Sermon for December 8, 2013 / Advent 2

Melody and Harmony

For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, "Therefore I will confess you among the Gentiles, and sing praises to your name"; and again he says, "Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people"; and again, "Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples praise him"; and again Isaiah says, "The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope." May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:4-13

In music, there is a Latin term named cantus firmus. In English it means fixed song. A cantus firmus is a preexistent melody underlying a polyphonic musical composition (there will be a quiz on this later!). If you imagine a quartet of singers, the cantus firmus is a melody line, usually sung by the lowest part, and then the other parts harmonize on top of that thematic melody. The cantus firmus controls the whole song. It sets the framework for the entire composition. The melody line might not always be obvious throughout the entire song. But it is always there, holding the composition together. Let me play you an example. In this song, the main theme, or melody is sung by a tenor. Other members of the group build harmonies and rhythms in response to the melody as the song goes on. The melody is fixed. It’s firm. One unwavering voice holds the melody throughout the entire song. The counterpoint is all the other stuff (if you don’t know what a melody is, think of it this way: as you listen to a song and want to sing along, what tune would  you sing? That’s probably the melody).

So, why the music lesson? Well, the idea of cantus firmus has been used as a metaphor for the spiritual life. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German pastor murdered by the Nazis in the dying days of WWII, wrote from prison of, “a kind of cantus firmus to which the other melodies of life provide the counterpoint . . . Where the [melody] is form and clear, there is nothing to stop the counterpoint from being developed to the utmost of its limits . . .  only a polyphony of this kind can give life a wholeness, and assure us that nothing can go wrong so long as the cantus firmus is kept going.” 

It’s an amazing metaphor, really. Bonoeffer is saying that there’s a constant, firm, unwavering melody to our lives. Once you know the cantus firmus, then the improvisation can happen.  Life isn’t whole without melody and harmony working together. But there is no harmony without a strong melody.

We could say that the cantus firmus is our deep-seated song at the core of who we are.  The Apostle Paul talks about it, in different words, at the end of his letter to the Romans. He writes, “May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify God.” Christian unity is a cantus firmus. We can’t do much of anything else without a strong set of unwavering values holding us together. 

It sounds great in theory, but actually it’s a problem. Paul writes these words because he knows the church in Rome is not getting along well. Arguments threaten to splinter the church. Jewish and Gentile Christians are divided. There is not a clear, principal melody. Jewish leaders sing one song. Gentile leaders sing another. Instead of harmony, they sing in discord. Paul steps in with a cantus firmus: This is not an argument about Jewish nationalism versus universal religion. Paul tunes the church in to a simple yet powerful melody. He knows there is no harmony without a strong melody.

What do you hear when you listen to the sounds and noises around us today? Do you hear a cantus firmus, a strong song? I think many around us hear a hopeless song – a cantus lamentus or a song of lament. Many culture watchers talk about a new age of despair in Western civilization. A generation of giving up. An era of hopelessness. Some say that 1850-1950 was the century of hope. We built the steam engine, the railroad, the car, the airplane, the rocket. Medicines were created and hopes were high. The frontiers of America were expanded. These were year of progress, years of confidence, years when we knew that we could solve the problems of the future. Even the Civil War and World The Great World Wars did not dampen an attitude that we could conquer any problem that stands in our ways.

It feels different today. We live in a new era where we are not so sure that we can solve those major global problems. 

I hear a cantus lamentus, a song of lament, wondering how we are going to feed a world population of eight billion people in a few years.  Many people feel hopeless. They throw up their hands. “Who can stop it? There will be billions of starving bodies in twenty years. Who can feed them?” And how are we going to do it on a planet that is heating up and becoming less able to sustain the human race?

I hear a cantus lamentus, a song of lament, as people wonder how we can stop the arms race that is spiraling into nuclear proliferation and chemical weapon abuse. We have the bomb. China has the bomb. India has the bomb. Pakistan has the bomb. Iran wants the bomb. People are selling bomb equipment on the black market. Although the fears of nuclear incineration of much of the globe have lessened, we sense that the world has a date with destruction. There is still that sinking feeling that we can do nothing about it.

And if someone doesn’t blow us all up, we have to deal with gun violence at home. Listen for the cantus lamentus if you ever drive by Newtown, CT. Driving on I-84 in Connecticut over Thanksgiving, I had an eerie feeling, as if the cries of the holy innocent were still calling for justice. A song of hoplessness. Despair. Sadness. 

I hear a cantus lamentus coming from churches. For many decades, religious life in the United States was marked by four consistent trends: mainline Protestant membership was declining; evangelical Protestants were growing; Roman Catholics were hovering just above the replacement level and each succeeding generation of adults was participating less in religious institutions. New research indicates that both Catholics and the conservative wing of Evangelical Protestantism have joined in the decline. There are a number of factors that contribute to this decline. But researchers note that across the board, denominational and congregational conflict has reached epidemic levels. Conflict impedes growth. Hmmm. Sounds similar to a church in Rome we just heard about that had a hard time hearing the melody of peace.

It’s easy for me to get caught up in a personal song of lament. I realize that I can be part of the problems around me. I have been guilty of standing back and keeping quiet when someone needed to take a stand. I am guilty of labeling, pre-judging, and disengaging. There are times in my life when I have been a partaker in disunity in religious and civic organizations. I am guilty of being the wrong answer to God’s call for harmony. I ask myself, can I reconcile with those I have parted ways with over issues both small and large? Can I remain in relationship with those who challenge me in uncomfortable ways? I need something else – a strong song – a deeply-rooted song at that affirms the core of who I am. Who we are.

Sometimes, the emerging melody can be hard to hear. Sometimes, when I’m listening to Baroque choral music, my mind is swept away by the tempos, instrumentation and organization of the composition. I’m overwhelmed with the technical details of the music. Suddenly, an ancient text of just a few lines, sung in an unwavering melody of long notes, seems to rise and seize control of the choir and orchestra. It’s the cantus firmus. It was there all along, but it now comes forth to tame the frivolous chatter around it. There is no harmony without a strong melody.

The truth is all is not hopelessness and lament. A melody of unity and peace continues to rise and take hold in the world around is. Listen When we hear it, we hear the voice of hope. We hear the voice of God. A melody that reminds us that God has a future for us.

