December 19, 2013
Dear People of Christ Church,
The pageant is tonight! The pageant is tonight!
I'm not sure how it came to pass that churches took on the habit of having children act out the Christmas story, but I am so grateful for it. There's something about the Christmas story that's easy to think we've got it all figured out; it's so familiar and so unfamiliar at the same time. All the heavy theology about human nature and divine nature and all of them coming together can sound so abstract as to be meaningless. At the same time, the manger where we think we've been so many times seems like the house where you grew up, knowing each loose board and creaking step all the way down in your bones. Somehow actually acting it out makes it more and less familiar; our pageant script has a rather sassy innkeeper and innkeeper's spouse, and it just makes you wonder: What was it like to go from door to door looking for a place to stay? What did Mary ponder in her heart those moments after Jesus was born, he heart crushed by wonder and love at the same time? Why haven't you pictured a ladybug there at the scene?
Anything in our spiritual lives that can get us to ask questions, to interrogate our habitual ways of understanding is always fruitful. Part of what faith does is to ease our pain; of course it does, and should, help us feel "better." In faith we know that love is eternal and our souls are kept safe at God's breast. In faith we know that the powers of death are already vanquished. But faith can also lead us to become too comfortable, to forget that God desires our doubts as well as our certainties. By encountering our faith stories as story, we can be a bit more playful, letting our minds wander a little into new visions and new dreams.
Scripture is great about this; much as we forget, each Gospel treats the birth of Jesus in a different way. Luke offers us the evocative manger scene we enact at the holiday and hear on Christmas Eve. But this Sunday, we'll also hear the first part of the Nativity story according to Matthew, in which the location of Jesus' birth isn't mentioned at all-and it's Matthew that gives us the Magi entering to visit Jesus in a house (they don't show up to the manger at all, actually). In Mark, there's no nativity, and in John, we get that beautiful prologue about the Word and the Light shining in the darkness. Again, no manger, no magi. Still, going toward the power of new questions and new visions, I still like the nativity scene that mashes them all together.
So for tonight-what are those idle imaginings and questions you bring? What do you see dancing around the edges of the Christmas story?
See you soon!
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Thursday, December 12, 2013
God’s time, our time
Dec. 12, 2013
Dear People of Christ Church,
Christmas is in less than two weeks, but it seems like Advent just started; it's a little unsettling to have gone from a late Thanksgiving and into a short Advent; it never seems like there's enough time. Of course, it never seems like there's enough time: never, ever, ever.
The English language is kind of vague when it comes to the use of that word, "time"-it can be both mundane sequence and transcendent eternity, but it often has a very literal connotation. "Time" speaks to things that can be numbered and analyzed, but that says nothing about the importance of what has happened or the unfolding of purpose or desire. Greek does a little better; it has both a word for the sense of time-sequence as well as a word for the depth of time, of the nearing of the right time. Chronos is chronology, of one event after another, but kairos is the unfolding of God's time. It's when the planets align and the season is right.
There are 12 days until Christmas (You probably know those "Twelve Days of Christmas for partridges and pear trees are the days between the holiday itself and Epiphany). You may have a lot to do or you may have not enough to do-the seasons of life can be feast or famine. Even though the whole point of the church year is to do some of this work, Advent in particular invites us to try to peer inside time, to look down into the depth of each moment into the transcendent present.
Advent is about waiting; there's chronos in waiting for those days to tick down bite by chocolate Advent calendar bite. On a different level, though, Advent is also a pattern for our whole lives, of watching and waiting for the coming of Christ and the big reconciling of the world. But we also watch for the tiny Advents and Christmases of our daily lives: the birth of a child, the death of a parent, the deep transitions and movements and shifts that make us who we are. It doesn't always have to be BIG, like we say in the Advent communion prayer, "Christ coming again to restore the world." Advent watchful waiting is being open to what the kairos is of the present moment, however slight the movements may be. Christ will restore the world in a big way at the end of time, but Christ is also moving to restore the world in our lives in smaller ways, too.
Kairos treats each moment as having the potential to be a revelation of God's presence because it implicitly acknowledges that our lives are in God's hands. It's not about what we accomplish or where we have to be next. It's about what's happening now, listening to hear what God is doing now. On the first Sunday of Advent, we read Romans 13:11: "Besides this, you know what time (kairos) it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near." The day is near: what do you pray is coming in the right time, the kairos brush with eternity that could come at any moment? What is this season of your life offering you in God's time?
