we heard the parables it follows: the parable of the lost sheep and the parable of the woman who has lost a coin. All three stories, taken together, have a bit of a different sense than they do individually, which is how we usually hear them.
Hearing it as we did next to stories about lost sheep and lost coins, we have an opportunity to see the story as not being about the son’s repentance, but instead about the father’s pure love and forgiveness. A sheep can’t say it’s sorry. A coin doesn’t go off and enjoy itself under the couch and then “come to itself.” Is the son actually sorry? Maybe, maybe not. What’s at stake, if so? Maybe the father loves him so much it doesn’t matter. He “comes to himself.” But maybe it’s not his volition or his repentance that are the point.
The Jewish Bible Scholar Amy Jill Levine says that we get it all wrong when we read this text by itself, because that focuses too much on the son. Instead, it’s actually all about the father. What’s more, there’s also nothing especially Christian about how he reacts; it’s not like Jesus was reflecting some new innovation in the love of God, trying to set up the father as acting somehow contrary to how he’d normally react in his cultural context. Instead, Levine says, fathers love—that’s just what they do, there’s nothing unusual about it. She quotes similar rabbinic stories like this:
Pesikta Rabbati (184–85) recounts: A king had a son who had gone astray from his father on a journey of a hundred days. His friends said to him, “Return to your father.” He said, “I cannot.” Then his father sent word, “Return as far as you can, and I will come the rest of the way to you.” So God says, “Return to me, and I will return to you.”
Returning to God, allowing God to find us, being forgiven even when we don’t repent—one of the translations we heard on Tuesday night has the father calling for the ring and the robe before the son has even had time to say anything at all. It’s just his son. He just loves him and is thrilled to have him back.
I’m sharing here images from our own stained glass windows. Yes, it might not actually be “about” the son, but look at the suffering on the younger son’s face—look at the rage on the older brother’s, seeing the party in the distance—see how broken they both were, and in such different circumstances. More than one person mentioned how we remembered former beloved parishioner Marcia Luce’s frank distaste for the story, thinking the older brother go ripped off. Maybe it’s because I identify too much with the younger brother, but I can’t muster up too much sympathy for his anger. I just love this father too much, thinking about how much I need unconditional love like that, thinking about how far God has come to find me.
Blessings,
Sara+
P.S.—thanks to Heather Leonardo, who is offering the children’s sermon this Sunday!
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon from Sunday, February 28? It’s here.
This week I’ve been spending a lot of time with the prodigal son, part of our Gospel Passage for Sunday. On Tuesday nights our Bible study is on the Scripture for the coming Sunday, so we spent time listening for what this passage says to us now. Usually we read the prodigal son by itself, but in a happy accident we heard the parables it follows: the parable of the lost sheep and the parable of the woman who has lost a coin. All three stories, taken together, have a bit of a different sense than they do individually, which is how we usually hear them.
Hearing it as we did next to stories about lost sheep and lost coins, we have an opportunity to see the story as not being about the son’s repentance, but instead about the father’s pure love and forgiveness. A sheep can’t say it’s sorry. A coin doesn’t go off and enjoy itself under the couch and then “come to itself.” Is the son actually sorry? Maybe, maybe not. What’s at stake, if so? Maybe the father loves him so much it doesn’t matter. He “comes to himself.” But maybe it’s not his volition or his repentance that are the point.
The Jewish Bible Scholar Amy Jill Levine says that we get it all wrong when we read this text by itself, because that focuses too much on the son. Instead, it’s actually all about the father. What’s more, there’s also nothing especially Christian about how he reacts; it’s not like Jesus was reflecting some new innovation in the love of God, trying to set up the father as acting somehow contrary to how he’d normally react in his cultural context. Instead, Levine says, fathers love—that’s just what they do, there’s nothing unusual about it. She quotes similar rabbinic stories like this:
Pesikta Rabbati (184–85) recounts: A king had a son who had gone astray from his father on a journey of a hundred days. His friends said to him, “Return to your father.” He said, “I cannot.” Then his father sent word, “Return as far as you can, and I will come the rest of the way to you.” So God says, “Return to me, and I will return to you.”
Returning to God, allowing God to find us, being forgiven even when we don’t repent—one of the translations we heard on Tuesday night has the father calling for the ring and the robe before the son has even had time to say anything at all. It’s just his son. He just loves him and is thrilled to have him back.
I’m sharing here images from our own stained glass windows. Yes, it might not actually be “about” the son, but look at the suffering on the younger son’s face—look at the rage on the older brother’s, seeing the party in the distance—see how broken they both were, and in such different circumstances. More than one person mentioned how we remembered former beloved parishioner Marcia Luce’s frank distaste for the story, thinking the older brother go ripped off. Maybe it’s because I identify too much with the younger brother, but I can’t muster up too much sympathy for his anger. I just love this father too much, thinking about how much I need unconditional love like that, thinking about how far God has come to find me.
Blessings,
Sara+
P.S.—thanks to Heather Leonardo, who is offering the children’s sermon this Sunday!
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon from Sunday, February 28? It’s here.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
"Meet Your Muslim Neighbor"
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.
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 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
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