“Listen To Him and Move Forward In Faith”
Rev. Estelle Margarones 
Exodus 13:17-18 and 13:20-22 and  Mark 9:2-9

This Wednesday is Ash Wednseday, a day marking the beginning of Lent, the 40 days leading up to Easter. The question will likely be asked of you this week, “What are you giving up for Lent?” Will it be coffee, chocolate, or your credit card?

As Christians, we are given the opportunity this week to make changes in our lives. Change involves trust, faith, sacrifice and perserverence. The Bible is full of stories of change. One that comes quickly to mind is the story of Moses and the Exodus.

This is a story of listening to God and moving forward in faith. God spoke and Moses listened. The Israelites were living as slaves in Egypt. God instructed Moses to go to Pharoah to have them set free. Moses actually had a moment of doubt when said “Who am I that I should go to Pharoah?” He is then assured of God's presence in his life and God's role in this undertaking. At that time, Moses acted upon what he heard. Moses asked Pharoah to let the people, repeatedly. Pharoh refused repeatedly...until the plagues came and and Pharoah called Moses in the middle of the night and said, “Go!” Change can involve a lengthy process. Moses kept going back to Pharoah asking that the Israelites be set free. And when he finally got the go-ahead, it's not because he was asking Pharoah again, but because he'd already set the stage--more than once.

The Israelites left behind all they knew and moved forward in faith. The people started out excited and happy about their trip. Then they got to the Red Sea, didn't think they could cross it and said it would have been better to have stayed in Egypt. So they hit an obstacle and immediately they were sorry they started out. Change involves trust, faith, sacrifice and perserverence. Moses had faith. He perservered. He trusted God. Moses knew that even though he may encounter a troubled tribe and the loss of relationships with all that at one time was very familiar, he knew that they had to move forward and they did so, not alone, but with God.

On this Transfiguration Sunday, our Scripture tells us that Jesus revealed his true nature in front of three of his disciples. When he was up on the mountain, his clothes became a dazzling white and prophets from ancient times—including Moses--appeared with him and they engaged in dialogue. God's voice came from above, telling the disciples to listen to Jesus...and then, quick as a flash, everything is back to 'normal'. Or is it?

The disciples have been changed by this experience. You, too, can be 'changed' by experiencing a relationship with Jesus. God said, “Listen to Him”. What a gift we've been given in the collection of the life and times and lessons of Jesus in what we call the New Testament! In the Scripture, Peter offered to build Jesus a dwelling place fit for God, high on a mountain. But Jesus didn't stay up on the mountain, he came back down and walked with us. I believe that symbolic walk to go back to regular life teaches us that if we will listen to Jesus, we can change, we can continue Christ's work, thereby changing the world.

We have the Gospels as records of what Jesus said. Among many lessons he taught us, he encouraged us to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, visit the sick, and to invite the stranger in. We can act upon these and any number of instructions Jesus gave us.  God said, "Listen to Him".

After seeing homeless women disguising themselves as men in order to get meals at a male-only shelter, on Easter Sunday, 1974, Kip Tiernan opened the first women's only-shelter in the nation, just twenty minutes away in Boston. Started primarily as a center to hand out coffee and used clothes and to give a few needy women a place to sleep; Rosie’s Place, a sanctuary for poor and homeless women, now offers emergency and long-term assistance to women who have nowhere else to turn.

Rosie’s Place has 20 beds and provides an array of services, including a food pantry, a literacy program, and drug and alcohol counseling. You may think that starting and growing a women's shelter is an amazing legacy (and it is), but Kip didn't stop there. In 1979, she began distributing food out of the back of a station wagon. In 1981, The Boston Food Bank was incorporated and in 1990, they distributed 5 million pounds of food. In 2009, the Greater Boston Food Bank distributed 31.5 million pounds of food and grocery products.

No doubt that starting a women's shelter and food bank involved a time of change; a time that involved trust, faith, sacrifice, and perserverence. Kip Tiernan passed away last summer at the age of 85. You can read all about her work on the Rosie's Place website at RosiesPlace.org.  Please take note, in the photo on the “About our Founder” page, Kip is wearing a cross.

When Jesus went to the mountain, he showed his true nature. God said to humanity, represented by the disciples, “Listen to Him”. These 40 days leading to Lent are the time to do just that. During Lent, we are invited to draw closer, to listen for that Divine presence, and to walk with Jesus. This week, we are given the opportunity to embark on a journey of 40 days that will lead us to Easter and to the ressurected Christ. On Ash Wednesday, people will gather in churches around the country and around the world to show their faith in Jesus.  Celebrating Ash Wednesday is a sign to ourselves that we take that commitment seriously.

For Christians, Lent is a time of trust, faith, sacrifice and perserverence. It's a time of personal reflection, confession, repentenance and hope. And when I say 'confession', I don't mean that you have to come see me to tell me the things you've done of which you're less than proud, I mean opening your heart to Jesus and being made new in him. If you've done some things you're not happy with, or you have some habits that aren't healthy for you or others, this is a perfect time to make changes. This week, Christians all over the world will be consciously making changes.

Some people will be giving things up and others will be taking new things on, all in an effort to become closer to Jesus. But what on earth does giving up chewing gum, chocolate, or coffee have to do with Jesus anyway? It could be that the change you make, your personal sacrifice is a reminder of sacrifice that Jesus made for us. It could be reminiscent of the old tradition of fasting which could have been a method of purifying oneself in honor of Jesus or as a way of getting closer to God.  It could simply be that when we don't do something like eating meat or going to the movies, we think of why we're not doing it and thus bring God to mind.

I encourage you to look beyond yourself and see how your sacrifice can have an impact on the greater good. Might you give up taking paper or plastic at the supermarket and instead bring your own re-usable bag? You'd be saving trees and cutting down on the pollution that is a side effect of the production of grocery bags. Might you even give up driving to the grocery store and instead take on walking, which could be healthier for you, could help you save money, and could cut down our dependence on foreign oil? Maybe this Lenten season, your sacrifice is of your time and talent. What can you share with others? Can you donate time at a shelter or food pantry or offer a ride to someone in need?

As followers, we're called to follow the examples Jesus set. Maybe this Lenten season, the change you make is in your attitude or mind-set. Could you give up road rage, annoyance with customer service reps, aggrevation with your boss? Maybe this year, you give up judgement. Change involves trust, faith, sacrifice and perserverence. Sometimes, like Moses, we wonder if we can do it. Sometimes we doubt our own ability. When you're doing something for God, you're doing something with God. Be assured of God's presence in your life! Do you listen for God's voice in your life? Do you follow even when you can't imagine how you'll be able to achieve the goal? Will you move forward in faith? Do you have the courage to start anew? Do you trust that God has it all under control and that all is in Divine Right Order even when you're far from where you want to be? When you walk with Jesus, you are not alone. You can draw on his strength, power, and love to sustain you.

This Wednesday is Ash Wednseday, a day marking the beginning of Lent, the 40 days leading up to Easter. What are you giving up for Lent? Blessed Be and Amen.

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Chocolates, Conversation, Compromise: A Love Story
Rev. Estelle Margarones
Deuteronomy 6:4-9  Gospel of Luke 10:25-29 

­Here we are, February 12th.  I look forward to this week all year long.  We've got a very special day coming up this week.  Long stemmed red roses will be delivered, restaurants will be full, and cards will be exchanged.  Tuesday is Valentine's Day. 

But that special day that I love so much isn't Tuesday, the 14th...it's actually Wednesday, the 15th!  Because that's when those big red, heart shaped boxes of chocolates will be 50% off! 

Tuesday is Valentine's Day.  A day set aside for love.  So today we talk about love, but not about loving one other...instead, we talk about loving each other. 

In the Hebrew Bible, or Old Testament, in Deuteronomy Chapter 6, verse 5 we learn that we should love God with all our hearts, minds, souls, and strength.  In the New Testament, the Gospel according to Luke, chapter 10, Jesus changes it up a bit.  First he says you should love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind and all your strength.  Then he adds “and love your neighbor as yourself”. 

Before Jesus, and even during his time, a neighbor was regarded as someone who lived nearby, but more,  had the same ethnicity, the same language, the same culture, the same religion.  Back then, people from different places had different customs.  They wore different types of clothing.  They spoke different languages...and they were often at odds with each other.   

Jesus was asked “who is my neighbor?” and it was rather radical of him to give the example of the Good Samaritan. 