Blessings,
Sara+
Dear People of Christ Church,
Christmas is in less than two weeks, but it seems like Advent just started; it's a little unsettling to have gone from a late Thanksgiving and into a short Advent; it never seems like there's enough time. Of course, it never seems like there's enough time: never, ever, ever.
The English language is kind of vague when it comes to the use of that word, "time"-it can be both mundane sequence and transcendent eternity, but it often has a very literal connotation. "Time" speaks to things that can be numbered and analyzed, but that says nothing about the importance of what has happened or the unfolding of purpose or desire. Greek does a little better; it has both a word for the sense of time-sequence as well as a word for the depth of time, of the nearing of the right time. Chronos is chronology, of one event after another, but kairos is the unfolding of God's time. It's when the planets align and the season is right.
There are 12 days until Christmas (You probably know those "Twelve Days of Christmas for partridges and pear trees are the days between the holiday itself and Epiphany). You may have a lot to do or you may have not enough to do-the seasons of life can be feast or famine. Even though the whole point of the church year is to do some of this work, Advent in particular invites us to try to peer inside time, to look down into the depth of each moment into the transcendent present.
Advent is about waiting; there's chronos in waiting for those days to tick down bite by chocolate Advent calendar bite. On a different level, though, Advent is also a pattern for our whole lives, of watching and waiting for the coming of Christ and the big reconciling of the world. But we also watch for the tiny Advents and Christmases of our daily lives: the birth of a child, the death of a parent, the deep transitions and movements and shifts that make us who we are. It doesn't always have to be BIG, like we say in the Advent communion prayer, "Christ coming again to restore the world." Advent watchful waiting is being open to what the kairos is of the present moment, however slight the movements may be. Christ will restore the world in a big way at the end of time, but Christ is also moving to restore the world in our lives in smaller ways, too.
Kairos treats each moment as having the potential to be a revelation of God's presence because it implicitly acknowledges that our lives are in God's hands. It's not about what we accomplish or where we have to be next. It's about what's happening now, listening to hear what God is doing now. On the first Sunday of Advent, we read Romans 13:11: "Besides this, you know what time (kairos) it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near." The day is near: what do you pray is coming in the right time, the kairos brush with eternity that could come at any moment? What is this season of your life offering you in God's time?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Grace, penitence, and the Elf on the shelf
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, my facebook feed has been roughly divided evenly among two hot topics in church geekery: pronouncements on the Elf on a Shelf and pronouncements on the eternal war between blue and purple for Advent colors. You will be forgiven if you did not realize these debates were a thing.
As Henry pointed out in church on Sunday when I asked what was different and he exclaimed, "You should be wearing green!" you've probably noticed that the colors have changed for church. Advent is purple, after such a long season of green since Pentecost last June it's no wonder Henry thought it was Just Wrong. He's not the only one who would say that, though, as the partisans in the Blue vs Purple war are all aflutter. Remember what other season is purple? LENT! Do you immediately think of Lent's solemnity and penitence when you think about Advent? You probably don't. Enter: blue. The tradition of using blue for Advent is a medieval tradition that goes back to a knot of ritual practices from the Salisbury Cathedral in the eleventh century that were distinctly English as opposed to Roman. They were Anglican before Anglicanism was cool but also still really "Catholic," pre Reformation as it was. And so in the late nineteenth/ early twentieth century enjoyed quite a revival, today revealing itself in the use of "Sarum blue" in Advent.
The idea with blue is that it visually shifts the emphasis to expectation, not penitence; Lent is when we thing about amending our lives, not Advent. It reminds us of Mary, too. So why don't we use blue at Christ Church? Because in defining Advent against a too-sin-focused Lent, we miss the boat on both Advent and Lent. It's not that our usual understanding of Advent needs less Lent. It's that our usual understanding of Lent needs more Advent (and, of course, we're not going out to spend a bunch of money on new altar hangings).