Nelson Mandela sang God’s cantus firmus. As the world honors his life and legacy, I have been struck by this quote. Mandela said, “I am fundamentally an optimist. Whether that comes from nature or nurture, I cannot say. Part of being optimistic is keeping one’s head pointed toward the sun, one’s feet moving forward. There were many dark moments when my faith in humanity was sorely tested, but I would not and could not give myself up to despair. That way lays defeat and death.” All this from a political prisoner who was branded as a terrorist – who overcame it all to sing the melody of peace and reconciliation. May Mandela rest in peace. 

Malala Yousafzai sings the cantus firmus. You know Malala – the teen who was shot in the head by the Taliban in Afghanistan and survivied! In a recent speech Malala said, “I speak – not for myself, but for all girls and boys I raise up my voice – not so that I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard. Those who have fought for their rights. Their right to live in peace. Their right to be treated with dignity. Their right to equality of opportunity. Their right to be educated.” This is the girl who can tell the world, “I do not hate the Talib who shot me. Even if there is a gun in my hand and he stands in front of me. I would not shoot him. This is the compassion that I have learnt from Muhammad-the prophet of mercy, Jesus Christ and Lord Buddha. This is the legacy of change that I have inherited from Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela and Muhammad Ali Jinnah . . . And this is the forgiveness that I have learnt from my mother and father. This is what my soul is telling me, be peaceful and love everyone.” It’s the cantus firmus. Can you hear it? 

Wangari Muta Maathai sang  the cantus firmus. She was an extraordinary leader, noble laureate and founder of the Green Belt movement in Kenya. She galvanized an environmental group that planted more than 30 million trees across Africa, empowered thousands of women, and passionately encouraged a new way of thinking and acting that combined democracy and sustainable development.  Wangari went where no one else dared to go.  She challenged authorities that few dared to challenge. She remained adamant about the full participation of women in civic and public life. Her innovative ideas around job creation through environmental restoration are found in the global development agenda of green jobs and a green economy in the context of sustainable development and poverty eradication. 

I heard the cantus firmus this past week when I read plans for an upcoming prayer vigil. As the anniversary of the massacre at Sandy Hook approaches, there is an effort to draw media attention away from Newtown and remind the nation that gun violence impacts all of our communities. The Newtown Foundation will host a gathering in D.C. to perform acts of kindness and then come together in prayer. Faith leaders from many traditions as well as victims’ families and survivors will guide a time of healing and hope building. If you are interested in attending, talk to Anne Weissenborn. It’s on December 12th from 3:45 to 5:00 PM at the Washington National Cathedral.

***

Legend has it that in the 6th century BC, the Greek philosopher Pythagoras walked by a blacksmith’s shop when he had an epiphany. As two smiths were swinging their hammers, Pythagoras noticed that the two hammers made two different sounds when they hit the metal. One was high-pitched and the other was low-pitched. When Pythagoras stopped to look, he noticed that the hammers were different sizes. The big hammer made the lower sound, and the small hammer made the higher sound. Pythagoras theorized that the difference in the sound might have something do with the mass of the hammer. This turned out to be not exactly right, but it led to another observation that did turn out to be right. If a plucked string makes a certain sound, then a plucked string half as long makes a sound exactly one octave higher. And if you cut the string in half again, a quarter of its original length, and pluck it again, it makes a sound two octaves higher than the original sound. And so on and so forth. What Pythagoras discovered, basically, is that sound is not simply a matter of personal taste or preference; but that it has a basis in the very way the universe is put together. Music is a kind of practical geometry. If music is a function of the physical properties of the world, then music could be a way to know the mind of God. And so Pythagoras became a stark-raving mystic. He spent a lot of time plucking strings, leading a monastic community and seeing hints of the way the world was stitched together in music and mathematical equations. He called it the Music of the Spheres. Pythagoras heard a cantus firmus that God was humming, a baseline tune, a primeval creativity from which all other activity and art in the world sprang forth. Pythagoras believed that the world was physically, aesthetically and artistically attuned to God. 

In a world where it sounds like there is confusion while rival voices all vie to shout the dominant melody, in a world of domination and oppression, in a time of fear and lament, we in the church have a special mission. Our work is not to jump in the chorus and add our own confusing melody to the cacophony. Our job is to be quiet. Especially at Advent. We wait. We listen. In the words of the Christmas song, “Do you hear what I hear?” It’s God, singing a melody that rises and tames the frivolous chatter. It’s song of hope. An unwavering melody of peace.  It’s been there all along. Can we hear it? 

When we do hear it, all we can do is add our own harmony – our own counterpoint – to what God has already been already singing. Only a melody and harmony of this kind can give life a wholeness and assure us that nothing can go wrong.  So long as the cantus firmus is kept going.

There is no harmony without a strong melody.

May the God of hope will fill you us all joy and peace in believing, so that we may abound in hope by the power of the Spirit. May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant us to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, that together we may with one voice glorify God. 

Sources:

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison. SCM 1953
http://www.sermonsfromseattle.com/series_a_abounding_in_hope.htm 
http://www.prodigalmagazine.com/guilty-of-quitting-too-soon/#sthash.hghCWjTx.dpuf
http://www.firstplymouthchurch.org/on-sunday/past-sermons/
http://www.unwomen.org/en/news/stories/2011/9/in-tribute-to-wangari-muta-maathai#sthash.pNVNi4Ir.dpuf
https://secure.aworldatschool.org/page/content/the-text-of-malala-yousafzais-speech-at-the-united-nations
http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2013-11/negative-numbers 
http://brannerchinese.wordpress.com/2011/11/12/suddenly-perceiving-the-cantus-firmus-in-a-bach-chorus/

Sermon for November 24, 2013

How Far Will Gratitude Go?

Molly Fumia is a grief expert who writes from the heart about the unique pain of miscarriage and stillborn birth. She finds that the grief associated with miscarriage is often underrated. Mothers are expected to get over their emotional and spiritual pain in a day or two. Well-intentioned family, friends — even counselors — tend to minimize the throbbing ache of grief and devalue the loss of the parents. After experiencing two miscarriages of her own, she knows that it’s an experience of deep longing and unbearable emptiness. That’s why I find her words so amazing. Listen to Molly’s words of healing:

To be joyful in the universe is a brave and reckless act. The courage for joy springs not from the certainty of human experience, but the surprise. Our astonishment at being loved, our bold willingness to love in return — these wonders promise the possibility of joyfulness, no matter how often and how harshly love seems to be lost. Therefore, despite the world’s sorrows, we give thanks for our loves, for our joys and for the continued courage to be happily surprised.