You know this story, right?  A Jewish man is mugged—he's robbed and beaten and he's left in a ditch.  A Jewish rabbi comes by sees him and walks by, a Levite —also a Jewish man— walks by, sees him and turns the other way. A Samaritan comes upon the scene, is moved by what he sees, puts the man on his donkey, bandages his wounds, takes him to an inn and gives the innkeeper money to care for him.  He also promises to pay whatever extra it takes to keep the man safe and on the mend. 

What makes this so radical is that at that time, the Jewish people and the Samaritans had been enemies for years! 

To Jesus, a neighbor was anyone with whom you came in contact.  This is a great life lesson for us today.  A reminder, as the day we celebrate love approaches, to love your neighbor as yourself. 

Love is a way of being in relationship. It's a way of approaching the world

Our neighbors today are those who live near us, but they're also the people shopping alongside us at Shaw's, and dropping off their dry cleaning at Dependable Cleaners, and having dinner at the next booth at the Cheesecake Factory over at the Plaza.  In 6 hours, you can be in Europe.  And with the world wide web, you can shop at stores in Asia.  Our neighbors also people across the globe.

Our neighbors are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, and Humanist.   Our neigbors speak English and Spanish and Mandarin.  Some share your customs; others don't.  Some of our neighbors have been here forever and some have just become citizens.  Our neighbors are Republicans and Democrats and those who prefer the “unenrolled” designation.

The directive isn't to think like your neighbor.  The charge isn't to act like your neighbor.  It isn't to agree with everything they think or say or do.  And it isn't to judge your neighbor.  It's to LOVE your neighbor.  

When you love, you care. Caring means that you recognize that we have more in common than we don't. And it sometimes means standing up for what's right even if there is some personal sacrifice or risk. 

Martin Niemoller, a German pastor and concentration camp survivor, wrote the poem, “First They Came”. 
First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out -- Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out --Because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out -- Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me -- and there was no one left to speak for me.

We don't always have things in common with our neighbors.  Witness, “the Good Samaritan”.

Love is a way of being in relationship. It's a way of approaching the world

Meet Ben.  He lives on a farm in rural Maine.  His family has owned acres of land for 300 years.  Ben is an oil truck driver and his wife is a social worker.  They have two little boys.  For the past several years, Ben has had a side-business cutting firewood.  About a year ago, the house next door was sold.  Ben's new neighbor recently came over, angry.  He'd been riding his horse when the horse was spooked by the noise of the wood chopper.  He threw Ben's new neighbor to the ground. 

Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself.  So...do you love your neighbor when he comes to your home and yells at you? 

You could exchange angry words and tell him that since you pay your taxes, you  have a right to do whatever you want.

You might ask that he  pick a weekend time when he can ride and during which time you'll refrain from cutting wood?  If you have a conversation and come to a compromise, you may even find that he teaches your kids to ride.... and he buys firewood from you! 

As humans, we are hardwired with the capacity for compassion. 

A couple of weeks ago on the news, you may have seen a bungee jumping accident on the news.  A girl jumped off a cliff and a few seconds and several hundred feet into the fall, the bungee cord snapped and the girl hit the water, hard, and was carrried down in the current.  Watching that, I felt my heart skip a beat.  And I prayed for her.  Have you ever had that kind of a reaction?  Even though you don't know personally know the person, and even though you will never go bungee jumping, you have compassion for the one who had the accident. 

Maybe that's what it was like for the Good Samaritan. 

Love is a way of being in relationship. It's a way of approaching the world. 

Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.  Start with a  prayer.  And a conversation. You will be strengthened when the fabric of your life is open to others. 

When you love another, there is compromise.  Do you communicate with others? Are you willing to see beyond yourself and to make changes to benefit others?  (Will you also ask for what you need?)

When you love another, it's easy to see the good.  Do you see the good in others?  When you consider your life, do you see the good in yourself?   

When you love another, you offer encouragement.  Do you support others?  (And do you see the possibilities in your own life?)   

When you love another, it's easy to do things for that person.  Do you care for others?  (And do you take care of yourself?)

My friends in faith, when you love God, you live a full, rich, life.   

When you love your neighbor you are compassionate, helpful, open to communication and willing to compromise. 

When you love yourself, you are peaceful and hopeful, and you reflect God's light right back into the world.  So love God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.  And love your neighbor as yourself.  Blessed Be and Amen.

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Super Scout Sunday
February 5, 2012
Rev. Estelle Margarones
Isaiah 40:21-31, 1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Today is Super Sunday...because it's Scout Sunday.  (And I also hear that there's a football game on later today!) 

In the Scripture we just heard, we learned that God is everywhere, all the time, and God gives us strength.  That is physical strength, mental strength, and moral strength.  It's the courage to try new things and it's the patience to try and try again.  Those are all things we use in scouting and in life. 

We also learned that Paul talked to different people in different ways, basically taking to them in language they could understand and relate to.  For example, if I said “wicked”, some would hear that and think that it was very bad.  Others, particularly those here in New England, hear “wicked” and think of it as a very good thing as in “that was a wicked fun ride”.

Today, I'm going to speak to you in a language that I hope you can all relate to...on this Super Sunday.

I see similarities between stadium games, scouting and spirituality.  Yes, football, scouting, and Christianity do actually appear to have sevearl things in common. 

1.  First, there are the uniforms. 

Football players have uniforms.  And, actually, the fans do too, in a sense. 

I bet that already today, you saw people wearing their Patriots gear.  Maybe the runners you saw this morning had on Pats baseball caps or the supermarket bagger was wearing a Patriots jersey.  Maybe as soon as you leave here, in your car with the Patriots license plate, you'll be putting on jeans and your Patriots sweatshirt.

Scouts have uniforms.  And Christians have the opportunity to wear a uniform, too, and to visibly show others our faith.  (We'll come back to that in a little bit.)

2.  We also all work for the greater good. 

In football, each player does his part to help the team win, but it's about more than just the game.  Teams have outreach to their communities.  The Patriots have a charitable foundation and this year, they've had a season-long campaign called “Celebrate Volunteerism” which, according to their website, honors Myra Kraft's lifetime commitment to philanthropy and charitable service.

The Scout Slogan is “Do a good turn daily”.  Scouting is about so much more than doing something to get a merit badge or going on a campout.  It's about living the slogan

In Christianity, we want to help others.  Jesus modeled that behavior.  He talked about feeding the hungry, clothing those who had little, visiting the sick, and more.  Today, we support food pantries and social service organizations.  We hold hands with people that need our strength and offer prayerful support for people, situations, and the world at large.

3.  Another thing we have in common is practice.

Players don't get to an NFL team without years of practice.  A team doesn't get to the Superbowl without months of practice. 

Scouts learn and practice new skills.   A badge or a palm isn't given 'just because--they involve the mastery of a skill...and that only comes with practice. 

As Christians, we're given the opportunity to practice our faith everyday.  To walk, as Jesus did, here on this earth and to face situations similar to what he must surely have faced.  To deal with trying people and unpleasant situations and to be present in a way that shows grace, and love, and hope, and peace. 

4.  Football, Scouting and Christianity all have rules.

There are rules of the football game, there're laws in scouting; and there are the Ten Commandments and the rules that Jesus gave us.  We all play by the same rules.

5.  Teamwork is essential. 

Tom Brady, Rob Gronkowski , and each player has his role, but every person on the team is equally important.  They work together to execute plays and win games.

In scouting, teamwork is a fundamental element.  Principles and respect are two fundamentals of teamwork. 

In Christianity, we're told to Love our Neighbor as Ourselves.  We should consider everyone our neighbor.  Jesus could have done it all alone, but he didn't.  He had a team of twelve disciples.  Even when a church takes a collection, when each person puts in what he or she can, that combined effort goes further and makes a greater impact than the funding of one or two alone.   

6.  We all also have leadership. 

In football, there's a coach to lead teams to the Big Game. 

In scouting, there are Scoutmasters who help lead youth to adulthood. 

In Christianity, Jesus was referred to as a shepherd...one who lead sheep from place to place and kept them safe along the journey. 

This is Super Scout Sunday!

May I have a show of hands....(play along if you're willing)...may I have a show of hands of people who either are scouts or were scouts at some point? 

Thank you.  I, too was a scout.  I wonder if your experience  was a bit like mine.  

I remember the sense of belonging I felt in that  uniform.  I remember the sense of challenge I felt when attempting something new in order to get a patch and the sense of accomplishment I felt when I'd mastered a new skill and obtained it.  I remember the sense of community I felt when we marched together in a parade.  And the sense of helpfulness I felt when did good deeds in the community. 