Here's the thing. What Lent and Advent both have in common more than penitence is grace: the joining of human and divine at Christmas happens for everyone and for all time. You don't earn it. You don't prove yourself. Nobody's reporting back to tattle. Whether you read the Gospel of Matthew (magi) or Luke (shepherds) the birth is heralded by some pretty sketchy characters. Like the resurrection we prepare for in Lent, it's an act of crushing generosity and love that flattens any of our own pretensions to earning our way in. It's a pure gift. Here's where the elf on the shelf comes in: that sucker is supposed to be watching, reporting back to Santa every night. Elf on the shelf is old-style Ash Wednesday, when we catalogue our failures and focus on all the ways we don't measure up. But we only do that for one day-we don't spend a whole season on it, and it's always grounded in the love of God that makes it even possible for us to withstand that honesty.
As a parent of young children I don't hold anything against anyone for trying to extract some better behavior for a time. I also love the idea of an enchanted world where the humdrum stuff that surrounds us come to life. Have you seen Dinovember? You probably want to give your kids Christmas presents, right? Because it's fun. You don't love them any less when they're behaving badly. I mean, the elf probably makes them happy too, but I just wonder if it could seem a bit less failure oriented? Christmas is about so much more. And so is Advent, and Easter, and Lent. Now I have to go find my coffee cup because I think St Peter climbed out of his icon and hid it again.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, my facebook feed has been roughly divided evenly among two hot topics in church geekery: pronouncements on the Elf on a Shelf and pronouncements on the eternal war between blue and purple for Advent colors. You will be forgiven if you did not realize these debates were a thing.
As Henry pointed out in church on Sunday when I asked what was different and he exclaimed, "You should be wearing green!" you've probably noticed that the colors have changed for church. Advent is purple, after such a long season of green since Pentecost last June it's no wonder Henry thought it was Just Wrong. He's not the only one who would say that, though, as the partisans in the Blue vs Purple war are all aflutter. Remember what other season is purple? LENT! Do you immediately think of Lent's solemnity and penitence when you think about Advent? You probably don't. Enter: blue. The tradition of using blue for Advent is a medieval tradition that goes back to a knot of ritual practices from the Salisbury Cathedral in the eleventh century that were distinctly English as opposed to Roman. They were Anglican before Anglicanism was cool but also still really "Catholic," pre Reformation as it was. And so in the late nineteenth/ early twentieth century enjoyed quite a revival, today revealing itself in the use of "Sarum blue" in Advent.
The idea with blue is that it visually shifts the emphasis to expectation, not penitence; Lent is when we thing about amending our lives, not Advent. It reminds us of Mary, too. So why don't we use blue at Christ Church? Because in defining Advent against a too-sin-focused Lent, we miss the boat on both Advent and Lent. It's not that our usual understanding of Advent needs less Lent. It's that our usual understanding of Lent needs more Advent (and, of course, we're not going out to spend a bunch of money on new altar hangings).
Here's the thing. What Lent and Advent both have in common more than penitence is grace: the joining of human and divine at Christmas happens for everyone and for all time. You don't earn it. You don't prove yourself. Nobody's reporting back to tattle. Whether you read the Gospel of Matthew (magi) or Luke (shepherds) the birth is heralded by some pretty sketchy characters. Like the resurrection we prepare for in Lent, it's an act of crushing generosity and love that flattens any of our own pretensions to earning our way in. It's a pure gift. Here's where the elf on the shelf comes in: that sucker is supposed to be watching, reporting back to Santa every night. Elf on the shelf is old-style Ash Wednesday, when we catalogue our failures and focus on all the ways we don't measure up. But we only do that for one day-we don't spend a whole season on it, and it's always grounded in the love of God that makes it even possible for us to withstand that honesty.
As a parent of young children I don't hold anything against anyone for trying to extract some better behavior for a time. I also love the idea of an enchanted world where the humdrum stuff that surrounds us come to life. Have you seen Dinovember? You probably want to give your kids Christmas presents, right? Because it's fun. You don't love them any less when they're behaving badly. I mean, the elf probably makes them happy too, but I just wonder if it could seem a bit less failure oriented? Christmas is about so much more. And so is Advent, and Easter, and Lent. Now I have to go find my coffee cup because I think St Peter climbed out of his icon and hid it again.
Blessings,
Sara+
Friday, November 22, 2013
Wake Up Time!
