Sermon for September 9, 2012

Partners

Before there was anything, there was God, a few angels, and a huge swirling glob of rocks and water with no place to go. The angels asked God, “Why don’t you clean up this mess?” So God collected rocks from the huge swirling glob and put them together in clumps and said, “Some of these clumps of rocks will be planets, and some will be stars, and some of these rocks will be . . . just rocks.” Then God collected water from the huge swirling glob and put it together in pools of water and said, “Some of these pools of water will be oceans, and some will become clouds, and some of the water will be...just water.” Then the angels said, “Well, God, it’s neater now, but is it finished?”

And God answered: “NOPE!”

On some of the rocks God placed growing things, and creeping things, and things that only God knows what they are, and when God had done all this, the angels asked God, “Is the world finished now?”

 And God answered: “NOPE!”

God made a man and a woman from some of the water and dust and said to them, “I am tired now. Please finish up the world for me — really it’s almost done.” But the man and woman said, “We can’t finish the world alone! You have the plans, and we are too little.”

“You are big enough,” God answered them. “But I agree to this. If you keep trying to finish the world, I will be your partner.” The man and the woman asked, “What’s a partner?” and God answered, “A partner is someone you work with on a big thing that neither of you can do alone. If you have a partner, it means that you can never give up, because your partner is depending on you. On the days you think I am not doing enough and on the days I think you are not doing enough, even on those days we are still partners and we must not stop trying to finish the world. That ’s the deal.” And they all agreed to that deal.

Then the angels asked God, “Is the world finished yet?” and God answered, “I don’t know. Go ask my partners.” From Does God Have a Big Toe by Rabbi Marc Gellman

In the first century, the great question was one of boundaries. Where would the lines be drawn that would determine who should hear the gospel and who would not. It is a question the church has not yet answered. Marcus Borg writes about this in his book Meeting Jesus Again for the Very First Time. "The struggle between compassion and purity goes on in the churches today. In parts of the church there are groups that emphasize holiness and purity as the Christian way of life, and they draw their own sharp social boundaries between the righteous and sinners. It is a sad irony that these groups, many of which are seeking very earnestly to be faithful to Scripture, end up emphasizing those parts of Scripture that Jesus himself challenged and opposed. An interpretation of Scripture faithful to Jesus and the early Christian movement sees the Bible through the lens of compassion, not purity."

Perhaps this is what’s happening in our Scripture reading from Mark 7:25-30.

A woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about [Jesus], and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

Yes, it’s as bad as it sounds. Jesus calls this woman a dog. He knows what any Jew of his day would know; that this woman does not belong at the table with God’s chosen people. She shouldn’t be asking for Jesus’ help. She has her own people, her own healers, her own teachers. Why trouble Jesus? He doesn’t belong to her. She isn’t one of his people. She is an outsider. She’s a dog, and Jesus tells her so. This insult may get lost on us because most of us like dogs. Dogs are cute Dogs are fun. We have them as pets and companions. Dogs become part of the family. I once read that Leona Helmsley left $12 million in her will for her dog. What’s so bad about being a dog, especially if are Leona Helmsley’s dog? Well, in 1st century Palestine, there was no such thing as a domestic dog. The only dogs were wild dogs, scavengers, eating unclean animals and even human carcasses. For Jesus to call this Gentile woman a dog meant that she was unclean and shouldn’t be hanging around Jews. She comes from an unclean people and an unclean spirit possesses her daughter. And Jesus is the Jewish Messiah, the one who came to clean up Israel, to redeem the Jews from impurity. Jesus comes to heal the children of Israel and Jesus will not waste what he has to give on people like this woman and her daughter. As far as Jesus is concerned, they are not part of God’s plan.

At least that’s what I used to think is happening in the beginning of this story. Lately, I’ve approached this text differently. What if Jesus does get it? In fact, what if Mark tells this story to confront some people who are not even mentioned in the text? Let me explain.

In Jesus’ day, Jewish people operated around a strict set of purity codes. Scripture declares, "You yourselves know how unlawful it is for a Jew to associate with or to visit anyone of another nation" (Acts 10:28). The Apocrypha confirms this. One text says, "Separate yourselves from the nations, and eat not with them . . . For all their works are unclean, and all their ways are a pollution and an abomination and uncleanness" (Jubilees 22:16). So, a purity map developed – like an organizational flowchart that showed where everyone fit in. Everyone knew their place on the chart. Gentiles and Samaritans were out. Morally unclean Jews, like tax collectors, were on the bottom of the chart. Lepers, the poor, widows and those with disabilities were just a step above public sinners on the unclean side of the list. Observant Jews were somewhere in the middle. Religious officials were on the super-pure side of the chart. Everyone knew their purity rating. And everyone knew the rules: those of lesser purity rank should ever intrude on the space of those with higher purity status. And those with high status must always protect their purity by staying away with those who are lower on the map.

According to Jewish religion and culture, Jesus would was expected to avoid all contact with impurity. He was expected to honor the lines and boundaries. But in Mark's gospel, we meet a holy man who seems to trample on all the boundaries of his day. Jesus comes in contact with unclean people: he voluntarily touches a leper, he is touched by a ritually unclean woman and he calls an unclean tax collector and known public sinner to be an disciple. Jesus travels regularly in Samaritan and Gentile territory, crossing boundaries he ought not to cross and exposing himself to pollution on every side. And, while in unclean territory, he speaks with unclean people like the Syrophoenician woman in today’s text.

I think Mark is using Jesus as a way to criticize and re-write the religious purity codes that are still marginalizing desperate people. At first, when Jesus calls the woman a dog, Mark puts the theology of the Pharisees in Jesus’ mouth. It’s a set up. It looks like Jesus is going to tow the party line and reject her. The woman represents all who are excluded by an unjust system. She speaks up for herself. She confronts the oppressive theology. That’s when Jesus turns the system upside down. He offers covenant blessing to outsiders. Mark wants us to know that people and their needs come before rules. Those obsessed with purity emphasize God’s holiness. Jesus emphasizes God’s mercy. Those focused on purity build walls to protect themselves from defilement. Jesus goes out and touches human need. They are working from two radically different sets of assumptions. In Mark’s gospel, the Pharisees symbolize order and regulation. Jesus symbolizes mercy and mission.

