Words for the week: fish or cut bait?

Last week in church, we heard the audacious words “imitate me” from the apostle Paul. (Philippians 3).  In my sermon, I joked that if someone speaks with such arrogance they are probably not to be imitated. But then, I pointed out that Paul didn't command people to imitate him in order to become successful.  No, Paul’s “imitate me” comes on the heels of confession and humility.  

I asked the congregation to talk about this question: who is your hero of faith?  As our athletic heroes keep failing us and our government teeters on the brink of this sequester, it can bolster all our spirits to remember the countless humble people whose heroism doesn't result in arrogance.  They are inimitable precisely because they don’t think there’s anything particularly grand about themselves.  They help point us to Christ.

This week, the gospel (Luke 13) includes a short parable.  A landowner wants a fig tree cut down because it hasn’t given any fruit.  The gardener begs for mercy, saying: “let it alone for one more year until I dig around it and put manure on it.  If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.”

When to nurture and when to cut?  When do we give mercy and when do we say “enough is enough?”  This is far from a theoretical question.  Lawmakers debate the death penalty. Congress figures out what programs to cut and when. Parents struggle to discipline a child. People in hard relationships try to figure out if they should leave. Decisions have consequences but indecision does too. We live in this tension between mercy and endings. 

 

Jesus’ tells this story to remind us, first and foremost, that we are all of us in need of mercy.  Remembering the many ways that people have been merciful to us helps reframe this question.  But still, I picture the gardener for that whole year begging the fig tree to bear fruit, doing all he can to make it thrive.  At some point it will become clear whether or not it will work. Will he let it go if it doesn't bear? Will the landowner have the heart to cut it down? We don't know how this one ends.  

be at peace - Sarah

Note: each week I email the congregation a brief snippet from the previous week's sermon along with my thoughts on the upcoming week's texts.  I repost these words for the week here.

Words for the week - are you God's type?

Each Thursday, our church, Peace, sends an email.  Besides announcements, it includes a main point from the previous week's sermon and a glimpse at my thoughts for the upcoming Sunday.  Because I haven't had the bandwidth to blog lately, I am going to start including my "Words for the Week" here.  If you would like to join our congregation's email list, please email me at pastorsarah@sharingpeace.org

From last week’s sermon:

(Luke 4:1-12)

The devil began his temptation of Jesus with these words: “If you are the son of God…”  He asked Jesus to prove himself using means that would only prove the opposite. Jesus refused to believe the fiction the devil told him about his identity and stayed secure in what he knew. His identity as God’s son was proven in his ability to love people, not in his ability to gain security, power or fame.

The wilderness is not a place to escape our lives.  Rather the wilderness is the place where all the external markers we so often rely on to make up our identity are stripped away so we can find our lives again. In the wilderness, it doesn’t matter how perfect you look, what amount of money you have, nor how successful your life has been. You stand naked and essential in front of God and learn that your core identity is as a beloved child of God.  Knowledge of that love gives us the courage to resist the temptation to lose ourselves in the quest for security, fame and glory.  What matters is that God loves us. . The “if you are the son of God… “ becomes  "Since I am a child of God..."  We have nothing to prove.

This week:

The gospel lesson (Luke 13:31-35) shows Jesus freely headed toward Jerusalem even though he knows he will be killed there. Once again he identifies himself as a prophet (a theme in Luke’s gospel) and compares his ministry to a hen, gathering and protecting her chicks.

I’m going to switch gears a bit, however, and preach on the 2^nd reading, Philippians 3:17 – 4:1.  It comes near the end of the letter and starts with this: “Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us.”  I’m fascinated by the image here.  The Greek word for “example” is typos.  That’s the same root for the word typewriter.  I keep thinking of us as people who – because we are made in the image of God – stamp God’s presence on the world like a typewriter stamps an image on a piece of paper.  Or maybe the better thought is that we allow ourselves to be typed on by God in the ongoing story of God’s merciful love.  The important point, however, is that part of how broken, sin-bound people like ourselves type God onto the world is by asserting God’s power to forgive.  Being God’s type isn’t to be arrogant or worthy – it’s to be humble and forgiven.  