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I'm still thinking about all of this apocalyptical stuff; we'll continue to wrestle together with stories of beginnings and endings and crashings of heaven and earth this Sunday, when our friend Rev. Elise Feyerherm tackles "Christ the King" Sunday, always the last Sunday of the Pentecost season. Christ is a king, but a pretty different kind of one. Elise is part of organizing The Advent Project (https://www.facebook.com/sevenweekadvent), which encourages us to think about whether our four weeks currently allotted to Advent makes any sense...but she can tell you about that on Sunday.
Advent is "getting ready" time, but it's also "wake up" time. In my house, I walk into my 6 year old's room and declare "wake up" time and he grunts, rolls over and puts his head under the pillow. I think there's also a spiritual tendency to do that, too. Wake up time! Advent time! Your Savior is coming near! And instead of stopping in our tracks and opening our hands and hearts to the heavens and holy ground of our being, we roll over and hope that no one will open the curtains to let the light in. The fact is, our self-created darknesses often serve us quite well. The darkness of silence is easier when someone says something racist around us. The darkness of looking away from someone in need insulates us from having to ask why our work is compensated more fairly than theirs. Even things that aren't all that big-time "sinful," like taking those we love for granted-even those things are a way of rolling over and closing our eyes to the wonder of life.
I don't remember where it's from, but there's a CS Lewis quote somewhere about how the grass in heaven is so real it hurts to walk on it; not because God wants to cause us pain, but because it's so real. Right now, perched on the edge of Advent, we have an opportunity to go through this "holiday season" a little differently. We haven't yet experienced the full-on assault of Santa in every window. We haven't yet fallen down the rabbit hole of trying to stuff every longing for depth and joy with shiny things. Fun is fun. I have no problem with that. I just wonder what it would be like if we could also find joy in feeding the hungry as well as feeding our hungers. What if the really real could also be really joyful?
Where are you finding joy this almost-Advent?
What helps you to wake up? To slow down?
Check out this great Advent Calendar from my friend and colleague the Rev. Thomas Mousin:
http://thomasmousin.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/2013-advent-calendar.pdf
And check out the Advent Conspiracy while you're at it: http://www.adventconspiracy.org/
And ways to "Green" your Advent with a sustainability calendar
http://www.bu.edu/chapel/life/sustainable-advent-project/
Blessings, Sara+
This week I'm still thinking about all of this apocalyptical stuff; we'll continue to wrestle together with stories of beginnings and endings and crashings of heaven and earth this Sunday, when our friend Rev. Elise Feyerherm tackles "Christ the King" Sunday, always the last Sunday of the Pentecost season. Christ is a king, but a pretty different kind of one. Elise is part of organizing The Advent Project (https://www.facebook.com/sevenweekadvent), which encourages us to think about whether our four weeks currently allotted to Advent makes any sense...but she can tell you about that on Sunday.
Advent is "getting ready" time, but it's also "wake up" time. In my house, I walk into my 6 year old's room and declare "wake up" time and he grunts, rolls over and puts his head under the pillow. I think there's also a spiritual tendency to do that, too. Wake up time! Advent time! Your Savior is coming near! And instead of stopping in our tracks and opening our hands and hearts to the heavens and holy ground of our being, we roll over and hope that no one will open the curtains to let the light in. The fact is, our self-created darknesses often serve us quite well. The darkness of silence is easier when someone says something racist around us. The darkness of looking away from someone in need insulates us from having to ask why our work is compensated more fairly than theirs. Even things that aren't all that big-time "sinful," like taking those we love for granted-even those things are a way of rolling over and closing our eyes to the wonder of life.
I don't remember where it's from, but there's a CS Lewis quote somewhere about how the grass in heaven is so real it hurts to walk on it; not because God wants to cause us pain, but because it's so real. Right now, perched on the edge of Advent, we have an opportunity to go through this "holiday season" a little differently. We haven't yet experienced the full-on assault of Santa in every window. We haven't yet fallen down the rabbit hole of trying to stuff every longing for depth and joy with shiny things. Fun is fun. I have no problem with that. I just wonder what it would be like if we could also find joy in feeding the hungry as well as feeding our hungers. What if the really real could also be really joyful?
Where are you finding joy this almost-Advent?
What helps you to wake up? To slow down?