Looking back through the lens of one who is older and wiser, I see a lot of parallels between my experiences as a Scout and my experiences as a Christian.

As Christians, don't feel a sense of belonging to a larger community? Isn't there something beautiful and mysterious, yet somehow familiar about every church? 

As to that sense of challenge and accomplishment...the gospel of Matthew tells us that With God, All Things Are Possible.  As Christians, we know we're never 'going it alone'....God is always with us.  And our communities are there for us.

Don't we want follow Jesus and help others?

This is what it means to be Christian.  To be part of something that transcends your own personal relationship with God...it's means s we are part of one church and we make up the Body of Christ.   

When I went out to sell cookies, I wore my uniform.  Today, the scouts are wearing theirs.  Earlier, I mentioned that as Christians, we have the opportunity to wear a uniform (and I don't mean a robe or a cross).

How do people know that you're a Christian? 

What actions are you showing?  What words are you speaking? 

How are you both actively seeking God, and reflecting God's light back into the world? 

Let's just say there were a Christian 'uniform' we could put on...and it came with a sash.  What might be on it?  A cross?  (Of course).  Your church name where the troop number would be?  (Sure.) 

What else?  What would those badges look like?  How about praying hands to show relationship with God?  Clasped hands...for a show of solidarity?  Extended hands to show a sense of helpfulness?

Would you tell others about your badges with a sense of pride?  (Do you speak of your Christian experience?) 

One critical component of church is relationship.  I dare say that one critical component of scouting is also relationship.  Earlier today, we heard the Boy Scout Oath.  I'm going to read it to you again. 

Please listen closely and see if it sounds vaguely familiar: 

“On my honor, I will do my best  To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;  To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.” 

Could it be that you heard a similar message here? 

From the Gospel of Mark, "you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.”....(and) “You shall love your neighbor as yourself."

As to that Christian uniform, .the gospel of John says this, “Love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

Could it be that simple? That the uniform Christians can put on each day is “love”?  “By this all mean will know that you are my disciples.  If you love one another.”

Blessed Be and Amen.

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January 29, 2012
Scipture: Deut. 18:15-20and Mark 1:21-28

The Authority of Our Experience
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching

The tracing of our faith begins with a prophetic voice and unclean spirits.  The tracing of our faith begins in the synagogues and on the hillsides of Capernaum, from the Sea of Galilee to the River Jordan, teaching and healing, water and soil, the space and voice of the sacred and the profane.  From this vantage point we learn, question, and discern the authority of our faith.

The roots of our faith grow out of our willingness to accept the authority of Moses’ prophetic voice in the 18th chapter of Deuteronomy, “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people; you shall heed such a prophet” (18:15).  The roots of our faith grow out of our willingness to accept the authority of Jesus’ healing of the unclean spirit in Mark’s Gospel.  The roots of our faith are based on our willingness to accept the authority of this history and to claim it as our own. 

It is not an easy thing to know which voice, pronouncement, promise, teaching, or healing to trust.  It is not an easy thing to discern authority in our lives and in the world.  In this election year, we know this to be especially true.

“Tan, Rested, and Ready to Win” in reference to Mitt Romney was one of the leading headlines on Time Magazine’s blog post the day after Wednesday’s Republican Presidential debate in Florida.  I caught a bit of this debate and I have to say, though Romney was sporting a nice tan, I don’t know that I would be so quick to declare him the ready winner.  As is the case with most political debates, it seemed that authority was bouncing around the panel like a fast moving Ping-Pong ball.  A battle of quick-witted words; a duel of syntax and semantics.  We are left following the empty he-said/she-said below-the-belt trail of the ball.

At one point Romney denied responsibility for an ad that had aired in Florida the previous week, which portrayed Gingrich as calling “Spanish the language of the ghetto.”  Moderator Wolf Blitzer was quick to point out that the tagline of the commercial was, “I am Mitt Romney and I approve this message,” leaving Romney fumbling for words.

These debates always leave a bitter taste in my mouth.  After all attacks have been aggressively and artistically launched, I walk away overwhelmed by the flood of inflammatory remarks and find myself longing for truth, clarity, and authenticity.  I find myself searching for the humanity, for the common thread that binds us all together.  I wonder where is the wisdom, the vision, the kindness, and integrity that can lead us onward into our promised land?  I wonder where is the leader who acts with conviction, who lives for the sake of the people rather than the ego, who remains politically limber in order to best support the common good?

And I wonder where we derive authority from in our own lives, in our political systems, in our faith, and why?

We often associate authority with power and there are various ways that this power comes about.  There is authority that comes from a job or title.  There is authority that is the result of a particular skill set or acquired knowledge.  In a sense, these kinds of authority are derived from a source external to the individual; they are bestowed upon an individual through social, political, or religious systems.  And this authority is not free from corruption, we know, we have seen our leaders preach family values and yet get caught in adulterous lies, those who preach compassion for the poor while lining their own pockets.

In Jesus’ day, authority was viewed and obtained in much the same way.  The scribes are the central authority figures in this morning’s gospel lesson from Mark.  Their authority comes from status and title, from their knowledge of scripture and verse, of Jewish ritual and tradition.   

But when Jesus, a poor, uneducated carpenter from Nazareth, enters the synagogue where these scribes hold power he asserts an entirely different kind of authority.  He does not acquire his authority through any sort of social, political, or religious system or institution, and those there in the synagogue when he arrives see and understand this, for the gospel tells us, “he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes” (Mk 1:22).  The people recognize in Jesus a new kind of authority, a refreshing truth, a grace-filled power.  For, he invokes an authority that is derived from action rather than the fleeting breath of words alone, an authority that comes from within rather than outside of himself, an authority of character, integrity, and wisdom.  Jesus enters this sacred space of teaching and faith and he sees a man tormented by internal demons.  Jesus reaches out to this broken, unclean, and tortured man and he sets him free from the wicked spirits swirling within; he lifts his burdens and heals his pain.

And at once the people have seen ~ not only heard in quick-witted rhetoric, fancy rhyme and verse ~ the truth and depth, compassion, and integrity of Jesus’ authority.  An authority that in Mark’s gospel does not mean power, which is a different Greek word all together, but rather the word the gospel writer uses is exousia, which is a willingness or right that has everything to do with justice served.[1]  Such authority is found at the very roots of our faith.  Such authority is what compels us still today, in our own lives. 

In his work on spiritual formation, Henri Nouwen writes at great length about movement of the Spirit ~ from the mind to the heart, from illusion to prayer, from sorrow to joy, from resentment to gratitude, from fear to love, from exclusion to inclusion.[2]  The authority that Jesus reigns into the world is one that provokes movement of the Spirit, one that indeed has the power to move us from word to action, from the unclean to the clean, from rhetoric to the truth, from the profane to the sacred, from self-interest to compassion, from dominance to justice ~ in our homes, in our political landscape, in our communities, and in our churches.

In late January, as we find ourselves nearly halfway in between the manger and the cross, we recognize that this new kind of authority that Jesus bears into this world is what leads him to the depth of despair in Gethsemane and is what nails him to the cross.  This conflict of authority, the world’s inability to move with Jesus into the realm of authority found within our hearts rather than that which is derived from the institution or system is what leads to his death.  The world kills Jesus because they fear the power of justice and benevolence, character and grace, wisdom and compassion.  They fear his authority that comes from within.  “It is too much to speak with such authority!” They say as they hear his Sermon on the Mount, when Jesus reinterprets the scripture “of old”:

You have heard it said of old, you shall not kill.
But I say to you, everyone angry with his brother is liable for judgment.
You have heard it said of old, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer.  But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.
You have heard it said of old, you shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.
But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.
~Matthew 5

As the authorities of old tried to silence Jesus, so too today, do the authorities of this world try to silence pathways to justice and the roads that lead to the kingdom of God on earth.  But we have the power to give voice and authority to Christ ~ an authority that is based on our own experience of a lived faith ~ of loving our neighbors and enemies alike, of doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God.  May we teach as Christ, with our actions always in keeping with our teachings, our faith inseparable from our conduct and values, holding to the integrity of our character and proclaiming with authority the truth of the Good News.

