Sermon for February 14 / Lent 2

Storms and Stigmas

February 14, 2016

One day Jesus said to his disciples, “Let’s cross to the other side of the lake.” So they got into a boat and started out. As they sailed across, Jesus settled down for a nap. But soon a fierce storm came down on the lake. The boat was filling with water, and they were in real danger. The disciples went and woke him up, shouting, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” When Jesus woke up, he rebuked the wind and the raging waves. Suddenly the storm stopped and all was calm. Then he asked them, “Where is your faith?” The disciples were terrified and amazed. “Who is this man?” they asked each other. “When he gives a command, even the wind and waves obey him!” ~ Luke 8:22-25 NLT (See also, Luke 4:1-13)

Have you ever wondered if Jesus was mentally ill? If we take some of the stories of the gospel as vignettes that capture actual events in the life of Jesus, and we examine them through a modern psychological lens, Jesus can look like he has some mental health challenges.

Take the story we heard about the temptation of Jesus. He is alone in the desert, without food for 40 days.  Have you ever wondered what the effect of that is on the body? One study tracked an anonymous monk who undertook a 40-day fast, with no food intake at all except for daily communion, about 60 calories per day. After thoroughly measuring every baseline of health before the man started fasting, researchers took daily and weekly measurements until day 36. During this time, the monk lost around 34.5 pounds, and developed symptoms of severe low blood pressure, to the point where he needed almost half an hour just to stand up in the morning. The monk stopped his fast on day 36 when profound weakness interfered with his daily activities in the monastery. Now imagine Jesus in this compromised state -- hungry, thirsty, physically fatigued, emotionally exposed -- when he starts having conversations with the devil, who mystically transports Jesus from the desert to the ramparts of the Temple in Jerusalem and entices Jesus to hurl himself to the ground for God’s glory to be shown.

Can you imagine with me an alternative reading of this text? Can you imagine Jesus alone in the wilderness, fasting for 40 days, realizing that if he follows through on his plan to oppose the Roman occupation and preach subversive love, he will be killed? Can you imagine Jesus indulging a fantasy in which he wrestles with suicide instead of going through with the torture and death that he will face?

Or, consider the story of the calming of the storm. As Luke tells the story, Jesus and the disciples are on a boat ride on the Sea of Galilee. A violent squall explodes. Wind and waves flood the boat. Most of the disciples are fishermen. They know bad weather. They know the ins and outs of that lake. Even they are afraid of drowning. And Jesus just sleeps, like a gentle baby being rocked to sleep. Can you imagine a scenario with me where Jesus is so exhausted from the demands of his ministry, so tired and worn out, maybe even depressed, that not even a storm at sea can rouse him from sleep? Or, what if Jesus had acute hypersomnia, or excessive daytime sleepiness? The frightened disciples finally get Jesus to wake up. He seems annoyed, calming the storm, maybe so he can go back to sleep. Commentators always tell us this story is a reminder that Jesus brings peace to the chaos of the seas and the chaos of our minds – that Jesus removes fear from both. But, what if that story has its roots in a real experience of emotional fatigue or depression within Jesus himself?

It may be offensive to you to think about Jesus as suffering from mental illness. If that’s the case, I wonder if it’s because we have so stigmatized mental illness, we need to protect ourselves and our saviors from it. Why would it be so appalling to think that some of our most inspirational forebears might have experienced mental health illness? Why is it that we believe God cannot or will not work through people with mental health challenges? Do we think that mental illness is a condition that makes us less able to do God’s work, or unable to participate in worship meaningfully? Does mental illness somehow disqualify us from doing God’s work of building peaceable communities and establishing lives of compassionate justice?

And who just who do we think “these people” are? Statistics show us that one in four people will suffer from mental health illness during their lives. That figure is based on those who go for help; the true figure is likely to be even higher. That means in a congregation of 100 worshippers, at least 24 of us currently experience mental health issues. Mental health and illness are part of human living; they are often caused by life experience such as grief, trauma and loss. Breakdowns happen to most us and none of us should have to suffer in silence for fear of what others might think or say.

• 1 out of 100 of us will live with schizophrenia.
• 3 out of 100 of us will live with bi-polar disorder.
• 7 will experience major depression.
• 7 more will have an anxiety disorders.
• 11 of us, about one half of those who struggle with chronic mental illness, began suffering by the time they were 14 years old. We often don’t accept the fact that our children and youth are struggling until their suffering has gone on far too long.

I’m sure there are many of us here today who know about mental illness from our own personal experience, or through living with a family member with mental illness, or through professional involvement with clients and co-workers.  Mental illnesses are real conditions that occur in real people. They are not a sign of weakness or an excuse; they involve real suffering and need understanding and appropriate responses, just like any other condition from which we might suffer.

Here is what’s not helpful: Those who suffer don’t need people saying, “Pull yourself together,” or, “I’m so sorry for you.” And those who suffer do not need politicians blaming all episodes of public violence on mental illness, either. Certainly, the public conversation around gun control and mental illness, in which certain politicians place the blame for incidents of gun violence on the mentally ill, has not helped encourage people to talk about their own mental illness or to lend a hand to those in emotional crisis. A 2013 study out of the Johns Hopkins says that efforts to imply that all, or even most, incidents of gun violence are at the hands of the mentally ill only serves to increase the stigma directed towards those who suffer. Reports also indicate that the vast majority of gun violence is committed by people who are not mentally ill.

No wonder people are afraid. Stigmatizing mental illness in such a way – making it something dangerous, something to fear – isolates those who struggle and prevents people from getting help.

If we are following the teaching of Jesus – who suffers our human troubles and meets us where we are in life, who reaches out to us in empathy, in love and healing – then churches like CCC will be places of welcome, friendship and acceptance. It is our ministry to educate ourselves about mental health and to make sure that our welcome is appropriate and that no-one who enters our church experiences prejudice or feels stigmatized. 

