Building a Culture of Generosity: Water from a Rock in the Wilderness

Exodus 17: 1-7

We are so lucky that through our Saint Paul Area Synod, we have access to Stewardship resources each year. We have a consultant/trainer and we get to learn with others from congregations throughout the Saint Paul Area Synod. So… in the past few years, as we have learned as part of the Stewardship in all Seasons cohort, we have picked our themes—“Becoming New” was our theme last fall and “Share Life” was the theme that we liked so much that we used it for 2-3 years. This year, all of us in the Stewardship training cohort are using the same theme—Building a Culture of Generosity. We didn’t pick it ourselves, but it’s a good one because even if we have been practicing giving for years, it’s meaningful to take a look occasionally at our practices of giving to remember. Why do we give? Who inspired us to give? Why does this ministry in and out from 105 University Avenue West matter so much right now—in this particular time and place?

 

So in the next few weeks, you are going to get to hear a few short yet meaningful reflections from our members—those who have been here for years and those who are newer to this community of faith and hear who inspires them and why gathering together as church makes a difference. We’ll share these messages in a variety of ways—in worship, in written formats, and on social media, including through our Facebook page—so if you’re on Facebook, be sure to watch for these stories and share them with your circle of friends. In a time and cultural moment where there is such a need for loving community, you never know who among your friends and neighbors may really want to hear what it means to you to have an intergenerational faith community, people who are always working to get to know one another more deeply and meaningfully, people who are listening for God and serving in love.

 

As I’ve been collecting the first stories on behalf of our Stewardship team, I’ve been thinking about my own reasons for investing in this congregation. Why do I give to Christ on Capitol Hill? Well, first let me talk about the generations who inspired me. My grandparents sat next to me in church. My grandma sang the hymns beautifully. My grandpa made a joyful noise. On Wednesdays throughout the year, they stopped by the church to “clean the pews.” In the summers, my brother and I joined them because we loved to use the electric pencil sharpener. It was these practices of going to worship and finding ways to serve that were the grounding patterns for a life of faith. Now, life patterns have really changed for so many of us—still, when we arrive in these doors, we can expect to be welcomed without judgement. If we have complaints, someone will listen and sympathize… or listen and pray for us… or listen and offer encouragement and support, sometimes even a way to meet the need. When we arrive on Sundays, we know that there will be times for reflection, laughter, music, prayer, sharing a meal and a cup of tea or coffee, someone who sees and doesn’t mind our tears. We have a community unlike the usual circles where people join together out of shared interests or a common history—here, we are gathered together as one body in spite of many significant differences—yet we practice love for one another in spite of differences that in other arenas might divide us. Landlords are in conversations with tenants who are having trouble with their landlords. Eighty-year-olds talk face to face with teens. Rich and poor give what they can so that we can support ministries far beyond this place in meaningful, life-changing ways. God brings us together to learn a way of life that is different, that is sustaining, that is transformative.

 

People come and go, commit for a time and then move on—and this is both joyful and painful. This week, I visited Chuck Engleking at his new home in Blaine and as a way to try to connect with him, I was looking through ten years of pictures, finding pictures of him when he was active here. Some of you know the history—many years ago, Chuck was part of the special needs Confirmation class that Arnie Kolstad taught in spite of the fact that some people thought it wasn’t important and Chuck has been a devoted member here ever since. For many, many years, he carried the Ethiopian cross in and out of every worship service, leading a procession that on very special days included pastors, worship leaders, guests and acolytes—sometimes, even festive poles with ribbons on them. But even on ordinary Sundays, Chuck carried the cross (you can see a photo out in the display cabinet) until he was no longer able to safely do it. Chuck “helped the pastor” not only by carrying the cross but by letting me know it was time to pray before every service. He would tell me or the intern or sometimes the worship leader, “You pray.” And we would follow his instructions. Looking over 10 years of photos of all who have come and gone from this place, there are a lot of emotions. Incredible sadness for those who we loved and miss. Incredible gratitude for each one who we have shared a sliver of life doing ministry beside. 

 

This congregation has always been full of all kinds of generosity—all kinds of giving. What “Building a Culture of Generosity” hopes to remind us is that we are always invited to grow in our giving. When we invest as we are able, our hearts expand with love for this gathering and for all the good we are able to do together. There is absolutely no expectation that we give money here when we are barely able to make ends meet. If we are in that situation, we need to use our resources to take care of ourselves and our loved ones. But God has also put people here who have more than enough money, and God invites those who have more to give to invest in all this goodness. This fall, we hope to gather enough in our giving so that we can send youth to the ELCA National Youth Gathering without financial hardship for any family whose teen is willing to go. This fall, we hope to gather enough in our giving so that we can replenish the scholarship funds that go to support high school students we sponsor in Tanzania that are so grateful to us for helping to pay their school fees. This fall, we hope that you will prayerfully consider your intentions for giving and share those with us on Commitment Sunday—when we give deep thanks for everyone’s commitments to love and community lived out within and far beyond these walls.