Be at peace - Pr Sarah

Preaching on climate change...or not.

One week out, the effects of Sandy are becoming clear: devastation in Haiti and throughout New York and New Jersey; over one hundred people dead and an estimated 50 billion dollar price tag.  As the human and economic costs of the storm are growing, something else seems to be growing too: a scientific consensus that climate change had something to do with it.

But you wouldn't know it by listening to the post-storm responses.  Our presiding bishop gave a nice pastoral message, but didn't mention climate change.  The telethon Friday night raised lots of sympathy and money, but didn't mention the human activity that exacerbates such a storm.  I was agitated and yearned for more people to follow Mayor Bloomberg's lead and connect the dots. Against that backdrop, I decided to preach yesterday about climate change and our Christian calling to care for creation.

Yesterday was All Saints Day.  I wrote a sermon that linked the saints of the past who applied their faith to make a better world with our calling - as the saints alive now - to care for the earth for future generations of saints. I focused the earth-affirming texts that we read in church (Raising of Lazarus into this world; Revelation 21 where God dwells with mortals and creates a new heaven and a new earth). My sermon was risky and carefully wrought.  I was nervous about it.  I prayed all morning that what I said would be appropriate and would be good news.

And then, I didn't preach it.

Mid-sermon, it became clear to me the congregation was hungry to hear a basic message about God's compassion and hope for all those in grief. My preaching about climate change - at least as I'd planned it - would not have added to the message. 

Preaching about root causes for human suffering -  like war, unjust economic systems, and climate change - is a critical aspect of compassion.  A doctor doesn't just console the person who is sick but also works to figure out how to heal them.  But every cue I picked up on from the congregation as they listened, was that this was the time for consolation. (Thank you Holy Spirit).  I switched my sermon mid-stream and took out the climate change part completely.  It wasn't the time.  It wasn't the place.

I'm glad I was inspired to make the switch yesterday, but I hope that soon, I will preach about our calling to care for creation with courage and conviction.

Two things hold me up.  The first is that climate change is still seen as a politically partisan issue. If an issue is "political" I don't think it means the church should avoid it.  Quite the opposite: the church is a place for moral discernment and action about issues that are also political.  But because climate change is still seen as "political," it also means it is potentially divisive. Our congregation has been through a lot in the past few years.  As a new pastor to this church, I want to heal and unite first, and thus I am hesitant to wade into anything that could divide.   

The second is that I just hate arguing the science. There are still plenty of people who don't believe that human activity can affect the weather so dramatically. In the sermon I didn't preach, I wrote that if, in 50 years, the scientific evidence changes and we discover that all the consensus about climate change was misguided, I will be overjoyed.  My concern for climate change doesn't come from some twisted desire to curb the ease and pleasure in our lives.  I would love to drive all over the place without regard for how it affects the planet; or dry my clothes in the dryer without the nagging guilt that the sun and air do the job without even a microwatt of fossil fuels; or heat my house to 80 degrees in the winter instead of putting on slippers.  But that just doesn't seem to be the way of it.  

I am especially grateful to Christiana Peppard, who blogged for the Huffington Post last week, for giving thoughtful reflection on both of my hangups.  Peppard connects science and faith and politics in a creative and readable way.  I found her article gave a fresh perspective and I encourage people to read it and share it.

I know at least one pastor in our synod gave a prophetic sermon on climate change.  Thanks to Karen Brau at Luther Place for her boldness.  I hope it will be posted on their website soon.

That's all for now. Don't forget to vote tomorrow.

Sandy

Hello - I took a few months off as I transitioned and have been holding off blogging because I'm trying to convert to a new site, but Sandy has inspired me to write.

The number of times I've heard news people talk about what a strange weather pattern this is without mentioning Climate Change makes me scared.  It mirrors the silence around Climate Change in this election.   That silence, compared with scientific evidence proclaiming loud and clear that these kinds of storms are growing more frequent and have human causes, makes me want to rewrite Obama's debate quip: "The 80's called and they want their environmental policy back."

