congregational-church-of-boothbay-harbor

April 5, 2026 | Easter

Sun, 05 Apr 2026 15:34:17 GMT

Make Your Way

Resurrection and the Power That Works When We're Not Watching

28 After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.

² There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. ³ His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. ⁴ The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.

⁵ The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. ⁶ He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. ⁷ Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”

I’m taking long walks since my preaching series on the Camino de Compostela to find a sense of pilgrimage right here. Monday, I walked at the Porter Preserve Land Trust, anticipating the rocky coast vistas and lovely smells of salt and pine together, but the real surprise was a walk through a dilapidated cemetery near the entrance. A tree has grown close to one of the old gravestones, and over time grew up against the top and enfolded it. As the tree has grown, it put more pressure on the headstone. It has nudged it out of place millimeter by millimeter, week by week. A crack began to form many months ago, and at some moment, the pressure was great enough to snap the granite in two.

I wonder if there was a great cracking sound audible if you walked by at that exact moment, or did it just slowly happen in the mysterious growth of time and tree. Granite is shattered by a delicate process that goes unnoticed till much later. As I looked at the stone, these words came to mind-the power of death is broken. I don’t know exactly when or how, but the evidence is there if you look. The life of the tree has done its work, and it continues to grow, and the broken stone will rise as the trunk stretches upward.

We naturally desire clear and exact moments where we can point to the action of God. Then we can enshrine it, revisit it, touch it for assurance of certainty. When Peter observed the Transfiguration of Jesus conversing with Moses and Elijah, his first inclination is to build an alter to mark the event. Mark it for everyone to visit and know the truth. Instead, Jesus takes him back down the mountain. Truth isn’t attained and stored like a commodity. Instead, a glimpse of holiness sends down the road.

Growing up Evangelical, great emphasis was put on knowing the moment when you are saved. You were supposed to have an answer like, “I was born again on February 1st, 2015, when I was cured of cancer, or when Malcolm Butler intercepted that pass at the goal line with 26 seconds left, the Patriots won, and I knew Jesus loved me while I was yet a sinner.” If you know the exact moment you were saved, more power to you. For many of us it is more like the tree growing in the cemetery. It starts small and keeps going, through droughts, storms and sunshine, as it reaches for the sky. At some moment, we realize we are on a new journey.

The Camino to Santiago de Compostela began as a clear destination to a place of holiness. Tradition says the bones of James bar Zebedee, the fisherman disciple, are buried there. James was with Jesus at all the key moments, first called, all the way to Gethsemane and the inner room. Acts ____ says James was beheaded in Jerusalem, and his followers took the body to hide it in Spain. The bones were rediscovered in the 9 ^th century and became a major pilgrimage sight. What is it that draws us to the bones? We want to physically touch holiness, have the sacred be something solid. Here are James’ bones so this must all be real. We take the time and expense to scientifically study the bones from the grave to determine if they are from the first century. As if we could prove God’s existence if we have the right DNA samples. Ironically, it would be quite disappointing to find Jesus’ bones.

But something very different happens for many Camino pilgrims. Despite all the rituals of touching the pillar of the Portico of Glory, embracing the Statue of the Apostle and breathing in the cloud of incense at mass, it can be anticlimactic. After getting your passport stamped to show you have completed the journey, now what? Many people describe the flight home disorienting as they transition from the quiet, steady pace of walking to the speed and noise of modern life. You may experience a transformation on the journey, but you are coming back into a world that has not changed.

Going home can be called the second Camino, the more challenging journey. One journey is done, but we are not more holy because we suffered the miles, touched history and been near the bones of a disciple. We come closer to God if we can walk in the same way back home. Can we continue to share the journey?

As we read the resurrection narrative in Matthew, the author offers tangible marks of completing one journey and starting another, much like going home after the Camino. All four gospels set the resurrection in the early twilight. As the sun is coming over the curve of the horizon, there are a few liminal moments of gorgeous transition from darkness to light. Yesterday when I woke, the woods and cove were bathed in pinkish, orange light. Three gulls flew over, calling out the beginning of the day, and their bellies reflected pink. There are only about two minutes a day where soft sunlight paints the world in pastels.

That is what we hope for at an Easter sunrise service, looking West over Boothbay Harbor, as we imagine ourselves with the women gathering at the tomb. But Matthew portrays Jesus’ re-entry to life with dramatic forces of nature. An earthquake strikes and an angel comes down like lightning and rolls away the stone. Earthquakes mark the appearance of God numerous times in the scriptures. When Moses receives the Ten Commandments at Sinai, or Elijah meets God in the cave of Horeb, or God finally answers Job, earthquakes are the forerunner.

I’ve only been through gentle rumbles that rattle a teacup, but people who have been through an earthquake say you hear it before you feel it. It’s like thunder coming up through the floor, underneath instead of above. Near the epicenter people describe the solid earth rippling like waves crashing on the beach. There is very little you can do as forces much greater than the strength of our arms and legs are in play. Matthew says the brave, battle hardened Roman guards are so frightened they fall like dead men. Empires like to think they give thumbs up or thumbs down on who shall live and die, but here the power of the sharpened sword will do them no good.

But the women are still standing there, frightened but still on their feet. It is the women who have watched Jesus crucified and die a slow death. It is women who are present as midwives to hear the cries of birth. Here they are at the liminal space between violent death and life reborn. They may be fearful, but they are still standing.

The angel begins with the words angels say dozens of times in the Bible, “Be not afraid.” If life doesn’t scare you, you probably aren’t paying attention. But don’t let fear control you. It’s the angels next words surprise me, “He is not here, he has been raised.” All this and they don’t get to see Jesus? No, the angel says he has gone out ahead of you to Galilee. Jesus isn’t hanging around to make an appearance, he is already heading down the road.

Just when we think we are finally beginning to understand, to think we have arrived at the end of our Camino, we hear that God has already moved past our arrival point. We try so hard to conserve what we know and experience of God. We try to store holiness in scriptures, rituals and theology. We long to feel like we have arrived, our passport is stamped at journeys end. But God is already ahead of us, pointing to a new journey. Jesus is not parking in the Temple to uphold and renew the existing structure, but headed back to Galilee. The angel tells the women, you won’t meet Jesus at the tomb, but back on the road.

Too often in life I have spent days waiting for a sign. Waiting for things to feel right. Waiting for some internal alert to ding and say: This is the path. Kate Bowler wrote in her blog this week,

“Sometimes we just wait and wait, hoping God will say ‘Go.’ We’re looking for the nudge. The green light. The burning bush. But what if you just go… and wait for God to say ‘Stop’ instead?”

The tree in the cemetery did not wait to become a burning bush, it just grew and trusted in the light. So maybe resurrection is less like a moment we can point to—and more like that tree.

In the background but persistent. Working its way through what once seemed immovable. The stone did not shatter all at once. But it did break. And the life within the tree keeps rising.

That is the energy of Easter. Not something we prove. Not something we contain. But something already at work—already ahead of us—calling us forward.

So lace up your boots. The tomb is empty. And Christ is already on the road.

April 2, 2026 | Maundy Thursday

Thu, 02 Apr 2026 15:26:07 GMT

The Loving Way

What Jesus knew about feet and souls

So Jesus got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. ⁵ After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.

⁶ He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”

⁷ Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

⁸ “No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.”

Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”

⁹ “Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!”

Who would you let wash your feet? Feet are one of the most psychologically loaded parts of the body. Feet take a beating and are more likely to be deformed than other parts of the body. Toes can be weird. We get callouses, bunions, fungus under the nails. Women fear their feet are too big, men fear their feet are too small. Your foot has 600 sweat glands per square inch, ten times more than other parts of the body. Plus, it is hard to care for your own feet, since it is nearly impossible to see the bottoms, unless you are an experienced contortionist. No wonder people often apologize for their feet before a pedicure, much the way people apologize to a dentist for not flossing.

Whose feet would you wash? Unless you are a nurse, cosmetologist, or podiatrist, you likely have never washed anyone’s feet, at least not since your honeymoon.

Why has John’s Gospel made this foot washing scene so prominent to the Holy Thursday story? In the first three Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke; they are clear that J

esus’ central act and ritual of this night is to break bread and share the cup. This is my body broken for you, this is my blood poured out for you. The words of institution we say over communion to this day were first written by Paul to the Corinthians near 55 CE. So why does John come along a generation later when communion is a common Christian practice, and put the towel and basin more central to the evening? John acknowledges they are gathered for the Passover meal but says nothing else about it. Instead, Jesus rises during the meal and begins to wash the disciples’ feet.

At first the disciples accept this in silence. We don’t know who goes first. Was it James and John, the brothers who wanted to be at the left hand and right hand of Jesus? Were Matthew the tax collectors’ feet softer than the fishermen? How did Judas feel as Jesus scrubbed between his toes? Feet are ticklish, with over 8000 nerve endings, the most sensitive part of the body. Did Barthalomew giggle as Jesus took his foot?

Did Jesus wash Mary Magdalene’s feet? Women who have never permitted themselves to be tended — caregivers, mothers, people who give and give — sometimes find themselves unexpectedly tearful during a foot massage or pedicure. The simple experience of someone attending carefully to them, without asking anything in return, breaks something open.

Then Jesus comes to Peter, who has been silently stewing as the other disciples sit there like sheep, while their Rabbi humiliates himself. Peter asks, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” It seems like a silly question since Jesus is clearly going around washing everyone’s feet. I hear Peter saying it like Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver, “You talking to me? You gonna wash my feet?” When Jesus says Peter will understand it later, Peter objects, “You will never wash my feet.” Never. Peter has put his foot in his mouth so many times, so the whole scene is leaving a bad taste.

I doubt Peter’s reluctance is simply about his hammer toe or foot odor. Perhaps he feels some embarrassment or shame about anyone touching his feet. But the man Peter calls Lord is not someone who washes feet. You are not going to save the world or bring the new kingdom while down on your knees.

Maybe Peter’s reaction explains why we downplay this act of Jesus. We can’t have Jesus act like this, if we are supposed to imitate him. Did John put the towel and basin central because he wanted to counter our tendency to hubris, to remind us to be servants? We lift up a powerful Christ, who then blesses our power. How would Christianity be different if we washed each others’ feet instead of eating squares of bread together?

It would certainly challenge our cultural and religious superiority. We would not pray in times of war to crush our enemies, to show them no mercy, to celebrate victory in the name of Christ.

Listen how Jesus gently nudges Peter past his opposition. “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” The word for “share” (meros) means participation, portion, belonging. To refuse the washing is to refuse the terms of the relationship. Peter swings wildly to the opposite, asking Jesus to wash his whole body. Jesus steadies him, saying just his feet are enough. The feet, the often weird, malformed, battered, part of us that carries the whole load of the body, is enough.