 

In the part of the story of the Exodus that we hear today, the people are in the wilderness, really fearful about whether they will survive. They are so afraid that they go after their leader, Moses, and he’s praying to God for his life—because their basic needs are not being met and he doesn’t know what to do—the situation’s desperate. And God listens, again. God led them to freedom, protected them from danger, fed them when they were hungry and now, they find water where no one would expect. So, “Is the Lord among us or not?” This is the question that we have the opportunity to answer in this season, as God cares for us, cares for this community… helps us believe in God’s deep generosity and invites us to invest in such a way that we grow deeper in faith, deeper in love, deeper in generosity.

 

Anything But Ordinary: Passage through the Red Sea

Exodus 14: 19-31                                                                                            

 

Dr. Anna Marsh writes that: “Today’s story of the Exodus is the culmination of a long stretch of narratives demonstrating God’s power to save the people of Israel. Their freedom as well as God’s very identity are on the line. If you tune your heart to the strains of the Hebrew Bible, this is the defining moment in the history, literature, and liturgy of ancient Israel.”

 

The defining moment.
Three scenes catch my eye especially within this incredible moment of drama.

 

First, there’s the pillar of cloud and fire that God places between the Egyptian army and the people of Israel, leaving everything they’ve ever known for freedom, for a new life.
The pillar of cloud and fire… came between them and

“One could not come near the other all night long.”

That pillar of cloud and fire is God setting a boundary in a very powerful way.

No oppression can happen while that boundary is in place.
It protects the vulnerable until God is ready for them to take their next step.

 

The second scene is the parting of the waters and walking on a path through the sea.

Then, the water was parted so dramatically that the path they walked on was dry… 

Dr. Marsh writes, “As the Israelites come to the shores of this water, pursued by their oppressors, there is chaos ahead, chaos behind—the only way out is through. And God makes the way.”[1] Like a rebirth, the people of God follow the path of God walking into a new life where they are not dependent on oppressors but rely on a God who loves them and wants the very best for them, wants the very best relationship with them.

 

The third scene are the chaotic waters collapsing and drowning the whole army.
Not one chariot makes it through.

The Hebrew people see the Egyptians who had come to kill them (or force them back to slavery)… dead. So, on one hand, there is a sense of celebration, of relief, of freedom… 

But on the other, there is a trauma… all those Egyptians, dead… and the full knowledge that only by divine power could this unexpected outcome have been possible. 

It was awe-inspiring. It was terrifying. I imagine that the memory never left them… but also, I think this is why they danced. They danced to work through their trauma. They danced to acknowledge a power greater than the power of the greatest army on earth. How could it be that God’s power was greater that the power of Egypt? It was hard to imagine—and hard to believe still… that God had set them free.

 

In the next chapter, Moses sings … and then the prophet Miriam sings and leads all the people in song and dance… because people need some time and space to realize what has happened.  They express the whole variety of emotions present in such a deep generational experience… first, considering their long years of being enslaved… then, in watching such an oppressive situation come to its end. They take their time to mourn, their time to dance.

 

In the upcoming October newsletter, I share thoughts about some of the changes coming to the neighborhood right around our church building. Currently, the Ford Building next door is scheduled to be demolished in late October, early November. Phase one (the demolition) is planned to be completed by the end of the year. Then, in Spring, phase two (reconstruction of a tunnel shelter and green landscaped space) will be completed. Conversations, advocacy and plans are underway so that our historic building will be protected and preserved, even as this significant demolition happens at very close proximity.

 

It’s a defining moment of change—twenty years ago, this congregation advocated for that building not to be taken down. There were values about re-purposing the Ford building rather than tearing it down and there were fears about our church building being the only building standing in the square block. Then, the building stood un-used for twenty years. Now, it seems as if the changes will be good in the long run, as if the plans for investment and renewal all around us will be full of new life… but before the good that lies down the road, there’s chaos. Chaos behind, chaos ahead—how do we navigate the path ahead?

 

In the October newsletter, I share insights from Darla DeFrance. In her article, “A New Ministry out of the Rubble: Always reforming means always deconstructing,” DeFrance writes a moving reflection in response to a historic building in her neighborhood being torn down. Here’s a small part of her reflection:

It is… a change for the better. But change is always stressful, and I admit that I shed a few tears watching the giant mechanic jaw bite off and digest into rubble the place that held so many memories and stories. 
The Church is called to be constantly reforming, and the first step of re-forming is un-forming, breaking down what has been before trying new ways of putting it all back together. It is what Richard Rohr calls the universal pattern—the order, disorder, and reorder that we see in the changing of the seasons, the life and crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and in the literal and metaphorical experiences all around us of construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction. 
The deconstruction is the most painful. We would do anything to avoid it, to skip ahead to the exciting phase of rebuilding. But unless we deal with the fatal cracks in the foundation and clear away the rubble, nothing truly new will ever be built…
The church is always reforming, in every generation and in every season. This can be exhausting when it feels like it’s falling apart. But what if it’s a necessary, ongoing part of messily overlapping cycles of change? The Church is bigger than the building, bigger than the congregation or the denomination. The Spirit moves in mysterious ways, and part of coming together into a new thing is the undoing of old things….
Yes, God is doing a new thing among us! God [will be] in the pile of rubble. God [will be] in the corner pillars of the new foundation. And God is in the vision of a future that is only beginning to come into focus.