Larry Duff brought the NAMI StigmaFree Pledge to my attention a couple of months ago. I printed information about it in the bulletin. I think committing to this pledge will help us fulfill our aim of being a church that welcomes people of all abilities. The pledge has three steps:

• Educate Yourself and Others 
• See the Person and Not the Illness 
• Take Action on Mental Health Issues

Our mental health care systems have been in crisis for far too long and often keep treatment and recovery out of the hands of many who need it. It used to be that only the rich could afford to get mental health care. Today, health insurers are required to cover the treatment of mental illnesses. The opportunity to talk with a caring professional who understands how the brain works, the chance to take medications that provide some relief from emotional pain, and the availability of emergency care to prevent harm to self or others are effective resources. Because of huge advances in public perception and brain research, people who otherwise might not be able to get out of bed are living, working, loving, and finding meaning in their lives.

I’ve read many online testimonies of Christians who talk about their mental health struggles. I appreciate one person who wrote these words: 

“Every time I face that dark abyss of suffering and survive to see another day, I see God’s faithfulness to me even more clearly. If I had the power to control my own life, I would avoid everything unpleasant or uncomfortable, but then I would never see God’s power to overcome evil and to shine light in the darkness. If I never suffered, I would never have any reason to grow or change. If I didn’t have these hard times, I wouldn’t have the chance to exercise my faith and grow in hope.”

She goes on to write: 

“I consider my mental illness to be a part of a spiritual gift of suffering … With every season of pain, I grow in compassion for others, in appreciation of God’s mercy and in the strength God gives me to handle pain and discomfort. As my capacity for suffering grows, so does my capacity to feel joy, peace and every other fruit of God’s Holy Spirit. God has used what, on the surface, seems like pointless and unredeemable misery and has turned it into my secret strength. God has used my illness and weakness to slowly and purposefully mold me into the beloved reflection of my creator, the ‘new creation’ that [God] intends me to be.”

She concludes with these words: 

“I don’t know why I am depressed. I don’t know why I am only apathetic when the sadness is gone. I don’t know why I am once again disgusted to be in my own skin. I don’t know why I am still fighting the same fight I have since as long as I can remember. I don’t know why I am so ready to give up. I don’t know why I am happiest when I am alone. I don’t know why I am having so much trouble finishing a single task. But I do know that I am not alone in my struggle. I know that there are others like me who don’t know what they need to get better or how others can help or why they feel the way they do. I know that bad things happen to good people and I know that just because you have a bad day it doesn’t mean you’re having a bad life. I know that tomorrow holds endless possibilities and that my future is but a few breaths away … I know that Christ loves me the same as he does a healthy person and the same as people who may be [sicker] that I am. I know that there is hope in a world so seemingly bleak. I know that there is calm before the storm but also that the storm wears itself out. I know that I have made it this far and I can make it one more day.”

Sources:

https://www.nami.org/Personal-Stories/My-Test#sthash.sY3l4FkL.dpuf

http://www.fumcogdenut.org/uploads/4/9/7/4/49741753/se150802.pdf

http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/practical-faith/where-god-mental-illness#G1lyY4a4FAPU6uVc.99

http://www.time-to-change.org.uk/sites/default/files/General%20Synod%20pack.pdf

http://paleoleap.com/long-fasts/

All in the Family: Faith Issues for Families Dealing with Addiction by Rita B. Hays, p 127

Sermon for February 7, 2016

Dazzle and Drop
Transfiguration Day

He was raised in the North Country. The child of a young, poor mother, he was an ordinary boy who did not seem to draw much attention to himself. Deep inside, however, he knew he had a special purpose – a destiny to fulfill. He burst on the scene out of nowhere. People began to notice that there was something special about this young man. He had talent and charisma. He was gifted like no other. It wasn’t long before he started attracting crowds. Thousands came to see and listen to him. As his fame spread, some grew jealous of him. But his popularity only increased. His followers thought he was brilliant.

One day had a personal transformation. His appearance changed. From that moment on, he began to lose popularity. Those who once believed in him began to criticize him. They mocked him. Some were afraid of him. Some wished for older days. And yet, the young man continued to share his message in the face of unbelief. By now you’ve probably figured out who I’m talking about . . . Justin Bieber, the pop music sensation.

In today’s gospel reading, we hear about the transformation, affirmation and decline of another popular hero. Listen for the Word . . .

Jesus took Peter, John and James with him and went up onto a mountain to pray. As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. Two men, Moses and Elijah, appeared in glorious splendor, talking with Jesus. They spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem. Peter and his companions were very sleepy, but when they became fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As the men were leaving Jesus, Peter said to him, “Master, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” (He did not know what he was saying.) While he was speaking, a cloud appeared and covered them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. A voice came from the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to him.” When the voice had spoken, they found that Jesus was alone. The disciples kept this to themselves and did not tell anyone at that time what they had seen. The next day, when they came down from the mountain, a large crowd met him. Luke 9:28-37

You’re drained. You’re tapped out. You have little energy to give others. We’ve all been there. Usually, after a little break, we revive and step back up to the plate. But what happens, when these feelings don’t go away? What happens when you just want to give up? If you have ever cared for an elderly parent or a sick child, or worked in health care or human services … or ministry … you might know what I’m talking about. Sometimes caregivers just give up. It’s called compassion fatigue. It refers to the exhaustion that takes a person over and causes a decline in one’s ability to experience joy and care for others. Over time, your ability to care for others erodes through overuse of your skills of compassion.

Compassion fatigue also affects us when we hear news of disasters, or mass shootings, or police brutality. Or whenever there’s a long-running news story that shows no signs of resolution. Viewers will tune out the most compelling story if it never changes.

Compassion fatigue happens when we wake up and we don't feel like checking the news. Isn’t there enough pain within ten miles of our homes to last us a lifetime? I could probably spend two or three hours a day just praying for the crushing needs of people I know. So how can I shoulder the rest of the world’s problems? Sometimes I think about the pain all around, and all I can do is sit and put my bleary face into my cupped hands in utter bewilderment.