I want to be courageously joyful. But I have to tell you, its does not come naturally to me. I can be a cynic when I’m anxious. A worrier. A pessimist. As George Will once said, pessimism is as American as frozen apple pie with a slice of processed cheese. I hear ya’, George Will! I once read about an avid duck hunter who found a bird dog that could actually walk on water to retrieve a duck. Shocked by his find, he was sure none of his friends would ever believe him. He decided to try to break the news to a friend of his, a pessimist by nature. He invited the friend to hunt with him and his new dog. As they waited by the shore, a flock of ducks flew by. They fired and a duck fell. The dog responded and jumped into the water. The dog did not sink. Instead, she walked across the water to retrieve the bird, never getting more than her paws wet. This continued all day long. Each time a duck fell, the dog walked across the surface of the water to retrieve it. The pessimist watched carefully, saw everything, but did not say a single word. On the drive home, the hunter asked his friend, “Did you notice anything unusual about my new dog?” “I sure did,” responded the pessimist. “Your dog can’t swim!”

I am skeptical of the uninhibited optimism of mainstream, all-American, positive thinking. From superstar mega-church pastors and their flawless smiles to an endless flow of self-help best sellers, we are told that if we just believe, we will get what we want. If we passionately concentrate on our deep desires, our dreams will come true. You will be able to pay that mortgage. A new car is yours for the visualizing. Send enough positive intentions into the universe and your skin will clear up, your diet will finally work, people will laugh at your jokes, you will get a raise at work and garner instant respect from your emotionally inept boss.

There is no escape from optimists. Pastor Gloria is an optimist. When I’m grumbling about some trifle, she is always smiling and challenging me to look on the bright side of life. It’s great to see someone offer a warm smile when life is tough. The world needs optimists! I read about a family had twin boys whose only resemblance to each other was their looks. If one felt it was too hot, the other thought it was too cold. If one said the TV was too loud, the other claimed the volume needed to be turned up. One was an eternal optimist, the other a doom and gloom pessimist. Just to see what would happen, on the twins’ birthday their father loaded the pessimist’s room with every imaginable toy and game. He loaded the optimist’s room with horse manure. That night the father passed by one of the rooms and found a son sitting amid his new gifts crying. “Why are you crying?” the father asked. “Because my friends will be jealous, I’ll have to read all these instructions before I can do anything with this stuff, I’ll need new batteries all the time and my toys will eventually get broken.” Guess which child that was!

Then the father passed by the optimist twin’s room, the father found him dancing for joy in the pile of manure. “What are you so happy about?” he asked. The optimistic twin replied, “There’s got to be a pony in here somewhere!”

Americans did not start out as unbridled optimists. The fabled Pilgrims of our Thanksgiving lore eventually became part of what we now call The United Church of Christ. The original ethos of these Protestant settlers and their descendants was a grim Calvinism that offered wealth only through hard work and savings. Even then, there were no promises. You might work hard and still starve to death. They certainly did not survive by adjusting their attitudes or visualizing success.

Calvinists thought negatively about the world. They carried a weight of guilt and apprehension that sometimes broke their spirits. In response to this harsh attitude, positive thinking arose in the 19th century among mystics, healers and transcendentalists. A new crowd-pleasing message insisted that God, or the universe, is really on your side, that you can actually have whatever you want, if the wanting is focused enough.

Neither one of these emotional postures seems to be complete, especially when we think about how far our gratitude will go. Gratitude is a necessary corrective for world-weary pessimists who can forget to look for what is right around them. They need to be reminded that the world is not always a terrible place. The optimists among us must not ignore the pain of the world by straining to be thankful. I've been using a new phrase to strike the balance: Appreciative Realism. Appreciative Realism means that we see the risks, we have the courage to face bad news, we prepare ourselves for famine as well as plenty, and express gratitude for what we have.

In the Christian tradition, our Appreciative Realist is named Paul. When he writes his letter to the Philippians, Paul is in prison. His incarceration in Rome may have been more like house arrest where he awaited trail and possible execution. Tradition actually says that Paul was convicted and beheaded several miles outside the ancient city of Rome. In hindsight, I guess he did indeed have something to worry about. As a citizen of Rome, he could have easily changed his situation by promising the Roman authorities he would quit preaching about Jesus. Instead Paul decided it was more important to write some letters. He writes, “Rejoice in the Lord . . . be thankful . . . Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.” What? Where’s the pessimistic introspection? Where’s the optimistic romanticism? Paul gives us a dose of Appreciative Realism: Times of ease will eventually get complicated. Crises will resolve over time. In the ebb and flow of life, be thankful.


Jesus gives a good dose of Appreciative Realism in the gospel text from John. He has just pulled off an incredible miracle, feeding thousands of hungry stomachs on a few fish and loaves of bread. Now he is exhausted. He wants some time to recover. He wants to be alone. He sails away, but the crowds follow him. Jesus is like a star trying to get away from paparazzi. There is no place to hide. The crowds want more. The crowd follows him; the crowd with all its suffering; the crowd with its insatiable appetites and hungers. The crowd is not bad. It’s just hungry. It is ill. It is scared. The crowd follows Jesus because Jesus is the last hope for healing hurting bodies and feeding empty stomachs. Jesus feeds a serving of appreciative realism. He says, “Don't spend all your time and energy on physical food that keeps you alive for now. You also need to spend some energy on spiritual food which will keep you alive forever."


They come for bread. Jesus invites them to believe.

They come for momentary relief from physical hunger. Jesus offers ceaseless fulfillment for their spiritual emptiness.

My fellow pessimists, optimists, realists: I think there is a lot of unnamed and underrated pain here today. We live in a fearful and anxious time. We grieve over the loss of jobs, the loss of money, and maybe even the loss of our sense of worth that was connected with these things. We are forced to face our weaknesses and our insecurities. We face difficult marriages and separations, loneliness, anxiety over our children and grandchildren. We hear bad news about health. We deal with the fresh pain of death and the reliable aches from timeworn grief. Our national political system is in shambles. The world is undergoing violent upheavals. The reality is that life is filled with happiness and life is filled with pain. What can we do but look for some relief? Some bread? Someone or something to help us find temporary relief from our suffering? What else can we do?