I can only imagine that these are some of the feelings that the people of the Exodus felt as they waited in fear on one side of the cloud of pillar and fire, as they looked forward into the path across the waters and stepped a tentative foot onto the sand and wondered if they’d actually make it across… I can only imagine that they cried tears of grief and joy as the life they knew came to an end and they began a new chapter. This is the universal pattern—the order, disorder and reorder. Yes, God is doing a new thing beside us, among us. It’s a defining moment. Just as surely as God showed who God is through the Exodus, God is still showing us and will show us who God is—for the flourishing and new life of us and our neighbors.

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[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-24/commentary-on-exodus-1419-31-6

Anything But Ordinary: Moses' Birth

Image from sanctifiedart.org - used as part of a purchased series "Anything But Ordinary"

Exodus 1:8-2:10 and Matthew 16: 13-20                                                     

 

Last week, we ended our Family Fun Day Sunday story with Ocho in such a happy way—Joseph was reunited with his brothers and forgave them. The ancestors of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Joseph were all gathered to Egypt—the land of enough—growing stronger and more numerous. And then we hear this ominous turn in the story—“Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” 

 

Isn’t that just how things go?
People are in relationship and thriving… and then someone begins to see and label another as a threat. This new king saw danger whether the Israelite people stayed in the land or left, so he constructed a system of slavery. The more they were oppressed, the more numerous they became and so the story goes, “the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites.” Their fear turned them into monsters—and they treated the Israelites in cruel, ruthless and bitter ways. In fact, they ordered the midwives to kill the boy babies as they were born. It was not only to get rid of any potential future army or uprising, but it was to destroy their hope.

An artist, Hannah Garrity, reflects on this story—“Of course, the midwives should break the edict of the king. However, it takes incredible bravery to stand up to human power. It is incredible that they were fearless enough to defy and lie to the king. The moral is easier said than done: we must always do the right thing, even when it puts out lives in danger. Be brave.”

 

In this situation, the clever minds and sheer courage of Shiprah and Puah is remarkable. Shiprah and Puah are the two midwives who are named as heros in this story because they save all the babies from this evil plan. They don’t say “no” to the king. They simply don’t do what he commands, and then they tell this great God-blessed lie, “Sorry king, we don’t even get there in time to help these vigorous Hebrew women—the boys are born well before we arrive.” 

And as Lisle Gwynn Garrity, the artist who designed the beautiful cover image today notes, “the impact of their actions, like the waters of the Nile, ripples out far beyond them.” 

 

Garrity also says this about their hands in the painting, “They are the hands that said no to a power-hungry ruler but yes to a God of justice—to a God who transforms a story of massacred into one of liberation.”

 

In the short-term, the babies were still not out of danger though… because we hear that the mother of Moses kept him alive by hiding him for three months. And when she couldn’t hide him any longer, she put him in a protective basket that she made and placed him where someone could save him—and sure enough, the Pharaoh’s daughter discovered him. Miriam, Moses’ protective big sister, was watching. Smart girl, she offered her own mother as someone who could continue to breast feed and care for the child, and in fact, now Pharaoh’s daughter would pay Moses’ mother to care for him until he grew up. And in this way, God saved Moses and his family from threat and placed Moses in the household of Pharaoh. 

 

What a complicated and miraculous story—and this is just the beginning of God’s plans for saving the Israelites. And it makes me wonder, in what situations in our lives are we being called like Shiprah and Puah to do the right thing, even in the face of power, to be brave?

In what situations in our lives are we—like Moses and Miriam, their mother and the Pharoah’s daughter, placed exactly where we need to be in relationship with others for present and future transformation? None of the rest of the story could unfold as it did without each of them carrying out their unique part. 

 

Moses truly had a “third-culture” identity—he was truly Hebrew and he was raised in the very center of Egyptian culture, as the Pharoah’s grandson. What a very unique view he must have had as he grew in awareness of the situation… that some of the people he loved were oppressed and that others were oppressors, and that human-created systems of injustice harm everyone in the system. But in situations of harm and danger, there are always those—like Shiprah and Puah—like Moses’ mother and sister, Miriam—like the Pharoah’s daughter—who resist and interrupt harm, who protect and cultivate others and make room for all.

 

Generations later, Jesus came along in a situation where the king of the day was called Caesar. Instead of Son of God, a kingly title, Jesus called himself Son of Man… as if to say that Jesus’ identity was grounded with the people. But Simon Peter, one of Jesus’ closest followers, said even more about Jesus—Simon Peter said that Jesus was the promised one who would save them from oppression because it was God’s hope, God’s vison, God’s dream for them. And Jesus answered that after this, Simon would be known as Peter—which means rock—because on this kind of foundation, this kind of understand, a whole new kind of faith would grow. From this kind of faith community, God would save people from worship of oppressors and oppression and would begin to turn to one another and love. This was and is God’s dream and hope for us.

 

This is the hope, the vision, God’s dream that we’ll sing about and pray for… and when we are brave like Shiprah and Puah, Moses and Miriam, Pharoah’s daughter, Jesus, Peter… when we are brave, we will act and bring it into being. It’s not that it happens all at once or that we see God’s vision unfold perfectly… but we do glimpse it.