And the woman who gets called a dog -- it turns out she is no dog at all. Like I said, it’s a set up. Kind of a reverse psychology. She’s not a dog. No, she is a partner. She and Jesus work to eliminate exclusion and show that anyone can have a right relationship with God. Before all else, before God seeks us out as a lover, a servant or a worshiper, God makes us partners. That is our fundamental, primitive relationship with God. Partners. In the very beginning of creation, God has no brother, sister, friend, spouse, servant or even a pet. Yet, God becomes hopelessly entangled with us. As Rabbi Gellman says in our first reading, a partner is someone to work with God on a big thing that neither God nor we can do alone.

That’s what we are all about here at CCC. We realize that healthy churches learn to expand their boundaries in order to include more people in what God is doing. One way to do this is to tell people the simple truth that God loves everyone. This doesn’t mean that God just loves those who are rich, or super spiritual, or good looking, or the ones who have it all together. God’s love doesn’t stop with those who look or act the same way. God also loves those whom the world labels as ugly or incompetent. The early church gave us Jesus stories to show us how God’s love was extended to those who were seen as outsiders; the poor and oppressed, the lame, and even the Gentiles. The church is not supposed to be a club for people who have it all together. The church is for “rejects.” It is a place where people who have been isolated from God can come and hear life-changing news. The church is a place for people with real pain to hear words of healing and hope. An inclusive vision of the church means that even when we are at our lowest, beaten, bruised and battered, we are God’s partners. We preach and teach and demonstrate the message of God’s love restlessly. We don’t do it out of pride. We don’t do it to swell our membership rolls or bank accounts. We do it because God partners with us and entrusts us to be the change God wants to see in the world.

A few weeks ago, Pastor Amy gave words to who we can be as God’s partners. I want to repeat her powerful vision. She asked us to imagine how CCC’s history would be written, looking back on this decade. Imagine this:

 In the 2010’s the parishioners of Christ Congregational Church boldly did the unexpected in their time. Churches were declining in membership, concepts of inclusion and grace were heatedly debated in religion and the public square and this body of Christ, this church, proclaimed that God is still speaking! They opened their hearts, their doors, their imaginations, their conversations, and they prayed without ceasing and they practiced listening.With God as their guide, they worked for just laws for all, they ministered to the captives, cared for the sick and dying, made room for the displaced and lonely and offered shelter and food to those who were hungry and without a place to call home. They were a conscientious people. They knew they were privileged and often blind to themselves. They put systems in place to challenge their biases and they were serious about their lifelong commitment to grow and learn into more whole people. They got to know people who were on the margins well. So well, that in time, the people on the margins were coming to their aid at the ends of their lives, and they each served the other with a true sense of love and respect for one another. They experienced the kingdom of God on earth! They joined hands with people of all races, sexual orientations, ages, religious traditions, political beliefs, socioeconomic places, education status, family structures . . . and they came together to bring equality and justice to their community. And the world at that time was different and better because they listened to God’s [wisdom] -- a voice that speaks up for good!

Our holy one, Jesus, is revealed as the physician who brings newness, forgiveness of sins, and wholeness all people. He only draws one line, one boundry. Either you believe in what he is doing, or you don’t. Today we declare, we believe. We believe that a world of compassion, healing, inclusion, and spirit is possible. We believe that we can be partners with God in making it happen. We believe and we must not stop trying to finish the world.

Sources:
The Idea of Purity in Mark’s Gospel by Jerome H. Neyre http://nd.edu/~jneyrey1/Purity-Mark.html
http://www.rustyparts.com/wp/2009/09/07/desperate-a-sermon-on-the-syrophoenician-woman/
Rev. Amy Lewis. “Wisdom Lines,” a sermon preached August 19, 2012 at CCC.
Marcus Borg, Meeting Jesus Again for the Very First Time.
Ched Myers, Binding the Strongman.

Likrat Shabbat

So . . . I accidentally just deleted last Sunday's sermon on prayer, study and service. Many of you asked about the prayer I used to close the sermon. It is entitled Likrat Shabbat. The original  text is below. I altered it to make it more gender inclusive in worship.
--mbb

We cannot merely pray to you, O God,
     to end war;
For we know that You have made the world
     in a way
That man must find his own path to peace.
Within himself and with his neighbor.

We cannot merely pray to You, O God,
     to end starvation;
For You have already given us the
     resources
With which to feed the entire world,
If we would only use them wisely.

We cannot merely pray to You, O God,
     to root out prejudice;
For You have already given us eyes
With which to see the good in all men,
If we would only use them rightly.

We cannot merely pray to You, O God,
     to end despair,
For You have already given us the power
To clear away slums and to give hope,
If we would only use our power justly.

We cannot merely pray to You, O God,
     to end disease;
For You have already given us great minds
With which to search out cures and healing,
If we would only use them constructively.

Therefore we pray to You instead, O God,
For strength, determination and will power,
To do instead of just pray,
To become instead of merely to wish.

Sermon for August 26, 2012

Do We Need Any More Heroes?

This is the account of Terah’s family. Terah was the father of Abram, Nahor, and Haran; and Haran was the father of Lot. But Haran died in Ur of the Chaldeans, the land of his birth, while his father, Terah, was still living. Meanwhile, Abram and Nahor both married. The name of Abram’s wife was Sarai, and the name of Nahor’s wife was Milcah. (Milcah and her sister Iscah were daughters of Nahor’s brother Haran.) But Sarai was unable to become pregnant and had no children. One day Terah took his son Abram, his daughter-in-law Sarai (his son Abram’s wife), and his grandson Lot (his son Haran’s child) and moved away from Ur of the Chaldeans. He was headed for the land of Canaan, but they stopped at Haran and settled there. Terah lived for 205 years and died while still in Haran. The LORD had said to Abram, “Leave your native country, your relatives, and your father’s family, and go to the land that I will show you. I will make you into a great nation. I will bless you and make you famous, and you will be a blessing to others. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who treat you with contempt. All the families on earth will be blessed through you.” So Abram departed as the LORD had instructed, and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he left Haran. Genesis 11:27-12:4

Ever since I was a child, I have loved the automated carwash. I don’t go there often, but I love it. Not those places that make you get out of the car, either. Or those places where you pull into a bay and the machine spits soap around the car one side at a time. It has to be the one where you pull up to the track, put your car in neutral, take your hands off the wheel, and get pulled through a tunnel of spraying foam, slapping spaghetti, whirring brushes, and air blowers. I think it’s exciting – an outside force pulling me closer to a clean car.