[1] Feasting on the Word, year B, vol. 1, ed. by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008) 313
[2] Nouwen, Henri, Spiritual Formation: Following the Movements of the Spirit (New York, NY: Harper Collins, 2010)
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January 15, 2012
Scripture:  1 Samuel 3:1-20

Here I Am
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching

“Where are you?” is one of the very first communications from God to humans.  In the book of Genesis, as they are wandering around in the Garden of Eden after their encounter with the serpent and eating from the tree, God asks Adam and Eve, “Where are you?”  Strange, you might think, considering the question is coming from the all-knowing, all-powerful God who created Adam and Eve not long before and placed them in the garden.

Strange, perhaps, but I’m willing to bet that if there is one question that each one of us has ever heard God asking us personally, it is “Where are you?”  Or, “Who are you?” But if you truly know where you are, if you know what spiritual, emotional, and geographic place you occupy, then you know who you are.[1]  In many ways, the journey of our faith is a daily answering of this very question, “Where are you?”  The scary part is that once we have told God where we are, we will have given ourselves up – we will have been found - we will have been discovered, and we will have to answer God’s call and allow God to use us in this world.

*          *          *          *

As he explained it to me, Joe was the one always doing the asking.  From the time he was a small child, he never took anything at face value and he had a lot of questions.  He was a “Why?” kid – every adults’ nightmare – the kind of kid who never let a simple answer go at that.  We have all known these delightful children:

“Why do we need air to breathe?”
“Because we need oxygen.”
“Why?”
“Well, little Joey, because we need energy.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to think and talk and move.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how God made us.”
“Why?”
“Because God wanted us to be able to think and talk and move.”
“Why?”
“Because God wanted us to interact with other people and the world.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what God wants.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
 “Why?”
 “Because.”

He was no different when it came to his faith.  He had a lot of questions.  He had a lot of questions for the Church and for God.  Though he was raised Lutheran, he kept his distance from the Church in his adult life, remaining skeptical of its purpose, value, and most of all, of its truth.  Joe believed that there was a God and he held deep faith in a higher power.  But, he struggled with the idea that this guy came along 2,000 years ago, walked the earth, and claimed to be God.  More than that, he had a huge problem with Christianity claiming that this guy, this Jesus character, is the only way to God.

But then, something monumentally life changing, earthshaking, utterly astonishing happened to Joe…he had children.  He and his wife had children and something happened inside of him which inclined him to feel that it was important to expose his son and his daughter to a community of faith in God. 

So Joe and his family began attending the congregational church in town and he continued to surprise himself on this new spiritual adventure because for some reason he found that as time went on, he was becoming more and more involved in this community.  Joe had volunteered to be a youth group leader, thinking that this would be a good way for him to participate in the life of the church and for him to be around teenagers, the dreaded age that his kids would someday soon reach.

On this particular Sunday, youth group was coming to a close and Joe had volunteered to stay with the kids until their rides came so that they other adults could head home.  Eventually, all of the teenagers had gone home with their parents but there was just one girl, Kathleen, still waiting for her ride.  Being so new to the church, Joe didn’t know much about Kathleen.  She was quiet and seemed somewhat mysterious.  She looked like she was about 14 or 15 years old.  He asked her some questions to make small talk while they waited and after a while, she said to Joe.  “You know, no one’s coming for me.”

He asked, “Is there someone we can call?”
“No,” she said.

Joe offered to drive her home and on the car ride home, the young girl explained that she lived with her aunt and uncle.  Even though he was curious about her situation, Joe tried not to ask too many questions.  But in the comfort of their silence, she began to share a bit of her story.  She told Joe that her mom had a drug problem and was living on the streets, so her mom’s sister had taken her in.  Kathleen said that she was scared of her uncle and that she wasn’t allowed to leave the house except to go to school and to church.  Joe began to wonder how much of what this girl was telling him was actually true. 

Then she asked him a question, “Do you ever think about what it would be like to be dead?”

And there it was, the question striking like a lightening bolt to his chest, as if descending from God himself, asking, “Joe, where are you?”

After dropping this young woman off, Joe called the minister of the church and explained what had happened on the car ride.  Joe asked if any of this could be true.  Was this girl’s situation really as bad as she made it out to be?  The minister confirmed that her life at home was not good. 

Twelve years later, I was hearing this story in a cafe over coffee and bagels.  After a sermon I had preached on call at my home church, Joe felt compelled to share with me the story of how he and his wife were called - not only called to the church - but called to Jesus.  As Joe describes it, the day he met Kathleen was the day that he became a Christian.  That was the day that he welcomed Jesus into his heart; like an old friend who had been there all along, waiting patiently on the doorstep for that door to ease open.  How many times God had knocked on the door and called out to this man, “Where are you, Joe?  I need you,” he can’t be certain.  But on this particular occasion, Joe decided to respond, “Here I am.”

Joe’s response to God resulted in he and his wife asked this young woman to live with them and their two children; they invited her into their home and after a four year long court battle with her aunt and uncle, Joe and his wife were granted full custody of Kathleen.  Because of their hospitality and open hearts, this young woman attended college and is now living on her own.      

*          *          *          *

Like Joe, God did not call the young Samuel just once.  God did not call Samuel two times.  God did not call Samuel three times, but it was the fourth time that God calls out in the middle of the night while this twelve-year-old boy was asleep on the cold temple floor, “Samuel!  Samuel!” when Samuel finally answers, “Here I am!” and just as his trusted elder mentor Eli had instructed him, Samuel tells God, “Speak for your servant is listening.”

Time stands still as Samuel eagerly awaits the specifics of God’s call for him – a great and prominent moment in the life of our Scripture – but the task Samuel receives causes him to question whether or not he should have given himself away to God in the first place.  God, it turns out, wants Samuel to speak out against the house of Eli, his beloved teacher and friend, and name the fact that Eli’s sons have been using their status as priests to satisfy their own desires, eating the meat of animal sacrifices and sleeping with women who come into the temple to worship.

And yet, this is how we can say we know it’s God’s call because it’s not one full of lollipops and candy, sweet rewards or immediate bliss.  This is how we can discern God’s call from our own willful desires.  From God’s call to the reluctant Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt to Jonah’s call to proclaim judgment to the people of Ninevah to Jesus’ call for us to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, visit the prisoner, to love our neighbor, to pray for our enemies and those who persecute us – God’s calls are never small tasks, easily achieved and crossed off a neat list.  For when God calls us, it is for the purpose of bringing about the good news on earth and this will always be a tall order.   This will always be a challenge.

Always, but especially on this holiday weekend, we would be remiss to note Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in any conversation about Christian call and vocation.  One, who indeed stands in our great line of prophets, offered a bold “Here I am!” in response to God’s call, “Where are you, Martin?” 

“Here I am!  Here I am!  Here I am!” 
And God said to this young black man from Atlanta, “Martin, go, go cast my dream, no matter what the cost.”

You might say that for most of us, we claim no special place in history; that we assume no place in the line of great saints or prophets.  We do our jobs, raise our families, care for our homes, go to school, come to church.  We get through the day or the week or the month or the year as best we are able and we try to be good people along the way.  And yet, who will speak the truth to power, if not each one of us sitting here?  Who dares to stand and give voice to God’s proclamation of good news on this earth, if not each one of us sitting here?  Who will lift up the last and least among us, if not each one of us sitting here?  Who will greet the stranger if not each one of us here?  Who will lead the lost if not each one of us here?  Who will cast a dream for the oppressed if not each one of us here?

When we stop our questioning, when we relinquish our excuses, that dreaded, wondrous, petrifying and glorious question will come to us, “Where are you?”  And when it does, whether in the depth of the night or in the blinding light of the sun or on an impromptu car ride with a stranger, we will wake up to accept the truth of God’s call.  We will wake up to the challenge of our faith, the reality of our task to bring about the good news on this earth.  We will give ourselves away to God, shouting “Here I am!  Here I am!  Here I am!”

In response, we will hear that sweet assurance that we have been searching for all along from the God who walked alongside Adam and Eve in the garden telling us, “Beloved, here I am.  Here I am.  Here I am."      

[1] Duprè, Judith, Full of Grace: Encountering Mary in Faith, Art, and Life (New York, NY: Random House, 2010) 297
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Epiphany 01/09/2012
 
January 8, 2012
Scripture:  Matthew 2:1-12

Arise, Shine!
Rev. Leanne Walt

Bill and I recently spent some time with a good friend who has two young daughters.  Apparently his oldest, who is now 2 ½ is going through the “Mine!” stage.  She regularly declares sole and primary ownership over all toys, cupcakes, and even refrigerator magnets in the house and she has taken to hiding some of these items, which she declares to be, “Mine!” in her crib.  Even this year’s Christmas card from her grandmother was not safe from the jurisdiction of her “Mine!”  Though intended for the entire family, the card was addressed to her and so she took this as a clear indication that this was HER Christmas card - so began her collection of Christmas cards in the far corner of her crib. 