The Apostle Paul says, “Give thanks.” Give thanks boldly. Give thanks recklessly. To be joyful in the universe is a brave and reckless act. The courage for joy springs not from the certainty of human experience, but the surprise.

Jesus says [my paraphrase], “Life is hard. Come to me. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” It’s an offer for connection. It’s a different understanding of suffering and pain. Appreciative Realism means that we are connected by our suffering and also transformed by our relationships.

There is a beautiful story from the Zen tradition. Behind a temple there was a field where there were many squashes growing on a vine. One day a fight broke out among them, and the squashes split up into two groups and made a big racket shouting at one another. The Zen master heard the uproar and, going out to see what was going on, found the squashes quarreling. In his booming voice the he scolded them. “Hey squashes! What are you doing out there fighting? Everyone do zazen [sit in meditation].” While the squashes were sitting zazen their anger subsided and they settled down. Then the teacher quietly said, “Everyone put your hand on top of your head.” When the squashes felt the top of their heads, they found some weird thing attached there. It turned out to be a vine that connected them all together. “This is really strange. Here we’ve been arguing when actually we’re all tied together and living just one life. What a mistake!” After that, the squashes all got along with each other quite well.

I know, squashes don’t have hands. Maybe zen squashes do. Like them, can you be thankful for your complete dependence on relationships for survival? When you can, you will flow naturally into an ethic of gratitude that demands that you nurture the same world that nurtures you in return.

Here is a bold and grateful prayer of an appreciative realist: a prayer from the African country of Ghana, as quoted by Desmond Tutu in An African Prayer Book:

Lord, my joy mounts as do the birds, heavenward. The night has taken wings and I rejoice in the light. What a day, Lord! What a day! Your sun has burned away the dew from the grass and from our hearts. What erupts from us, what encircles us is thanksgiving. Lord, we thank you for all and for everything. Lord, I thank you for what I am, for my body tall and broad, despite meager meals at school, and although Father has no world. This body grows and grows, even with malaria in my blood . . . Lord, I am happy. Birds and angels sing and I am exultant. The universe and our hearts are open to your grace. I feel my body and give thanks. The sun burns my skin, and I thank you. The breakers are rolling towards the seashore, the sea foam splashes our house. I give thanks. Lord, I rejoice in your creation, and that you are behind it, and before and next to it, and above — and within us.

Happy Thanksgiving. No matter what life brings, may you find a way to give thanks. Give thanks for your loves. Give thanks for your joys. Give thanks and for the continued courage to offer bold and reckless gratitude. It goes farther than we can even imagine!

A Belated and Heartfelt Word of Thanks

After over a decade at war, U.S. veterans are still often met with deafening and ambiguous silence. Especially in a non-election year, months can go by in the news without mention of the fact that service men and women are still dying in Afghanistan (to  give credit to the Washington Post, the paper does occasionally run pictures of soldiers who have died in service). For the military men and women who have recently returned, silence makes clear that for some, America’s wars are not a subject to be talked about. Military service is not always shared comfortably with the communities that ultimately sent our soldiers out in our nation’s name.

I confess my own ambivalence. As one who has very high requirements for a “just war” and as a proponent of “just peace,” I don’t like to talk about America’s wars. It’s not something I live with. It’s not a subject that affects me on a personal level. So, last Sunday, I was silent about Veteran’s Day. It wasn’t an intentional omission or a form of passive protest. It was a careless omission.

When some people brought this to my attention, I was embarrassed. As we grow together as a minister and congregation, I hope you are learning something about me: I do not think our congregation is supposed to be silent, solitary, and stoic. Silence in the face of injustice is never an option.  And sending people to war without thanking them for their service is an injustice that calls for a response.

Please accept belated and heartfelt words of thanks. A thousand thanks to the veterans, military workers and families who offer great service to the common good. A thousand thanks to the soldiers who reflect the heights of human charity and to those who have stood in the line of fire for one another, risking their lives for civilians and comrades alike. A thousand thanks to people like my father, a Vietnam veteran, who continues to show me the strength of calm resilience. A thousand thanks to those who are working to make the world a better place. A thousand thanks to soldiers who remind us of the words of Christ: the greatest love that we can have for one another is to lay down our lives for our friends.

We have an ongoing list of service women and men in our CCC Pastoral Prayer and Care booklet, available outside the office each week. We continue to hold them and their families in our thoughts and prayers. If you have any names to add, please let me know.

Yours on the journey,

Pastor Matt

Sermon for November 10, 2013

ἀνάστασις

Some Sadducees came up. This is the Jewish party that denies any possibility of resurrection. They asked, “Teacher, Moses wrote us that if a man dies and leaves a wife but no child, his brother is obligated to take the widow to wife and get her with child. Well, there once were seven brothers. The first took a wife. He died childless. The second married her and died, then the third, and eventually all seven had their turn, but no child. After all that, the wife died. That wife, now—in the resurrection whose wife is she? All seven married her.”

Jesus said, “Marriage is a major preoccupation here, but not there. Those who are included in the resurrection of the dead will no longer be concerned with marriage nor, of course, with death. They will have better things to think about, if you can believe it. All ecstasies and intimacies then will be with God. Even Moses exclaimed about resurrection at the burning bush, saying, ‘God: God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob!’ God isn’t the God of dead men, but of the living. To him all are alive.” Luke 20:27-38, The Message

A preacher, newly called to a small country town, needed to mail a letter. Passing a young boy on the street, the pastor asked where he could find the post office. After getting his answer, the minister thanked the boy and said, “If you’ll come to the community church this evening, you can hear me tell everyone how to get to heaven.”

The boy replied. “I don’t know, sir. You don’t even know how to get to the post office!”

There’s a life lesson here – don’t take directions from someone who hasn’t been there. They are only guessing, right? Sometimes even your GPS will steer you wrong. It’s using data, not experience. The same holds true for heaven. There is no consistent map. We have the experiences of some who say they’ve been and come back. We have sacred data, otherwise known as Scripture. But to my ears, it begins to sound like informed guesses.