Pulled along and out of control. It’s fun in the carwash. Or if you are waterskiing.  But not so much if you are a fish. For a fish, the experience of being pulled out of your control must be a different sensation. Imagine, you are a fish, minding your own business, living your prescribed life, searching for a bite to eat, when you see the tastiest looking worm in the world. You swim towards it. You take a quick, guarded nibble and swim away. All is well. You swim back to the worm, take another bite, and all of the sudden an irresistible force is yanking you to the surface with some kind of metal hook contraption in your lip. The more you struggle, the worse it gets. But struggle you must! Utterly beyond your control, the force of a fishing reel pulls you to the open air, not knowing what kind of adventure or horror awaits once you leave your aquatic home.

Have you ever felt like that? Can you remember times when life pulled you along and you could not stop it? Sometimes life just feels better with a safe and predictable routines: wake up, brush teeth, read the paper, work, eat, watch TV, go to bed.  Some of us don’t like to admit that we live rather conventional lives. Some people decide they are bored. They find want to escape feeling trapped by a life that pulls them into a monotonous future. They try to break out of their ordinary routines, but not always in the healthiest ways. Consider the following accounts of couples who think their relationships are pulled along by life:

A man named Bob writes, “It depresses me to think that I’ll never have romance again. I’m happily married, but the romance is gone between us and sometimes I think about having an affair. Is this it? Love without romance for the rest of my life?”

Carla describes a similar concern. She says, “I Love my partner and we get along well. But sometimes I think, is this it? Most nights I get home from work first and fix dinner. Then she comes home, we eat, she gets the kids ready for bed while I clean up. We watch a little TV together and go to bed. Saturday we take care of chores. Sunday we do something as a family . . .  I know we have a better relationship than a lot of our friends, but it’s all so routine. I keep feeling something’s wrong with me for wanting more. I’m bored. I love Sheila, but she’s like a comfortable shoe. Am I being childish to think there should be more than this?”

Some people feel that same way about their faith. In High School, I felt that the UCC congregation I grew up in was full of boring hypocrites. I looked around and asked, “Is this it?” Eventually, I wandered away from that church and worshipped with some fundamentalist Baptists. Their faith seemed more alive. Their services seemed to focus more on relationships than tradition. They had a worship band at worship and sang simple choruses with smiles on their faces. Of course, after a while I felt like they were in a rut, too. I asked, “Is this it?” and looked for another new faith family.
Sometimes we are restless wanderers, looking to find a home. We want more out of life. We want adventure and comfort, freshness and familiarity, and we want them all at once.

I wonder if Abraham and Sarah ever felt this way. In just a few lines of text from Genesis, I hear our story. When we first meet Abraham, or Abram as he is introduced to us, he lives his prescribed life. Like other nomads of the time, he takes a partner, he migrates from place to place, he buys and sells goods.  But Abraham and Sarah are not really wanderers and they’re not really settled, either. They are the perpetual strangers in a strange land, the outsiders who longs to be the insiders, people of trust who yearn for God to soothe their monotonous lives.

One day, life changes. Maybe it started out like any other day for Abram. He and Sarai are childless, stuck near the city of Haran, watching sheep, bartering goods, and pulled along by life. One ordinary day after another. The same old, same old.  Maybe his life wasn’t just dull – maybe it was worse. Maybe his life was oppressive, constrained, or hemmed in. Maybe he felt so confined that sometimes he couldn’t even breathe. Or perhaps his life was filled with yearning, with an ache for something more; another land, another way of being. Maybe he had that feeling we get of being full but still hungry, satisfied but still thirsty.

Abraham’s life is impotent. For a story that’s consumed with men, lineage, and power, Abraham looks helpless. He comes from line of wanderers who can trace their ancestry back to Noah, but he can’t father children of his own to carry on his lineage. He has lived nearly half his life, and nothing exciting or legacy-shaping has happened to him. Sounds like a recipe for mid-life crisis to me!
Abram is seventy-five years old when life changes. God has to offer. God needs someone who needs God – someone who will rise to lofty standards. God needs Abraham and Sarah. God summons them to adventure. Honestly, I’m surprised. They are not particularly righteous or special people. They aren’t godly people. Later in Genesis, we learn that Abraham and Sarah can be cheaters and liars. They are restless and unsure. Their life seems suspended with no child. In a story where God is obsessed with creation, Abraham and Sarah cannot reproduce. They exert no control over their own lives. They are so utterly human.

And maybe that’s the point.

When we read about the call of mythic heroes, they share some common elements. Usually, the hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder. The hero encounters tremendous forces and wins a battle over them. They hero returns from this adventure and shares his newfound power with his fellow humans. Think about mortal Prometheus ascending to the heavens to steal fire from the gods, or Jason sailing through the Clashing Rocks, stealing the golden fleece, and taking the throne back from the usurper. Sometimes the mythic hero is a reject from society who overcomes a symbolic deficiency to fulfill a task from God. Think about the story of Exodus in which stuttering Moses scales Mount Sinai. As Moses climbs the mountain, flashes of lightening and peals of thunder shake the world. God bends the heavens, and moves the earth. In the midst of this holy storm, God gives Moses the Ten Commandments. Moses, in turn, gives them to the people of Israel.

Abraham is not that kind of hero. Abraham is not really a hero at all. Abraham, is the nomad who hears God and follows. God is the real hero of the story, not Abraham. Out of nowhere, God invites Abraham to relate to the world differently. God says, “Abraham, I choose you and Sarah to be the Parents of Blessing to the entire world.” Now Abraham has a choice. Live the same, mundane existence, or live into a new calling that reframes his ordinary life as a life of obedience to God.
There are going to be times when we are faced with the shear ordinariness of life. We want some excitement. We may say, “I like my life, but is this it?” We will be tempted to slake our thirst for adventure in poisoned streams. Have an affair . . . drown the boredom with booze . . . buy an overpriced sports car and relive the fantasy of our youth . . . over-focus on our careers at the expense of relationships . . . become withdrawn and self-sufficient and alienate our friends and family.
Looking at the tedium that lies ahead, we may choose to avoid it by consuming material pleasures. As I see it, the problem with slaking our thirst for adventure in these ways is that what seemed shiny and alluring can eventually become another part of the boring routine; except the new “normal” now includes a deeper rut of addictive behavior. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how much life I waste. How many hours have a wasted watching “reality” TV, when real experiences were happening all around me?  How much time have I squandered being angry at people who hurt me? How often have I brooded over the hypocrisy of others and done nothing to change the pretense in my own life? How many times have I followed unhealthy habits to distract myself from a wounded spirit?
Is this the adventure God wants for us?