 

On Friday, we hosted John Arlandson’s funeral… and although none of us imagined that we would be grieving John’s death and celebrating his life so very soon after Ivy’s death last November, it was very moving to see so many of the same family, friends, loved ones gathered again. It was very meaningful to see how the Hospitality team and so many people of Christ gathered around the Arlandson family with their presence, love and support. And then, later that same day, we celebrated at the ordination of now Pastor Carrie Stiles, our former intern pastor. I was so moved at the group of people who were able to attend—especially after so many of you worked all day to set up, serve and clean up at the funeral. It was such an honor to be with you as we sang the Cambodian Lord’s Prayer at Carrie’s invitation. I was so grateful to see the many ways that we showed up for Carrie. Thank you to those who were able to come—the witness of your presence was meaningful. These are just two of the ways that people of this part of the body of Christ showed up for one another this week… and I know that there are many, many more ways that you showed you care, that you protected and helped others, that by God’s grace, you gave a glimpse of God’s deep, expansive love. It is not always easy to do the next right thing, especially in the brokenness that surrounds and impacts us, yet this is God’s call and invitation. So, thank you for all the ways you are already responding to God’s callings and may we be brave to say yes to God’s next right thing.

Anything But Ordinary: Joseph Forgives

Image from sanctifiedart.org - used as part of a purchased series "Anything But Ordinary"

Genesis 45:1-15 and Luke 3: 3b-6

Today is my Dad’s 78^th birthday and that has taken on special meaning because last Saturday night, we weren’t sure he would live through the night. We visited him in the afternoon and he did not look well, but there was no clarity about what was wrong. We talked with nursing staff again in the evening and went back to be with him, thinking maybe we were saying goodbye. Then, we left him resting peacefully, only to get more calls throughout the night. The good news is that after a trip to the ER and two days in the hospital, he is back to Lyngblomsten care center and doing much better. But I know that many of you have had these kinds of sleepless nights, nights of wrestling with difficult decisions, nights of struggling … so many of us can relate to this story of Jacob wrestling throughout the night, in the wilderness, with God. 

We have been learning Jacob’s story over several weeks – we learned how Jacob struggled with his twin brother Esau even before birth. We learned how as a young adult, Jacob tricked his father and brother, receiving the blessing that would normally have been given to the oldest sibling. We learned how Jacob ran away… met Rachel at a well, fell in love… and then through a series of events married her oldest sister, Leah, and bore twelve children with four women. Now, in this part of the story, Jacob is headed back to his homeland with vast riches and a large family of his own. Maybe he will be able to make things right with Esau after all, but he’s nervous. He’s so anxious that he sends all his family, servants, herds of animals—this giant, visible show of wealth—ahead of him, with words of peace to offer to his brother. And he lays down his weary head for a last night’s rest before he meets his estranged brother face-to-face and someone comes to him when he is alone and wrestles with him all night long. Neither wrestler will yield. Finally, Jacob’s opponent struck him on the hip socket and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint, but Jacob still holds on. The stranger pleads, “Let me go, for the day is breaking,” but Jacob says, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” The stranger gives Jacob with a new name – Israel – that means “one who struggles with God.” But when Israel asks for the stranger’s name, the stranger doesn’t tell… and this is how Jacob knows who it is. Jacob names the place Peniel—face of God—and realizes that he has experienced something miraculous, to wrestle with God and live. Jacob walks away limping… and blessed.

 

Rabbi Aron Moss notices these details about the story:

 

[The name Israel is] even more surprising. If our name is all about prevailing in our struggles, why not call us “the one who prevails,” rather than “the one who struggles”? Isn’t the point that we win…? Why name us after the struggle instead of the victory?

Here is the essence of Judaism: We do believe that goodness prevails, but the happy ending is not our focus. Our focus is the struggle to get there. Regardless of the result, the struggle itself is holy. If you strive for goodness, you’re in, even before you get there. If you’re trying to be better, even if you fall sometimes, you’re on the path. It’s all about the struggle.

That’s why the Torah doesn’t speak about heaven. We believe in the afterlife, but we aren’t preoccupied with it. We focus our energy on the effort to be a good person, the struggle to do the right thing, the battle against our adversaries, both internal and external.

Some religions seek serenity. Some spiritual paths promise peace. Others offer a place in heaven. Judaism embraces the struggle of the here and now. The victory will come. But for the time being, we are here to grapple with G‑d, debate with our fellow humans, and struggle with ourselves, never accepting that the world can’t change, starting with me. That’s [the meaning of this new name,] Israel.[1]

 

What a moving insight for all of us who struggle at times, or what may seem like all the time—

 

Our faith as followers of Jesus comes from these roots and from Jewish neighbors in faith… for the time being, in this life, we grapple with God, debate with our fellow humans and struggle with ourselves… and the struggle itself is holy.

 

For Muslim siblings in faith, the term is jihad. This term has been so misunderstood but it literally means striving, or doing one’s utmost. Within Islam, there are two basic theological understandings of the word: the “greater jihad” is the struggle against the lower self—the struggle to purify one’s heart, do good, avoid evil and make oneself a better person.

 

In Lutheran Christianity, we believe it is by God’s grace that we are freed from sin and death… and this gives us the freedom to love. This grace and freedom doesn’t mean we don’t struggle, but ideally, we can remember as we move through times of struggle that what we are freed for is to freely give love, forgiveness and compassion to others. That’s how we use any power or blessing we receive—letting it overflow and uplift.