Check out this great Advent Calendar from my friend and colleague the Rev. Thomas Mousin:
http://thomasmousin.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/2013-advent-calendar.pdf
And check out the Advent Conspiracy while you're at it: http://www.adventconspiracy.org/
And ways to "Green" your Advent with a sustainability calendar
http://www.bu.edu/chapel/life/sustainable-advent-project/
Blessings, Sara+
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Church: find your way
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, of course, I'm thinking about Marcia Luce, who died last Friday. It was definitely a first when during our children's sermon on Sunday it was the priest who burst into tears and not a worried toddler who didn't want to go sit at the front of the church! She will be missed, and even though it's been almost a week now, somehow it was only the experience on Sunday of having to deliver the news that made it real. Marcia was senior warden when I came to Christ Church eight years ago, and was such a great source of support and counsel. She was also always the first to tell me I'd done something wrong, but always in the context of such rapid forgiveness that it was nothing short of holy.
In planning for the burial on Sunday, I've been so struck by what a blessing it is to be a truly multigenerational community. Other than in our own families, there are few places in this world in which the very young and the very old are in relationship with each other, and even fewer where we believe all of us to be equals. Every time I meet with a family to talk about baptizing a baby, I emphasize that their child will never be more of a Christian, never more included, never more important, than on that day of their baptism-and never less, either. When we say we are brothers and sisters in Christ, we mean it: the transcendence of the God who brings us all together also enables us to transcend all those differences. This is not to say that we all need the same thing in the community, but it is to say that we need each other.
There are so many dividing lines in the world-whenever we meet someone our tendency is immediately to put them in a category. There's nothing wrong with the categories in themselves: being gay or being from Waltham instead of San Francisco or being young or old are all part of how we understand ourselves. But Christian community also teaches us that while we can identify with those categories, we are still bound to each other in other ways. This is a profoundly radical way of being in the world. If we really know one another across these differences, it's much harder to dismiss each others' concerns. Even if you don't have a kid in church, you can probably see how hiring a part time director of religious education-and even increasing your pledge a teensy bit to try to help pay for it!-is food for your faith. Even if the crazy-time children's sermon drives you bonkers, you can see how asking questions in a different way might teach everyone something. You might be too much of an introvert to enjoy parish dinners, but you also might sneakily donate something to the silent auction to support the cause. Being part of a community isn't about getting your way, it's about finding your way.
So in the meantime, pray for me, as I prepare for Saturday-and pray for each other, in thanksgiving for the grace that leads you together.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, of course, I'm thinking about Marcia Luce, who died last Friday. It was definitely a first when during our children's sermon on Sunday it was the priest who burst into tears and not a worried toddler who didn't want to go sit at the front of the church! She will be missed, and even though it's been almost a week now, somehow it was only the experience on Sunday of having to deliver the news that made it real. Marcia was senior warden when I came to Christ Church eight years ago, and was such a great source of support and counsel. She was also always the first to tell me I'd done something wrong, but always in the context of such rapid forgiveness that it was nothing short of holy.
In planning for the burial on Sunday, I've been so struck by what a blessing it is to be a truly multigenerational community. Other than in our own families, there are few places in this world in which the very young and the very old are in relationship with each other, and even fewer where we believe all of us to be equals. Every time I meet with a family to talk about baptizing a baby, I emphasize that their child will never be more of a Christian, never more included, never more important, than on that day of their baptism-and never less, either. When we say we are brothers and sisters in Christ, we mean it: the transcendence of the God who brings us all together also enables us to transcend all those differences. This is not to say that we all need the same thing in the community, but it is to say that we need each other.
There are so many dividing lines in the world-whenever we meet someone our tendency is immediately to put them in a category. There's nothing wrong with the categories in themselves: being gay or being from Waltham instead of San Francisco or being young or old are all part of how we understand ourselves. But Christian community also teaches us that while we can identify with those categories, we are still bound to each other in other ways. This is a profoundly radical way of being in the world. If we really know one another across these differences, it's much harder to dismiss each others' concerns. Even if you don't have a kid in church, you can probably see how hiring a part time director of religious education-and even increasing your pledge a teensy bit to try to help pay for it!-is food for your faith. Even if the crazy-time children's sermon drives you bonkers, you can see how asking questions in a different way might teach everyone something. You might be too much of an introvert to enjoy parish dinners, but you also might sneakily donate something to the silent auction to support the cause. Being part of a community isn't about getting your way, it's about finding your way.