Sarah and Abraham remind us that God seeks people who have the bravery and compassion to journey into the wilderness in their own lives.

One ways of defining faith is to say faith is a way of seeing the whole. The great American theologian H. Richard Neibuhr pointed out that there are three different ways to see the whole. One way to experience reality is to see the whole as gracious, as nourishing, as supportive of life -- to see reality as that which has brought us into existence, nourishes us. If we can see God and others as supportive, gracious and nourishing, then we have the possibility of responding to life in a posture of trust and gratitude.  God invites us to THAT adventure, that journey of faith, in which we learn to trust God and learn to see life in a new way. If this is not what life is about, namely, growth and wonder and compassion, then I don’t know what life is about.

The story of Abraham and Sarah leads us to that marvelous question asked by the poet Mary Oliver: What are you going to do with your one wild and precious life? Are we going to remain in the world of the dull, the repetitive, the addictive, the same old same old? Or are we, like Abraham and Sarah, going to respond to invitation to leave our old way of being and enter a life beyond convention and our domestications of reality? The voice of invitation still speaks the promise to us: “I will show you a better way, a new country.”

Can we respond to the call that invites us enter a life of wholeness? We begin our search with God as our hero – a hero whose quest leads to ordinary, hearts like ours -- restless wanderers who find a way to listen, trust, and leap to God in faith.
 

Sources:
Stories paraphrased from We Love Each Other But . . . by Ellen Wachtel (New York: St. Martine, 1999), 187-188.
Bruce Feiler, Abraham: A Journey to the Heart of Three Faiths (New York: William Morrow, 2002), 21-24.
Joseph Campbell, The Hero With A Thousand Faces (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), 30-37.
Marcus Borg, “Faith: A Journey of Trust,” http://www.explorefaith.org/faces/my_faith/borg/faith_by_marcus_borg.php

Sermon for August 12, 2012

The Ark Builders

When Noah was 600 years old, on the seventeenth day of the second month, all the underground waters erupted from the earth, and the rain fell in mighty torrents from the sky. The rain continued to fall for forty days and forty nights. That very day Noah had gone into the boat with his wife and his sons—Shem, Ham, and Japheth—and their wives. With them in the boat were pairs of every kind of animal—domestic and wild, large and small—along with birds of every kind. Two by two they came into the boat, representing every living thing that breathes. A male and female of each kind entered, just as God had commanded Noah. Then the Lord closed the door behind them. For forty days the floodwaters grew deeper, covering the ground and lifting the boat high above the earth. As the waters rose higher and higher above the ground, the boat floated safely on the surface. Finally, the water covered even the highest mountains on the earth, rising more than twenty-two feet[a] above the highest peaks. All the living things on earth died—birds, domestic animals, wild animals, small animals that scurry along the ground, and all the people. Everything that breathed and lived on dry land died. God wiped out every living thing on the earth—people, livestock, small animals that scurry along the ground, and the birds of the sky. All were destroyed. The only people who survived were Noah and those with him in the boat. And the floodwaters covered the earth for 150 days. But God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and livestock with him in the boat. He sent a wind to blow across the earth, and the floodwaters began to recede. The underground waters stopped flowing, and the torrential rains from the sky were stopped. So the floodwaters gradually receded from the earth. After 150 days, exactly five months from the time the flood began, the boat came to rest on the mountains of Ararat. Two and a half months later, as the waters continued to go down, other mountain peaks became visible. Genesis 7:11-8:5


You have never heard the story of Noah until you’ve heard it from biblically illiterate Middle School students. A few summers ago, I was running a Bible Summer Camp for 60 Middle School campers.  We talked about the story of Noah’s Ark. Sure, we know about the flood and the rainbow.  But when I asked the kids why God flooded the earth, one Jr. Higher told our group, “OK, so there were these evil men who built their house on some sand, and they wouldn’t listen to God so God sent a flood and everyone who built their house on the sand died but everyone who like built their house on the rocks lived, except the flood came over the whole earth, so they died too.” Bet you didn’t know that part! We don’t always pay attention to the details of the story.

The story begins with God. Embittered. Full of regret.  Creation is a big mistake, so the earth will receive a cleansing destruction.  But the cure seems as bad as the disease. God says to Noah, “Build an ark. Collect representatives from creation. Gather your family and you will be rescued. What’s not on the ark will be destroyed.” I wonder what God’s voice sounded like to Noah. Sad? Disappointed? Weary? Did Noah think about trying to change God’s mind? No matter. It wasn’t long before the hills and valleys became nothing but dark water. I wonder what Noah must have thought after the flood–when he looked back on the months of awesome and fearful events. Did Noah have Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome? After watching the Lord God destroy the world, after spending never-ending months on a big boat, what happened to Noah afterwards? In the years after the flood, when dark clouds rolled in and the smell of rain filled the air, did the old feelings come rushing back to Noah? Was he was filled with memories of being saved from death; being given a new chance by a loving God to be his people.

We don’t know. We can’t really infer much from the story. But this much I know. It was nothing like the pleasant scenes we see painted on nursery walls and cartooned in children’s bibles. Once the flood waters recede, the Ark is not surrounded by verdant fields and harmoniously singing birds. Have you ever seen the aftermath of a flood? It’s not pretty. Remember the after-effects of Hurricane Katrina? On August 29, surge waters started quickly flooding homes at about 8 o’clock in the morning. Residents sought high ground on their roofs. Many had to claw through their ceilings with their hands just to get to safety. By the time people got up there, the roofs were blown away. They had to dive into the water, clinging to trees, or grabbing onto debris.

Six months after Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast, I took a team down to help rebuild homes. We talked to a woman named Paula. When the waters came, her house lifted off its piers and floated away. Paula survived by getting into a small boat that drifted by. She and her extended family spent the next 8 hours in the boat, clinging to the sides while they lived off candy bars floating in the surge. Paula owned 15 horses. Before the storm, she led them to roam in a large pasture. After Katrina, 8 were dead, caught up in trees or tangled in barbed wire. Paula’s house could not be rebuilt. She salvaged her house, board by board, so that the wood could be reused at her sister’s home.