Let’s see the act from Jesus perspective as he kneels before everyone. I don’t think he just poured water over the feet, dried them, and moved on. I imagine him pausing, holding each foot gently. These are the feet that have followed him, traveled with him. This act is an intimate blessing, touching all the sensitive nerves. Before he dies, he wants them to feel his touch on their feet. It is easy to say, “Love one another as I have loved you.” But as Maya Angelou once said, “We don’t remember peoples’ words as much as how they made us feel.”

When Jesus kneels before us tonight, He is doing something like a podiatrist does, checking for neuropathy — the gradual loss of sensation that comes when nerves are damaged. The doctor touches your feet in different places and says, “Can you feel this? How about on your heel? Can you feel over here?” It is dangerous to lose feeling not because it hurts, but because it doesn’t. You stop feeling the wound. You stop feeling the ground. You walk on injuries you don’t know you have.

A world of chronic pain and ceaseless bad news can do to the soul what diabetes does to the feet — it numbs us gradually, until we stop feeling what we walk through. We have watched cities bombed into rubble. We have watched children pulled from the wreckage. We have watched the most vulnerable among us lose what little protection they had, while those with power look away. And somewhere along the way, without noticing, we stopped being shocked. The news became weather. The suffering became background. We are walking on wounds we can no longer feel.

Can you feel this? he asks, kneeling before us. Can you still feel the person next to you? Can you feel what this night costs? Can you feel what love asks of you?

Then he dries our feet, stands, and gives us the only commandment he ever called new: Love one another as I have loved you. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples — not by your doctrine, not by your power, not by your certainty. By this. By whether you will let love get that close.

Tonight the candles will go out one by one. We will walk together into the darkness that comes before Easter. It will be uncomfortable. It is supposed to be.

But before we go there, he has knelt before us. He has held what is worn and strange and hidden about us, and he has not turned away. He has touched the most sensitive nerves and asked: Can you still feel this? If you can — walk with me.

March 29, 2026 | Palm Sunday

Sun, 29 Mar 2026 15:25:49 GMT

The Other Way

What pilgrims know about Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

(Click for full reading)

37As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, 38saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” 39Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” 40He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

Just imagine, here on the sixth Sunday of Lent, that you had been walking the entire time on the Camino de Compostela. You’ve been walking for weeks. Your boots are worn in now — or worn out — and your body has reorganized itself around the road’s rhythm-early mornings, the heavy pack, following yellow arrows, the blisters that became calluses, the strangers who became companions.

And then one morning, you crest a low hill; Monte de Gozo, the Hill of Joy. And there you see the cathedral towers of Santiago de Compostela, rising above the distant city.

Pilgrims have been stopped on that hill for a thousand years. In the Middle Ages, they made their wills before leaving home, in case they didn’t survive the journey. Even today 10 to 30 pilgrims die on the Camino. Seeing the towers meant you were going to live to the end.

Here is how pilgrims describe the moments of nearing the gates. They don’t say triumph. They don’t say pure joy. They say: “I had a good cry and then curled up on my backpack….We clutched each other with joy and loss and loneliness and the relief of human connection, all at once.” One pilgrim who has walked it four times says, “I enter a bittersweet state, because I know I am close to the end.

Arrival is not what you thought it would be. It is more wonderful and harder and stranger than you imagined. The destination is real — you can see it — but you’re not there yet. You might feel the thrill of accomplishing the journey, anticipating home and your own bed. Perhaps you learned a great deal about yourself and made remarkable friendships. But now you will part. What happens when the pilgrimage ends and you realize you don’t know the answer to life, the universe and everything. Returning to the real world is bittersweet.

In Jesus’ day, pilgrims went to Jerusalem for high holy days to fulfill religious aspirations. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus and his disciples begin the journey from Galilee in chapter 9, and we are now in chapter 19. He goes through Samaria and tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, he encounters 10 lepers, Blind Bartimaeus, the rich young ruler. He just passed through Jericho and met Zacchaeus up in the tree. 40 percent of Luke occurs while Jesus is on this Camino to Jerusalem, and now he arrives at the Mount of Olives.

From there pilgrims see the first stunning view of Jerusalem and the Great Temple. It is a similar distance as Mount de Gozo is from Santiago de Compostela. Pilgrims didn’t just take a picture here and stop at the souvenir shop. They went through ritual purifications and sacrificed a red heifer (yes, it had to be red.) This tradition may explain why Luke spent so much time on procuring a donkey for Jesus. I mean, why do we need four verses about what to say to the owner of the donkey and that it must never be ridden? Because the donkey must be ritually pure for this sacred trip to enter Jerusalem after the long pilgrimage.

It’s helpful to see the view from where Jesus and the disciples were. The picture shows not only the grandeur of the Temple, but a lot of stones in the valley. These are graves, some as old as 2500 years. The tradition from Zachariah 4:14 is that the messiah would come to the Mount of Olives and the resurrection of the dead would begin there. An earthquake would shake the mountain and split it in two. Numerous people spent a small fortune so their grave would have a front row seat. If you have the money, why not spend it on some end times entertainment?!

Luke 19:35 locates the beginning of Jesus’s Palm Sunday processional leading up to this location. Notice there are no palms in this story. In truth, only John’s Gospel has the palm waving. Matthew and Mark mention people cutting leafy branches from the fields — but Luke strips the scene down even further. No palms, no branches at all. Just a donkey and people’s cloaks.

These symbols work together. A donkey is an ordinary beast of burden — not fast and impressive like galloping stallion, not as load bearing like a caravan camel. If you saw a man riding a donkey through first-century Jerusalem, you would not mistake him for a conqueror. But the sure-footed donkey was the practical mount of common people in the rugged Judean hills.

But there is more to the donkey than practicality. Five hundred years before, the prophet Zechariah wrote: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Your king comes to you — triumphant and victorious, yet humble, riding on a donkey.” Notice what comes next. “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war horse from Jerusalem. He shall command peace to the nations.” (Zechariah 9:9-10)

This is not simply a humble king. Zechariah’s king arrives having disarmed. The chariot is cut off. The war horse is gone. The weapons of empire are surrendered before he ever enters the gate. In the ancient world, the horse meant war — bred for battle, the instrument of conquest. The donkey meant the end of war. Jesus doesn’t just come in peace. He comes as the deliberate undoing of everything military power represents.

Which makes his entry into Jerusalem not a soft gesture of humility, but something far more provocative. He is staging a counter-coronation. He is saying with his body, on this borrowed animal, descending toward the graves on the Mount of Olives with Galilean pilgrims spreading their cloaks beneath him: this is what a king looks like when God is doing the crowning. Not armor. Not a warhorse. Not the thunder of an imperial procession. A donkey.

While Luke spent many words on Jesus’ commands about getting the donkey, he says nothing about a command to spread their cloaks before him. This gesture seems more spontaneous and unforced. It’s an act of vulnerability, giving honor, almost surrender. A cloak was a person’s essential garment. It was a large rectangular, woolen cloth wrapped around your body, over a thinner tunic. If it rained or the sun was too bright, you covered your head. At night you would wrap yourself to stay warm. Most people only had one, not a closet full for all occasions. In Mosaic law, a creditor could not take your cloak. No matter how poor, everyone needed its dignity and protection. To remove your cloak in public was considered to be naked and exposed. All these disciples disrobing and places their cloaks before Jesus’ donkey might look a little scandalous.

Let this sink in. You are going to take off your cloak and be exposed. And spread it on the ground not for Jesus’ feet, but to be trod by donkey hooves. (And they couldn’t drop it off at the dry cleaners afterwards.) The power of the gesture is that Jesus did not ask for it. It is freely given. Why did they do it? Were they among the hungry fed? Or they had been healed? Fisherman who left their shores to follow him for three years. Women like Mary, Martha, Mary Magdalene were given respect their culture did not recognize. Matthew the tax collector, who gave up his lucrative position to follow. People who experienced grace, whose lives were made purposeful were all there, throwing their cloak to the ground.

The gesture might be gratitude or respect, or also the recognition that he was about to ride into some serious trouble down the road past the tombs. It’s near the end of the Camino, and there is joyful expectation, and relief, and uncertainty about what comes next. But they believe in this man who rides the donkey.

And maybe it feels a little like standing on that hill—Monte de Gozo—the Hill of Joy. You can see it. You know something real is ahead. But you are not there yet. There is still a road to walk. And not everyone will welcome the way this king comes.

In Luke’s telling, the Pharisees say, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” Quiet this.

Tone it down. Don’t make a scene.

And if we follow him long enough, we will hear those voices too.mBe reasonable. Don’t make waves. Keep your faith to yourself.

But Jesus says, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would cry out.” And we have already seen those stones, the grave stones. This kingdom — this way of peace, this laying down, this strange and vulnerable love — cannot be silenced. It is already alive.

And it is still calling. Calling us to trust this kind of king. Calling us to lay down what we carry. Calling us to keep walking, even when the road turns hard.

So here we are, on the hill. We can see it. And now the only question is: will we join the song, or will the stones have to sing it without us?

March 22, 2026 | Fourth Sunday in Lent

Sun, 22 Mar 2026 14:39:05 GMT

The Free Way

God's New Thing in an Old World includes jackals and ostriches.

^{Thus says the Lord,

who makes a way in the sea,

a path in the mighty waters,

17 who brings out chariot and horse,

army and warrior;

they lie down; they cannot rise;

they are extinguished, quenched like a wick:

18 Do not remember the former things

or consider the things of old.

19 I am about to do a new thing;

now it springs forth; do you not perceive it?

I will make a way in the wilderness

and rivers in the desert.