In a way, the story of the transfiguration is a story about compassion fatigue. Imagine Jesus, seeking to be alone on the mountaintop. He thinks of what awaits him in Jerusalem. A foreboding pain stabs his wrists. He looks at his followers. They have no idea. He speaks of suffering; they think of conquering. He speaks of sacrifice; they think of celebration. He talks of wholeness, and all they want are more miracles. They think they hear. They think they see. But they don’t. Part of him knew it would be like this. And part of him never knew it would be so bad. Part of him wonders, Would it be so bad to give up? He has given his best and what does he have? A ragged band of good-hearted followers who are destined to fall flat on promises they can’t keep. Only God really knows the cost of the struggle. So Jesus sits down and puts his bleary face into cupped hands and prays. It’s all he can do.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it helper? You thought you could save the world one person at a time. You saw where you could best demonstrate your gifts of compassion, and you went there. But now you are tired, questioning your motives, feeling drained and useless, wondering when relief will come, kicking yourself for not having a back-up plan, resenting that you are the only one doing the work.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, dreamer, when the sharp rocks of reality cut your feet, breaking your stride . . . breaking your heart. And you found the role of the cynic was less costly than the role of the visionary?

Listen to what happens next. Jesus dazzles the disciples. For just a moment, radiance pours from Jesus. For a few minutes, the burden of humanity is lifted. As Jesus prepares himself for the work of death, two people from the past suddenly show up: Moses the lawgiver whose grave no one knew; Elijah the prophet who side-stepped death in a fiery chariot. The one who faces death is reminded that the grave is powerless. The One who feels weary is soon reminded that the weariness will soon pass.

And then, from the belly of the clouds, a Voice speaks: “This is my Son, chosen and loved. Listen to him.”

I think that could be our experience, too. God’s light reveals our need to be loved, our disappointment with ourselves, our shame and frustration, our deepest fears, our isolation and emptiness. In the transfiguring light of God, there is nowhere to hide. We stand stripped and vulnerable so we learn who we really … chosen and loved people of God. We are deeply treasured, fully accepted, and given the hope of a better world. God’s crazy in love with you. God thinks you are magnificent. When we are lost and weary, just when we are ready to sit on the sidelines and give up, God fills us with dazzling glory. God offers renewed hope, clearer vision, and mountaintop dreams.

The disciples, as usual, are scared – gripped by terror. And then , it’s over – except for one more thing. Luke says, the next day they had to come down the mountain. Show’s over. Time to pack up get back to work. A boy in the valley needs to be healed. Some disciples need to learn how to move from fear to faith. A cross waits in Jerusalem.

Our transformation is not complete until we drop back down to do God’s work back on earth. Fear Not. Have courage. Catch the vision. Spread the light. Let the God of suffering love lead you to the places where those who are broken cry out for wholeness. Listen to the call of those aching for justice. You won’t have to look for long or listen very hard. Let your own wounds lead you those who need healing.

Simon Bailey was an Anglican priest in a small traditional mining village in Yorkshire, England. He knew about struggling in the valley –he died of AIDS in 1995. But he also knew about the brilliance of God’s coming Kingdom.  Simon Bailey had a mountain top dream of God’s inclusive realm of love and peace. Listen to the words he wrote not long before his death:

I’m dreaming about a church of sensitivity and openness,
…of healing and welcome.
I’m dreaming about a community of friends
that celebrates differences and diversity and variety,
a community that is forgiving, cherishing, wide open.
I dream of women and men
who minister life and laughter and love;
…healing & harmony & hope;
I dream of the clear panorama of the vision of light
right at the top of the mountain.

How did a priest dying of AIDS fare in a traditional Yorkshire village? Well, the villagers received him with open arms. They set up care teams to help him. They wore scarlet ribbons to show the world their solidarity. No longer just a mountain top vision of the future, they became a community transfigured by compassion.

We are called to help create a world where the meek will come out on top; where the hungry go to the front of the food line; where the powerful wash the feet of the homeless; where children are protected and life is cherished. We actively promote wholeness, inclusion, and tolerance for all people, no matter who they are or where they come from, or how they got here. We work for justice, seek peace, give ourselves away in service to others, love our enemies, show respect to elders, love one another and honor ourselves.

Transfiguration Day turns us towards Lent. We have journeyed up the mountain to be reminded of God’s love. Now we drop down with Christ to a world of suffering and death. In that spirit, I close with poem from Mary Oliver called “When Death Comes.” Perhaps this can be our prayer as we journey down the mountain with Jesus.

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I made my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

Quietude, Stillness, and Silence

The Englewood Review of Books 

just added a book review I wrote to their Blog...

Check it out HERE

Sermon for January 17, 2016 / MLK Celebration

Dismantling Racism

For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus. And all who have been united with Christ in baptism have put on Christ, like putting on new clothes. There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus. Galatians 3:26-28

“It is an unhappy truth that racism is a way of life for the vast majority of white Americans, spoken and unspoken, acknowledged and denied, subtle and sometimes not so subtle--the disease of racism permeates and poisons a whole body politic. And I can see nothing more urgent than for America to work passionately and unrelentingly--to get rid of the disease of racism . . . I submit that nothing will be done until people of goodwill put their bodies and their souls in motion . . . We're going to win our freedom because both the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of the almighty God are embodied in our echoing demands. And so, however dark it is, however deep the angry feelings are, and however violent [the] explosions are, I can still sing "We Shall Overcome." We shall overcome because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Those words all come from a famous sermon by the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. titled "Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution.” Dr. King delivered this sermon at the National Cathedral, Washington, D.C., March 31, 1968.

So, how do you think we’re doing? Is Dr. King’s dream realized? Yes, we as a society have made gains. Yes, our awareness has grown and there’s no turning back. Yes, people of goodwill HAVE put their bodies and souls in motion. But, have we overcome? Is the will of Almighty God still heard in our demands for equality?

I’m not going to spend time arguing about whether racism still exists in America today. Here’s the assumption behind today’s sermon: Racism is still alive and well. In 2016 the venomous monster of racism still writhes and strikes pain.  How many times over the past two years have we watched yet another racially-profiled, unarmed Black youth shot dead?