If this is what a regional flood looks like, imagine the devastation in the aftermath of the mythical flood of Genesis.

Destruction and rebirth. Insecurity and Safety. These themes keep playing themselves out in our human story. We can see them today. Look and you may see the waters of destruction eddying all around us. It’s not a physical flood (although we are seeing more of that, too). I’m seeing a overflow of anxiety. I’m sensing a rising deluge of hopelessness among some people.  A fear that this is as good as it gets – that the best times have come and gone and we are on the downside of the bell curve. The world can feel inundated with random violence and senseless retribution, as we saw again with the shootings in the Sikh temple in Wisconsin.

Some scientists have termed what’s going on as “societal regression.” It means that society is more or less anxious and orderly at different times in history. At certain times, there’s more anxiety in all people, which in turn raises chaos and irresponsibility in society. It even happens in non-human societies. One study at the National Institutes of Health noticed that when rat populations became overcrowded, there were instances of abnormal behavior. Mothers forgot how to make nests. Males gave up their nest guarding behavior and sat on the sidelines staring. The same forces affect human institutions. The more troubled society and its institutions become, the more anxiety its members react to. It is a brutal cycle. When we are under stress, it is hard to think clearly and to live according to principle-centered decisions that guide our behavior. We look for the quick fix that will bring some temporary relief to the stressors of life. We become focused on taking care of ourselves. For many, life becomes a matter of survival.

Think about the disasters that surround us on a daily basis. In these tough economic times, there are now 46.2 million Americans living in poverty. That’s about the entire population of Spain. During one of the endless Republican debates cycle, a CNN reporter asked one of the candidates what we should do if a 30-year-old man who chose not to purchase health insurance suddenly found himself in need of six months of intensive care. The candidate replied, “That’s what freedom is all about — taking your own risks.” The reporter pressed him again, asking whether “society should just let him die.” In the pause that followed, cheers and shouts of “Yeah!” came from the crowd. There has been a lot written and said about that moment, most of which is partisan. It was not really a Republican moment or a Tea Party moment, or even a political moment. It was a cultural moment. An American moment. A moment that exposes how comfortable we are with inequality, how low our concern is for our neighbor. People around us our suffering. They tread water as the floods refuse to recede. We’ve come to accept the hardship that surrounds us. We may not have been the one shouting “Yeah!” but do we condone it by our inaction?

That’s just one issue. We all know people are drowning in despair. Family members are fighting with one another. Children seem lost. Neighbors are isolated. People we know and love are broken, floating in a rising flood of anxiety, waiting for the next wave to crash upon them. Thinking about it gives me a headache and a heartache.

For Noah, God’s solution was build and ark – a vessel to bring life to a new generation. I believe God is calling us here at Christ Congregational Church to be ark builders for a new generation. Our job is to build a vessel of hope and promise. My question this morning is this: What kind of vessel are we building to bring the gospel to a hurting world?

Church buildings are a vessel, of sorts. In the past congregations said, “Come on board and listen to our beautiful music. Hear an inspiring sermon. Join a church board. Come to one of our classes. Become a church member. Come to us and you will find rest and peace.” It was good for a while, but it stopped working. That vessel does not fit the needs of upcoming generations.

Don’t get me wrong. I love church. I’m the biggest church advocate you will ever find. But I have a critique: at some point churches moved the prime focus away from the people around us who are in trouble. We got thinking that if people really wanted to get their lives together they would come to church. And when they get to church, they had better like the old hymns. They better like formality and liturgy because that’s the way we do it. Where has it gotten us? We live in a time when people are desperate for spiritual meaning, and mainline churches are leaking members by the tens of thousands every year. The truth is that you can come to church for years and your life can still be miserable. You can sit in these pews week after week and still feel like you are dying inside. You can sit in a crowded sanctuary and be the loneliest person on the planet. The challenge, as I see it, is that the church needs to cast off from the dock and get wet. Don’t expect people to just come here and get on board. It’s time to weigh anchor and take off into the watery chaos around us.

We are the ark builders, making a vessel that sail the storms of life. Our CCC ark helps everyone, everywhere to negotiate the storm by using whatever it takes -- whatever it takes -- to help people in trouble find peace.

I am proud of who we are becoming at CCC. In a time of fast-paced frenzy and overloaded schedules, we are building an Ark of Sabbath. 

In a time of random violence and war, at home and abroad, we are building an Ark of Peace.

In a time when the LGBT community is the victim of bigotry, at a time when we see some political and religious leaders denying equal rights to all people, we are building an Ark of Inclusion.

In a time when the pain of racism still throbs in our communities, we are building an Ark of Equality.

In a time when we are moved to serve our communities with greater compassion and accountability, we are building an Ark of Transformation.

In a time when more and more people are coming off bus to the doors of this church looking for a financial help, or food, or just a cup of ice to keep cool on a broiling hot day, we are building an Ark of Care.

In a time when we wonder what kind of world our children will inherit, when we wonder what the earth will look like if these flood waters recede, we are building an Ark of Responsibility.

In a time when we need to come together and take the risk of sharing our vulnerabilities and pains, we are building an Ark of Community.

And for anyone who feels pulled under by the currents of life, we are building an Ark of Care, and Ark of Healing, and Ark of Wholeness. So come, all you who are strong and you who are tired; you who have resources to share and you who need to receive; you who are losing hope and you who see the future’s promise, you who are tired of the fight and you who are energized by optimism. Come as we build this Ark together, and reach out to others who need what we are building.

Sources:
Aqua Church by  Leonard Sweet, pp.
God: A Biography by Jack Miles, pp.
Michael Williams, ed., The Story Tellers Companion: Genesis.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poverty_in_the_United_States
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_population_%28graphical%29
http://sermons.pastorkeithanderson.net/tag/justice/

Check it out . . .