20 The wild animals will honor me,

the jackals and the ostriches,

for I give water in the wilderness,

rivers in the desert,

to give drink to my chosen people,

21 the people whom I formed for myself

so that they might declare my praise.}

Isaiah 43: 16-21

^{We can’t see a way forward. You feel like calling it quits, wave the white flag, throw in the towel. All pilgrimages have moments where we don’t want to walk anymore. Pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago travel roughly 10 days through the Meseta, a long plateau of open fields and space. It is scorching in the summer and freezing in winter, but the real challenge is boredom. There are no scenic vistas of river valleys or coastlines. So, the only thing to do is walk. The buzzing brain needs to think something, so all the feelings usually avoided emerge. Regret. Guilt. Sorrow. Shame. These become companions on the Meseta. Boredom and thoughts become more burdensome than rough terrain.}

^{But if the pilgrim persists, they ascend the to the highest point of the journey. The Cruz de Ferro, Iron Cross in English. The tradition is to carry a stone that represents the inward burdens you carry. At this ¾ marker, you lay down the stone. You carry it the whole way — through the Pyrenees, across the Meseta, through rain and blisters — and only then, when you have earned the right to let go, does the tradition ask you to release it. The stone has become part of you by the time you release it. That’s not accidental. You cannot release what you have not truly carried.}

^{Two thousand years before pilgrims walked to Santiago, Isaiah understood this moment. Isaiah 43 says, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.” These words come to people who have carried much into exile. They may have seen their city burned, lost family, and force marched on their own Camino to Babylon. Isaiah’s words of release are written at their Cruz de Ferro moment, having carried the burdens of exile for a generation. While the prophet is announcing a way forward, the new thing from God is not yet clear. First, they must let go, forget, not dwell on the past. You cannot reach for a new way if your fist is closed around the old way.}

^{What did they need to let go? The anger at being conquered. The grief of all they lost. The romanticized golden age. When our world is shattered, it is not something we simply get over. We need to feel safe again. We need an invitation from outside ourselves — a moment where something opens and we say: it is enough. I am ready for something different. Isaiah’s words deliver a great reassurance that God is making a way where we felt there was no way. We are not alone, we don’t have to do it all ourselves.}

^{Listen to how Isaiah describes this new way. It is not a memo from the divine planning committee. God speaks in poetry, “I will make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” This is creation language. The same God who called light from darkness at the beginning, who parted the sea so a people could walk through on dry ground — that God is at work again. Not tweaking the old system. Not issuing a revised edition. Making a way where the map shows nothing but empty space. Making rivers where the ground is cracked and dry. This is not a new program. This is new creation.}

^{But here is the harder word inside the reassurance. Isaiah doesn’t just say I am doing a new thing. He asks: do you not perceive it? That question has a gentle edge to it. The new thing is already sprouting like a seed already breaking ground beneath your feet, and you may be missing it entirely. Not because God isn’t acting, but because you are still dwelling on the road that led to exile, still looking backward at what was lost. The invitation is not merely to hope for something new. It is to train your eyes to see what is already beginning. Which turns out to be harder than it sounds.}

^{Beware of the tyranny of the “new and improved.” Consider IHOP and Applebee’s. Two struggling restaurant chains, both owned by the same parent company. Their solution to decline? Merge them into one building, one entrance — but two dining rooms, one red and one blue, with separate brand identities intact. They even created special “menu mashups” — a Loaded Buffalo Chicken Omelette, a breakfast burger with hash browns and hollandaise. Behold, we are doing a new thing. Except it is the same pancakes and the same hot wings under one roof, with a fresh coat of paint.}

^{For a time, Isaiah 43 was a rallying cry for change in the United Church of Christ. At state and national meetings, we had banners and new songs proclaiming, “Behold, I am doing a new thing.” We got brightly colored T-shirts. I went to seminars on how to be more welcoming, we were encouraged to tweet our responses for everyone to read. A younger generation would come back into our churches if we allowed them tweet their thoughts during church. (That aged badly.) But behind the scenes, we were simply downsizing and restructuring our staff, thinking that new branding and technology was going to save us.}

^{Don’t get me wrong, I like new things. I am an early adopter by nature. I had a Mac computer in 1991, designed a church website back in the 20th century, performed gay weddings in 2000. I am competitive about continuing education, and I want to know the best practices and new ideas. But I’ve also watched so many ideas come and go, and few were truly transformative. Many were just a better chair to sit on the deck of the Titanic, with a new flavor of seltzer.}

^{What is the real difference between the transformative and the glitzy branding? The transformative is organic — it sprouts from below, breaks ground in unexpected moments, cannot be manufactured or scheduled. The glitzy arrives in a box with instructions, looks impressive for a season, but develops no roots. Rivers in the desert are not a marketing campaign. They are what happens when the God of creation moves through our terrain in places and people we ignore. You don’t produce that. You perceive it. You follow it.}

^{Just past where our text ends, the prophet names who will drink from the rivers in the desert. Not the righteous. Not the faithful remnant. Not the ones who got it right. The wild animals will honor me — the jackals and the ostriches — for I give water in the wilderness.}

^{Jackals and ostriches are creatures of the wasteland. In ancient Near Eastern zoology, these are not the noble creatures. Jackals are scavengers — creatures of desolation, the ones who show up after everything has already fallen apart. And the ostrich? Job tells us the ostrich abandons her eggs in the sand, forgets that a foot may crush them, and is flatly described as lacking wisdom. She buries here head and cannot see what is right in front of her.}

^{Isaiah says the rivers flow for them too. This is not a curated restoration. God is not waiting for the right congregation, the right politics, the right moment of institutional readiness. The new creation is wild and indiscriminate in its generosity. The water flows and even the scavengers drink. Even the ones who buried their heads lift them. Even the naysayers, the resisters, the ones who couldn’t perceive what was already sprouting beneath their feet — they are included in what God is doing. Grace is not means-tested. Which means we are not the gatekeepers.}

^{Here in coastal Maine, we know something about this crossroad. We have watched the ocean change in ways that unsettle us. The familiar markers are shifting — the lobster are migrating to Canada, the tides surge higher, I count more dead and fallen trees nearly every walk after a storm. While we are getting snowfall, it is a record 87 degrees in Iowa. If we aren’t unsettled by the changing climate fallout, we might be more like ostriches than we wish to admit. What are we called to perceive amid the changes? We are being asked whether we trust that the God who makes rivers in the desert is also at work in the warming waters, in the uncertain harvest, in the ecosystem groaning toward something we cannot yet name. Creation is not the backdrop for our salvation story. Creation is where God has always been most legible. The answers we need will not come primarily from our institutions. They will come from loving the wonderful creation around us.}

^{That is the invitation. Not to manufacture the new thing, but to lay down what you’ve been carrying long enough to see what is already breaking through. Isaiah asks: “Do you not perceive it? It is already sprouting.” We may not yet see it. But Easter is coming, and our eyes will be opened.}

^{Until then, Buen Camino.}

March 15, 2026 | Fourth Sunday in Lent

Sun, 15 Mar 2026 14:00:15 GMT

The Way Home

A Lenten reflection on pilgrimage, the prodigal son, and the grace that meets us on the road

¹¹ Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. ¹² The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.

¹³ “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. ¹⁴ After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵ So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. ¹⁶ He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

¹⁷ “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! ¹⁸ I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. ¹⁹ I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ ²⁰ So he got up and went to his father.

Luke 15:11-20

How do you travel? Person A makes an itinerary the night before. Breakfast is at 8 AM, Uber to the Museum by 10, to beat the crowd. Lunch at this cute-little-outdoor-café with rave reviews. The afternoon is for shopping, and so on. Person B says, let’s stroll through Central Park and get a feel for the place. I’m sure we will find some out of the way café. Let’s get lost somewhere and find our way home.

A pilgrimage is a combo style. You intentionally decide to take a journey with a set physical path. But you don’t know what will happen, what you will find. You walk until you find what you are looking for. The Camino will give you what you need.

At the beginning of Lent, a group of us watched the movie, The Way. Martin Sheen plays a father whose son dies on the Camino. Their last conversation was an argument. In grief, he spontaneously decides to carry his son’s ashes and finish the Camino for him. A group of mismatched traveling companions forms. They don’t like each other at first. None of them share the true nature of their journey fearing judgement. A woman says she wants to stop smoking but takes frequent smoke breaks. A Dutchman wants to lose weight and finds all the best local food along the way. A journalist has writer’s block and pesters everyone for personal details that might lead to a book about the Camino.

Despite mutual antipathy, they all need help along the way, and wind up supporting each other. Slowly, the true reasons for the journey become clearer. The Dutchman’s wife doesn’t love him anymore because of his weight. The smoker is recovering from an abusive relationship that led to having an abortion. The journalist has writer’s block because he hates being a travel writer. Martin Sheen carries his son’s ashes because he had been forcing his son into his mold rather than seeing him for who he was. They all began the journey knowing something wasn’t right, but they did not really see the cause of distress. They had to walk for miles till the blinders fell. Then they had the courage to see themselves, to come to themselves. Life is made by the walking.

Reflecting on the Camino and pilgrimage spirituality gave me insight into the parable of the prodigal son. We name the story for the youngest prodigal son’s Camino, but there is more to it than the wayward son finding a way home. Biblical scholar NT Wright has suggested we should rename the parable “The Father with Two Lost Sons.” It is possible to feel lost even if you don’t leave home.

Wright says we must remember why Jesus tells this parable. Chapter 15 begins with Jesus teaching a crowd. The Pharisees mutter, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” I don’t think they were affirming Jesus for practicing extravagant welcome. The key word is “mutter.” In Greek, the word goggyzo means quietly criticizing or complaining. Words like murmur, grumble and mumble are onomatopoeia words. They sound like what they mean. “Mumble, mumble, murmur, murmur, goggyzo, goggyzo.” Like the Camino walkers who didn’t like each other at first, and didn’t think they needed each other, the Pharisees don’t like their space invaded by all these losers. They like their club the way it is. So, Jesus tells not one, but three parables about lost and found to make his point. A shepherd loses his sheep, a woman loses her coin, a man loses a son, and all are joyful when the lost is found.

I thought about this dynamic while reading an article about the demographics of the United Church of Christ. We have been losing members for 60 years. We had around 2 million members in the 1970s and now we are under 700,000. The article suggested New England realtors should specialize in churches. With these statistics, you know what we need? We need some sinners and tax collectors! There isn’t time to be picky. Maybe church needs to be more like an inn on the Camino, welcoming the travelers. What would happen if we put up a banner that said, “Prodigal sons and daughters welcome. Resentful older siblings too.”

Back to the parable, the youngest son’s journey is the most dramatic. I wonder what is going on with the family when the son asks for his inheritance. You get an inheritance when somebody dies. The son is saying, “I want your money, but I don’t want a relationship with you.” The parable is neutral about the family dynamics. Is the son spoiled and self-centered? Or are the father and older brother overbearing and he wants out? We don’t know. As the parable progresses, we see the father being generous or compassionate three times. He gives his youngest the money, he welcomes him back, and he goes to his oldest with kindness. But no matter how healthy a family might be from one perspective, someone feels left out, like they are getting the short end of the stick.

We all know how this parable goes. We have likely been the parent or the child. The son thinks he is ready to run his own show, but the money slips through his fingers. He bought a fast car with zero money down, tossed some money around to impress his friends and next thing you know he can’t make rent. You know things are bad when a Jewish boy from a good family ends up feeding the pigs. Not kosher! He’s doing a shameful job in a foreign country, and reaches the point where the hogs slop looks pretty good.