So in the meantime, pray for me, as I prepare for Saturday-and pray for each other, in thanksgiving for the grace that leads you together.
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Joy, Generosity, and Freedom
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I'm thinking about the practice of generosity. On Tuesday night we were talking about how it's kind of a muscle--the more you do it, the easier it is. A lot of the reason we shy away from deep generosity is fear. On Sunday as part of the intro to stewardship, Sasha Killewald talked about how she and Phil were having a conversation about what to pledge and he threw out a number. Immediately, Sasha recounted, she said, "No way. It's too much." But, Sasha continued, "Really what I was saying is, I'm afraid."
Part of our fear, I think, comes from a misplaced understanding of freedom. It's easy to blame our consumer culture, operating under the assumption that all of our problems can be fixed with money. Many can, and that's not always a bad thing. I can't just knit myself a new hot water heater; I have to pay someone to bring it to my house and install it for me. There is nothing faithless about saving up money for emergencies. But even Jesus advised against "gathering into barns" and finding security in our possessions. If people could be distracted by their stuff even in first-century Palestine, we're toast, right?
Yes and no. It may be that our temptations seem more tempting, but every ancient religion has something to say about real freedom. There is something about our human proclivity to anxiety that has maybe always prompted us to look for security in the wrong places. Whether India or the Middle East or the Americas or Japan, basically everybody always has struggled with finding the transcendent peace that can put "stuff" in its proper place.
Most powerfully, we have God, and we have each other. We gather in church on Sundays bringing different gifts and we all come from different places on our journey with giving. I was raised to tithe at least ten percent, and that's what my own family does. But I still struggle with wondering whether it's "enough." Census factfinder.gov says that mean household income in Waltham is $68,326- a 5% annual pledge would be almost $3,500. Is it only about money? Of course not. This year we're intentionally seeking to honor and nurture our gifts of time and talent as well. But even the most generous with our time still want the lights to be on when we arrive (and, on the other side, even the biggest pledgers still want somebody singing in the choir!).
Still, why should we give? On a Biblical level, sure, we give because we're told to. There are a lot of instructions in the Bible that we can sort of interpret our way out of (three cheers for ending the prohibition on lobster!) But the stuff about giving our money just isn't about interpretation. Does the amount have to be 10%? It's a standard to work toward, but not necessarily a place to stop when you get there.
The other reason to give is more subtle. It's not just because Jesus or Abraham tells you to. The other reason to give is that it's joyful. By refusing to be bound by what our reptile brain and consumer society says is what "security" really is, we're staking our lives in God in a new way, declaring our emancipation.
Finally, we do it because it's who we are. That's where the joy really is. As baptized Christians we join the pattern of God's life, and God's live is one of continual and joyful gift. Thanks be to God!
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I'm thinking about the practice of generosity. On Tuesday night we were talking about how it's kind of a muscle--the more you do it, the easier it is. A lot of the reason we shy away from deep generosity is fear. On Sunday as part of the intro to stewardship, Sasha Killewald talked about how she and Phil were having a conversation about what to pledge and he threw out a number. Immediately, Sasha recounted, she said, "No way. It's too much." But, Sasha continued, "Really what I was saying is, I'm afraid."
Part of our fear, I think, comes from a misplaced understanding of freedom. It's easy to blame our consumer culture, operating under the assumption that all of our problems can be fixed with money. Many can, and that's not always a bad thing. I can't just knit myself a new hot water heater; I have to pay someone to bring it to my house and install it for me. There is nothing faithless about saving up money for emergencies. But even Jesus advised against "gathering into barns" and finding security in our possessions. If people could be distracted by their stuff even in first-century Palestine, we're toast, right?
Yes and no. It may be that our temptations seem more tempting, but every ancient religion has something to say about real freedom. There is something about our human proclivity to anxiety that has maybe always prompted us to look for security in the wrong places. Whether India or the Middle East or the Americas or Japan, basically everybody always has struggled with finding the transcendent peace that can put "stuff" in its proper place.