The Englewood Review of Books put a review I wrote online:
Review of Abraham's Children, Kelly James Clark, ed.
--mbb

Sermon for July 22, 2012

I've been on vacation for a couple of weeks -- kind of lazy about posting. --mbb

Crime and Punishment

Now  . . . Eve became pregnant. When she gave birth to Cain, she said, “With the Lord’s help, I have produced  a man!” Later she gave birth to his brother and named him Abel. When they grew up, Abel became a shepherd, while Cain cultivated the ground. When it was time for the harvest, Cain presented some of his crops as a gift to the Lord. Abel also brought a gift—the best of the firstborn lambs from his flock. The Lord accepted Abel and his gift, but he did not accept Cain and his gift. This made Cain very angry, and he looked dejected. “Why are you so angry?” the Lord asked Cain. “Why do you look so dejected? You will be accepted if you do what is right. But if you refuse to do what is right, then watch out! Sin is crouching at the door, eager to control you. But you must subdue it and be its master.”

One day Cain suggested to his brother, “Let’s go out into the fields.” And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother, Abel, and killed him. Afterward the Lord asked Cain, “Where is your brother? Where is Abel?”

“I don’t know,” Cain responded. “Am I my brother’s guardian?” But the Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground! Now you are cursed and banished from the ground, which has swallowed your brother’s blood. No longer will the ground yield good crops for you, no matter how hard you work! From now on you will be a homeless wanderer on the earth.”

Cain replied to the Lord, “My punishment is too great for me to bear!  You have banished me from the land and from your presence; you have made me a homeless wanderer. Anyone who finds me will kill me!” The Lord replied, “No, for I will give a sevenfold punishment to anyone who kills you.” Then the Lord put a mark on Cain to warn anyone who might try to kill him. 16 So Cain left the Lord’s presence and settled in the land of Nod, east of Eden. Genesis 4:1-16

Was I in a melancholy mood yesterday! I woke up, made a cup of coffee, and started in on the Saturday Washington Post. Of course, the ghastly news from Aurora, Colorado dominated the paper. Our hearts sink with empathy and despair once more as we try to understand the senseless, calculated, deliberate killing of others. As I read the paper, one of my thoughts was, “Here we go again – get ready for another round of arguments about gun control and whether citizens should be able to own glocks and assault rifles. When we are done debating, we will be in exactly the same place as when we started: Pro-gun lobbying interests will win the day, we will have done nothing to address the issues, and we will slowly make our way back to movie theaters again until the next shooting happens. I know this is cynical. I told you I was in a melancholy mood.

Just when I’m wondering if we could ever hope for tolerance of one another (I’m not talking acceptance or understanding – I’d be happy with mere tolerance and civility), The Post also reported on the escalating shadow war between Israel and Iran, as well as the gory violence in Syria, which make the crowd shooting in Colorado look like child’s play.

Well, I was already sad when I put down the Post and read the latest issued of Popular Science. Leading its stories of environmental doomsday scenarios was an article on how climate change scientists are being threatened and attacked for their calls to global action to save our warming planet. Our beautiful home is being destroyed, and as we watch it wilt in the heat the climate-deniers not only debate but threaten the lives of climate scientists and their families. Pro-pollution lobbying interests win the day. By noon, I was feeling a subterranean sense of grief.

Author E.B. White once said, “The more I stay here, the more anxious and boxed in I feel, and the more I worry about whether I will do something, help people, or learn.” That’s all I hope to say in what I do, and in how I act. I’m not planning on leaving for a while, so I’m learning to adapt and make some sense of this world. And I’m looking for some hope. Today it just seems too much: Too much violence, too much fear; too much of demands and problems; too much of broken dreams and broken lives; too much of wars and slums and dying; too much of greed and squishy fatness and the sounds of people devouring each other and the earth; too much of stale routines and quarrels, unpaid bills and dead ends; sometimes the air seems scorched by threats and rejection and decay until there is nothing but to inhale pain and exhale confusion; too much of darkness, Lord, too much of cruelty and selfishness and indifference. It’s just too much; too bloody, bruising, battered much.

The beginnings of human violence begin simply enough. Our ancient stories tell us about how Adam and Eve start a family. They have two sons. Cain, the big brother, becomes a farmer. Abel, the little brother, becomes a shepherd. We are told nothing else about Cain or Abel. They seem to be decent, hard-working sons. They are both religious people, so they honor God by giving a sacrifice specific to each one’s vocation. Each gives God the product of his work. Cain brings some produce from his gardens and Abel brings some firstborn animals from his flocks.

For some reason, God like’s Abel’s sacrifice but not Cain’s. Why? Is Cain proud and self-willed? Is God trying to rub it in Cain’s face that he’s the Bad Seed? Is God anti-vegetarian? Was there something wrong with Cain’s crops? Maybe God really does like the little brother best. Maybe Cain’s devotion to God was lukewarm while Abel expressed enthusiastic piety.

For some reason, God likes Abel’s offering but not Cain’s. The only clue we have to why might be found in one small word in the text: “Some.” Cain presented some of his crops as a gift to the Lord. Abel makes an offering to God, too, which the storyteller describes in detail. Abel gives the best, and Cain only gives some and God rejects it. Cain is angry. And sad. And depressed. Cain will soon be guilty of something rather horrible--so terrible that it makes his lackluster offering look trivial by comparison. Seeing Cain’s simmering rage, God suggests that with some effort, Cain can wrestle temptation to the ground and become the master over it instead of the victim. Did Cain even try? Did wrestle with his frustrations and angers?

Did you notice that Abel never speaks? Able is not given any lines in the story. Abel doesn’t whisper a sound until his blood cries out from the ground. The only words of Abel are the cries of the innocent victim of violence and abuse. Abel’s cry pierces God’s ears as God goes looking for Cain. God asks a question of Cain: “Where is your brother Abel?” It reminds us of the question God asked Adam in the Garden after Adam ate the fruit of the tree. “Where are you?” Cain lies. “I don’t know. Am I my brother’s keeper?  The word “keeper” is the same word used when God created humans and tasked them to work and guard, or “keep”, the Garden.  Cain fails to keep God’s creation. He’s done the opposite. He’s destroyed it.

God says to Cain, “Listen! Don’t you hear the blood crying out!?” Apparently Cain did not. Neither do we most of the time. Crime goes on. So does its punishment.  After Cain spills his brother’s blood onto the ground, the lands will no longer yield crops. Abundance cycles to scarcity. Cain, the farmer, is up-rooted from the ground. He becomes a restless wanderer on the earth, a nomad. It’s as if God gives Cain a living death in a land of barrenness.