 

As I think about the struggles that we are facing, I wonder if we can imagine with Jewish siblings that the struggle itself is holy? 

 

I wonder if we can imagine with Muslim siblings that our most important jihad is the struggle within our own hearts?

 

I wonder if we can imagine God’s Holy Spirit accompanying us through daily struggles… with the goal of breathing life, forgiveness, healing and compassion into and out from us?

 

I am impressed that after Jacob’s night of wrestling, he never gave up, he held on and never stopped believing there was a blessing there for him. May we also keep holding on, ready to receive blessing, ready to pass on that blessing, ready to notice when the one we’re struggling with is God-in-flesh who loves us so completely and wants good for us.

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[1] https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/5752241/jewish/What-Does-Israel-Mean.htm, accessed August 4, 2023

Who Is Blessed? Who can we bless?

Micah 6 & Matthew 5

Last Sunday, I went home after our Pre-Annual Meeting Budget meeting energized. I can’t say that I remember feeling this way before but I was moved by something that happened as the conversation turned from money specifically to gratitude for the leaders of the congregation, leaders who have had a really tough financial year to manage. Some of the past leaders thanked the present leaders for their work and then one of the present leaders said, “Well, you know, I’ve been in this congregation for a decade and there have been ups and downs but somehow, it’s always worked out. God has never left us.”

And then another member said it out loud, “And we need to remember this next year, when we won’t necessarily have the resources that are coming this year—that God hasn’t left us.”

And then people were reminding each other how God is present and faithful, week after week, year after year, even though we can’t always see it clearly.

 

It was really beautiful to witness this outpouring of faithful words of encouragement to one another arising out of a budget meeting. I really needed to see and hear that. I left feeling like I had seen a miracle.

 

Like Pastor Edward preached last week, we all have many diverse ways that Jesus calls us and how wonderful to see people in awe of God taking care of us in unexpected, abundant ways. So many congregations, our congregation included, are having to learn to trust God more fully than ever as we cannot necessarily measure anything we do by the usual cultural measurements anymore. We are having to learn to navigate a whole new reality, where the things we’re practicing here are not necessarily supported anywhere else in our lives, where we’re being invited to learn things we didn’t know before.

 

In the new film out at the turn of the year, Avatar: Way of Water, a family of forest Na’vi have to escape for their lives and make a new home with the water Na’vi. It is not easy for any of them to change their ways from forest to water, but the teen members of the forest family have a somewhat easier time learning how to adapt from the water teens. For example, Tsireya (the most welcoming of the water people to the newcomers) teaches them how to hold their breath under water for longer and longer periods of time by showing them how to deepen their breathing and quell their fears. She says, “The way of water has no beginning and no end. The sea is around you and in you. The sea is your home before your birth and after your death. Our hearts beat in the womb of the world.” 

 

When Four12 youth gathered with Sam Rahberg last week to learn Christian spiritual practices, they practiced breathing in the presence of God, which sounds a lot like this, doesn’t it?

The way of God has no beginning and no end. God is around you and in you. God is your home before your birth and after your death. Our hearts beat in connection with God and God’s beautiful world.

 

Recognizing our connectedness to God and the whole creation is like learning to breathe in a new way. But learning to trust, learning to breathe, in a new way is not easy and takes practice and we can be thrown off from practices, especially when faced with obstacles.

 

In the film, humans are trying to kill the Na’vi and exploit the animals and resources of their planet because their own earth is dying and because of their deep fear of death. This is a fictional story but clearly so true to life. We carry around in our bodies the pain and trauma of generations of people who have feared death, who have exploited and been exploited, who have perpetuated and received violence… 

And into this context of present and generational pain and brokenness, Jesus teaches us a whole new way of interpreting life. 

 

Blessed are you…Jesus looks around at people who probably feel anything but blessed, and breathes love and blessing into them. Jesus fills them with hope to sustain them. Jesus gifts them with something new within, a new interpretation, a new way of moving in the world.

 

If we can see ourselves as loved and blessed by God through the most challenging of circumstances, I wonder how we can move into 2023 differently? Yes, it has been very hard and we can be honest about that, and at the same time, God is blessing us week after week… so who can we bless in 2023?

 

Today’s meeting, where we thank our leaders, recognize milestones of 2022 and pass a budget for 2023, is a first step in imagining who we can bless in 2023 and there are going to be many more steps. During February, we’ll continue hosting advocacy groups who come for their Day on the Hill and there will be invitations to support our guests. In Lent, we’ll gather and deepen in faith, explore how to make changes and do intentional visioning work together.

 

We have been given star words this Epiphany, a tiny focal point for listening to God in a new way in 2023… God’s call to trust, God’s call to practice relaxing, God’s call to rise up… God’s call to us is personal and also, God calls us as a community to see that “we are a diverse people brought together by the grace of God to share with others what we ourselves have received.”

Those words—“diverse people brought together by the grace of God to share with others what we have received” have been this congregation’s mission statement for a very long time and still, we are continuously learning how to live them fully, aren’t we?