Today we read about a group of religious officials who confront Jesus. They are called Sadducees and they are a faction within first century Judaism that is quite traditional in their reading of the Torah. They also tend to be cozy with the Romans. They come to Jesus with a question about resurrection that is couched in the ritual of something called levirate marriage.  In levirate marriage, if a man dies, leaving his widow without a child, then a male relative, usually a younger brother, marries the widow.  So the Sadducees pose this question: suppose a man dies, leaving no child.  According to tradition, seven brothers in all marry this woman, but none of them father a child with her before she dies.  Therefore, in the resurrection to whom will she be married?

Understand, the Sadducees are the worst kind of Biblical literalists. They have not accepted a new idea in hundreds of years. They believe scriptural inspiration died with Moses. They take no risks. Their form of Judaism is decent and respectable. It is also a cold, indelectable, anemic version of Judaism. They hunt scripture to find a tricky way to back Jesus into a corner. They want him to say something that will offend their honor. They find an insignificant thread of the tradition and try to tie Jesus up with it.

Have you ever gotten one of those questions (or maybe you’ve done it yourself )? Have you ever had someone ask you a question and it sounds like they are open to your answer, but they really want to test you out, to categorize you, to see whether your beliefs are right or wrong? They want to be offended so they can feel justified and safe in their own beliefs.
“I was just wondering . . . where in the Bible does it say same sex marriage is OK?” 
“If you were to die today and stand before a Holy God, and He asked you, ‘Why should I let you into my heaven,’ what would you say?”
 “If someone asked you who Jesus is, what would you say?”

I used to try to explain my answers, you know, reason with Christians who don’t like my ideas:
    “If someone asked you who Jesus is, what would you say?”
    “Jesus is my Lord and Savior? What do you say?”
Not good enough. Next question:
    “For you, where is the hope in that story if you don't believe the basic Gospel     message?”
Each answer leads to more gate-keeping questions. Then I start feeling defensive. Or l feel like I’m trying to convince someone who just wants to be right by making me wrong. That’s what happens in those conversations. A lot of times, we think they are leading to understanding, when in reality they create division and misunderstanding.

Jesus does it differently than me. In the reading from Luke, Jesus changes the conversation. Instead of a dialogue about content, he promotes awareness of a different context. In other words, don’t try to trip Jesus up with questions about how many angels can dance on the tip of a needle or how many husbands a woman will have in heaven. This is not about being right. It’s about living with joy. This is not about arguing obscure theological details to feed your ego. It’s about realizing the possibility that all ecstasies and intimacies will be ours. There are better things to think about.

I get you, Jesus. At least sometimes. I think that for most people, 90% of life feels like hell. People are not at ease with their selves and their world. Most of us are only at ease when we are distracted. That’s why the world is so busy. If we stay on the move, if we keep occupied, if we eliminate our downtime by checking emails and Facebook statuses on our phones, then we don’t have to face the feeling that we are not at ease with ourselves and we feel uncomfortable and scared in our world. For most people, 90% of life feels like hell. That may be a generous margin.

Some religious traditions developed an idea of heaven to distract people from suffering. For Christians, it gives us a goal. A reason for right living. A reward. It also gives us an escape.  We are left with an image of some bright place tucked behind a galaxy where birds chirp and organs play with heavy tremolo and angels bounce from cloud to cloud. For some this may be a remarkable vision of things to come. For me, it’s remarkably boring. Visions like these come from Madison Avenue, Hollywood, bad poetry and willful ignoring of astrophysics.

By the way, recent research poses an idea that the earliest church considered itself to be paradise restored on earth. The earliest Christians did not think of heaven or paradise as a reward beyond this life. Heaven was first and foremost in this world, made possible by the Spirit. They showed this by painting scenes of lush abundance in which humanity is liberated from oppression beneath domes of stars in the night sky.

In a world where people died, starved and killed each other, the early church offered a new reality. In a world where people faced alienation, loneliness, fear, anxiety, and grief on a daily basis, the earliest Christians had a word of restoration.

So here’s what I really want to know. Today. Here and now. Is it really heaven that we need? Is a vision of future glory going to make you more at ease? Does heaven help those who feel like 90% of their life is hell?

What do you really want from this one life, precious, short life that you have?

Happiness? We all want some happiness, right? Why do you want to go to heaven for that? If you want happiness, why not address it directly? Don’t talk about God, or self-realization, or heaven if what you really want is happiness, because heaven is not going to make you happy. Don’t believe me? What if I told you that heaven is a place of eternal misery? Once you get there, you will be completely bored. You would not want to go there. So it’s not heaven you want. It’s happiness. Let’s be honest about what we really need.

The same is true about pain. We want relief from suffering, don’t we? The dominant emotion in most people is fear. Almost everything we do in our lives is in search of some kind of security. Fear is always in the background. So, let’s not use heaven as a way to escape suffering. Let’s stop focusing on eternal security.  Let’s talk about why you are suffering and how you can find some joy.

All I’m saying is this: Don’t use God, or heaven, or hell, or anything else as a way to avoid the discomforts of life. Otherwise there can be no transformation.

Of course, we can always go to the old fallback plan – avoidance.  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I once got a call from a funeral home to do the service for a woman I never met. The family wanted a Protestant minister to do the funeral. I get this a lot – called in as a minister-for-hire for families that want religious services but who have no church home.

I was introduced to the son, Mr. Cooper. I shook his hand and said, “Hi Mr. Cooper. I am so sorry about the loss of your mother. Is there anything you would like said today? Is there anyone who would like to speak on your mother’s behalf?”

Mr. Cooper was a tall, middle-aged man, white hair with a tanned, active appearance. He shifted on his feet, and smiled and said, “No, just do you thing. Just do a simple service. You can even talk fast if you want to get it done quicker.” A small group of mourners began to arrive at the funeral home. At first, people seemed emotionally disinterested and uncaring.  But after a while, I realized they were lost. They did not know how to cope with their pain. They did not have the skills needed to bear this burden. It was easier to avoid the pain. “Just do your thing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

The funeral was done in 15 minutes. I read out of a book. Got in and out. And I’ve always regretted it.

Because life is pain. And fear. Because 90% of life can feel like hell. And our good news says, “Don’t avoid pain. Embrace it. Transformation awaits.” Mr. Cooper got what he said he wanted. I said, “Everything will be all right.  You will meet your mother again in paradise.” And I’ve always wondered if he got what he needed. I’ve wondered if, instead of having someone water down the pain, Mr. Cooper really needed someone to light a path out of the darkness.