Do you know what amazes me about this text? Cain lives. Previous to this, I get the feeling that the Lord God is terrifying and capricious. But Cain will not suffer Abel’s fate. Humanity chooses death but God insists on life. God knows that the cycle of violence needs to be stopped. It’s bad enough that Abel’s blood screams in God’s ears. God can’t bear to hear Cain's blood shout out, too. God chooses life in the face of death. By the end of this short story, we are left with a pool of Abel’s blood screaming into God’s ear. At the same moment, God bends down and kisses Cain’s forehead, marking him for safety, insisting on life.

Screaming blood and kissing lips. Justified punishment and gracious salvation. Cain’s bloody hands and God’s mark of protection on Cain’s forehead. The images collide and bewilder. Why does God keep insisting on life? Why doesn’t the cry of Abel’s blood have the last word? Why? Because only God may have the last word, and that word is life.

Cain chose death and can never settle down again because of it. East of Eden there is only restlessness and wandering. Cain set humanity up for a whole history of restless wandering—we can see the Land of Nod everywhere, it seems. Meanwhile, in all our restless searches for answers and identity, the shed blood of the innocent always speaks to us.  The cries from the blood-soaked Colorado must send God reeling, but no less also the cries from the dust of Mexico, the cities of Syria, the mountains of Afghanistan, the deserts of Iraq, the soil of Somalia, and everywhere that people die as one group keeps trying to gain immortality and mastery over another.

Today, I want to remember the times when I have chosen death over life, even in small ways. Sadly, it happens too easily. And it’s just too much. Or, it is too little: Too little of compassion, too little of courage, of daring, of persistence; too little of music and dance, and laughter, and celebration?

I also NEED to remember, death does not get the last word. Even when the world chooses death, we are loved and protected by God. God always chooses life. God, make of us some nourishment for these starved times, some food for our sisters and brothers who are hungry for hope.

Sources:

"Hearing Abel, Raising Cain" by Scott Hoezee, http://www.calvincrc.org/sermons/topics/genesis/genesis4.html

Ted Loder, Guerillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle.

Jack Miles, God: A Biography, pp. 39-42.

Michael Williams, ed., The Storytellers Companion to the Bible: Genesis, pp. 42-47.

Sermon for July 15, 2012

Original Sin or Original Blessing?

The serpent was the shrewdest of all the wild animals the LORD God had made. One day he asked the woman, “Did God really say you must not eat the fruit from any of the trees in the garden?”

 “Of course we may eat fruit from the trees in the garden,” the woman replied.  “It’s only the fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden that we are not allowed to eat. God said, ‘You must not eat it or even touch it; if you do, you will die.’”

 “You won’t die!” the serpent replied to the woman.  “God knows that your eyes will be opened as soon as you eat it, and you will be like God, knowing both good and evil.”
The woman was convinced. She saw that the tree was beautiful and its fruit looked delicious, and she wanted the wisdom it would give her. So she took some of the fruit and ate it. Then she gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it, too. At that moment their eyes were opened, and they suddenly felt shame at their nakedness. So they sewed fig leaves together to cover themselves. When the cool evening breezes were blowing, the man and the woman heard the LORD God walking about in the garden. So they hid from the LORD God among the trees.  Then the LORD God called to the man, “Where are you?”

 He replied, “I heard you walking in the garden, so I hid. I was afraid because I was naked.”
 “Who told you that you were naked?” the LORD God asked. “Have you eaten from the tree whose fruit I commanded you not to eat?”

The man replied, “It was the woman you gave me who gave me the fruit, and I ate it.”

 Then the LORD God asked the woman, “What have you done?”

“The serpent deceived me,” she replied. “That’s why I ate it.”

Then the LORD God said to the serpent,
“Because you have done this, you are cursed
    more than all animals, domestic and wild.
You will crawl on your belly,
    groveling in the dust as long as you live.
And I will cause hostility between you and the woman,
    and between your offspring and her offspring.
He will strike your head,
    and you will strike his heel.”

 Then the LORD God said to the woman,
“I will sharpen the pain of your pregnancy,
    and in pain you will give birth.
And you will desire to control your husband,
    but he will rule over you.”
And to the man God said,
“Since you listened to your wife and ate from the tree
    whose fruit I commanded you not to eat,
the ground is cursed because of you.
    All your life you will struggle to scratch a living from it.
It will grow thorns and thistles for you,
    though you will eat of its grains.
By the sweat of your brow
    will you have food to eat
until you return to the ground
    from which you were made.
For you were made from dust,
    and to dust you will return. Genesis 3:1-20

So . . . my mother calls her tax accountant. The accountant is excited. She says to my mother, “Oh I’m glad you called. Your sister is sitting right in front of me. So is your brother and your mother.” Strange coincidences happen all the time right? This one’s not really that unusual. They all use the same accountant. They could all happen to show up at the same time and have a good laugh about it. Here’s what threw my mother off. My mother’s mother -- my grandmother -- has been dead for many years. So I asked my mother, how did grandma get to the accountant’s office? And of all the places for the spirits of the dead to visit, why would grandma choose the accountant’s office? It all started years ago when my uncle talked probate with the accountant. Mid sentence, the account suddenly froze  and started to zone off and stare into the distance. And then her eyes rolled back in her head. My uncle thought she was having a seizure, and when he arose to get some help, she snapped out of it and said that my dead grandmother was now in the room with them. Since then, departed relatives visit regularly at tax appointments. My grandmother and grandfather have talked through the accountant, as well as other relations. I don’t know what to think. When I go to the accountant, I plan to talk about . . . well, taxes. I think this accountant is overstepping her professional boundaries a bit. It says even more about my family that they are willing to stay with this woman. I think they like the visitations from the spirit world. Plus, the woman is a wonder of an accountant.

I am unsure whether the accountant’s behavior is a blessing or a curse. Are her actions helpful or sinful? I can ask that about a lot of people’s behavior, including my own. In my relationships with people, do I bless them with my words and actions, or am I liability? How about our relationship with God? Were we created to be blessings, or do we carry the mark of original sin in us? Is it written into our genetic code that we will always say the wrong things, make the wrong decisions, and alienate ourselves from each other all before we even get out of bed in the morning?