Or heard astonishing words of forgiveness from grief-stricken relatives of murdered African Americans?

Or witnessed egomaniacal politicians branding undocumented immigrants as would-be rapists and desperate war refugees as likely terrorists?

Or watched hate-blinded souls attack mosques, synagogues and fellow Americans of a different faith?

Racism is alive and well, and it’s the job of the spiritual activist to confront it, condemn it, and dismantle it. For African Americans, for Latinos, for Native Americans, for other non-White ethnicities, the dream of true equality has taken too long to come true. We have been dreaming about a world of true peace and equality for a long, long time. We’ve been dreaming it since the Apostle Paul first taught about God’s realm where there is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, but all are united and all are one in the love of God. We seem to make some progress towards it, but that dream is not yet fulfilled.

Black and white is taught to us from an early age. In his book, Uprooting Racism, Paul Kivel says whiteness has defined our culture for hundreds of years -- so much so that it has even made its way into our language and our values. Embedded in our language is the idea that the color white and the people associated it are good. Dark colors, and those connected with them are dangerous, threatening or manipulative. Consider this list of words: black deed, black list, black market, black-hearted, blackmail, black sheep, black magic, black death, black mark, black mood, black with rage, dark ages, the dark side, to be in the dark, yellow bellied, yellow peril, red menace, redskin, great white hope, white knight, whitewash, white wedding, white as pure snow. Our words put a derogatory racial meaning on darkness while conveying a positive spin on whiteness When we become aware, then we can continue to look for ways to talk that are not only respectful, but run counter to centuries of exploitation and domination.

I want to believe that each one of us longs to live up to our own best hopes. We all desire a world of equality, and even healing, where the suffering of the past can be salved and the future can be built on new trust. But it takes a lot of hard work, doesn’t it? Dismantling racism means we need to take a hard look at everything – even our words! Like many progressives, I’d like to skip this work. I’d like my actions and good intentions to speak for themselves. I’d like to think that I’m beyond the need for examining racism in society. As pastor of an inclusive church, I’d like to be able to affirm that we welcome all people just like God welcomes all people without having to single out a particular group for special attention. But racism troubles me – it troubles us all whether we sense its venom or not.  Its fangs are embedded deeply in our society. And talking about it is difficult.

My question is not whether racism exists. My question is, how are we going to dismantle it? We at CCC call ourselves an Anti-Racist congregation. But what does that mean to us today? Are we confronting systems of domination? Are we hoping to be multi-cultural? Both of these hopes are expressed in our Anti-racism covenant, printed in the front of your bulletin. Each hope has a different worldview and a different hoped-for outcome.

An Anti-racism worldview says, “The world is controlled by powerful systems with historic roots. Once people are shown how they benefit from or are battered by those systems, they can work together to change the systems.” The hoped-for outcome is to bring about social change.

A Diversity and Multiculturalism worldview is a little different. It says, “The world is filled with a multitude of complex cultures, constantly intersecting and shaping each other. As people grow to understand & appreciate their own culture and cultures around them, they will be better able to cooperate and overcome mutual problems.” The hoped-for outcome is tolerance and awareness of cultural differences.

We could also talk about a healing and reconciliation worldview, which says, “The world is filled with groups that have been traumatized & victimized by historic events. When the oppressing group acknowledges & apologizes for these injustices, individual and social healing, reconciliation & transformation can occur.” The hoped-for outcome is individual transformation.

None one of these is better than the other. They have some overlapping goals. When it’s all said and processed, the task of the spiritual activist is to invest in relationships, to listen to each other with reverence, to speak from the heart, to deal with conflict, and to honor all people.

Last year at this time, we raised our first Black Lives Matter banner outside and saw it defaced with spray paint. We had a conversation in this sanctuary about why Black Lives Matter, with our banner hanging over the chancel. We put lawn signs on Colesville Road  and invited one another to take them home and put them in our yards as a continuing testament to our pursuit of justice. Last Summer, many of us gathered on the church lawn to hold a public prayer vigil in honor of Black lives slain in a Charleston South Carolina church, and we rededicated ourselves to our own anti-racism commitments. CCC’s Racial Justice Circle, in the meantime, has been meeting to talk about issues from prison reform and the New Jim Crowe to racism against youth. Some of our members lead discussion groups. Some of our members offer tutoring to women coming out of prison.  We will have a presentation in church soon from a county prosecutor who will tell us firsthand about issues of racism in the justice system. We have met with other local churches to talk about our anti-racism approaches. I don’t want you to think we are doing nothing. It’s just that many of these efforts are led by individuals with a vision. They are not necessarily plans embraced by the entire congregation. So, our efforts tend to be smaller.

We hung another Black Lives Matter banner last Summer, which was not only cut up and left damaged, but came with a threatening picture of a white reporter being shot by an armed Black Man, taped to the doors of our church.  I think that’s when a lot of us started to feel some fear. Some people weren’t sure if it was safe to come to worship that Sunday. Some worried that our message was offensive or overly provocative. Since then, when it comes to Black Lives Matter, we’ve been stalled. Lots of ideas swirling around, but not much action.

“We’re just really busy people,” I hear you. I know. I get it. I’m a busy person myself.
“We are not united on this as a congregation,” I hear others say. I want us to have a united front, too. I want us to have time to talk and understand the issues.

But let me be clear. When we, as White Christians, claim busyness or fear as reasons for inaction, we are invoking our privilege. When we take time to talk about how we are going to talk about racism, but never get to the wider discussions, we are invoking privilege.
Here’s what I mean by that. When it comes to racism, privilege means Whites get a choice. We get to choose to avoid provoking anger from our neighbors by not talking about how Black Live Matter. We get to choose when we are finally not too busy to talk about our anti-racism commitments. We get to choose whether fear will keep us from worship. We get to choose whether we want to see the monster of racism for what it is, or turn the other way.