Most powerfully, we have God, and we have each other. We gather in church on Sundays bringing different gifts and we all come from different places on our journey with giving. I was raised to tithe at least ten percent, and that's what my own family does. But I still struggle with wondering whether it's "enough." Census factfinder.gov says that mean household income in Waltham is $68,326- a 5% annual pledge would be almost $3,500. Is it only about money? Of course not. This year we're intentionally seeking to honor and nurture our gifts of time and talent as well. But even the most generous with our time still want the lights to be on when we arrive (and, on the other side, even the biggest pledgers still want somebody singing in the choir!).
Still, why should we give? On a Biblical level, sure, we give because we're told to. There are a lot of instructions in the Bible that we can sort of interpret our way out of (three cheers for ending the prohibition on lobster!) But the stuff about giving our money just isn't about interpretation. Does the amount have to be 10%? It's a standard to work toward, but not necessarily a place to stop when you get there.
The other reason to give is more subtle. It's not just because Jesus or Abraham tells you to. The other reason to give is that it's joyful. By refusing to be bound by what our reptile brain and consumer society says is what "security" really is, we're staking our lives in God in a new way, declaring our emancipation.
Finally, we do it because it's who we are. That's where the joy really is. As baptized Christians we join the pattern of God's life, and God's live is one of continual and joyful gift. Thanks be to God!
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Simplifying with More
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, we begin our conversation about stewardship. Even though, of course, it's a year-round endeavor, most often we dedicate several weeks each fall to really focus our attention. I'm excited to have Sasha Killewald and Christine Dutt co-chairing our efforts this year, with a bit of a different focus.
This year, we're thinking about "more."
This may seem kind of ironic, given that I've spent a fair amount of writing in this space for the last few weeks on simplicity. What would St Francis say about us trying to organize ourselves into "more?" Or Thoreau, from his cabin in the woods? Well, it's not more out of nothing. It's more a reallocation. One of the things I've enjoyed about our adult formation conversation on Free is the practice of looking at the big picture of time and money. Our schedules and finances might seem pretty locked in, but there are still a lot of choices to be made. This year with stewardship season we're trying to think about what, if we reallocated our personal energies (both financial resources and time and talent) a little differently, what would be possible. What if we had something going on for adult formation all the time, and everyone participated in at least one Bible study, or book group, or conversation series every year? What if when it came time for yard clean up day, or Fieldstone Fair planning time, each of those endeavors had so many people come we could expand our work even further? What if each of us had a clear sense of purpose in our participation in this community, in how we are crucially part of the mission of God in this place? What if our own callings as baptized Christians were so essential to how we operate in the world that our spiritual practices were first, not a pleasant add on? What if we discovered that "more" in the place of our faith and spirituality could somehow lead to "more" in all other parts of our lives?
These are big questions, and I'm not going to solve them head on and right here. But I look forward to the conversation, and remain grateful for our calling here together on Main Street.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, we begin our conversation about stewardship. Even though, of course, it's a year-round endeavor, most often we dedicate several weeks each fall to really focus our attention. I'm excited to have Sasha Killewald and Christine Dutt co-chairing our efforts this year, with a bit of a different focus.
This year, we're thinking about "more."
This may seem kind of ironic, given that I've spent a fair amount of writing in this space for the last few weeks on simplicity. What would St Francis say about us trying to organize ourselves into "more?" Or Thoreau, from his cabin in the woods? Well, it's not more out of nothing. It's more a reallocation. One of the things I've enjoyed about our adult formation conversation on Free is the practice of looking at the big picture of time and money. Our schedules and finances might seem pretty locked in, but there are still a lot of choices to be made. This year with stewardship season we're trying to think about what, if we reallocated our personal energies (both financial resources and time and talent) a little differently, what would be possible. What if we had something going on for adult formation all the time, and everyone participated in at least one Bible study, or book group, or conversation series every year? What if when it came time for yard clean up day, or Fieldstone Fair planning time, each of those endeavors had so many people come we could expand our work even further? What if each of us had a clear sense of purpose in our participation in this community, in how we are crucially part of the mission of God in this place? What if our own callings as baptized Christians were so essential to how we operate in the world that our spiritual practices were first, not a pleasant add on? What if we discovered that "more" in the place of our faith and spirituality could somehow lead to "more" in all other parts of our lives?
These are big questions, and I'm not going to solve them head on and right here. But I look forward to the conversation, and remain grateful for our calling here together on Main Street.
Blessings,
Sara+
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