My 1 ½ year old nephew is also in the throes of the “Mine!” phase.  He is inclined to yell, “Mine!” quite loudly at anyone who picks up his favorite toy football or stuffed Elmo doll, reminding them that he is the rightful, private owner of these playtime enrichments. 

The “Mine!” phase is nothing unusual.  If you have kids, they probably went through a similar stage, and if they are now grown, hopefully it did prove just to be a passing phase and they no longer take Christmas cards or ornaments to bed with them. 

In fact this behavior is so common in children that there is a famous scene in the children’s movie Finding Nemo that is known for its “Mine!”s.  In this scene Nemo’s father, a small and beloved clownfish finds himself stranded on a dry dock in the hot sun after being mistakenly swallowed by a pelican.  Fortunately, the pelican is quite friendly and tries to help him search for his missing son, Nemo.  The bad news is that there on the dock are hundreds of seagulls hovering around wanting to eat this little clownfish.  All at once, the seagulls begin swarming him, each one declaring, “Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!”  The fish barely escapes by jumping into the mouth of the friendly pelican and this ends up being one of the funniest scenes in the movie.

I recently watched a documentary film entitled I Am, by Hollywood movie director Tom Shadyac that explores the phenomenon of the “Mine!”s.  Yet, in the film the subject is not approached as an amusing childhood phase, but as a more pervasive and deeply troubling social reality in the U.S. 

After making millions directing and producing hit Hollywood films like Ace Ventura, The Nutty Professor, Liar, Liar, and Patch Adams, Tom Shadyac had a terrible bike accident that caused him to seriously reevaluate not only his life, but society more generally.  As he faced the possible end of his life, he began to ask himself, “If I am indeed going to die, what do I want to say before I go?”  And he began to think about The Inconvenient Truth of the environment, the war in Iraq, poverty, and all of the other ills that plague our country.  And he began to wonder if these aren’t the real problems after all, but rather causes of a poison lurking underneath the surface of American society.

So he began a journey around the world with a small film crew to interview religious leaders, historians, and academics asking the questions, “What’s wrong with our world?” and “What can we do about it?”

What he found was that our society functions in a certain way based on the understanding and acceptance of scientific claims, namely Darwin’s emphasis on competition as a means to human survival and the idea that we occupy a reliable and well-behaved universe where separate objects operate separately in time and space.  The picture that has emerged from science is that human beings are made out of material stuff and that we work in mechanistic ways.  Believing in the laws of competition and scarcity, we operate as self-interested and singular individuals, needing to be significant at someone else’s expense.  We establish layers of separation between ourselves and others - the more stuff we have the better, the more layers to protect the stuff we have the better.   The more wealth we have the happier we are.

Yet, through his conversations with philosophical, spiritual, and scientific leaders, all evidence began to paint this reality as a lie and instead pointed to an entirely different truth:  that our basic nature is not to dominate, but to cooperate; that we actually function better in a state of empathy, compassion, and love, than we do in a state of dominance and competition.  As it turns out, when Darwin wrote The Descent of Man, he used the phrase “Survival of the Fittest” only two times and the word “love,” 95 times.

In the documentary, Tom goes to see his father who was one of the founders of St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, an organization that provides free cancer treatment for children and families, even for those without health insurance.  St. Jude’s is truly an exercise in loving both your neighbor and your enemy, as patients receive treatment regardless of religion, ethnicity, political views, and socio-economic class.  So, Tom approaches his father as someone who understands and has lived humanity’s greater call to compassion and service and he sits with him and asks him if he believes that it’s possible for society to live and operate in cooperation with rather than competition with one another.

His father answers by telling him, “There is a church out here that I go to every Sunday and I cry because there is so much love in that church for an hour and a half.  Then, people go outside and get into their cars and they drive away.  There are blacks, Hispanics, and white people in that church and they give each other the kiss of peace inside, but would they do that in the supermarket, on the street corner?  Probably not,” he concludes.  Because there is this pervasive perception that, ultimately, we are all separate from one another.

Yet, Tom and others he interviews continue to work to undermine this misperception throughout the rest of the film by suggesting that maybe we can look at achieving a profitability in our lives other than that measured by the financial economy and our place in it.  And that maybe we can do this by changing the fundamental question that we ask from, “What do I get out of this?” to, “How am I adding value to my community?”

This film got me thinking about how difficult it is for us as Christians to live out the gospel in a culture that preaches separation and competition, in a culture that teaches us from the time we are toddlers to declare ownership over those things that threaten to be shared by others.

But, it also made me think about how much power we hold as Christians to break down the barriers of separation between members of God’s creation. 

In our Wednesday evening Prayer Study, we have been talking quite a bit about how a prayer calls us to action, about how a Christian meditative, contemplative life is not a passive endeavor, but it is one that invites action.  And, what’s more, that this action ought to be directed to serving the needs of others, working toward healing and fostering greater love, forgiveness, and peace, in this world because we believe that God is manifest in this world – working within, among, and between us.

When recently asked what is the most important meditation that we can do right now, the Dali Lama responded, “Critical thinking followed by action.”  Discern how your gifts might benefit the world and you will discover deep contentment.

The magi saw the same power to herald in a new world and social order through epiphany – or the manifestation of God-in-Christ in the world – and they heard the call to perceive and participate in the glorious work of God.  In response to the birth of the Christ child the three wise men ask, “What gifts can I bring?”  They did not journey to Bethlehem and approach the manger proclaiming, “Mine! Mine! Mine!” They did not come to lay claim to the Messiah or to steal him away in the dark of the night.  They came bearing gifts.

Whether it’s our time, money, or talent, you could say that giving is the beginning of an adventure.  It involves a lowering of the guard to let the power of relationship have its way.[1]

The magi respond to God’s initiative of grace by giving – a bold and countercultural gesture as much in their day as it is in ours.  For the magi, this surely marked the beginning of an adventure.  After they offer their gifts to the Christ child, the magi return home by another road.  Perhaps it was a combination of meeting the Christ child and offering their gifts that directed them to change their direction or perhaps they were simply scared of the world’s Herod’s breathing down their back if they were to return home by the same road.  Either way, the Christ child, epiphany – the manifestation of God in the world – caused these three wise men to change their direction.

The scene with the flock of seagulls preying on the small, helpless fish in Finding Nemo is so funny because it is so true.   But maybe we ought to view it as more disturbing than humorous as we begin to see a little bit of the seagull in ourselves - not behavior that we naturally possess, but constructed and fostered by society - our need to declare ownership over what’s ours and our tendency to separate ourselves from others through individual achievements and private property. 

But the truth is, the most important gift we can receive does not belong to you or to me or to my neighbor with the fancy car or to the Hollywood socialites living in the Hills of Beverly.  The most important gift we can receive is epiphany – the manifestation of God in the world.   And Christ does not belong just to you or to me or to the haves or to the have-nots, but Christ belongs to each one of us.  Epiphany – the manifestation of God in the world – is not for us to claim as our own but to share with the world through bearing our gifts for the good and sake of others. 

God’s manifest presence in the world calls us to think critically about the world and how we might best share our gifts.  The economy of Jesus’ gospel calls us to ask, “How can we add value to our community?”  Through talking to our enemies, loving our neighbor, inspiring our youth, eliminating poverty, trying peace, including everyone.  Praying.  So that we can be a people who herald in the new Jerusalem, who boldly receive Isaiah’s proclamation to, “Arise, shine; for our light has come” long after we leave this place for on Sunday mornings (Isaiah 60:1).

[1]Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 1, ed. by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008) 199
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January 1, 2012
Scripture:  Luke 2:22-40

Year in Review
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching

It’s about that time of year again – in fact, it’s exactly that time of year again - when we look back upon the previous year and various news and media outlets offer their own “Year in Review” slideshows and written analysis of the events of the past year.  If you haven’t yet come across at least one of these this past week, you’ll surely catch some rendition of a year in review later this afternoon or evening if you tune into the radio, flip on the TV, or peruse the Internet.  Now, maybe I’m just a sucker for a good photomontage, but I always enjoy these tours through the previous twelve months - a chance to look back, to remember, to reflect, and to mark the passage of time.