I had two more Black Lives Matter lawn signs left in my office. I put them on Colesville Road this morning. I didn’t even ask anyone. I’m not claiming any extraordinary braveness here. It’s my special way of proclaiming that now time to pick up these conversations and pair them with action.

If we want to be spiritual activists who address society’s problems with prayerful action, we need to confront racism on systemic, institutional, and individual levels. Because, for all the work we’ve done, racism lurks everywhere. I cannot think of one area of American life that is not touched by this ongoing evil.


For Dr. King, the only way to destroy the beast was through non-violent love. He knew if enough people ... lived in nonviolent protest against systemic evil, against the normalcies of this world's discrimination, exploitation and oppression - the result would be a new world we could hardly imagine. The idea that we can actually create such a just, peaceful world by fastening ourselves to non-violent love is almost unbelievable. When we try, we can’t seem to sustain it.

I believe change is in the air. When we turn to God’s non-violent will, God’s non-violent will circle back to us.  Nonviolence is based on the conviction that the universe is on the side of justice. Turning, conversion, change – these are all ways of stepping out of the way we’ve always done it, so we can live into God’s promise of redemption and release.

What did we do when our souls were opened to the cruelty around us? I’d like to say we ran. We ran away from our fears of inadequacy and ran to compassionate justice. We ran to non-violent love that confronts violence and inequality wherever we find it. We ran to the kind of love that challenges prejudicial jokes or remarks. We ran to the kind of love that challenges the purveyors and sponsors of hatred. We ran to the kind of love that that steps up against gun violence. We ran to the kind of love that explores new frontiers of equality, whether it be transgender rights, food security for those who are hungry, or immigration reform on our borders, or Black Lives Matter in our own backyards. We ran to the kind of love that puts into practices the words and example of Dr. King:

 “We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late...Over the bleached bones and jumbled residue of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: ‘too late.’... Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter — but beautiful —struggle for a new world.”

Dr. King knew that it was not up to God to deliver anyone from racism. God is not that kind of deity. Dr. King might say that you cannot wait for miracles. You have to march forward and seize them. We do the work of liberating ourselves from hatred – beginning in the modest places of our longing souls and always reaching out – with our words, our actions, our prayers, our love and our hands – to all souls – to all souls. This is how we can be made whole again. This is how the world can be made whole again and all her people one.
 
Sources:
• http://www.turnto23.com/south_county/29344576/detail.html
• http://racismtoday.blogspot.com/
• http://www.ccuu.org/sermons/Sermon%202010-01-17%20MLK.pdf
• Dan Harper, The Weary Blues, http://danielharper.org/archive/?cat=28
• Avraham Weiss, The Spiritual Activist: A Jewish Guide to Leadership and Repairing the World.
• Paul Kivel, Uprooting Racism: How White People can Work for Racial Justice
• http://webmedia.unmc.edu/community/citymatch/CityMatCHUndoingRacismReport.pdf
• http://www.splcenter.org/get-informed/publications/teaching-the-movement
• http://www.ejrc.cau.edu/PovpolEj.html
http://whosoever.org/v3i6/amanda.html
https://www.ualberta.ca/~cbidwell/DCAS/third.htm
http://moltmanniac.com/james-cones-critique-nonviolence/

Meditation for December 20, 2015 / Advent 4

When I first came to CCC about 4 ½ years ago, the church gave me a gift – a fir tree. I planted it in our yard. This time of year, it is the one of the few reminders of life. When skies grow dark, and leafy trees stand barren, that fir tree insists that light and life will return. I’m reminded of a story from the Cherokee tradition called Why Some Trees are Ever Green. When the plants and trees were first created, the Great Mystery decided to give a gift to each different species. But first, there was a contest to see which gift would be the most useful to whom. "I want all of you to stay awake and keep watch over the earth for seven nights," the Great Mystery told the plants and trees. The young plants and trees were so excited to be trusted with watching over the earth that they had no trouble staying awake the first night. The second night was not so easy and a few of them fell asleep as dawn approached. On the third night, they tried to whisper to each other in order to stay awake but many fell asleep. On the fourth night, even more slept. By the seventh night, even the beautiful larch had fallen asleep. The only plants still awake were the cedar, the pine, the spruce, the fir, the holly and the laurel. The Great Mystery exclaimed to them, "What wonderful endurance you have!" "You shall have the very special gift of remaining green forever. You will be the guardians of the forest. Even in the dead of winter, your brother and sister creatures will find that life is protected in your branches."

So it is, down to this day. In the dead of this season, when all the other trees lose their leaves, the evergreens stay verdant and awake. While other trees sleep, evergreens give us a sense of life. The evergreens are defiant.

I think Christian should be more like evergreens. Because there is a lot darkness, emptiness, and inhospitality in our lives, and at Christmas time, we have a chance to defy them. We have plenty to resist. Perhaps our health is not good. Maybe the ones you love and care for are failing. Perhaps you are waiting for test results over the holidays. Perhaps our finances are not where they should be. Maybe some of our relationships are difficult and needing repair. Perhaps a job is not secure. Perhaps you panic when the news comes on and you face the fact that fear and hatred seem to claim more authority than compassion and peacebuilding.

This year, I want a defiant Christmas. In the midst of the shadows, I want to be an evergreen, offering a perpetual reminder that life can return to the fallow areas of our world. As much as I want to wait until all light, and fertile, and promising once again, Christmas invites us to celebrate in the midst of the darkness, bleakness, and lack of hospitality in our world. How about you? What might you do to defy fear? What might you do to defy hopelessness? What might you do to defy hatred? What can we do to defy all that tries to tear us down and destroy us when our lives are not completely where we want them to be?

I leave you with a blessing this Christmas -- one that was written in 1513 by Fra Giovanni. “I salute you and there is nothing I can give which you have not, but there is much while I cannot give it, you may take it. No heaven can come to us unless we find it in our hearts today. So take heaven. No joy can come to us, unless it comes to us in this present moment. Take joy. No peace can come to us, unless we find it right now. Take peace.”