Henri Nouwen talked about this in his classic book The Wounded Healer. He wrote to ministers. But In this case, let’s not think about professional clergy. Let’s imagine we are all ministers. We are all called to do healing, relationship-nurturing work. Nouwen says that the primary task of ministers it not to take away pain. Ministry does not allow people to live with the illusions of immortality and wholeness. Ministry reminds others that they are mortal and broken. When we get that, liberation starts.

There is a Greek word we use to describe this process of liberating transformation: ἀνάστασις. We read about it in today’s text. We translate it “resurrection” and it has LOTS of theological, emotional, and spiritual baggage. It’s fodder for one of those questions that ancient or modern Sadducees might ask: Do you believe in a literal bodily resurrection from the dead?

In this way of thinking, resurrection is passive. It is something given to believers so they can get to heaven and be with God. Resurrection is something done to you.

Let’s make it simpler than that: ἀνάστασις literally means, “to stand up.”

This is not a passive understanding. It is active. It is imperative. In my mind, the word is always followed with an urgent exclamation point. Stand Up! Arise!

What if you are one of those people who feel like 90% of life feels like hell? What if I told you that it can be different? What if you could move from 90% – 89%? It might not seem like a lot, but that’s one percent less pain and once percent more at ease with yourself and your world. In that one percent, you’ve gained an infinite amount of happiness. Imagine a reverse Richter Scale where one percent represents an exponential decrease in suffering and an exponential increase in happiness. That’s where the moment of transformation happens. That’s a moment of resurrection.

And it’s not going to happen with some outside source doing it for you. It happens when you stand up! Resurrection is defiance of death. Resurrection is the forerunner of gladness.
Resurrection is a newness. Resurrection is our reminder that we are mortal and broken. When we get that, liberation starts.

Don’t worry about heaven. I can’t guide you there. Here’s what I can do. Here’s what Pastor Gloria can help you with: Be like Jesus, and focus on the context, not the content. Seek what you really need.
If you want happiness, stand up.

In the face of all that wants to steal your joy, stand up.

If you want less pain, stand up. In a world where people die, starve and kill each other, offer yourself a new reality. Stand up!

In a world where we faced depression, loneliness, fear, anxiety, and grief on a daily basis, hear a word of restoration. Stand up!

Stand up to that which stifles your hope.
Stand up to those who want to hamstring you with their expectations
Stand up to that which pokes holes in the clay jar of your joy.
Stand up in grief.
Stand up to hatred.
Stand up to injustice.
Stand up to fear.
Stand up!
Stand!

And when you stand, join hands with others who are struggling do the same thing as you.
Aid
Assist
Cure
Heal
Help
Mend
Mobilize
Strengthen
Repair

And  that . . . that is a resurrection.

Sermon for October 27, 2013

ἔλεος

Although our iniquities testify against us, act, O LORD, for your name's sake; our apostasies indeed are many, and we have sinned against you. O hope of Israel, its savior in time of trouble, why should you be like a stranger in the land, like a traveler turning aside for the night? Why should you be like someone confused, like a mighty warrior who cannot give help? Yet you, O LORD, are in the midst of us, and we are called by your name; do not forsake us! Thus says the LORD concerning this people: Truly they have loved to wander, they have not restrained their feet; therefore the LORD does not accept them, now he will remember their iniquity and punish their sins. Have you completely rejected Judah? Does your heart loathe Zion? Why have you struck us down so that there is no healing for us? We look for peace, but find no good; for a time of healing, but there is terror instead. We acknowledge our wickedness, O LORD, the iniquity of our ancestors, for we have sinned against you. Do not spurn us, for your name's sake; do not dishonor your glorious throne; remember and do not break your covenant with us. Can any idols of the nations bring rain? Or can the heavens give showers? Is it not you, O LORD our God? We set our hope on you, for it is you who do all this. Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, 'God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.' But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted." Luke 18:9-14

Many years ago, executives of the Time-Life publishing organization discovered that the company’s profit margin had shrunk to an alarmingly low level. Efficiency experts suggested that substantial savings could be made in the renewal department. So, 350 full-time employees began sending heartbreaking pleas to readers whose subscriptions were about to expire.  For example, the letters said things like, "Will you dare face your children without "Time" magazine on your coffee table?" Enormous batches of these letters were prepared by hand. The company thought if there was a machine to replace the manual labor, millions of dollars in overhead would be saved. IBM came to the rescue with an enormous computer, delivered to Time-Life in a blaze of lights and fanfare.

The name of each subscriber was put on a little plate and run through the vast machine. Whenever a nameplate came along that was within six weeks of expiration, a series of dots and dashes at the top of the tab triggered an electronic impulse that caused it to drop into a slot. The name was then printed to one of the "heartbreak" letters which was then folded, stuffed into an envelope, labeled, stamped, and dropped down a chute to the basement where a United States Branch Post Office was set up--all without a single human hand touching the operation.

The system worked flawlessly, until that fateful, hot, humid, sticky day in New York City when one of the nameplates stuck in the machine. A few days later a lone sheepherder in Montana received 12,634 tear jerking letters asking him to subscribe to "Life" magazine. The sheepherder, who hadn’t received a letter in years, took his knife, carefully slit open one of the mailbags and began reading his mail. Three weeks later, red-eyed, weary and up to his hips in 12,634 opened pieces of mail, he made out a check for $6.00, filled out a subscription coupon and sent it to the President of Time-Life personally, with the following note: "I give up!"

I think about that story when I begin to wonder about whether there are limits to God’s mercy. Do we have to ask 12,634 or 1,000 or 100 times for it? Do we have to ask even once for it. Is God’s mercy is always there for us, no matter what.

Today we read two biblical texts about mercy, and they seem to answer the question differently.

In Jeremiah, the people make a confession of sin that seems thorough enough: "O God, our iniquities testify against us . . . our apostasies are many . . . we have sinned against you.” They know they’ve blown it. They fail to live up to the covenant. They fail to take care of the poor. They fail to be the people God called them to be. You’d think God would hear their sincere apology and respond with some mercy. God’s response, however, is not the expected announcement of forgiveness. At least not yet. The relationship between God and people is not restored. At least not yet. God’s speech highlights the growing distance between God and God’s people.  God levels an indictment: My people have loved to wander, without restraint. The people cry for mercy, but God turns away. The time for pleas is over. Judgment has begun. There will be exile and agony before there is mercy.