The parable says, he came to himself. This phrase means something more than just a realization. It implies movement. He came to the end of the road, and there, he came to himself. Did he discover who he was, or come face to face with his true situation? One thing is clear. Home did not look so bad. Maybe Dad wasn’t the evil overlord he thought. Sometimes we can’t see our situation clearly in familiar surroundings. We are too enmeshed in old family patterns and resentments to see how things are.

A friend (let’s call her Mary) recently said she struggled with her sister, who was a renegade to the family and very critical of her mother. Her sister finally told Mary what bothered her was a childhood moment when she had asked her mother for help with a stained blouse. The mother said, “I can’t deal with you right now, because I have to take Mary to the awards ceremony.” At that moment she decided Mary was the golden child, and mom liked her best and disapproved of her. When Mary heard the story, now 50 years later, she recounted two stories where her mother said she couldn’t deal with Mary right now, because her brother needed her. Mary had interpreted this to mean that her mother could not deal with her right now. It was a moment where the sister came to herself, realizing there was another narrative she missed.

This story leads right to the older brother in our parable. He comes home to find a party going on to celebrate the return of his younger brother, and goes to his room and sulks. Notice that the father, who received the younger son joyfully, also goes to the older son. He gets an earful. “Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.” He adds the brother squandered the family wealth on prostitutes, which may or may not be true. But when did he start thinking he was a slave to the father? As Wright said, this son is also lost, though he never left.

He must have stored grievances against the brother for leaving, and against his father too. Did he wish he could leave? Was he actually treated poorly? It feels like a disconnect when we see the father being compassionate with both sons.

The ending is powerful:

“My son,” the father said, “you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. ³² But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

The parable ends with the future being open. Will the older brother let go of his grievance and join the party? Grace is in front of him and now he must choose. Jesus told this parable to the Pharisees, and now he tells it to us. Are you joining the party, or are you just going to murmur?

Pilgrimages bring us all to this point. You walk and walk… until the blinders fall away.

Sometimes the most important step in faith is simply to walk long enough until you come to yourself. And when you do, you discover that grace has been waiting for you all along. How will you respond?

Buen Camino.

March 8, 2026 | Third Sunday in Lent

Sun, 08 Mar 2026 13:45:30 GMT

The Way Around

Neglecting the sole ends the journey. Same with the soul.

Blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven,
whose sins are covered. ² Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord does not count against them
and in whose spirit is no deceit.

³ When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. ⁴ For day and night your hand was heavy on me;
my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. ^[ ^b ^]

⁵ Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity.
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.”
And you forgave the guilt of my sin.

⁶ Therefore let all the faithful pray to you while you may be found;
surely the rising of the mighty waters will not reach them. ⁷ You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble
and surround me with songs of deliverance.

⁸ I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you. ⁹ Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding
but must be controlled by bit and bridle or they will not come to you. ¹⁰ Many are the woes of the wicked, but the Lord’s unfailing love
surrounds the one who trusts in him.

¹¹ Rejoice in the Lord and be glad, you righteous;
sing, all you who are upright in heart!

Psalm 32:1-11

To be a pilgrim on the Camino de Santiago takes a great deal of planning. You might need airline tickets, time off from work, and the right backpack and equipment. You might brush up on your Spanish, think about rainy days, hot days, what you will eat and drink. But one thing matters more than anything else for a safe journey-your feet! Depending on how many detours you take, the Camino is about 700,000 steps . Every step rubs the skin of your soles, and each of the 26 bones in your foot absorbs the shock. You need sturdy hiking boots to clamber over rocks, yet still light enough to not weigh you down. Thick socks help too, but blisters, infections, planter fasciitis, and sore heels bedevil many pilgrims. One trail veteran writes,

Every day, just as soon as I had claimed my bunk, I tended to my feet. I removed my socks, bathed my feet and then applied moisturizer with 4 drops of lavender to guard against infection. I gave my feet a Jin Shin Jiyistu energy point message. I would not have survived without wide medical tape and Compeed to treat the blisters. ¹

Your feet are where the rubber meet the road. The sole of the foot is the soul of the journey. Walking is the point, after all, the essence of this pilgrimage. Ignore your feet to your peril.

Psalm 32 says the same thing about the soul that Camino pilgrims say about their feet: if you neglect it, the journey eventually stops. If we do not tend the honesty of our soul, it begins to fail us. When we do not fill our souls with goodness, the skin wears thin and blisters form. Each time we look away from suffering and injustice, callouses build on the heart and we lose our sensitivity.

Little compromises make it harder to recognize the larger ones. And one day we wake up and realize we have drifted from the path toward justice and goodness. Not because we took one terrible turn. But because we neglected the soul.

Notice how the Psalm talks about how it feels when we neglect our soul.

When I kept silent,
my bones wasted away
through my groaning all day long.

Here silence means we are failing to communicate. We are holding things in, not truly being honest with ourselves or God. What does it mean for bones to waste away? Without honesty we lose structure. Our bones hold us up. If you can’t stand up for what is just, we say you are spineless. “When I keep silent, my bones waste away.”

We say we feel things in our bones. An elbow aches and we know rain is coming. A book titled “Your Body Keeps the Score” describes how we store our emotional pain in our physical bodies. Our trauma or our shame lodges in places in our bodies, our aching back, or stiff neck. We try to ignore it, but it only gets worse. At some point our body and our soul require our attention.

Imagine taking the same daily care of our soul as the pilgrim takes of their feet. St. Ignatius suggested a daily examine to look back at the previous day. He did not begin with self-criticism. Begin with gratitude. What were the gifts of the day, the moments of beauty and kindness? Soul care begins with love and grace. Then we ask the harder questions. Where did we treat someone unfairly, speak a harsh word? When were we not completely honest? What hard thing needs to be done but we are avoiding it? The final stage is committing to make things right. Who needs an apology? Where am I called to act for justice? What do we need from God to carry this forward?

I do a version of this writing in my journal when I wake in the morning. Putting pen to paper forces honesty. I write in cursive, illegible enough that it could be a secret code, so I can tell it as it is. When I don’t write, I tell myself I’m just busy. But that is a lie. I’m really hiding something from myself and therefore, hiding from God. When I return to my journal, I slowly find my soul again, word by word, like each step of the Camino. Many mornings I realize more good happened that I noticed. The weight of ink makes the gratitude more tangible. I write myself out of the holes my ego dug for me. Often by page two, clarity emerges for the next day. At the end I often feel filled, released, content.

This state is the meaning of opening words of the Psalm:

Happiness comes from having your rebellion taken away, from having your failure completely covered. Happiness comes from YHWH not counting your mistakes, from having nothing to hide.

The Hebrew word gets translated happy or blessed, but it is closer to a feeling of well-being. It is well with my soul. The psychologist Carl Rogers would have called it congruency. What we are showing on the outside is exactly who we are on the inside. The bones of my soul are aligned, as if a chiropractor as set them straight.

The Psalm goes on to warn against letting things slide from well-being. Don’t be like a horse or a mule. (Don’t be an ass!) They are directed by bridal and bit in their mouths. They are guided by external pressures, rather than inward clarity. If we are guided by ego, by fear, by social pressure, we are begin pulled around like a bridle guides the horse.

This psalm sounds great. Who doesn’t want well-being, walking the right path, feet on the ground and well protected on your Camino. But in practice, real honesty is challenging. Integrity and doing the right thing seems simple at the bottom of the mountain, but it gets harder the higher we climb. If we don’t protect our soul daily, it can fail us when we need it most.

We are watching one of the most important morality tales in my lifetime play out with the Epstein files. Most of the focus is on the obvious evil of sex trafficking and taking advantage of young women and girls. Many people started digging for dirt on their political opponents, but what is uncovered is a more comprehensive moral crisis that is far beyond politics. The participants include Republicans, Democrats, businesspeople, diplomats, philanthropists, healers, professors, scientists, even royals.

I listened to an interview of journalist Anand Giridharadas, who wrote the NYT op-ed “How the Elite Behave When No One Is Watching: Inside the Epstein Emails.” The emails reveal a vast network of people trading favors and using each other. Epstein’s network offered access to elite jobs, large scale financing, recognition that could get you published. This scandal isn’t limited to the morally compromised or the politically corrupt. It reaches into places we would never have expected.

A startling name in the files is Noam Chomsky — the philosopher who spent fifty years as America’s most relentless critic of elite power, of the ways the powerful protect their own at the expense of everyone else. He knew. Epstein had already been convicted. And Chomsky kept emailing — not for money or status, but for but to be in the room the intellectual elite. The man who wrote the book on elite moral failure found it irresistible to join them.

What held the network together, Giridharadas says, was solidarity and favor trading that made it too expensive for people to consult their own moralities. When principles conflict with staying in the network, the network wins.

Giridharadas says something I cannot get out of my mind. When Epstein needed to rebuild his reputation after his conviction, he chose people with a particular superpower. He chose people who were good at looking away. This was not their first time. They had looked away from economic inequality, environmental destruction, scapegoating LGBTQ people and immigrants, and from the financial crisis that gutted ordinary families while they collected bonuses. Each time a little easier.

The network wins. The bones go on wasting away. The tragedy Giridharadas describes did not begin with monsters. It began with people who learned to look away. Little compromise by little compromise. Callous by callous, until looking away was simply what you did to stay in the room.

The Psalm invites another path.

I acknowledged my sin to you. I did not hide.

And when we stop hiding from God, we discover what verse 7 has been waiting to tell us all along: You are my hiding place. Not the power network. Not the connection too expensive to lose. God. The one who knows everything about you and calls you beloved anyway. God is the hiding place where our souls are cared for.

Pilgrims know you must tend your feet every day if you want to finish the Camino. The same is true of the soul. Tell the truth. Soften the callouses. And keep walking.

Buen Camino.

Notes

1. From “Walking from Here to There” by Christy Day, p. 25.

March 1, 2026 | Second Sunday in Lent

Sun, 01 Mar 2026 13:36:02 GMT

The High Way

What is home after exile?

Ho! Everyone who thirsts;
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price. ² Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread
and your earnings for that which does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
and delight yourselves in rich food. ³ Incline your ear, and come to me;
listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
my steadfast, sure love for David.

Isaiah 55: 1-5

Growing up in a small farming town, we rarely shouted to get everyone’s attention. When I moved to Boston for seminary, getting off the Green Line at Park Street Station felt like everyone was shouting for my attention:

Sign this petition to save baby seals.

Can you spare some change?