As we await the return of the light, I greet you with the prayer that for you, now and forever, your spirit is evergreen.

Sermon for December 13, 2015

When Men Dance and Women Sing

Mary got up and traveled to a town in Judah in the hill country, straight to Zachariah’s house, and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby in her womb leaped. She was filled with the Holy Spirit, and sang out exuberantly,

You’re so blessed among women,
    and the babe in your womb, also blessed!
And why am I so blessed that
    the mother of my Lord visits me?
The moment the sound of your
    greeting entered my ears,
The babe in my womb
    skipped like a lamb for sheer joy.
Blessed woman, who believed what God said,
    believed every word would come true!

And Mary said,

I’m bursting with God-news;
    I’m dancing the song of my Savior God.
God took one good look at me, and look what happened—
    I’m the most fortunate woman on earth!
What God has done for me will never be forgotten,
    the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
    on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
    scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
    pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
    the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
    he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It’s exactly what he promised,
beginning with Abraham and right up to now. Luke 1:39-55

I saw a video on Facebook that was the best thing I had seen all week. In a green field, standing in an open semi, circle stand 5 older Greek men – perhaps in their 70s and 80s. A drum and accordion begin to play, and, one at a time, the men step into the circle and begin to dance. Like an ancient riddle, every step seems to have meaning and purpose. Each man has a fire in his eyes, and even if their limbs are tired or frail, the dance renews them. I love watching that video. I made my kids watch it –twice. The caption had these words – part of a song by Maria Broom:

When the men dance ... the wolves stop howling.
When the men dance ... the dogs stop barking.
When the men dance ... the ladies start screaming.
When the men dance ... people stop fighting, stop fussing, stop killing, stop cussing!

Click Here for Video

I love it! What a great message for these time of violence, fear, and division. Imagine a world where instead of using public hate speech as a way to garner votes, people like Donald Trump danced with Nihad Awad, the Executive Director of the Council on American-Islamic Relations – no cameras or reporters allowed. If we danced some more, maybe we would not have as much time to fear each other and get caught up in our divisions. When the men dance, people stop fighting.

I saw another video that reminded me of the difference between good and bad policing in our communities. In the video, a white, female Washington D.C. police officer arrives on the scene of a fight to break it up.  When she gets to K St SW, the officer sees a 17-year-old, African-American student dancing to the popular song “Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae)”. The officer reportedly told the girl she could dance better, and one of the teens challenged the cop to a dance-off, which the officer accepted.  The officer brings her A-game. Slightly hindered by her police gear, she keeps up with the teen, who gyrates effortlessly to the Nae Nae dance. The officer seems to be doing a little bit more of a freestyle dance, but she keeps pace with the teen. In the end, the students walk off without a fight and the officer leaves without escalating the violence.

Click Here for Video

When the women dance... the earth stops trembling.
When the women dance... the babies stop crying.
When the women dance... the men start listening.
When the women dance... the angels and ancestors sing!

When the children dance... the winds stop blowing.
When the children dance... the oceans stop rolling.
When the children dance... the people start smiling.
When the children dance... we all sing together!

 What a world we would live in with more dancing and less shooting!

The same goes for singing. Today’s scripture reading is all about listening to women sing. It starts off with us listening in as Elizabeth croons to Mary about the blessings of women who hear and respond to God’s activity in the world. She sings, “Blessed woman who believes what God said…” Blessed woman?

When God announces this most important moment in history, the message comes to the world through … two women!?  Women were considered to be inferior to men, and under the authority of men. In the eyes of the world, Elizabeth and Mary are of little to no consequence. Elizabeth is too old to be pregnant. Mary is young and not married enough to be pregnant. And the first to receive God’s message of the coming kingdom are these two pregnant women. God doesn’t give the news to the Roman Emperor. God doesn’t give the news to a governor, or to one of the temple’s high priests. God doesn’t put up billboards or go on CNN. God goes to two ordinary, women on the margins of society. Elizabeth carries the messenger, and Mary carries the Message. They are not forgotten, anonymous pawns. They are women and they are blessed!

After Elizabeth sings, Mary also bursts into song. We begin to get the idea that Mary and Elizabeth aren’t just singing songs of praise but songs of subversion.  Mary sings about God who scatters the proud, who lowers powerful rulers, who raises up the lowly, who feeds the hungry, and who turns away those who allow their fellow human beings to go hungry when they have plenty. Mary sings a song with the power to turn the world upside down. The high are brought low and the low are brought high, the first will be last and the last will be first.

If I’m remembering right, I think her son said something very similar.

Mary’s song is the cry of a young, pregnant, unwed mother living among a people oppressed by an occupying force. Her song is so dangerous, the Guatemalan president banned the reading of it in the 1980s because it was seen as encouraging rebellion against his genocidal military junta. The song of a young, pregnant, unwed mother was a danger to the state!  Mary’s song was also banned in Argentina when mothers rose up to cry for justice for their missing children in the 1970’s. During the British rule of India, Mary’s song was banned from being sung in churches. In Nicaragua, Mary’s song was often kept as an amulet, worn by poor peasants.

Mary’s song is a song of subversion. Mary’s song insists that oppression of the poor is not the will of God and that when God’s kingdom arrives fully, the tyrant will have no power.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the minister who plotted to overthrow Hitler and was executed by the Nazis, said this:  “The song of Mary is the oldest Advent hymn. It is at once the most passionate, the wildest, one might even say the most revolutionary Advent hymn ever sung. This is not the gentle, tender, dreamy Mary whom we sometimes see in paintings. This song has none of the sweet, nostalgic, or even playful tones of some of our Christmas carols. It is instead a hard, strong, inexorable song about the power of God and the powerlessness of humankind.”

Can you imagine what might happen if, instead of schmaltzy and cloying hymns, our Christmas carols were songs of subversion?