In Luke 18, Jesus tells the story about someone asking for mercy. It’s a tax collector. Understand, the tax collector is the worst of the worst. Tax collectors would often add their own, “administrative fees” to the already exorbitant tax revenues they were gathering. They had reputations as corrupt and despised people known for their graft. Tax collectors were so distrusted that they were prohibited from testifying in a court of law. Banks turned away their business. Even their charitable gifts were refused. So Jesus tells a story about a tax collector who has put himself on the periphery of respectable society – a tax collector who, in a moment of clarity says, “God, have mercy on me.” And does he get it? All Jesus says is, “The humble will be lifted up, and those who lift themselves up will be humbled.” In other words, the tax collector was justified in asking.

So, what is this mercy he’s asking for? Where do you hear this word being used today? "Mercy” is the one expletives I hear from polite Southern women. – one of those all-purpose exclamations for times when people was too awestruck, befuddled or exasperated to say anything else. “Mercy me!” It works when you don’t have the right words to say.

Or, it’s what criminals do in sentencing: throwing themselves on the mercy of the court.

The Jewish scholars who translated the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek all those centuries ago had a hard time finding the right word for what we call mercy. For Hebrew and Arabic speakers, the idea of mercy is represented by the the root word םחַרַ֫, raham. Raham is a womb-like state of love. So five times a day, a devout Muslim falls to the ground and prays, “Bismillah hir rahman nirahim” The root word, םחַרַ֫, is used twice: In the name of Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful. It’s one of God’s names in Islam: Ar-rahman nir-raheem. Most Gracious, Most Merciful. 

Mercy is kindness or good will toward the miserable and afflicted, joined with a desire to relieve them. It has to do with sacred nurture and loving care. Mercy is not a feeling. It’s not the same as pity, really. One can feel pity as one weeps on behalf of someone who is pathetic. Mercy is not a feeling. It’s a moral quality. Mercy is a reciprocal relationship -- a pay-it-forward relationship. 

Greek speakers used the word ἔλεος to represent the idea of mercy. ἔλεος comes from a root word meaning oil that is poured out. So, when the Church sings the words Kyrie Eleison and Christie Eleison, we translate the phrases as, “ Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy.” It’s a prayer asking for the merciful love of God to be poured out upon people, like holy oil from above. Mercy has to do with healing and restoration.  When the tax collector Jesus parable says, “Have mercy on me, a sinner,” I hear him saying, “God, pour the oil of our love on me. Restore our relationship. Don’t just give to me because you feel sorry for me. Give to me because I need to know that you have me covered.” The Biblical concept of mercy is to show the same kindness towards “the other” that God has shown us in our own “otherness.” It means having a pain in your heart for the pains of others, and taking pains to do something about their pain.

And let’s be honest. At one time or another, we have all made ourselves outsiders. We’ve all done things we regret. We’ve all had times when we wish we could go back in time and do something over again. We’ve all had to make amends. We’ve all been broken. Getting in touch with our own brokenness helps us understand the agony of other people and the pressures they experience. When we do that, all of the sudden it’s not as hard to show some mercy.

The truth is, we all want mercy.  And it’s there for us. God extends mercy and comfort to all. But mercy is not given just so we can feel better. It’s not pity. God offers mercy as a way for us to restore our relationships. God offers mercy so we can extend mercy to others.  It is not only for ourselves. Mercy focuses our attention outward. Mercy is a continual outpouring to others.

Do you remember what Jesus said about mercy? Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. You know what he did not say? Jesus did not say “Blessed are those who are shown mercy, for they will be merciful.” In other words, Jesus does not say you get mercy and then you give it. Just the opposite. Mercy is the primary intentional act. You are blessed for being a person who commits compassion. You are get mercy once you give mercy. 

I think that’s part of what churches are supposed to be -- communities of faith that give mercy before receiving mercy. Sometimes we get it wrong. Last week I read news story about a luxury-loving German Bishop who has just been suspended by Pope Francis.  The Bishop has become known as “The Bishop of Bling.” At the center of the controversy is a $42 million price tag for the construction of a new bishop's residence. Many German churchgoers are outraged that their offerings were used to fund sleek black leather furniture, satin bed sheets and fine Italian bathroom sinks. By suspending this bishop, Pope Francis is sending a strong signal about a change direction for the Roman Catholic Church. The Pope really want his Bishops to put greater emphasis on helping the poor and marginalized peoples of the world. He wants them to show mercy.

At one time, churches were known as The Defender of the Poor. The church was defined by the quality of its mercy – its ability to restore and humanize those who need to know kindness. I don’t know if we could say that much anymore. It’s not that we don’t show mercy. But I don’t know if it defines us. In America, churches have turned the job over to the government and other non-profits. We have professionalized, specialized, institutionalized, and even secularized caring for the needy. The result . . . we have churches filled with people who look, smell, and think all the same — the so-called “normal” people, while the most vulnerable and destitute remain separate and alone. This seems to be the exact opposite of how Jesus taught us church-life should be! The local church is seen as a place of worship, prayer, Bible study, reflection, and political action. Is it time for the local church to become relevant in “mercy ministries” once again? Is it time for us to be known in the community as “Defenders of the Poor?” Hospitals of Healing? Refuges of Rescue? Will we receive and share mercy – the womb of compassion, the reciprocal restoration of right relationships?

It is time. As people of faith, we must be people of mercy, pouring the healing oil of kindness, nurturing others in the womb of love. We must lessen our judgment and increase our compassion, just as our God so often does with us. We give mercy. Then we receive mercy. God, help us make it so.

Sermon for October 20, 2013

What is a Covenant?

“Be ready. The time’s coming when I will plant people and animals in Israel and Judah, just as a farmer plants seed. And in the same way that earlier I relentlessly pulled up and tore down, took apart and demolished, so now I am sticking with them as they start over, building and planting. When that time comes you won’t hear the old proverb anymore, 

‘Parents ate the green apples,
their children got the stomachache.’ 