These years in reviews are full of the good and the bad, the ups and the downs, chronicling moments of revolution and repression, misery and jubilation, triumph and defeat.  As such, they’re usually tearjerkers, tugging on our heartstrings with poignant quotes scattered throughout and inspiring music playing in the background. 

The Yahoo! News Year in Review called 2011 “A Year of Extremes,” contrasting the devastation of the Japanese earthquake and nuclear crisis with the extravagance of April’s Royal Wedding.   

The New York Times December 22nd Year in Review described 2011 as a “spectacle of anger,” making note of the wave of Arab Spring protests rippling through Algeria, Egypt, Libya, Yemen, and Jordan and the Occupy movements taking place right here in our own backyard. [1]  A local heading from The Wisconsin Rapids Tribune reads: “Year in Review: Winds of Change Defined 2011.”  From London to Athens and Tahrir to Dudley Square this has been a year of revolution, kindled with an anger that has fueled the winds of change.

President Obama remarked of the Arab Spring, “There are times in the course of history when the actions of ordinary citizens spark movements for change because they speak to a longing for change that has been building up for years…across the region those rights that we take for granted are being claimed with joy.”

Longing and hope, anger and courage, transformation and joy. 

This past year marked both the killing of Bin Laden and the 10th anniversary of 9/11.  In his 10 year anniversary speech at Ground Zero, Mayor Bloomberg of New York City reflected that, “We have lived in sunshine and in shadow, and although we can never unsee what happened here we can also see that children who have lost their parents have grown into young adults, grandchildren have been born and good works in public service have taken root to honor those we have loved and lost.”

Sunshine and shadow, terror and grief, fear and audacity, loss and growth.  A year in review.

In the days after Jesus’ birth as they traveled from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, perhaps Mary and Joseph engaged in their own version of the Year in Review 6 BC (or there about, as the exact date of Jesus’ birth is not known), reflecting and remembering the events of the past year.  It had no doubt been an incredible year for this couple.  An angelic message and divine mission, an immaculate conception, a marriage, a journey, a pregnancy, a birth. 

Today when we meet them in the Gospel of Luke, they are bringing their firstborn son to the temple to make a sacrifice for Mary’s purification, as was customary according to Jewish law.  Upon entering the temple, they are greeted by a man named Simeon, whose years of old age seem to drape over him like a cloth, obvious and discernable.  This stranger takes the infant Jesus into his arms and in his righteousness and wisdom he embraces the child whom he recognizes as the Son of God.  He cradles Jesus there in his arms and speaks to Mary, telling her that, “This child is destined for the falling and rising of many.”

If we pause here for a moment and linger with Simeon’s prophecy, we would notice the oddity of his ordering of things: “the falling and rising of many.”  For if we were to review the years throughout all of history we would find that they have been full of the rising and falling of many:  from the Roman Empire to the 3rd Reich, Saddam Hussein to this year’s fall of Moammar Gadhafi.  Even the peacemakers and pacifiers have fallen to death at the hands of hate: Martin Luther King, Jr., Bonheoffer, and Ghandi. 

And of course the rise and fall of financial and business tycoons has become a hallmark of our times, from Enron, Goldman Sacs, and Lehman Brothers to this year’s Rupert Murdoch, most notably.  Not to mention that we seem to be obsessed with contributing to the rise and then watching the fall of the rich and famous.  This year we witnessed Charlie Sheen and Arnold Schwarzenegger fall from grace, to name just a few. 

The media certainly had plenty to work with this year and they usually do because the rise and fall of fame and power appears to be the way of the world.  But, here, in this brief encounter in the temple with an old, strange man, Mary learns that the birth of her son challenges and reverses this order of the world.  In Jesus, we become destined to rise, as he did.  Falling on the cross into what seems so ultimate and final, then rising again for all eternity.  Some of you may remember at one point or another reciting the Apostles’ or Nicene Creed, which articulate the fall and rise of God in Christ:
And in Jesus Christ, his only begotten Son, our Lord:
Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary:
Suffered under Pontius Pilate; was crucified, dead and buried: He descended into hell:
The third day he rose again from the dead:
He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.

Held within these few words that Simeon offers to Mary in the temple, so fleeting and easily glossed over amongst the rich stories of the gospel, is the very promise of our faith: that in Jesus Christ, though we most assuredly will fall as we stumble along the highways of the world, we will rise with Christ.  We remember the Word that came to us last Sunday, on Christmas morning:
But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God  (John 1:13).

As a congregation, we have our own year in review coming up at the end of this month.  At the annual meeting we will look back and reflect upon all that has come and gone in 2011.  We will look at the good and the bad, our joining together in this exciting and new ministry and the financial cost of embarking upon such a journey of faith.  However, as we engage in our year in review as a body of Christ, I can assure you that the startlingly startling cost of the fall of our boiler will be vastly overshadowed by the rise of our faith. 

The scripture I have held closest as I have contemplated my call to turnaround ministry is Proverbs 16:3, which reads:
Commit your work to the Lord,
and your plans will be established.

I believe that as a congregation, we have committed our work to the Lord, and by the grace of God, our plans are being revealed.  If we continue to put our trust in Christ in the coming year, we are destined to continue to rise with him. 

The gift of a year in review is the power that such an exercise holds to bind us together in our common human experience.  And, as Christians, it has the power to remind us that despite all of the bad, awful, and terrible that has come and gone in the previous twelve months, we remain children of God who have been born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God so that though we may be fallen, we are risen in Christ. 

[1] “2011:  The Year in Pictures,” text by Colin McCann, The New York Times, Published: December 22, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2011/12/25/sunday-review/2011-pictures-of-the-year.html
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Christmas Day 12/27/2011
 
December 25, 2011
Scripture: John 1:1-14

Born of God
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching

The last time I was in church on Christmas Day was three years ago.  I was serving as a ministerial intern at a congregation on the North Shore and the Senior Minister there decided to hold a worship service on Christmas morning, even though it didn’t fall on a Sunday.  I remember the uproar when he presented this idea to the deacons: “No one will come,” they warned.  “People should be with their families,” they reminded the pastor.  And, worst of all, “We’ll have just attended a service the night before!  That’s two services in just twenty-four hours!”  They astutely pointed out.

“I will be here on Christmas morning,” the pastor calmly stated. “You can join me if you wish to and are able.”

The deacons were correct in their prediction.  That first non-Sunday Christmas Day service attracted a startlingly low number of worshippers, especially for a congregation of more than 500 members.  There were ten of us all together, musicians, ministers, student interns, and lay people combined.  But, we listened to the preached Word and we sang together and prayed together and we gave thanks together.  It was a beautiful morning, and one that I didn’t wish I had spent sleeping in or around the Christmas tree opening presents. 

In some respects, I understand where the deacons were coming from.  After all, it may seem as if the high point of this holy holiday has already been reached, culminating in last night’s reading of the nativity and singing of Silent Night by the delicate light of candles.  Yet, it is precisely when all of the pomp and circumstance of Christmas is finished, when our shopping is complete, the tree put up and lights assembled, the gifts wrapped, cookies baked, and dinner prepared; then after the tree is taken down and lights disassembled, the gifts unwrapped, cookies distributed, and dinner eaten, when the real work of Christmas begins.  As theologian and preacher Howard Thurman famously noted, it is,

When the star in the sky is gone,
When the Kings and Princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
That the work of Christmas begins.

Gathering on this holy morning despite of and amidst the busyness of this day grounds us in the real work of Christmas:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart.[1]
Faithful people of God, tried and true, on this Christmas morning would you join me in prayer…
Amen.

*          *          *          *

Surely you have experienced Christmases when there was someone missing at the table.  I know for some of you it will be this year, whether you’ve lost a loved one to age, illness, or death or perhaps have a child deployed overseas.  And, maybe if it was your nagging in-laws who were snowed in at home one year, it wasn’t such a sad occasion to be missing them around the Christmas table.  Nowadays it seems that with our ever-expanding family, there is always someone missing at every holiday gathering.

My grandmother used to tell me the story of one such Christmas before I was born.  It was 1977 and she was living alone in West Palm Beach, Florida.  She was scheduled for cataract surgery several weeks before Christmas and was planning to fly to Boston to be with her daughters.  There was a little kink in this plan when, during what is nowadays a routine surgery, the doctors mistakenly detached both of her retinas.  When she awoke from the surgery, she remained in the dark.  She was blind.  Needless to say, she didn’t make it to the Christmas dinner table in Boston that year.