Hey, Ice Cream!

The Hare Krishnas were chanting. A man in a burnt orange robe pressed a tract into my hand. So many people wanted my attention, I did not know where to focus. As a polite Midwesterner, I wanted to acknowledge everyone, at least with a smile. I soon learned to walk as if I was paying no attention, even as I noticed it all in my peripheral vision. Within weeks I seldom noticed them.

I tell you this moment to explain the first word of Isaiah 55, which is translated “Hear!” but in Hebrew it is “Hoy!” It may be a most ancient expression, meaning listen up, pay attention, miss this at your own risk. Isaiah, the most poetic of the prophets, turns to street vendor language, “Hoy, are you thirsty? Come and drink.” He later comes back to the more lyrical, “Incline your ear to me,” and the more polite “listen to me carefully.” But the first word needs to cut through the cacophony of petitioners, panhandlers and vendors. “Hoy, are you thirsty for something that truly quenches your need? Come here!”

What could be so important that Isaiah, the most poetic of the prophets, abandons his poetry entirely — shouting like a Manchester footballer from Ted Lasso — and then comes back for attention two more times in the next two verses? What is so urgent it requires three attempts to cut through the noise?

This middle section of the Book of Isaiah is known as the Book of Consolation, written to Jews taken captive after the brutal Babylonian conquest. Chapter 40 opens this section, meeting people in exile with the familiar words from our Advent hymn, “Comfort, Comfort, O My People.” It contains the hopeful images of streams in the wilderness, and encourages people to prepare the way, make a highway for God to travel. When people first reach Babylon we hear their despair in the book of Lamentations….In Psalm 137 they sing, “By the waters of Babylon, we lay down and wept for thee Zion.” They felt taunts from the conquerors who shouted, “Where is your God now?” It made them so angry that the song ends with a curse, “May your babies heads be dashed against the rocks.”

The center section of the Book of Consolation assures people that God has not forgotten them. The suffering servant poems tell them that as their wounds heal, they will find new strength and wholeness. These words became essential to the Christian understanding of Jesus’ crucifixion, and remind us that despair and suffering can be faced, endured, and we come out the other side.

Isaiah 55 is the last word to the exiles, and much has changed in the generation since they were forced from their homes. Many of them were born in Babylon, and don’t remember what their parents call home. They have learned to speak Aramaic and Akkadian, and maybe only knew a few words of Hebrew from the Sabbath prayers of their grandparents. They built businesses and homes, some even prospering, marrying Babylonians. Just as they are assimilating, Babylon is collapsing. Like most empires built on conquest and violence, their economy is focused on plunder and corruption. As Cyrus of Persia ascends, Babylon is fighting itself, and collapses without a battle. Cyrus generously offers a chance for exiles to return to Jerusalem.

The prophet’s last words, “Hoy, listen up people,” land at a moment of choice. As the Clash song went, “Should I stay or should I go? If I go it will be trouble. If I stay it could be double.”

Isaiah’s words invite people to come and buy wine and milk, even if they have no money. Think about what that would mean to people who had spent a generation wondering if God was done with them. No Temple. No sacrifice. No way to earn back what was lost. And now this: Come anyway. The table is set. You don’t have to deserve it.

This is not the language of a transaction. It is the language of a homecoming. Exile seems to be over — not because they earned their way back, but because the door is simply open.

After the invite, a question lands: “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread and your earnings for that which does not satisfy?” That question lands today with the same force. This consumer society promises you things it can’t deliver. No amount of Coach bags, all you can eat buffets, cars turned into living rooms will make you fulfilled. You will just make Jeff Bezos rich. He doesn’t want you to be happy, he hopes you won’t realize that less is more.

Many scholars have interpreted the Book of Consolation as the call to come back to Jerusalem and start again. It is a big ask to encourage people to leave the only home they knew. So how many people actually heard Isaiah’s message and returned to Judah? The best historical accounts estimate about 5 percent. So what do we make of the 95% who stayed? Were they faithless, settling for Babylon’s broken promises when the door home was open?

History suggests otherwise. The greatest flowering of Jewish thought happened not in Jerusalem but in Babylon. The Talmud — the vast ocean of rabbinic wisdom that became the foundation of Jewish life for two thousand years — was compiled there. Judaism was as profoundly shaped in Babylon as anything happening in the land of Israel.

By the time Jesus arrived in Jerusalem 500 years later, he was not a big fan of the Temple priesthood. The people who had made the 900-mile journey home, who had rebuilt the altar and the walls, had slowly accommodated themselves to a new empire — Rome this time instead of Babylon. The Temple had become magnificent and compromised in equal measure. The prophets had warned about exactly this. Micah said it plainly: do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with God. You can do that in Babylon. You can fail to do it in Jerusalem. The city was never the point.

The exiles understood this without knowing it. Jews who stayed near the Tigris in Babylon created a faith adaptable to any river you lived by. Jews who crossed the Jordan back into Israel preserved the relationship to a specific holy place of their ancestors. The real question was never about the final destination. It was whether the walking brought you closer to God.

The Camino de Santiago itself was an adaptation. For centuries, Christians walked to Jerusalem. But when war and politics made that road too dangerous, they did not stop walking. They adapted. They found another way west. They walked to Santiago. The geography changed. The pilgrimage did not. The point was the walking.

And here is where Isaiah presses us. Some went back to Jerusalem. Some stayed in Babylon. But this was not passive. It was not drifting. It was not staying because it was easier or going because it sounded noble. It was a decision.

“Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread?” That is not a gentle question. It is a confrontation. Should I stay or should I go?

Sometimes faith means leaving what is comfortable. Sometimes faith means staying and refusing to assimilate. Sometimes faith means rebuilding something ancient. Sometimes faith means creating something entirely new.

But here is the real danger: Not choosing at all. Drifting. Spending our lives on what does not satisfy. Calling Babylon “home” because it is familiar. The exile does not end just because Cyrus opens the gates. The exile ends when someone decides to walk toward God again.

Lent is not about geography. It is about direction. Where are you headed?

What is forming you? What are you spending your life on? The Camino is not simply a place. It is the next faithful step that costs you something.

And that is the question Isaiah shouts over the noise: Hoy. Not because God is far away and has to strain to reach you. But because Babylon is loud. Empires are designed that way — keep the noise up, keep people consuming, keep them too distracted to hear what their souls are asking for.

We know something about that. It doesn’t take a trip on the Green Line to find the cacophony. It finds us.Lent is the practice of inclining your ear again. Of turning down the noise long enough to hear the voice that has been calling all along. And then — once you hear it — taking the next faithful step toward it.

That is the whole Camino. Listen. Then walk.

Buen Camino.

February 22, 2026 | First Sunday in Lent

Sun, 22 Feb 2026 16:18:49 GMT

The Wandering Way

Don't be a tourist in your own life.

There is a big difference between being a pilgrim and a tourist. A tourist stands in front of Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus,” and as the goddess of love springs from the sea, they take a selfie while sticking their tongue out sideways. Perhaps it was meant as a critique of the modern eclipse of eros replaced by casual hookups, but more likely it says, “Look where I am!” The world is just a backdrop for curating and promoting the self.Pilgrimage comes from the Latin peregrinus — meaning “one who travels through foreign fields.” The Peregrin Falcon gets its name from this word because it has a vast migration, breeding in the Arctic tundra and wintering as far south as Argentina. A pilgrim travels the unfamiliar and is changed by the experience. This journey can be exciting and terrifying all at the same time. Many in this congregation are “from away.” We moved here as pilgrims to the sea, not because we love lobster rolls, but because we seek something our souls need in this beauty.

What would happen if you made Lent a pilgrimage? What would that look like for you?

Pilgrimage as a spiritual act is as old as organized religion. Evidence shows that people came from all over Britain to Stonehenge. Holy sites were often not just in beautiful places, but thin spaces where geographies collide: mountaintops where rock meets sky, coastlines where water meets earth, islands and places where elements meet. Often, the space was not easy to reach, and getting there was part of the spiritual process. You must climb to Jerusalem, sail to Iona, and walk for 30 days to take the full Camino. In the challenging parts of the journey across Spain, there is little shade, and blisters are nearly universal.

Medieval Christianity had a strong culture of pilgrimage. People traveled to Jerusalem and to sites associated with martyrs and saints. People hoped that if they could walk in the steps of Jesus or Paul, they would discover a deeper faith. Perhaps they could see as the saints see, if they could see what the saints saw.

In the Hebrew tradition, the three great pilgrimage festivals — Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot — required the journey to Jerusalem. The Psalms of Ascent (120-134) were sung on the road going up to the Temple. Pilgrimage was built into the liturgical calendar as an embodied practice.

When Jesus goes into the wilderness for 40 days, he is embarking on a pilgrimage rooted in Jewish tradition. A thousand years before him, Hebrew slaves escaped into the Sinai wilderness. Jesus 40 days re-enact the 40 years of wanderings, and a journey from captivity to new freedom. We always begin our 40 days of Lent with this text, inviting us to adopt a pilgrim’s mindset, even though we are not leaving the Boothbay Peninsula. We are invited out of our routines into a time of reflection and discernment.

Jesus’ pilgrimage begins with a revelation at his baptism. He emerges from the River Jordan, the heavens open, and he hears a divine blessing, “You are my beloved in whom I am well-pleased.” You might think this great spiritual moment would lead him to begin preaching and gathering disciples for this megachurch. After all, he is the beloved! Instead, Jesus is going off the grid for 40 days, no Instagram or DoorDash. Luke says the Spirit led him in the wilderness, but Mark says the Spirit drove him, forced him to Sinai. Some pilgrimages are chosen and planned because of our longings. But we can be driven into pilgrimage because of illness, cancer, grief, or facing a grave injustice in the world. A collapsing democracy can force a pilgrimage that requires us to reorient our mindset.

If you are going to do something as important as being a messiah, you’d better have your head on straight. Power brings great temptations. You don’t have to believe in a real devil to know that it is true. Jesus faces three great challenges that all leaders must deal with.

Turn stone into bread, focus on material betterment, and physical well-being. Feed 5000 and then set up soup kitchens and food pantries everywhere. But Jesus says, “We don’t live by bread alone, but by every word from God.” We need purpose, hope, and empowerment, not just food.

Prove you are God’s chosen one, and God will protect you if you leap from the Temple. Leaders can get caught up in their own glory. Any of us can get caught up in our ego, our rightness. Then we stop listening and growing.