"No, each person will pay for his own sin. You eat green apples, you’re the one who gets sick. That’s right. The time is coming when I will make a brand-new covenant with Israel and Judah. It won’t be a repeat of the covenant I made with their ancestors when I took their hand to lead them out of the land of Egypt. They broke that covenant even though I did my part as their Master. This is the brand-new covenant that I will make with Israel when the time comes. I will put my law within them—write it on their hearts!—and be their God. And they will be my people. They will no longer go around setting up schools to teach each other about GOD. They’ll know me firsthand, the dull and the bright, the smart and the slow. I’ll wipe the slate clean for each of them. I’ll forget they ever sinned!” Jeremiah 31:27-34

Today seems like a good day to talk with you a bit about a word that is central to our faith. We hear it a lot, and we use it a lot at CCC, but I think we need to take a moment and think together, as a community, about what it means. The word is covenant. It’s one of those religious jargon words – like creed, or catechism, or charism, or co-substantiation. Why do we use this churchy-sounding word when another word might do just as good? Why not just say contract or promise?

The Jewish and Christian understanding about how God relates to the world is embodied in the word covenant.  God isn’t a distant being who looks down from heaven with a benign but detached gaze, hoping to say at the end of the day, “A good time was had by all.” Nor does God lay down the law and force us into submission. Instead, we affirm a God who chooses to get mixed up with and engaged in the messiness of human life. God enters into a relationship with us based on mutual faithfulness, mutual responsibility, give-and-take, in other words, a covenant. A covenant is a set of enduring and deeply held assurances made between two parties.

The only way we can really grow up and mature as human beings is through engagement with others: relationship with God and relationship with other people. That’s how we learn what it means to be human. That’s the way that we progress beyond self-interest and self-centeredness. Covenant is a way of living life that is invested in the welfare and well-being of a community, and not just self.

But here’s the thing about covenants. The promises are often so intense that it’s impossible to consistently live up to them. We will always falling short of our promises. So, what happens when the covenant is broken? It’s a little different than a contract. In a contract, if one party breaks the agreement, it can be voided. Both sides can be released from obligations. Sometimes the offending party is penalized, but still people are released from their contractual obligations.  Think of the early termination on your mobile phone contract. You can get out of it. You are going to pay big bucks, but once you pay, the contract terms are over. A covenant is different. Covenants go on even when we fail to meet the terms.  With each failure, there is an expectation that the parties will renter the agreement with hope. Covenants are re-established with the intention of living up to them.

This is part of the story behind the reading from Jeremiah this morning. The people of Israel are people of the Covenant. Remember the 10 commandments? The 10 commandments are the summary of the law—the promises and expectations between God and the people. By Jeremiah’s day, the people have not kept their end of the agreement. Jeremiah accuses the religious and political elites of watering down and corrupting the conditions of the covenant. The people of the covenant forget that they have been set apart to fulfill God’s aims. They ignore the fact that God wants them to be an instrument of blessing to the whole earth. They have turned away from their Creator and followed other gods. They ignore justice and mercy. Humility and compassion are gone. Faced with an invasion from the hungry, nation-devouring Babylonian armies, the elite of Judah place their faith in military strategy and political alliances. The people have failed. They have abandoned the covenant. And God will not let it go unnoticed. The people are about to face days of exile. Days of agony. Days where they will wonder why they’ve been abandoned by God.

But that’s not the end of the story.  Jeremiah looks at the people in exile, with all their doubts and discouragement and says to them, “The days are coming. . .” Days of restoration to their homeland and the lives they had left behind. Days of rebuilding homes and families and communities. Days of returning to hope and faith and joy. God will build them up again with a new covenant. “The days are coming” when God will make a whole new arrangement—one that depends upon God’s unfailing love and unshakeable faithfulness. “The days are coming” when all community members will stand on equal ground, in equal righteousness. “The days are coming” when God’s people will build faithful, just structures that help and honor all people.  “The days are coming” when a new covenant will be written on the heart.

Covenants are mutual agreements about ways of being together. Here at CCC, we live a covenantal faith. For those of you who are newer here, let me explain what that means. We do not live by creeds. When you become part of us, there is not a standard set of beliefs you have to sign on to. There is not a statement of faith you must obey. To be part of our church means to agree to a covenant. We don’t care so much about what you believe, but rather how we relate to one another. The most important question is not, “Do you believe what we believe?” but rather, “How do we treat our neighbor, that is, how do we show God’s love to others?” We make enduring, deeply held promises about how we want to treat each other and work together. Our covenants come from the hearts and minds of our people.

We have a church covenant as part of our constitution that explains how we agree to walk in the ways of God’s abiding love. Every Sunday morning, we open worship by reminding each other of our covenant. We affirm that all persons are created in the image of God, by honoring and celebrating people of all races, cultures, ages, abilities, sexual orientations, and gender identities. These words come from our church covenant. They guide our identity and behavior.

We also have three covenants that direct our spiritual activism. Our Just Peace Covenant reminds us of the mutual promises we have made to work for peace and seek justice for all peoples. Our Open and Affirming Covenant speaks to our promise to intentionally welcome and affirms gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender persons to participate in the full life of our congregation. Our Anti-Racism Covenant acknowledges our ongoing journey to develop and implement strategies that dismantle racism through our adult and children's education, our Sunday services, our mission giving, our business practices and our community action.
Just like any covenant, these represent our ideals. The reality is we don’t always do a great job at living out our promises. Sometimes we allow ourselves to get offended by someone’s behavior and we stop looking for the image of the Divine in the one with whom we disagree. Sometimes we fail to support peace. Sometimes we forget that a covenant, it’s not a policy statement, but a promise about inclusive, loving relationships. Sometimes we are afraid to face our biases and privileges and so we don’t walk in the truth of our anti-racism covenant. But failure doesn’t mean it’s over. God isn’t done with us. We reevaluate. We ask forgiveness, when necessary. We reconcile with each other – in other words, we make it right. We ask God to give us a new heart. And we recommit. We always recommit.

We recommit ourselves to sharing a common human journey, and we covenant to value what is common among us over what separates us.

We recommit ourselves to appreciating our unique dignity and gifts, and we covenant to recognize and celebrate the variety of gifts among us.

We recommit ourselves to creating a better world, and we covenant to support and encourage our individual and common efforts towards its fulfillment.

We recommit ourselves to remembering that our lives are worthy of love, and so we covenant to help each other engage one another with compassion.

In other words, we covenant to value our common journey, to recognize and respect our individual dignity and gifts, to support the attainment of a better world, to praise the mystery, and to engage in the practices of a faith.

My job is to hold you to it. Your job is to hold me to it. Our job, is to keep at it. May it be so.