For wise commentary on Hurricane Sandy and Climate Change, read Climate hero Bill Mckibben's article on the Daily Beast:.

On a personal side of Hurricane Sandy.  We in the DC area were relatively unscathed.  I didn't even lose power which meant that, though of course I was concerned by the devastation experienced by others, in my world, Sandy was a relief.  I got to rest.

I haven't left the house for 36 hours except to take my dog Addie out.  Yesterday, I did very little.  This is rare for me. Normally on a Monday I would be torn between resting and packing in the activity (errands, cleaning, running) in order to prepare for the week ahead.  That conflict means that my day of rest isn't actually restful at all.  I expect no sympathy from anyone reading this; you don't rest often or well either.  A full day of nothingness is rare and blessed and I enjoyed it.

Even as I write that, I feel selfish.  I know people have suffered from this hurricane.  I know that people on the front lines don't get a day off to rest because they are out in horrible weather keeping the rest of us safe and powered up.  I know that there are people missing from the HMS Bounty and flooding throughout our cities.  I also know that a day off is a luxury.  For people who depend on a day's work to bring home money essential to keeping the rent paid, a day off without work isn't relaxing, it's terrifying.  For kids who depend on school lunches to keep them fed, a day off just means a day of hunger. 

But for me, it came as a blessing.  So the question before me is this: "How to enjoy a blessed day of rest without the gnawing guilt of knowing that others are suffering." 

Thoughts?

Called to care for creation.

I came away from the Chautauqua Institute convicted that I can do more and be more than I have been.  A sense of call pervaded the speakers and other pastors that I met.  Inspired by the passion of others, I reflected: "what is unique about me and my calling?  What do I care about and what can I do about it?"

I have decided to recommit myself to environmental work.  Since my childhood, I have felt connected to God in nature and have been concerned about the future of the earth.  In high school I wrote a big paper on the destruction of rain forests.  20 years later, the issues I cared about then have only become worse.  This summer has had such strange weather that people who used to be climate change deniers are now realizing that climate change is not only real, it is upon us. 

One of the things I'm excited about my new pastoral call is that the congregation where I'm headed, Peace Lutheran in Alexandria, has already shown a committment to ecological concerns.  

I don't know what it means that I am recommitting.  I've thought of trying to become a regular blogger re: the environment or redoubling my efforts to work with our DC area churches. But I also have a hunch that as important as inspiration and thoughtful conversation are, I will have to get myself and others more involved in the political realm. 

I figure putting it out there in the public will help me actually commit to it.  So here goes.  

Eboo Patel

Blurry picture of Patel answering questions.

I'm at the Chautauqua Institute for the New Clergy Program (renewal and interfaith conversation for clergy in their first 7 yrs of ministry).  My mom came with me.  Great mother/daughter bonding time has been a bonus to the point of the week: to learn about pluralism, especially between the Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) with a group of new-ish clergy from many denominations.

The days are full of lectures, conversations and worship on the theme "Radicalism: blessing or curse." 

Today we heard Eboo Patel, writer, thinker, and executive director of the Youth Interfaith Core.  He spoke at the launching of his new book, "Sacred Ground: Pluralism, Prejudice and the Promise of America."

His lecture ranks up there with Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth" and Jane Goodall's "Reason for Hope" as one of the best lectures I've ever heard. 

Patel defined radicalism as going back to the roots and then examined the roots of America to make the case that religious pluralism is what makes America great, and radical. 

My mom reading Patel's spiritual biography, Acts of Faith.

He quoted at length from George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Martin Luther King Jr to demonstrate that the greatness of our country relies on its commitment to pluralism. He didn't gloss over ugly parts of American history, but said that "the force of pluralism can defeat prejudice."  He believes that the same forces that made the civil rights movement possible in the 60s are at work in America now. 

Besides being able to articulate the broad sweep of American history with clarity and humor, his rhetorically beautiful lecture was also impressive because he didn't use notes.

I, on the other hand, was clumsily typing snippets into my phone in an effort to remember all he said.  Then I bought the book.  No time or energy to fully synthesize what was so great about his talk, but here are a few of my notes.  They may not be exact quotes so please get the book and read him directly if you're so inclined.