The third temptation is the most seductive because it wears the face of effectiveness. All the kingdoms of the world — just bow once, just make this one accommodation, just look the other way this time. History is littered with leaders who began with genuine vision and slowly traded it away — a piece at a time, each compromise feeling necessary — until they couldn’t remember what they had originally stood for. The wilderness is where Jesus decides: the kingdom of God cannot be built with the devil’s tools. In the wilderness, Jesus discovered that being the beloved was sufficient. He needed nothing the devil was offering.

Not all of us are driven into the wilderness to face our demons, but we still feel the restless pull to go deeper. My pilgrimage was the chosen kind — no illness, no crisis, no Spirit driving me anywhere: just a sabbatical, a bicycle, and Jeanne. We cycled 275 miles in Assisi and Umbria to visit sites associated with St. Francis. You may think we were taking it easy by cycling, but every Italian town is on a mountain top, so every day ended with crawling up a slope, legs burning to keep the wheels in motion. I recited the Prayer of St. Francis to get through the rough spots. “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred let me sow love…” I had to say the full prayer 23 times to get up to Orvieto.

I chose the Via Francescana because Francis changed the church by renouncing the traditional path to the priesthood. At the height of Vatican wealth and Papal power, he chose simplicity. He literally sought to imitate Christ by selling all he had from a substantial inheritance and giving it to the poor. He crossed social boundaries by tending to lepers, befriending Muslims, and encouraging women like Claire to form her own monastery. Francis was an inspiration to many social justice leaders, including liberation theologians.

I’m not sure what I was looking for in this trip, but the Camino travelers have a saying, “The journey gives you what you need, not what you want.” I thought I needed more courage and boldness as I trained to complete the miles up and down steep hills. But what I discovered is that I needed beauty and joy. Something shifted in me as I pedaled through the vineyards and stood in ancient cathedrals. I learned that dinner was an artistic experience. I became obsessed with different paintings of the Annunciation. Outside of Bevagnia, I understood why Francis preached to the birds and blessed the animals, brother sun and sister moon.

I discovered my spiritual life was impoverished by being too duty-bound, and that I needed more room for wonder and connection with nature. That Sabbatical played an important role in coming to Maine, and a shift to creation spirituality. I went looking for Francis’s boldness and came home with something quieter and more sustaining. I discovered that wonder is itself a form of prayer — a way of loving God through the world God made. On this path, I came to know myself as part of the beloved creation.

Lent is more than giving something up or reflecting on sins and shortcomings. It is about going somewhere — even if you never leave wherever you live. These forty days are an invitation to become a pilgrim rather than a tourist in your own life. To stop curating a life for others to see and start wondering. To let something look back at you and ask the question you’ve been avoiding. The journey will show you what you need, something you may not have known you wanted. And what you may discover — as Jesus discovered in the wilderness, as Francis discovered in the ruins of San Damiano, as I discovered somewhere between Assisi and Orvieto — is that you are already the beloved. You need nothing the world is offering to prove it. The road is open.

Buen Camino. Good journey.

Called Into God’s Presence, Part I: Arise and Gather | Psalm 100 & Isaiah 60:1-6 | January 11, 2026

Sun, 11 Jan 2026 16:14:05 GMT

Sermon 1 on why we gather for worship

Do you have a morning routine to get ready for the day? How do you get moving? Research shows that good morning routines make us more motivated, grounded, and productive. Some of us start the day by saying, “Thanks be to God for coffee.” You may like a long, slow walk, or you are a night owl who sleeps until the last minute and rushes to get ready for your first activity. Others wake slowly, lying in bed and reading the news. Then you wonder if it is safe to get up. Starting the day with news, email, and social media, does more harm than good. It trains us to be anxious.

Here is a surprise. Routines that focus on productivity and efficiency tend to backfire. To-do lists, especially the first thing, can make us anxious and leave us feeling inadequate the minute our feet hit the floor. Morning routines that remind us of our purpose and values bear the most fruit. What matters today? What kind of person do I want to be? When we take a little time to orient ourselves to what truly matters, we are happier and more productive.

I had a busy day in December, managing to get through everything on my long to-do list. At the end of the day, you might think I would be elated at this accomplishment. Instead, I just felt tired and a little empty. It was a sign to me that I wasn’t connecting to any higher purpose. Getting things done doesn’t satisfy as much as doing the right things, and being in the right state of mind. I switched my morning routine to writing in my journal (with coffee, of course), followed by a few minutes of meditation. My attitude has shifted in a better direction since then.

We have our Sunday morning worship routines. Just because we have done them for many years doesn’t mean they are good or bad. The attitudes we bring to our rituals can matter as much as what we do or say. During Epiphany, we will take a deep dive into what we do with this precious first day of the week, starting today with how we gather and begin our time together.

What are we doing here on Sunday morning? The word worship comes from an Old English word, weorðscipe, which became “worthship.” Words ending in ‘ship,’ like leadership or friendship, describe a way of living in a relationship. Worthship means we are acting in a way that aligns with what we truly value. We gather on Sunday morning to be reminded of our higher divine purpose. In song, ritual, and prayer, we tell one another: God is here.

At 10 AM, we cross a threshold. In the morning welcome, I often suggest an action that helps us enter sacred space. It can be a deep breath, a hand over your heart, something that grounds us physically in the moment. I share with you something from nature that affirms God’s beauty. Sunlight glistens on an icy twig, creating a stunning sparkle. The crocus pushes optimistically through the snow in search of light and life. Natural beauty tells us the world is good and that God intends life for us. The Psalms do the same thing—they give voice to a joy that creation is already singing.

Psalm 100 says, “Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth. Worship the Lord with gladness.” Notice that it is not just people shouting, but all the earth is joyful- you and me, toads, trees, and koalas-all creatures great and small. No matter how we show up and what our struggles might be on Sunday morning, the sun brings life, birds sing and delight us, so God is full of grace.

We follow this threshold moment with music: soothing organ tones or bright, ringing bells. By 10:05 every Sunday morning, we are reminded that God is present, the world is good, and you belong here. No matter who you are, you are welcome here. That may sound like a heavy lift for five minutes, but this beginning matters. It welcomes us into the world God intends—full of joy, beauty, and grace.

We move from world weariness to divine orientation. This shift is precisely what the prophet Isaiah names in our reading today. He speaks to people who are tired, disappointed, and unsure whether God is really present anymore. And God doesn’t start by fixing their problems. Isaiah opens with a command: “Arise, shine, for your light has come.” Arise, and shine means more than “Wake up, sleepy head.” The Hebrew verb (qûmî) is used when someone is beaten down. It means someone stands after collapse, rises from grief, returns from defeat. Isaiah summons a people shaped by exile, struggling to rebuild, and discouraged.

Isaiah begins with a command: ‘Arise.’ Stand tall, not because we are strong, but because God is faithful. Not because the darkness is gone, but because the light has already arrived. Worship begins here—not with energy, not with certainty, but with resurrection posture. We stand because God has not given up on us.”

Isaiah does not pretend that everything is suddenly better. In fact, the very next verse says, “Darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples.” Isaiah knows the darkness. He names it plainly. Isaiah speaks the command to arise not because the darkness is gone, but because it does not get the final word.

That’s important for us. Worship is not denial. It is not pretending things are fine when they are not. It is not forced cheerfulness. Worship is what we do when the world is still shadowed, and we choose to stand anyway, trusting that God’s light is already at work.

Our joy is not naïve. It is not because there is no pain or injustice. It is joy rooted in a relationship. “Know that the Lord is God. We are God’s people.” Joy comes not from circumstances, but from belonging.

The most essential thing to remember as we enter the sanctuary is that we are here because God gathers us and calls us into community. We might have numerous other motivations for being here. Some are here for the music; others, for the sermon. We might come for inspiration, community, or healing. It might just be a habit. But none of these reasons is ultimate, however helpful. A church is people gathered by God’s Spirit. If seeking the living Spirit of God is not at the center of our time, we are just a club. Any club can make nice music, have a good speaker, do good things, and have refreshments following. Clubs are nice, but they are not a church. A church is gathered for healing and transformation. God changes the world and cares for us by giving us each other. You are not here just for yourselves, but you are each a tangible reminder of God’s love to the person next to you.

God changes the world and cares for us by giving us each other.

Living in this reality is not always warm and comfortable. You may not have noticed, but people can be annoying. That doesn’t stop at the church door. We bring all of our family brokenness, disappointments, and fears with us. No amount of good vibes can cover the reality that we disagree on major things, that the church is polarized just as our society. If you are looking for a place to hide from it all, build a treehouse. The church is not going to help you hide. Churches split in bitter arguments. People leave in a huff, or from the boredom that comes with not being serious. God gets angry at the gathered people when we don’t take truth and justice seriously. Jesus went into the Temple and turned over the tables of the money changers. Amos quotes God as saying,

“I despise your feasts and solemn assemblies. Take away from me the noise of your songs; But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

I have been frustrated to tears with the church so many times, it’s a wonder I’m still here. But do you know why I stay? Because this is the people that God calls together, a wonderfully imperfect, frustrating, courageous people. I can’t imagine how the church has survived as long as it has without the patient and steadfast presence of the living God.

And so we come back to where Isaiah began:
“Arise, shine, for your light has come.”

Not because we are perfect, or right;
Not because the church has it all figured out.
Not because the darkness has disappeared.

We arise because God is faithful.
We gather because God still gathers people.
We worship because God has not given up on the world—or on us.

Every Sunday at 10 AM, this is our practice.
We stand.
We sing.
We give thanks.
We remember who we are.

And little by little, we rise from this place and carry that light into the week ahead.

This, This...| Matthew 2:1-12 | December 28, 2025

Sun, 28 Dec 2025 15:52:31 GMT

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In Christmas pageants, I have played most of the male roles-Joseph, a wise man, a shepherd, and even a sheep. I have directed pageants and watched my children in them. I have yet to see Herod’s massacre of the innocents portrayed, or even mentioned off-stage by the narrator. That would end the pageant with a dark note. What Christmas carol would you sing afterwards? But here it is, following the magi’s visit. The slaughter of the innocents only shows up every third year in our lectionary, on this Sunday between Christmas and New Year’s, where church attendance is sparse.

Therefore, you can imagine my surprise to find this scene portrayed in a church. On Sabbatical in Italy in 2019, Jeanne and I squeezed in Siena on our way to Florence. After 9 days biking through Umbria near Assisi, we had seen numerous artistic portrayals of the Nativity, tender Madonna and child, Annunciations galore, and the adoration of the Magi. We entered the Duomo of Sienna, with a crush of tourists. We all immediately looked up at the massive dome, ringed with the busts of popes up to the moment of construction. The walls and pillars are stripped, made with alternating layers of white and green-black marble.