 

It may be that in the course of this year, we find new words that better describe God’s call for us for this time—that give us a new visioning image—that give us new action steps, but whether or not the words become new, God looks at around and wants us to know… 

 

You are blessed—just as you are right now, in all kinds of situations that might not feel anything like blessed—still, you are blessed because God breathes love and blessing into you. Jesus fills you, sustains you. And gifts us together with something new within that empowers us to ask in this new time, who can we bless? Who will we bless? I am so excited for what we will do together in 2023—how we will give and receive and give again, and how in practicing Jesus’ new way of interpreting life, we will become new.

It’s kairos time, beloveds

Baptism of Jesus

Let’s listen again - 

¹³Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. ¹⁴John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” ¹⁵But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. ¹⁶And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. ¹⁷And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

 

This story of Jesus’ baptism is told in detail in all four gospel accounts – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. It’s such an important moment. And two details are unique in Matthew’s version of the story—how John says at first that he shouldn’t baptize Jesus.

 

Diane Chen, professor of New Testament, shares with us these details about the meaning of baptism in Jesus’ time. 
“Jewish ritual cleansing by immersion in a mikveh, or ritual bath, was practiced as a form of purification by the time of John and Jesus. These were not a one-time cleansing but repeated when necessary.”

John objects because he thinks Jesus is greater than him. 

But Jesus always turning over our sense of who is greater, even in this story.

Jesus continually distributes power, rather than holding onto it, in order to build relationship.

Jesus says he wants to be baptized to “fulfill all righteousness.”

Diane Chen, professor of New Testament writes that

“Righteousness is a relational concept. For example, Abraham “believed the LORD, and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness” (Genesis 15:6). Abraham was righteous because he trusted God, not because he was morally perfect. 

So, Jesus came in solidarity with the other people coming for baptism.

Jesus “humbled himself alongside his people to wait on God’s mercy. Because of Jesus’ mediatory role, John finally consented to baptize him.”

 

There’s also something unique in Matthew about the words God speaks.

 

 In Mark and Luke, God addressed Jesus directly, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22), whereas in Matthew, God made an announcement, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). Jesus was being commissioned to his messianic task in Mark and Luke, but he was introduced to [everyone] in Matthew.

This declaration is laden with meaning. First, Israel’s king was viewed metaphorically as God’s son (see also 2 Samuel 7:14; Psalm 2:7), ruling Israel on God’s behalf, and leading the nation to live as obedient children of God. For Jesus, though, “Son of God” not only points to his messianic status, but his unique conception by the Holy Spirit as well. Second, Jesus was God’s beloved like how Isaac was the “only son … whom [Abraham] loved” (Genesis 22:2). Just as Abraham was told to sacrifice Isaac, God would also lose his Son to death. Third, Jesus was identified with the servant of the Lord, about whom God says, “Here is my servant, … in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him” (Isaiah 42:1).[1]

 

This was not only a personal revelation to Jesus about who he was but an announcement to the whole community—and to all of us.

 

Much later, Christians saw baptism for us in this same way—not only as a ritual cleansing to be repeated but as a kairosmoment.
The Greek word kairos denotes a critical juncture, a divine intervention, or a special moment, in contrast to chronos or everyday clock time. You plot chronos on your calendar, like the game that will be at 7:15 pm tonight. With chronos you can procrastinate, show up late or even miss it all together with no consequence. Kairos is different. Because kairos denotes a unique opportunity, it invites a radical response, an urgent choice, or a fundamental reorientation.

 

We mostly perceive our lives in chronos time. However, there are events that change our awareness of what time we’re in dramatically. Maybe it’s a medical event or sickness that lays us low. Maybe it’s a failure that threatens to overwhelm us. Maybe it’s the death of a loved one, a life-changing move, a tragedy, a trauma. Maybe it’s a birth, a baptism, a wedding, a healing conversation, a moment a deep connection, clarity and peace. Maybe it’s a new awareness that every moment we get to gather in each other’s presence for worship is total gift.

 

Jesus’ baptism was this kind of moment - 

“At this Trinitarian moment, God the Father spoke through the clouds about his Son, on whom the Spirit descended in the form of a dove.”[2]

 

This weekend, we remember again the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and that

“… Part of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s many-faceted genius was his recognition that chronos, mere clock time — the passage of days, weeks, and years, no matter how long or short, no matter how trivial or important — is no match for kairos, that opportune moment of God's visitation.”[3]

 

I love that part of the quote from Daniel B. Clendenin, who writes in a space called Journey with Jesus. “the opportune moment of God’s visitation” 

 

We too have these kairos, these Epiphany moments—when God visits and presents an opportune space for life-giving, life-changing connection. When we become aware that we see Jesus who is calling us to action or pause. When God’s Holy Spirit enters into a situation in a new way.

 

Diane Chen invites us--“Like the people at the Jordan, we too [can] respond to God’s voice in awe and in gratitude, giving Jesus the worship worthy of his divine status, and the heartfelt thanks for his humility and faithful obedience to his Father.”

 

We too can be baptized. We too can join in solidarity with all those who know we need God’s forgiveness, grace and promises. We too can carry with us the promise of baptism that counteracts every voice, every system, every pattern of thinking that tries to tell us that we are something less. The promise is that you belong to God, you are beloved and beautiful to behold. Carry these kairos words, this abundance, this gift from God into this week—you belong, you are beloved and you are beautiful to behold. Let this help you know who you are and let it be an announcement to the whole community—because of Jesus, and in spite of all that would say otherwise, we belong, we are beloved and we beautiful to behold. May the baptism of Jesus and so many baptisms in the memory of this space and in your own body memory empower each of us, and all of us together, to awe and gratitude, to times of faithful action, to connection, to renewal and rest.