Imagine if, when we sing, “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” it’s not just an opening hymn on Christmas Eve, but a summons to gather in courage and faith, beckoning us to revolt against the pains and upheavals of the world! Imagine when we sing, “Joy to the World,” which, by the way was originally an Easter hymn, our greatest joy is found in working with Christ to knock tyrants off their high horses, pull victims out of the mud, and invite the starving poor to sit at our banquets! When we sing “What child is this” about the baby sleeping on Mary’s lap, imagine what happens when we remember a child who was:

Helpless and hungry, lowly, afraid
Wrapped in the chill of midwinter;
Comes now among us, born into poverty’s embrace,
new life for the world.

 When we sing about the baby, tucked safely away in the manger, imagine we also remember that humility is put in service to the least of God’s people …

To lowliest manger, where animals feed,
Comes Jesus, redeemer of all human need.
May we bear the Christ Child to all whom we meet
By living God's justice and washing their feet.

Imagine when we sing, “O Little Town of Bethlehem” we could also sing …

When lives of humble service preach
The Good News to the poor,
When troubled minds or bodies find
A welcome at our door,
When healing hearts and hands lift
The lowly from the dust,
Then ring the bells and sing Noels:
For Christ is born in us.

Imagine our most peaceful Christmas song, “Silent Night,” as our cry for hope in life’s shadows …

Silent night, holy night!
When will peace conquer might?
Pray that justice will set victims free,
Those who are shackled to bleak poverty.
Christ be born in each heart,
Christ be born in each heart.

May our songs call for justice, and resistance, and trust in God who uses the most unlikely of us to turn the world upside down.

When the men sing and dance... the wolves stop howling.
When the men sing and dance... the dogs stop barking.
When the men sing and dance... the ladies start screaming.
When the men sing and dance... people stop fighting, stop fussing, stop killing, stop cussing!

When the women sing and dance... the earth stops trembling.
When the women sing and dance... the babies stop crying.
When the women sing and dance... the men start listening.
When the women sing and dance... the angels and ancestors sing!

When the children sing and dance... the winds stop blowing.
When the children sing and dance... the oceans stop rolling.
When the children sing and dance... the people start smiling.
When the children sing and dance... we all sing together!

So let the women sing and dance!
And let the men sing and dance!
Let the children sing and dance!
Let's all dance together! 

Sources:
http://www.mariabroom.com/when-women-dance
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3295611/We-need-cops-like-Teen-challenges-police-officer-Nae-Nae-dance-shocked-accepts-epic-dance-ensues.html#ixzz3twEEIT2s
http://revchrisroth.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-dangerous-and-subversive-song-of.html
https://simpleliving.startlogic.com/indexoth.php?place=archives/Articles/Carols.php
https://sojo.net/articles/what-are-you-singing/what-are-you-singing-what-child-child-poor
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEkdr62eVMY

Sermon for November 29, 2015 / Advent 1

The Days are Coming

Christian Century magazine published a commentary on the secularization of Christmas in 1986. The author asked, “What if most of what people knew of Christmas was what they heard in Christmas songs and in fables told to children? Worst of all, what if all they knew about the Christmas celebration was how we actually live it?” What might the Christmas story sound like if it were told incorporating all the various myths, misunderstandings and attitudes that in fact saturate our celebration?

“Once upon a time, a decree went out from Caesar in August that everyone should be taxed so that the deficit would not get too big. Joseph and Mary traveled to Bethlehem. Mary rode on a donkey named Rudolph, who was embarrassed to be seen carrying an unwed mother. He blushed so at the thought that his nose glowed red. Upon arriving at Bethlehem, they could not find a place to stay (It was, after all, the Christmas season, and the press of tourists was crushing). As they knocked at the door of the last inn in town, the innkeeper pushed back the shutter and threw up the sash. His figure appeared so nimble and quick. They knew in a moment his name must be Nick. Meanwhile in a field nearby, seven dwarfs who were shepherds were startled to hear a group of angels singing Handel's Messiah. At the end of the concert, they were told to stand up and to go to Bethlehem. So off they marched to the beat of their friend, the little drummer boy. When they arrived at the stable, they met Joseph, Mary, the child and a man made famous in song, Round John Virgin.”

Christian Century suggested that we mistake the true meaning of Christmas with the "Celebration of Santa Christ," the "Sweet Baby Syndrome," and the "Mercantile Messiah Motif."

Santa Christ is the jolly god who lives far, far away. He only gets mentioned once a year. Santa Christ a convenient excuse for celebration.

The Sweet Baby Syndrome celebrates the lovable infant in his crib, smiling and cooing. He doesn't make any demands on anyone. He just lies there and looks sweet. He spends most of the year in the closet with all the other Nativity scene supplies. But, once a year, we get him out, dust him off and say, “What a sweet baby.” Of course, we always put him back in the closet when the New Year begins.

The Mercantile Messiah proclaims that Christmas is all about buying stuff. “Christmas is all about giving, so let us sell you something that you can give to somebody else,” say the advertisements.

The problem with Santa Christ, Sweet Baby and the Mercantile Messiah is that they come and go but they never change anyone. They don’t reveal anything about God. They don’t make demands. They never ask followers to inventory their lives and get rid of everything that masks true nature of God.

I invite you to listen to another Scripture reading – This from the mouth of Jesus as told by Luke. His followers ask him about future time of destruction. They want to know what to look for when the end is near. Jesus says:

“And there will be strange signs in the sun, moon, and stars. And here on earth the nations will be in turmoil, perplexed by the roaring seas and strange tides. People will be terrified at what they see coming upon the earth, for the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then everyone will see the Son of Man coming on a cloud with power and great glory. So when all these things begin to happen, stand and look up, for your salvation is near!” Then he gave them this illustration: “Notice the fig tree, or any other tree. When the leaves come out, you know without being told that summer is near. In the same way, when you see all these things taking place, you can know that the Kingdom of God is near. I tell you the truth, this generation will not pass from the scene until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will disappear, but my words will never disappear. Watch out! … Keep alert at all times. And pray that you might be strong enough to escape these coming horrors and stand before the Son of Man.”