It was some time before I looked down, and there it was—a 30-foot-wide marble-tiled mosaic of Herod’s massacre of the innocents. Women are weeping, swords are still drawn, one baby is being tossed through the air, and lifeless infants are strewn across the floor. I said to Jeanne, “Well, here’s an under-utilized motif in church art. I always thought our floor would be well-suited to a marble mosaic of murder.” How could anyone pay attention to a sermon with all this stimulation? If I had gone to church here when I was seven, I would have asked to stand at this spot every Sunday to gaze at the mayhem.

The deeper question on my mind was-why was this there in the Cathedral anyway? Who commissioned it? What was the occasion? Who was the artist, and what was the point? We might ask the same of Matthew. Neither John’s Gospel nor Mark’s even bothered to have any birth narratives about Jesus. Mark launches straight in with John the Baptist. The writer in John’s Gospel gets philosophical about Jesus as the Word in the beginning and the light shining in the darkness. Luke pays a great deal of attention to Mary-the Annunciation, the Magnificat, the journey to Bethlehem, no room at the inn; but leaves out wise men and Herod. So, let’s look at Matthew’s Christmas pageant, to see why violence invades the gentle nativity. Then look at how the mosaic came into being in Siena.

Here is the Christmas pageant according to Matthew. First, he starts with genealogies, with 14 generations between Abraham and David, and 14 more between David and Jesus. You love genealogies, right? Where did we come from? Is there any royal blood, great heroes, villains, big adventures? Matthew wants us to know the highs and lows of what was in Jesus’ blood. He is from the lineages of Abraham, Ruth, and Boaz, and from kings like David, Solomon, and Hezekiah. He is from the mainstream of Israel’s story. Joseph’s line has endured Babylonian exile and now languishes under Roman exile.

We all inherit stories from our lineage. The Weirs were Presbyterian Covenanters, driven from their land in Scotland by the Catholic King, James I. The Kernens were Jews who left Switzerland during a pogrom and became Methodists in Iowa Issues around religious persecution and freedom are in my blood.

Matthew sprinkles his Gospel with dozens of prophecies from Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Zechariah, pointing to the Messiah. Jesus is of David’s line through Joseph, but he is also of the prophet’s line, through the Holy Spirit.

Next the pageant returns to Joseph. He is grinding out a living, found a decent bride, but learns she is pregnant. He is a decent guy, so he seeks to divorce her quietly without shame for either of them, until angels get involved in his dreams. This child is from the Holy Spirit. Today, we might think this is nuts, a weird dream. But then many great leaders were believed to be born of the gods, such as Achilles and Alexander the Great. The gods chose people who changed the world.

The Magi arrive, giving an interfaith blessing to Jesus’s status. Even the stars in heaven get involved. This prophecy gets Herod’s attention, which leads to the atrocity in this morning’s scripture. The Holy Family’s flight into Egypt gives us a clue to Matthew’s intention throughout his Gospel. Matthew’s Gospel portrays Jesus fulfilling the work of Moses. The central Jewish story of the liberation from Egypt is being repeated. Herod is going to play the role of Pharaoh and kill the children who could be a threat. Remember, Moses escaped the massacre by floating down the Nile in a basket.

How do you know power has become too corrupt? When leaders decide to sacrifice the innocent, God will raise a leader to liberate people from despotism. That is what his Christmas pageant is telling the reader. It is why the story of the slaughter needs to be there. While there is no independent documentation for this event, it is entirely consistent with Herod’s nature. He murdered brothers and sons to protect his throne, so the story rings true. Matthew is also telling us that God does not let oppression stand. People often question why God allows terrible things happen in the first place. Matthew leaves the blame with human actions, but God does not stand idle. God will stir a response to make the world bend toward justice.

So, what about the cathedral floor in Siena? What is going on there? Matteo Di Giovanni commissioned the marble floor in the 1480s in memory of the massacre of the Italian city of Otranto. The Ottoman Turks tried one last time to invade southern Italy, landing 18,000 troops near the town of Otranto. The 800 inhabitants left in the city held out for 15 days under bombardment, refusing to surrender even when offered clemency. Once the walls were breached, the few survivors were slaughtered or sent into slavery, including all the children. Those 15 days gave the King of Naples time to fortify neighboring cities and gather an army to drive the Ottomans out of Europe for the last time. Throughout Italy, these martyrs were venerated for their courage and faith and actually canonized in 2013 by Pope Francis. In this sense, the marble mosaic is a memorial to lives lost but not forgotten, much like the 9/11 memorial in New York City.

As I stood there, I could feel the power of the scene for a 15th-century Sienese citizen. For them, the threat was real. History could have gone in a different direction. I wondered if anyone had stood there and wondered about all the Muslim and Jewish children who were also killed with as much brutality throughout the five major crusades to recapture Jerusalem, wars fought as much for plunder and control of trade routes as for faith. I wondered what it meant for people now.

Matthew’s story of Herod’s ruthlessness keeps playing out in real time. While I was first surprised such violence would be portrayed in church, I think it is good that sometimes our hearts are broken when we gather to sing and pray. Not all hymns can be “Joy to the World,” and not all sermons are inspirational. If we don’t allow the heartbreaking misfortune and injustice into our liturgy, then we likely won’t find the will and courage to resist the subsequent massacre. Can we recognize God’s work in the midst of injustice?

Herod does not only live in palaces. He appears wherever power secures itself by sacrificing the innocent to further wealth and an unjust status quo. And the Gospel asks us—not simply what we believe—but whether we will cooperate with that logic, or listen for the dream that calls us another way.

When the preservation of order matters more than the protection of the vulnerable—when harm is explained as necessary, regrettable, unavoidable—what do we accept? What do we excuse?

Matthew tells us that everything was at stake with God’s plan for Jesus. What if the Magi or Joseph had not listened to their warning dreams? Who else unwittingly assisted Mary and Joseph on their journey, perhaps at great cost or risk to themselves? They were part of God’s plan for humanity, simply by doing the right thing, helping one family survive. Sometimes God’s plan—the hope for the world—is that small and precarious, waiting for us to participate. And you may be the one the story is waiting for, the one who refuses to cooperate with harm, who does the next right thing.

Joseph's Plan | Matthew 1:18-25 | December 21, 2025

Sun, 21 Dec 2025 15:38:34 GMT

Joseph and a faith that makes room for God

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Matthew 1:18-25

¹⁸ This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about ^[ ^a ^] : His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit. ¹⁹ Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet ^[ ^b ^] did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly.

²⁰ But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. ²¹ She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, ^[ ^c ^] because he will save his people from their sins.”

²² All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: ²³ “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” ^[ ^d ^] (which means “God with us”).

²⁴ When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. ²⁵ But he did not consummate their marriage until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus.

I’m sure Joseph had plans. Business was good. He had renovated a few kitchens, and his work on the Goldburgs’ new sunroom had generated lots of business. His nest egg was just enough to start a family. Joseph’s family had negotiated a betrothal to a younger woman named Mary. He heard she could be fiery and a little opinionated, but he was OK with that. There are only so many options in Nazareth. So, wedding plans moved forward.

But then Joseph got some troubling news. Mary was pregnant, and he knew he was not the father. I wonder how he heard. Did Mary’s family pass along the news, or did he listen to it by chance at the pub? We don’t know the extent of his disappointment, but we do know he quickly moved to plan B. Joseph was a decent guy, probably realizing that Mary faced more serious consequences than he did. Matthew tells us that Joseph was righteous, which can mean legalistic and unyielding, but I think it just means he was good. If he were legalistic, he could have asked for compensation from the bride’s family, had her charged with adultery, maybe even stoned to death. The keyword about Joseph is that he would quietly divorce Mary so she would not be publicly disgraced. No vengeance, it was just time to move on.

Maybe Joseph was a procrastinator and put the complicated conversation off for a couple of days. Then, at night, an angel visits Joseph in a dream.

Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. ²¹ She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, ^[ ^c ^] because he will save his people from their sins.”

We are familiar with the story, but it needs some unpacking. The angel is asking Joseph to swallow three humongous leaps in logic. First, Mary is still good wife material. “Your fiancé is pregnant, but don’t be afraid. She really is a good woman.” I wonder if Joseph had a best friend who pulled him aside and said, “Are you sure about her, Joe? Do you want your firstborn to be someone else’s child?”

The next hurdle is the whole “conceived from the Holy Spirit” item. How would Joseph and Jewish culture have understood this Immaculate Conception? They wouldn’t be thinking about the biology. If you said the word “biology” to Joseph, he wouldn’t have understood. It would be 1800 years before biology became a thing, and scientists discovered sperm, eggs, chromosomes, and so on. Joseph certainly knew sex could lead to pregnancy, but the whole process was one big mystery.

There is no mythology of gods having sex with humans in Jewish mythology. The Greek gods were promiscuous, quite often appearing as something else, tricking, seducing, or overpowering women against their will. The offspring possessed divine powers, enabling them to rule. They were called “Sons of God,” which meant they had divine authority to rule over others. These are stories meant to justify power, authority, and domination. But the Gospels give Mary agency. She says, “Let this happen according to your word.” That is what we call consent. To Romans and Greeks, that would be a crazy story. They would say, “When you are a god, you can do what you want. You don’t even have to ask. You just grab them…”

First-century Jews would more likely have focused on the Holy Spirit part than the act of conception. In the Hebrew scriptures, the Holy Spirit is the ruah of God, the breath, the divine wind blowing, which was the active power of God in the world. The ruah blows and separates land from water in Genesis 1. In Genesis 2, ruah is the divine breath breathed into the first human. God’s Spirit enters prophets to speak the truth. What Joseph and the first-century reader heard is that the Spirit was breathing, blowing, working in Mary and this child.

So, quietly—and without spectacle—Joseph chooses Plan C. Unlike Isaiah and Jeremiah, he does not fall down and say he is unworthy. Unlike Moses, he does not say his brother would be better at this kind of thing. He does not wrestle with the angel, as Jacob did. He just acts faithfully.

We know that Joseph has more changes of plans ahead. Plan D involves Caesar’s decree of a census, and he has to travel with pregnant Mary to Bethlehem. Another dream warns Joseph of Herod’s murderous intent. He flees and takes on Plan E. E is for Egypt, where he became a migrant laborer building homes. Through this story, we never hear Joseph speak. We don’t know if he complained, got angry, or felt like giving up. It leaves the impression that Joseph was quietly faithful, acting on divine dreams and faithfully doing his part.

But all of those plans—Plan C, Plan D, Plan E—turn on one decisive moment.