I Go to Sing

by Lindy Thompson

I Go to Sing

by Lindy Thompson

 

I might be exhausted and the children might be cranky,

but I will be going to church on Sunday.

Don’t know who is preaching, doesn’t matter –

the sermon may be helpful or not, holds my attention or doesn’t –

it’s the singing. I go to sing.

 

I get up, get clean, get dressed, possibly get mad (at not-ready kids, at empty coffee pot, at traffic)

get going, get there, get seated, get comfortable, get focused

and when the music starts,

get saved.

It’s the singing. I go to sing.

 

It’s the willingness to stand if you are able,

the common agreement on page number,

the voluntary sharing of songbooks with people on your row,

even ones you rode there with –

 

but most of all,

it’s the collective in-breath before the first sound is made,

the collective drawing upon the grace of God,

the collective, if inadvertent, admission 

that we are all human, 

all fragile, 

all in need of the sustaining air, freely dispensed,

all in need of each other to get the key right and not sound discordant –-

 

it’s the hidden life-celebration in the act of making a joyful noise                   all together.

 

We don’t even have to sound that good.

Singing together still brings home

the we-ness of worship, the not-alone-ness of life in God,

the best of all we have to offer each other.

 

When we are singing, I think that I might actually be able to forgive you

for being so terribly human,

and you might be able to forgive me

for being so terribly not there yet,

and we might be able to find peace now,

not postpone it for some heavenly hereafter

but live and breathe it today, 

drawing in the grace of God,

voicing out our need and hope and gratitude and longing.

 

When we are singing, I can feel the better world coming,

and if I get to be a part of it, you do too . . .

so sing with me, and we’ll make our way down that blessed road together,

collectively better than we ever thought possible.               

 

---

[1] Diane Chen, workingpreacher.org, January 8, 2023

[2] Diane Chen, workingpreacher.org, January 8, 2023

[3] Daniel B. Clendenin, https://www.journeywithjesus.net/Essays/20080121JJ.shtml

 

From Generation to Generation: We Tell This Story

Christmas Eve             Luke 2  

What are some of your very favorite Christmas stories? 

Ooooo, I like that one too.

These are the stories we tell and listen to and watch for every year alongside the story of Jesus because they tell us something about what we’re longing for in our lives.

The gifts and feelings that we’re hoping will be a part of this night.

 

One of my favorites is the story—The Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, and specifically, I love the Muppets version. I love seeing Scrooge’s transformation from a selfish, lonely miser to someone who finally cares for those who have been loving to him all along. I love how Charles Dickens cared about so many people who were having a very hard Christmas—because of failed systems, because of unfair gaps between rich and poor, because of cold and greed and lack of care.

 

Jesus came into our world exactly for the people who most need the world to be transformed. In a New York Times article last year called “Christmas is Weird,” Esau McCaulley tells a story from his Alabama childhood about receiving an amazing gift and how this Christmas story is exactly for everyone who feels left out of the usual Christmas stories of comfort and joy. Esau hopes that we will care about this:

This Christmas, many boys and girls will wake up in very difficult circumstances. Their basic prayers for food, rescue, safety or a particular toy will go unanswered. Many of my most urgent and desperate [prayers] during childhood went unanswered for years on end. Why God answers some prayers with miracles and not others is a question [people] have pondered for centuries.
But Christmas… has never promised to soothe every pain or cure every ill. Unfortunately, life with God doesn’t work that way. Instead, Christmas is the grand miracle that makes space for all the smaller miracles. It gives us enough hope to walk a little farther in the dark toward the glimmer of something that seems too distant to reach.
Christmas is, in the words of the Gospel of John, the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The path to that light has taken many forms…
these odd incidents led us directly into the presence of a child who filled our hearts with wonder…
Christmas suggests that God has not forgotten anyone. [God] came as a child, weak and vulnerable, unable to lift his head without assistance or to wipe his own bottom. [God] did this so the weak and broken things might feel comfortable approaching the divine.[1] 

These are the stories we tell and listen to and watch for every year alongside the story of Jesus because they tell us something about what we’re longing for in our lives. We’re longing for people to be kinder to one another. We’re longing for good gatherings with people we love. We’re longing for people to reconcile and for peace to spread throughout the world. We’re longing to see evidence of love coming alive.

 

But remember this, if you are feeling weak and vulnerable and broken this Christmas… the story is so much for you—the story of having no place to go but finding a place, the story of being welcomed from the outside to the warm inside, the story of traveling from a distance to see a miracle.

 

Remember tonight that God comes to meet you, not in how things should be, but meets you exactly where you are—and in the grand miracle of Jesus birth, God makes space for all the smaller miracles.

 

Watch for them… and may each one give you hope to walk a little farther in the dark toward the glimmer. Tell the stories… because the path to God’s light has taken many forms. 

Embrace the odd… because our own odd stories lead us directly into the presence of Jesus who fills hearts with wonder.

 

Thank you for coming and sharing and listening this Christmas Eve—and when you go to whatever’s next tonight, may you leave with comfort and hope, love and wonder, peace and joy.