Instead, she spent that Christmas Eve at home on the couch.  Around midnight, she turned on the television to hear the sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing the Halleluiah Chorus.  As she listened, she noticed that she could begin – ever so slightly - to make out the faces of the people in the choir.  In her cloudy and heavily blurred vision, each beautiful face appeared soft and angelic.  Their words rang in her heart: 
The kingdom of this world,
is become the kingdom of our Lord,
and of his Christ and of his Christ.
And He shall reign for ever and ever.

Over a period of time that followed, she regained partial sight in her right eye.

Now, I don’t know if this story is "true" in the conventional sense of the word, like the story she used to tell me about how she could read the color of people’s auras when they walked into a room or how she taught herself to play the trumpet while balanced on her head in some crazy yoga position.  But for my grandmother, this is how she remembered the story of the moment she regained her sight.  On Christmas Eve 1977, when she was walking in the darkness God sent her a great light.  Perhaps this is how she needed to remember the moment she regained her sight. 

After all, as the storyteller Valerie Tuston, who was just here several weeks ago explained, the truth of a great story transcends what is true and meaningful to the storyteller and the audience.  A great story tells us something about what is “truly true.” 

In some ways, you could say that the prologue to John’s gospel tells us what’s truly true about the Christmas story. 
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.  What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all the people (John 1:1-4).

What’s truly true about the great story of mystery and intrigue that we journeyed through at last night’s service, the message the angel Gabriel delivers to Mary, Mary and Joseph’s journey (on foot!) from Nazareth to Bethlehem when she is nine months pregnant (which, I can assure you, I appreciate far more today than I did a year ago), the birth of the King of Israel in a lowly manger because there is no room at the inn, the angelic pronouncement to the shepherds keeping watch over their flock by night that unto them is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, and the visitation of the Shepherds by way of a single guiding star shining in the night sky ~ is the incarnation of God in the world in form of Jesus Christ.  

And the Word became flesh and lived among us (John 1:14).

Based on the wondrous and awe-inspiring story tied to Jesus’ birth, we often think of the incarnation as occurring on Christmas morning, when God took the oh-so human form of a tiny baby wrapped in bands of cloth and laid in a lowly manger.  However, John’s gospel reminds us that the incarnation not only occurs in the person of Jesus, but in the light that Jesus brought into the world – the light that lives on and illuminates the world long after he has gone from it.

For some, this light is elusive and intangible but for others, like my grandmother, who have seen this light, it is as real and as close as their own breath.  It is what is truly true about the Christmas story.  Ancient philosopher and theologian Augustine interpreted this light in John’s prologue as a natural light, but Luther later rejects this and interprets it as the light of grace.[2]  I tend to agree with Luther in this.  What is truly true in the Christmas story is the light of grace brought into the world through God-made-flesh among us.  However it comes, however it manages to find us; in the love surrounding us at the Christmas dinner table, in a kind gesture from a friend, in a daily kiss goodbye, in the reversal of a devastating diagnosis, in looking into the eyes of the lowly, in giving of ourselves in service to those in need.  However it comes, the light of grace seeps in to guide those who are walking in the darkness, grasping and grappling to find the light.

At times we are recipients of this light of grace, but at all times and in all places we are called to be its bearers.  So we gather on Christmas Eve to relive the story, we sing, and we light our candles to stand as faithful witness to what’s truly true in this world – the light of grace, the light of Christ.

And now, on this great, divine, holy morning the real work of Christmas begins, to bring the light of grace, the light of Christ into the world:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart.

Amen.

[1] Thurman, Howard, “The Work of Christmas”
[2] “Christ’s Titles of Honor; His coming:  His Incarnation; and the Revelation of His Glory,” a sermon by Martin Luther from his Church Postil, 1521-1522, from The Sermons of Martin Luther, vol. I:171-223
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Advent IV 12/20/2011
 
December 18, 2011
Scripture:  Luke 1:26-38

How Can It Be?
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching

There were no questions asked.  There was no decision to be made.  There was no choice set before her.  The announcement came to Aimee Mullins early in her life, when she was not more than one year old.  The decree went out from her doctors that this baby girl would need to have both of her legs amputated below the knee.  For, although God had formed all of the delicate, innermost parts of her body and God had knit this child together in her mother’s womb, as the Psalmist writes, God had left out her fibula bones.  “How can this be?” her parents asked, if not out loud, then surely within the silence of their hearts.  But there was no decision to be made.  There was no choice set before this infant child. 

Aimee spent her childhood trying to make her difference invisible, trying to fit into normal in an effort to ease others’ discomfort with her disability.  She says it was on the Jersey Shore where she first learned to run really fast, sprinting from her towel into the water as quickly as possible so as to minimize the amount of time the other beachgoers could catch a glimpse of her glaringly white and fake-looking prosthetic legs.  

Her transformation came on Easter Sunday when she was in high school.  She was so excited to wear a sleeveless safari dress that she had bought to wear for this special occasion, the first thing she had ever bought that wasn’t on sale.  She had saved her paper route money for months to invest in this beautiful safari print dress that was, in the early 90s the pinnacle of teenage style, I’m sure.  She put on the dress that morning and feeling utterly glamorous and sophisticated, she walked downstairs where her father was waiting to take her and her brothers to church.  Her father took one look at her and said, “You have to change.” 
“Why?  What do you mean?  This is my fabulous new safari print dress.”
“You can see the knee joint in your leg when you walk,” he told her, “It’s not appropriate.”

But Aimee refused to change.  For the first time in her life, she defied her father.  She refused to hide something about herself that was true.  She refused to be embarrassed about something so that other people could feel more comfortable.  And, her refusal got her very, very grounded.

This was a turning point for Aimee and several years later when she was a student at Georgetown University, she started to realize how she had been limiting herself just as much as others had been, she started to realize that she did have a choice after all.  She started reaching out to engineers, wax museum designers, prosthetic Hollywood makeup artists, and sculptors in order to design and form prosthetic legs that would allow her to run track and field.  She made the decision that she wanted to be the fastest woman in the world on prosthetic legs.

Through her work with these engineers and artists, Aimee received woven carbon fiber prosthetic legs that gave her cheetah-like speed and with those legs she ran track and field at Georgetown against others who had sets of legs that naturally attached to their bodies and with those legs she set three world records in the 1996 Paralympics.[1]

In most artistic representations of the famous and revered scene of the Annunciation, the angel Gabriel is kneeling at the feet of Mary, who is usually seated on some lavish throne and adorned in a spectacular blue cloak.  In many of these images, Mary has a book in her hand or on her lap, as if when the angel came she was deeply engrossed in her studies.  The angel is kneeling and extends an olive branch her way, awaiting Mary’s answer to his pronouncement that she is to become the mother of God.   The time in between Gabriel’s appearance and Mary’s “yes” seems to stand still, as if the fate of the world hangs in the very space between this human and celestial creature. 

Yet, these colorful, bold, and extravagant images make it easy to forget that the girl there in the picture is from a small village in Nazareth and has little experience of the world - with angels or men.  And although historic memory and artistic rendering clothe her in blue, the most costly of all pigments in the ancient world, made from lapis lazuli, a semiprecious stone signifying wealth and royalty, Mary quite assuredly was not wearing blue when Gabriel arrived.  A poor girl from Nazareth, Mary would have been wearing brown, white, or black linen cloth, the color of the dry Palestinian landscape.[2]

These artists have taken the liberty of painting the illusion of privilege and choice into the Annunciation when in reality there was no question asked.  There was no choice set before Mary.  Gabriel never asked this sheltered peasant girl if she would like to become the mother of God.  He announced to her that she will conceive in her womb and bear a son, and that she will name him Jesus.  He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and he will be the King of Israel forever. [3] 

“How can this be?” Mary asks the angel.  

To some extent, perhaps, we too, live our lives with the illusion of privilege and choice that images of the Annunciation convey, setting goals and laying out plans for ourselves, imagining that we are in control of our own destiny.  While in the process of planning for our destiny, both the horrible and wonderful transpire.  Unexpected announcements break into our lives, angels unawares, bearing news of job loss, sudden illness, early retirement, unplanned pregnancy, and amputated limbs.  “How could this be?” We cry out to God, angry that we have had no say these matters.

And, yet, if we look to Mary at such times, we realize that held within these holy and unforeseen annunciations of our lives is a choice.  Although Gabriel does not pose an explicit question to her, Mary does have a say in the matter – whether to embrace this new life forming inside of her or to protect herself against it.  When God reached out to her, she answered in the affirmative, with a sort of hopeful abandon; she said yes to the journey of bearing God in the world.  She possessed a crazy willingness to follow when she didn’t at all know the way.