Luke 21:25ff, New Living Translation

What do these promises about the future mean when we are caught up in trying to do all we can do right here and now in the present? What do they mean when we are struggling to live one day at a time – when we are trying to be all things to all people? What do they mean when we watch the news or read the paper and discover that senseless horrors continue in our world, in our nation – even in our own backyards; that crime, and starvation, and terrorism, and war, and earthquakes, and floods abound and seem to be increasing?

How dare we rejoice? How do we stand, watch and pray, when the world around us calls out for so much more?

I know myself well enough to be aware when I am focusing so much on what’s wrong in this world, I lose my sense of context. Sometimes I feel almost paralyzed by all the anger and fear. How about you? Are there one or two things that you tend to focus on that cause you to lose your context? What types of situations flood you with worry and cause your stomach to twist in knots, and your mind to lose perspective on the big picture?

If I’m being honest with myself, sometimes my global, apocalyptic worries are distractions that keep me from digging too deeply into my own personal areas of growth that need attention. It’s difficult to live every day believing that there may be no tomorrow.

“Be on guard,” says Jesus,  so you don’t get weighed down with constructing anxieties and the amusements we use to relieve them. Be on guard against that paralyzing self-absorption that holds us in place and keeps us from mending up the shredded fabric of our communities. Jesus says, “Take care! Stay alert! Stand up and raise your heads because the Kingdom is coming.”

Jesus’ offers an antidote to our worldly cynicism. He offers a new perspective on our anxieties. His words are meant to raise the heads and lift the hopes of those who don’t get justice.

I want us to realize that this passage was not written for most of us. These scary texts – we call them apocalyptic texts – were written for those who had no hope. They were written for people who had been put down by the Roman Empire – people from whom all had been taken. People who lived in poverty. People who lived under oppressive military occupation. These words were written for those whose poverty-stricken lives were seen as nothing more than a tax revenue stream for greedy political elites.

These words were not written with a person like me in mind. I’m a person of privilege. I have the luxury to hope when times are hard, and rely on self-sufficiency when times are good. I can choose when to use my privilege to leverage social change and when to invoke my privilege for my own comfort.  In our country, people who are victimized, or persecuted; those who are treated as less because they are not white, or Christian, or heterosexual, or male, or able-bodied, or able-minded, or living below the poverty level; they don’t get a choice about how they will be treated today. I think of African American friends who tell me about the fear they have just walking out the door each day, wondering what types of aggressions or threats they may encounter and what the appearance the face of racism will take – and that’s here in Montgomery County.

If we believe Jesus is coming, then we affirm that Jesus is coming to be with those who need hope that their lives can be better.

I think Jesus comes to march with Black Lives Matter protesters in Chicago and Baltimore.

I think Jesus comes to walk along side Syrian Muslim refugees.

Jesus comes to stand with victims of gun violence and the families who cannot get the most basic safety regulations put in place.

Jesus feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, and goes behind bars with prisoners who serve decades of jail sentences for petty crimes.

In fact, Jesus is not just coming. Jesus is already here. Jesus us here in you and me, in the hands, feet, and hearts of anyone who reaches out to offer even the faintest glimmer of hope with works of compassionate justice that can make our communities healthier.

Can justice really come to the earth? Can husbands quit beating up their wives, and can wives quit blaming themselves? Can Arabs and Israelis look into each other’s eyes and see a brother or a sister? Can some who struggle with addictions, or with diseases that trap us, can we be liberated by God, and start to walk tall in the Kingdom of God? Can Jesus Christ appear among us in some way that our minds can never imagine in a scenario that would simply erase our smug confidence about where the lines of reality are drawn?

The answer is yes, because Christ is coming to us, and Christ is working through us. We pray for those who cannot pray anymore. We hope for those without much hope left. And one more thing, one more tough thing. We work in the same direction as we hope, drawn forward by the magnet force of the Kingdom of God.

A story is told -- Two hundred twenty years ago the Connecticut House of Representatives was in session on a bright day in May, and the delegates were able to do their work by natural light. But then something happened that nobody expected. Right in the middle of debate, the day turned to night. Clouds obliterated the sun, and everything turned to darkness. Some legislators thought it was the Second Coming. So a clamor arose. People wanted to adjourn. People wanted to pray. People wanted to prepare for the coming of the Lord. But the speaker of the House had a different idea. He was a Christian believer, and he rose to the occasion with good logic and faith. “We are all upset by the darkness,” he said, “and some of us are afraid. But, the Day of the Lord is either approaching or it is not. If it is not, there is no cause for adjournment. And if the Lord is returning, I, for one, choose to be found doing my duty. I therefore ask that candles be brought.” And those who expected Jesus went back to their desks and resumed their debate.

That’s how I want to be found – doing my duty as one who professes to follow Christ.

The world is filled with so many problems, both global and personal. There will always be something that challenges our faith. But in all the waiting, I don’t want us to miss a chance to know the true nature of God. I don’t want us to miss seeing what God is doing. I don’t want us to miss out on participating in what God is doing. I don’t want us to be so distracted with the pain around us – and inside of us – that we fail to recognize the presence of Christ. And I don’t want us to be so distracted by the allure of the mercantile Messiah or lulled by the Sweet Baby in the Manger that we forget a Savior who fully immerses God’s self in all of the world’s pains through the coming of the Christ.

Today, we have an opportunity to think about how each of us is can shine the light of and can put our core faith values into practice. We have a chance to listen for God, in our times of grief and our moments of gratitude, to seek God’s highest aims for the world, to think about our connections and interconnections. And think about making some commitments.

•  Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to destroy the life or spirit of     others.
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to take what is not given.
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to engage in abusive     relationships
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to speak falsely or deceptively.
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to harm self or others through     poisonous thoughts or deeds
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to dwell on past errors.
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to speak of self separate from     others.
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to possess any form of life selfishly.
• Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, I vow not to harbor ill-will toward any human being.

When we can work on these things, we will begin to understand the true nature of God, always coming to us, always at work in us, around us, and through us this season.