---

[1] Christmas is Weird by Esau McCaulley

   https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/23/opinion/christmas-is-weird.html

 

From Generation to Generation: We See God in Each Other

Image from A Sanctified Art

Advent 4 – Luke 1

It is not often that we get a full fourth week of Advent. Next year, we’ll light the fourth blue candle on Sunday morning and by Sunday afternoon it will be Christmas Eve. But this year, we have a full week until Christmas Day, a full week to savor this theme… from Generation to Generation, we see God in each other. 

I love the poem that Rev. Sarah Speed shares in the daily devotion for today called Where I Saw God Last[1]… and then she describes person after person from her city life—teenagers who cannot control their laughter, the saxophone player at 42^nd street, the woman at the end of the block with her yappy dogs and her books in the window, the abuelita, the Perisan man at the grocery who tells me to be safe when I leave…

If we were going to write our own poem of all the God sightings in the last couple of days, I wonder who you’d name? Take a moment and picture who’ve you met who has been a God-in-flesh or maybe God-in-disguise. Just before the funeral on Friday, Thaly Cavanaugh showed up and my heart leapt with gratitude even before she spoke and let me know how to correctly pronounce Bos Klan’s name. We’ve been saying Bos for years… but it’s Bos (bo). It happened again when I looked up and saw members of Christ showing up for Bos’ family and when her grandson shared his memories and gratitude. We are well-trained to see God in creation, like the incredibly beautiful snowy branches heavy with 30 degree snow all week, but this week, we’re invited to watch for all the sightings of God that we’ll encounter this week in the people we encounter in daily life.

 

Dr. Christine Hong, who writes tomorrow’s devotion, shares the story of her parents being Korean immigrants. Her mother said that whoever met you at the airport decided your destiny. In other words, however greets you at the threshold as you become a new immigrant determines the direction your life moves.

 

She makes this connection—“Elizabeth greets Mary on the threshold, not only of her door but the threshold of something new in Mary’s life and for the world. Mary is met by her cousin who greets her with welcome, anticipation, and a powerful blessing.”

Whatever fears these two women had about the births to come, they were met by the courage of the other. The courage of a young woman who braved travel in perilous times, the courage of a woman giving birth when giving birth is dangerous. “They were one another’s spiritual midwives”—singing transformation into being, grounded in each other’s courage and steadfastness. “They wondered together in liminal space, on the threshold of a new world. And through their spiritual and relational partnership, Mary and Elizabeth framed the path of partnership for their children too.”[2]Beautiful.

 

Next week, we’ll hear the Christmas story from Luke 2, told in the context of Joseph and Mary traveling to Bethlehem for the census of the Roman empire. There were two main motivations for requiring a census: to count the number of able-bodied men who could be drafted for war, and to determine the number of taxpayers in every location. In other words, the census was designed to consolidate the empire’s military strength and economic power. In contrast, Mary and Elizabeth sing about dethroning the powerful and lifting up the lowly. Her song is a song that both comforts and unsettles, just depending on our perspective. Just depending on what we are most concerned about needing to protect.

 

The song of these women has been used by liberation theologians in various times and places as part of their resistance to oppressive regimes—in the 1970s in Argentina, the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo used Mary’s words to publicly protest the disappearance of their children and the song was sung throughout Latin American in the 1970s and 80s. Before that, in the context of resisting the Nazi regime, German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer called the Magnificat, “the most passionate, the wildest, one might even say the most revolutionary hymn ever sung.” Throughout the generations, Mary’s words have become a rallying cry for those deemed “lowly” or “outcast.” How can we honor the revolutionary power of her words?

 

Next month on the second Saturday, the Books & Brunch group will talk about Cole Arthur Riley’s book This Here Flesh: Spirituality, Liberation and the Stories That Make Us. Arthur Riley writes this in a chapter called Belonging, “We need other people to see our own faces—to bear witness to their beauty and truth. God has made it so that I can never truly know myself apart from another person… I want someone to bear witness to my face, that we could behold the image of God in one another and believe it on one another’s behalf.”[3]

 

For so many of us, it is life-changing, revolutionary for someone to truly see us. It is life-changing, revolutionary to belong to a community where we are looking for God together, looking to experience God’s presence in one another. And this is what Mary invites us into today, in the presence of her dear cousin, to see God in each other—and to prepare to be what she became so long-ago, a God-bearer in a world that so needs each of us to show and share and see God.

 

In a few moments we’ll speak together these words—

We know that this life of connection is easier said that done, which is why we gather in this space, week after week, generation after generation, to be reminded: We see God in each other. 

We’ll say, “Plant this story of love so deep in our bones that we cannot help but share it from generation to generation.” 

And we’ll say, “No matter where we go, no matter what we say, no matter what we do, we belong to God. We are held. We are loved. We are forgiven.”

 

Let us take all this into this fourth week of Advent— a full week to savor this theme… from Generation to Generation, we see God in each other.

---

[1] Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed, Where I Saw God Last, From Generation to Generation: An Advent Devotional, p. 31

[2] Dr. Christine J. Hong, From Generation to Generation: An Advent Devotional, p. 32

[3] Cole Arthur Riley, This Here Flesh: Spirituality, Liberation and the Stories That Make Us, p. 81