The traditional way of thinking about sin comes from our understanding of the events in the Garden of Eden. God says, don’t eat the fruit of that tree. The snake tempts the woman, the woman tempts the man, the man and the woman eat some fruit, gain knowledge of good and evil and then God punishes the whole bundle of them in an explosion of fury.  And their offspring. And all generations since. And each generation has been passing on the seeds of this rebellion in this fractured world. In Christian theology, we call it original sin – what the Reformer John Calvin called hereditary depravity. Here’s our question for today: do we enter a torn and sinful world as wanton, sin-stained blotches on existence or do we enter the world as good, beautiful, original blessings?

Last week, we took some time to listen to the Bible’s first account of creation. The Bible does not begin with a story of temptation and failure. Scripture opens with splendid, generous, abundant blessing. Each day God creates something and calls it beautiful.  Humans are created with such great possibilities. We are fragile, radiant beings. So, how is it that we humans, the glory of God’s creation, are scarred by the infection of original sin?

If you grew up Catholic, or Evangelical Christian, or in a Calvinist tradition, the assumption of original sin is embedded in you. In these traditions, the evidence of original sin is losing control. Any passion is a loss of control. Lovemaking and any expressions of sexuality are seen as a loss of control. How many of you had to sit through scary religious lectures about the evils of your bodies and how you were all one bad decision away from burning in eternal torment? From the earliest days of Christendom, Christian theologians declared God has no passion. God never loses control. God never has to repent. Unlike us, God is unchangeable, even to the point where, in typical Trinitarian language, theologians declared God the Father did not suffer on the cross with God the son. God relates to corrupted humanity by removing God’s Self from it, sustaining us and judging us all at the same time. It’s called antipatripassionism. The doctrine, as I understand it, says: 1) Passion, the loss of control, causes pain, 2) God does not suffer pain, therefore, 3) God must not experience passion. Our congregational ancestors taught the same thing as they sailed for safety from what they saw as the decadent culture of the day, taming their wild passions while they tamed the wilderness of their new colony. But take out your Bible sometime and scrutinize the texts. The first humans are disobedient to God’s one and only rule – don’t eat the fruit of the tree.  They do just the opposite and get the Lord God really, REALLY upset. In this scene, the Lord God is gratuitous in wrath as much as God was gratuitous in bounty in Genesis 1. However, the doctrine of original sin is not found in any writings of the Hebrew Scriptures. It is certainly not in the first three chapters of Genesis. Look closely at the basis of humanity. It’s not the curse, but the blessing. 

The “original sin” is not so much a rebellion but rather laziness, passing the buck, blaming the snake, and not owning up to responsibility. In other words, we are originally blessed, but for some reason we can’t handle it. It seems that in the past 10,000 years humans learned something rather well, and it is not a reflection of our original blessing. We have times when human ugliness shows through, much to our embarrassment.

We still look at other people who are different than us with fear. We judge others. We protect ourselves from “them.” We talk about “those people” but fail to think about how we function in the system.

Instead of celebrating and being gentle to our bodies we are hard on them, working them long hours, depriving them of sleep, putting all kinds of foreign substances in them and otherwise wearing them out before their time.

Instead of emphasizing the healing of the whole people of God, the whole earth, we want our own personal salvation, and our own piece of the economic pie, and we want it now, even if two-thirds of the world must suffer to support our selfish standard of living

Our desire to experience ecstasy and the joy of sexuality turns on itself and we use the blessing of sexuality to sell cars, and boats, and cosmetics, and of course, Viagra.
The opening chapters of Genesis remind me that yes, we make mistakes, and yes, God has a different plan for the world. Original blessing is the basis what it means to be human.

What if we took this idea of original blessing seriously? What happens when we begin to understand ourselves as originally blessed, rather than originally cursed? How much better might we feel about ourselves?

What if instead of being suspicious about our bodies, we welcome our bodies and we treat each other with gentleness?

What if the word “humility” no longer mean despising of one’s self? The word humility and human come from the same root – hummus. It actually means dirt. Humility literally means to befriend one’s earthiness.

What if instead of trying to control and dominate our relationships, we become ready to experience and celebrate the ardor of life?

What if instead of regarding humans as sinners, we regard ourselves as those who can choose to create or destroy?

So, which is it? Are we originally blessed or originally cursed? Fred Craddock, a well known teacher and preacher, was driving through Tennessee some years ago. He stopped at a restaurant for a meal, and he was intrigued as one man went from table to table greeting everyone. When the man came to Craddock and learned he was a minister, the man insisted on telling a story. The man had been born in the mountains not far from where they sat. His mother was not married when he came into this world. In that time and culture, the mother and her son were scorned. The boy grew up feeling the love of his mother, but also the contempt of the townsfolk. At recess, his classmates would exclude him, and he learned to keep to himself in order to avoid getting teased. At age 12 the boy took up going to church on his own. A new minister had come to the church near his house. The boy would slip into the back row just as the services began, and leave before it was over so that no one would ask him, “What’s a boy like you doing here.”

However, one Sunday he so wrapped up in the service that he forgot to slip out. Before he could quietly exit, he felt the big hand of the minister on his shoulder, light and gentle. The preacher looked at him and asked, “Who are you, son? Whose boy are you?” The boy’s heart sank, and perhaps his pain showed on his face. But then the preacher answered, “Wait a minute. I know who you are. The family resemblance is unmistakable . . . You are a child of God.” With those words, he patted him on the back and added, “That’s quite an inheritance. Go, and claim it” The boy was now an old man greeting people in a restaurant. He told Craddock, “That one statement literally changed my whole life.” The man’s name was Ben Hooper and he elected the governor of Tennessee -- twice.

Do we hurt others, live by our compromises, and forget some of the important things?
    Absolutely.
Do we take what God created as good, and manipulate it for our own gain?
    Of course we do.
Do we suffer the consequences of the others' bad decisions?
    Yes, we do.

Are we the bearers of hereditary depravity, cursed and rejected by God? All I can say is this, I know who we are. The family resemblance is unmistakable. We are the children of God. We bear the beautiful image of God. Our legacy, and our potential, is exceedingly good. Now go and claim it.

Sources:
“Original Sin or Original Blessing” by The Rev. Rod Frohman
Original Blessing,  by Matthew Fox.
“Making Sense of Sin” by The Rev. Ricky Hoyt.
“An Original Theology: Creation and Matthew Fox” by Michael D. Obrien.
“Exceedingly Good” by Rev. Bruce Southworth.
“Original Sin” at Wikipedia.
“Puritans” at Wikepedia.
God: A Biography, by Jack Miles.