Despite how out of control we may feel at times, we, too, have a choice in the matters of our lives.  We can decide to become angry and bitter with our situation or we can decide to be active and willing participants in a plan that we didn’t choose, giving ourselves up to God in hopeful abandon.

It is at these times we pray as my grandmother has taught me, for the serenity or sometimes even the sanity:
to accept the things we cannot change; 

courage to change the things we can;

and the wisdom to know the difference.
-Reinhold Niebuhr

Several years ago, Aimee Mullins was at a street fair in Times Square, NYC when she felt a tug on the back of her shirt.  She turned around in the vast sea of people that only Times Square can accommodate and she recognized the 7 year old girl standing there, whom she had met at a speaking engagement a year prior.  She remembered that this little girl had been born with a brittle bone disease that made her left leg 7 centimeters shorter than her right.  She wore a brace and orthopedic shoes, which got her by but she wanted to be able to do more with her body. 

After hearing Aimee share her story, she went home and googled “prosthetic legs” (as 6 year olds can now do) and she discovered hundreds of options for her new leg causing her to make the startling pronouncement to her parents and to her doctors that she wanted to get rid of her bad leg and wear a prosthetic.

Six months later, on this busy summer day in Times Square, time stood still as Aimee observed this little girl in all of her glory – glowing and unmistakably proud - adorned in red sequined Mary Jane shoes and showing off a bright pink left leg that she had hand picked. 

As medieval theologian Meister Eckhart suggested, perhaps we are all meant to be mothers of God, allowing God to transform us from virgins who are unable to bear God in the world into creative agents for whom with God, “nothing is impossible.”[4] 

[1] Stories based on a segment of Moth Radio Hour 404 with Aimee Mullins: www.prx.org
[2] Dupre, Judith Full of Grace: Mary in art, faith, and life (82)
[3] Taylor, Barbara Brown, from The Minister’s Annual Manual For Preaching and Worship Planning 2011-2012 (St. Cloud, MN: Logos Productions Inc. 2011) 181
[4] Meditations with Meister Eckhart, Matthew Fox, ed. and trans. (Santa Fe, NM: Bear & Company, Inc. 1983) 74, 81
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December 11, 2011
Scripture:  John 1:6-8, 19-28

Who Are You?
Rev. Leanne S. Walt preaching

 I’ll never know the name of the woman who made it.  It came to me by way of bus route 217, Quincy Center via Beale Street.  A woman I know rides this route to work and back each day and has for fifteen years.  It’s not a lonely ride, she has told me.  She has a riding buddy, a friend whom she met some years back on bus 217 through an impromptu conversation shared over a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn.  They have a lot in common, my friend and her riding buddy, they’re both in their mid-70s, they ride the same bus to work everyday, and they share a mutual love for knitting.  They have a lot in common, my friend and her riding buddy, except that her riding buddy is blind.

When this woman who I know called me last week to tell me that she had heard the news of my expecting through her church in Wollaston, she told me that her riding buddy had knit my baby a blanket. 

It came to me wrapped in a colorful gift bag, pinks and greens and blues and whites.  When I reached inside and pulled out the blanket the intricate and careful handiwork of a knitting master was revealed.  The touch and feel and concentration required for a person with no sight to create something so detailed and beautiful is inconceivable to me. 

I’ll never know the name of the woman who made it.  She wishes to remain anonymous to me.  My friend assures me that her riding buddy finds joy in knitting and joy in giving her creations away, particularly at the occasion of new life being brought into the world.

I wondered if I could ever toil over something so carefully for so many hours and create something so magnificent and not demand to be recognized for my labor, for my effort, for my skill, for my gift.
*          *          *          *
Several Christmas’ ago, my parents neighbor gave them a copy of a beautiful book entitled Churches, by a relative of theirs named Judith Dupré.  The book is quite large and its cover opens right down the middle, as do the doors of most churches.  Inside are breathtaking images and descriptions of hundreds of the world’s greatest architectural creations, from the Pantheon in Rome to Trinity Episcopal Church in Copley Square.

As I began flipping through the pages of this book, I noticed that the names of most of the architects and builders of these prodigious works are not known.  Page after page I read, Builder: unknown, Builder: unknown. The Gothic cathedrals of Europe took hundreds of years to build and yet, in large part the hands and minds responsible for their magnificent existence are not known.  For the men who devoted their lives to climbing scaffolding and laying stone at what would be the site of Reims Cathedral, Notre-Dame, Westminster Abbey, or the Basilica of St. Francis in Assisi, Italy, they would not live to see the completion of their own life’s work and their names would not be credited as having contributed to its creation.  For them, it was enough to know that perhaps their grandchildren or even their grandchildren’s children might one day walk into and worship God in the awe-inspiring structure that their mind envisioned and hands constructed.

In the book, Judith Dupré recalls a legend that one of the builders of a great cathedral was carving a tiny bird inside a beam that would eventually be covered up by a roof and someone came along and asked him, “Why are you spending so much time building something that no one will ever see?” 
And he responded, “Because God sees.”[1]
*          *          *          *
“Who are you?” is the question that the priests and Levites from Jerusalem ask John the Baptist when they hear his testimony of the coming of Christ.  
Instead of answering in the affirmative, John responds, “I am not the Messiah.” 
Still confused, these men ask him, “Who, then, are you Elijah?” 
“I am not.”  John answers.
They continue to question him, “Are you the prophet?”
“No.”
“Who are you?”  They ask him again.
John skirts their question and begins reciting a verse from the book of Isaiah,
“I am the voice of the one crying out in the wilderness,
Make straight the way of the Lord.”

These religious authorities want him to say who he is, but all he will say is who he is not, all he will do is quote some long ago prophet, all he will do is tell of the one who is coming far greater than he, all he will do is point to Jesus.

From 1921 until his death in 1968, Karl Barth kept a copy of Matthias Grunewald’s painting “The Crucifixion” hanging above his desk where he produced some of the greatest theological writings of the twentieth century, including Church Dogmatics and The Epistle to the Romans.  In fact, to this day, a reproduction of Grunewald’s medieval masterpiece is kept over Barth’s desk where it is displayed on the main floor of the Barbour Library at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary.[2] 

The painting portrays a dark scene at the center of which is Jesus on the cross, his head, wrapped in a crown of thorns droops low, his bleeding hands and feet nailed to the cross.  To the right of Jesus is his mother Mary, and with her Mary Magdalene.  To his left is John the Baptist with a long brown beard and wrapped in red cloth.   Of all that is depicted in this image, Barth’s interest was always with the figure of John.  John whose arm, bent at the elbow, protrudes from his cloak and whose index finger is distinctly pointing toward the bleeding wound on Jesus’ side.

In Church Dogmatics Barth writes, “Could anyone point away from himself more impressively and completely?” (p.112).  For Barth, this image was the visual expression of his faith and theology, a constant reminder that our life and our work is not in and of itself righteous, worthy, or credible.    Our labors, our efforts, our skills, our gifts should be used to point toward God rather than to inflate our own sense of pride or self-importance.  John exemplified such witness to Christ, devoting his life to pointing toward Christ.

As the gospel story goes, John the Baptist was arrested just as Jesus was beginning his ministry and ultimately beheaded so that his head could be served on a platter before King Herod’s wife.  John the Baptist gave his life to building something that he would never see completed.  Taking no credit for himself in the construction of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth, but offering all the glory to Jesus.

Of all the lessons we can learn from John in this season of advent where he is so readily visible in the scriptures, how to serve as such a witness to Christ on this earth may be among the greatest.  Utterly selfless, humble, and sincere. 

For all of those times you’ve felt unappreciated, invisible, taken for granted - for those things that you have done for which you will never be thanked, for those of your works that will never be credited to you, for those creations made by your hands that will never bare your name - whether they be simple gestures of kindness toward a friend, care toward a child or grandchild, fixing something broken in this old, sacred building, knitting a prayer shawl, or giving a gift to a child in need at Christmas, rest assured that God has seen.  And, rest assured that God revels in the fact that you have not done these things for the sake of your own glory or satisfaction but as witness to God’s kingdom on earth.

[1] Dupré, Judith, Churches (New York, NY: Harper Collins, 2001) 32-33
[2] Davidson, James E., “Karl Barth and Mathias Grunewald: The Continuing Life of a Painting at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary,” in Panorama, vol. XLV, no.3 , Spring 2006
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