...When lamenting the fervor of anti-muslim sentiment during the discussion of the Muslim Community Center near ground zero in 2010, an adviser told him he was missing the better part of the story, the hope: "These are the moments that change agents hope for.  Our country is molten and can be shaped."

...talking about the pain of pluralistic culture: "everyone feels half full...you can't get all you want all of the time."

...discussing how to interpret the Koran, Patel related what he learned from a mentor: "The Koran has to be interpreted in light of its chief value: Mercy."  (For Christians, he said it's love.  So our texts need to always be in service of love and those that don't seem loving need to be put in line, somehow, with the larger value.)

...On the variety of cultural/ethnic/religious/sexual identities in America: "the dash between Muslim and American is a bridge, not a dividing line."

Ok - those just a few notes.  The big takeaway is that America will grow stronger as pluralism is protected.  That's not a new idea, but it's sure an inspiration to hear, especially from someone who has strong faith commitments but isn't threatened by others with equally strong commitments.  You can bet I will google his blogs and articles (there are lots) and read as much as I can.

An emotional time

While I was giving out the bread at communion at the early service last Sunday, one of the ushers slipped in line.  As I handed her the bread she whispered "come see me after communion."  I left the sanctuary as the congregation stood for the closing hymn: "I am the bread of life." 

The usher had just received a phone call letting the church know that a beloved member, K, had died.  Her death came sooner than we thought it would, but it wasn't a surprise. K had been suffering since Christmas.  She called in hospice earlier in the week and I'd visited her and her husband.  Our time together was of a different quality than earlier times.  I am leaving the church, but she was facing her death.  When we said goodbye, we knew we would not see each other again in this world.

After receiving the news, I came back into the sanctuary mid-hymn: "I am the resurrection and the life. If you  believe in me, even though you die you shall live forever."  I choked back the tears.  The kingdom of God was near. 

--
The hymn continues: "And I will raise you up..."

These last weeks have been full of grief.  Two weeks ago, a dear friend learned that his 32 year old son died while mountain climbing in Peru.  I'd never met the son, but I happened to be with the family when they got the terrible news.  Witnessing their pain, it was impossible not to hurt as well.  A huge crowd gathered for the funeral yesterday.  It was a testament to a life lived in faith and a death that is not the end.  Still, hearts are breaking.

"...and I will raise you up..."

These last weeks have also brought the 2-year anniversary of a college friend's death; the end of a marriage of someone I care about; the shootings in Aurora and Wisconsin.  Plus, I'm grieving my church.

"...and I will raise you up on the last day..."

--

At the late service, as I started in on the Eucharistic Prayer (the long one where we say take and eat...) I knew I was going to cry.  It was the last time I'd preside over communion at Prince of Peace; K's death was in the front of all our minds; my friend was preparing for his son's funeral; and I was staring out at a congregation full of people I'd grown to love, many of whom were tearing up as well.

When I lifted the bread, tears started flowing.

I went slowly through the prayer, having to pause often to regain confidence in my voice.  "who on this day overcame death and the grave...we await that day...so let your church be gathered...that all may be fed..."

I've never seen a pastor cry at communion before.  For a moment I felt embarrassed, but then I thought: what better time to cry than communion? What better time to realize how much love is coursing through the world than in that exchange?

Handing out the bread there were times I could not get the words out. I distributed communion while tears ran down my face.  I suppose it might sound kind of beautiful, except that I'm not a pretty crier. Snot was mixing with tears and I was trying not to drip on the bread. At one point I had to get a 2nd purificator (little holy handkerchief) to wipe my nose. The congregation received the bread with their own mix of smiles and tears.  Someone with hands outstretched looked at me with understanding and twinkling eyes.  She whispered "bigger piece please" and winked, and then I started laughing too.

As I walked out of church for the second time, singing the same hymn, through the tears I felt the conviction of faith well up.  I sang as clearly as I could:

"Yes Lord, I believe, that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who has come into the world."

In the face of grief, there's no greater gift than faith.

Yes Lord, I believe.