When Joseph takes Mary as his wife and names the child Jesus, he is doing more than accepting a strange explanation or trusting a dream. He is adopting a child who is not biologically his as entirely his own.

Joseph probably loved Mary, but did not simply choose love.

He chooses risky faithfulness . He attaches his name, his reputation, his livelihood, and his future to a child whose story will never quite make sense to others.

That choice almost certainly costs him something—standing in the community, whispered suspicion, maybe even work. This path is neither safe nor sensible. It is the hard one.

And yet, we should not imagine Joseph as grim or joyless. Over time, there must have been moments of pride—teaching Jesus a trade, watching him grow, seeing Jesus grow into a man of faith and courage. The costly path does not erase joy; it deepens it. Last week, I noted that Jesus likely received many of his values from his mother. He also learned something from Joseph: steadfast courage—the willingness to do what is right even in the face of opposition.

This story is how God enters the world: not through certainty or control, but through someone willing to take responsibility for a life they did not plan.

Most of us don’t meet God in our Plan A.

We meet God when something breaks, when the future shifts, when we are asked to carry a responsibility we did not choose and cannot control.

And Advent asks us a quiet but serious question:

When the moment comes, will we walk away—or will we stake our lives on what God is doing, where the ruah Spirit of God blows, even if it costs us something?

Joseph does. And in that moment, his courage quietly becomes the doorway through which God enters the world.

This Advent, God does not ask us to understand everything.
God asks us to pay attention.
To do the next right thing.
To choose the faithful step that makes room for love to take flesh.

That is how God still comes near.
Immanuel—God with us.
Not just then, but now.

Son of Mary | Luke 1:39-56 | December 14, 2025

Sun, 14 Dec 2025 15:34:11 GMT

Mary, Elizabeth, and a World Being Made Whole

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Luke 1:39-56

³⁹ At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, ⁴⁰ where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. ⁴¹ When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. ⁴² In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! ⁴³ But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? ⁴⁴ As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. ⁴⁵ Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!”

⁴⁶ And Mary said:

“My soul glorifies the Lord ⁴⁷ and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, ⁴⁸ for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed, ⁴⁹ for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name. ⁵⁰ His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation. ⁵¹ He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. ⁵² He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble. ⁵³ He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty. ⁵⁴ He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful ⁵⁵ to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.”

⁵⁶ Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home.

Now that we have lit the candle of joy, we might be eager to rush headlong into joyful Christmas, with the big, bold Christmas songs.

“Joy to the World, the Lord is come.”

“O Come, All ye faithful, joyful and triumphant.”

Angels are spreaders of joy in the Christmas story, telling Zachariah and Elizabeth, “You will have joy and gladness.” Today’s reading Elizabeth and Mary share great elation in their pregnancies, and share tender moments which perhaps only they can fully understand.

Even though this is the Sunday of joy, let me pump the brakes a moment. We are not there yet. Every Christmas story reveals a tension and a villain who much be constrained. Rudolf has his tormentor, Comet, plus the abominable snowman. The Grinch stole Christmas from Whoville. Mr. Potter’s greed nearly drives good George Bailey to suicide.

The biblical story reads like a Dickens’ novel. Caesar Augustus and Ebeneezer Scrooge are partners in greed. The stable and manger are like the Cratchit’s kitchen, sparsely equipped yet overflowing with family love. The biblical angels and Dicken’s Christmas ghosts are cousins —messengers who interrupt the darkness and tell us, “Turn around, there is still time for joy.

The joy in our Christmas story is not a celebration of success represented in expensive gifts, nor the perfect togetherness of our ideal families, the greatness of our country. Joy is announced into fear, even amid hopelessness, not after distress is eliminated. The angel doesn’t say, “Once everything settles down… once Herod is gone… once the census is over…” Joy is announced right in the face of Grinch, Potter, Scrooge and Herod. It bubbles up from the bottom, from hardship, from happy Whos, Cratchets, Bailey’s and Elves.

Theologian Henri Nouwen put it this way: while happiness usually depends on circumstances, joy runs deeper. “Joy is the experience of knowing that you are unconditionally loved and that nothing — sickness, failure, emotional distress, oppression, war, or even death — can take that love away.”

Mary’s joy was complicated and vulnerable, but her effervescent song flows from a wellspring deeper than the surface of things. Our story begins after the Angel Gabriel visits Mary to tell her she has been chosen to give birth to the Messiah. Who would you tell first if you were pregnant for the first time? Notice Mary goes immediately to visit her relative Elizabeth. I wonder why she didn’t go to her mother. Nor does she tell her fiancé, Joseph. Mary needs someone wise to help her sort out her unusual circumstances. Elizabeth is a logical choice because the angel tells Mary that Elizabeth is also pregnant. They have both heard the call to be a part of God’s work in the world.

So, Mary seeks counsel from someone likely to be sympathetic. If angels deliver shocking news, wouldn’t you check it out to ensure you aren’t crazy? Build an ark. Confront Pharoah to let my people go. You will give birth to the Messiah. God can ask much of some people. This type of knowledge is a lot to carry. Most people in the Bible want a second opinion after a divine visitation.

Today, we would give Mary the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI), which helps to diagnose mental health disorders like schizophrenia or anxiety. One of the 567 true or false statements to answer is “God sometimes speaks to me.” When I took this test upon entering seminary, I laughed out loud, because God’s call was why we were all in the room. If I say “true,” do I get a diagnosis. Two minutes later, someone else laughed. A minute later, two people laughed. One perplexed person said “Sssshhh!” When she laughed two minutes later, most of the room erupted. The test supervisor looked like she thought it was a madhouse, and we had to explain to her that God spoke to all of us. I think that bothered her even more than the laughing.

Mary decides not to tell her mother or her fiancé. How will Elizabeth react to her news? When Mary walked in the door, Elizabeth’s baby, who would become John the Baptist, leaped in her womb. Mary says hello, and Elizabeth know. She greets Mary, “Blessed are you among woman, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Well, good morning to you, too, Elizabeth! She understands without a word from Mary. Call it intuition or a spiritual gift, she confirms what Mary has experienced. There is excitement in the room that two pregnant women experience the multilayered miracles of body and divine Spirit. They have a pact.

Unfortunately, this scene doesn’t make it into most Christmas pageants. It would tell young women that wise elders are around to guide them, even in complicated families. Luke’s Gospel brings women’s experience front and center. Joseph has little role to play, whereas Matthew’s Gospel is about Joseph and his dreams, and Mary never speaks. If you read Luke and the Magnificat, it’s clear Mary knows exactly what is going on. I wonder if Luke, being a physician, had a little more experience with women and knew how to include that in the Gospels.

A closer look at the words of the Magnificat reveals a bold joy. What are your hopes for your children or grandchildren when they are born? What would you say if you had to write a song about it? If Mary was a different kind of person, a helicopter parent aspiring to a prosperity Gospel, she might have sung:

A Prosperity Magnificat

My soul magnifies the Lord,
for surely my son will go to the Ivy League.

My heart rejoices in the future I imagine for you, my child,
for God has seen your potential and intends success.

Aspire, dear one, to dwell in the grandest estate;
let your home be a palace of luxury,
proof that God has smiled upon you.

May your name be synonymous with wealth and favor,
your résumé impressive,
your riches counted with many zeros.

Heed the call of the luxury car, my child;
may valet parking be your birthright
and inconvenience far from you.

For the Lord helps those who help themselves
and rewards those who plan well.
Blessed are the successful,
for their success shall be called blessing—
now and for generations to come.

Mary magnifies a God who rejoices in justice and celebrates a world being made whole.

He has shown strength with his arm;
He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. ⁵² She has brought down the powerful from their thrones
and lifted up the lowly; ⁵³ She has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty.

The Magnificat echoes throughout Jesus’s ministry in Luke’s Gospel. His first sermon says, “God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. When he said it is harder for a camel through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter heaven-sounds like the Magnificat. Jesus saw with different eyes, noticing the poor widow giving her last coin, Blind Bartimaeus shouting for mercy, showing mercy on a woman caught in adultery. Is this perspective from Mary? Mary did more than change his diapers and nursed him from her breast. She was also his teacher, and she likely taught him the values of the Magnificat. Wasn’t God working through her, guiding his whole life?

Maybe God chose someone like Mary because she wasn’t docile, and she didn’t teach her son Jesus to go along to get along or curry favor with the rich and powerful.

Do you know who understands the power of the Magnificat? The super rich and powerful get it. During British colonial rule of India, the Magnificat was banned. The British East India Company prohibited the recitation during evensong in Advent in Anglican churches. On the final day of British rule over India, as English flags were lowered in unison, Gandhi asked that the Magnificat be recited at each site as the flags came down.

This third Sunday of Advent, we are called to be present with joy. Mary’s story celebrates joys large and small. There is the tender joy of new life, a baby’s leap in the womb, a wise elder to guide, and a safe haven. But there is also the joy that the world can truly be better than it is. There is joy when all are fed, all are made whole, and all are welcome. Mary carried this joy pregnant on a donkey, to birth in a manger, flight to Egypt, and beyond. This joy is ours to carry, too. If we are present to notice joy, it is right here and right now.

The Silent Word | Luke 1:5-25; 57-80 | December 7, 2025

Sun, 07 Dec 2025 15:42:06 GMT

Advent 2 on the quiet that restores us

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here,
The silent Word is pleading.

What Child is This? v. 2

Luke 1:5-25 (Click for full reading)

¹⁸ Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”

¹⁹ The angel said to him, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. ²⁰ And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time.”

The prevailing mood of this second Sunday of Advent is silence. We have lit the second candle symbolizing peace. Peace and quiet nest together comfortably. Verse two of the carol, “What Child is This?” creates a bucolic scene of ox and ass eating hay in the background, while baby Jesus is nursing or sleeping. We sinners, are asked to hear, “the silent word is pleading.” The silent word. How can a word be silent? And pleading? Isn’t the point of a word to make a sound that corresponds with some kind of meaning so that we can understand each other? Happy, sad, tasty, poison, tiny, ginormous. Words help us navigate life.

I love words and exploring their meaning. The word “word” means utterance or speech. The Greek Logos is the source and structure of all things, as from John’s Gospel, “In the beginning was the logos, and the word was with God and the word was God.” God speaks, and there is light and day. So, what does it mean that the silent word is pleading? It is a poetic shock to us, word-o-philes, that we need silence to draw near to holiness. If we can’t be silent, then all the words are just a jumble.

How are you with being silent? I took a meditation class two years ago and slowly worked my way up from 10 minutes to 30 minutes of quiet. Many days, these moments of solitude were the best minutes all day. But I got out of the habit and recently started again, setting my timer for 15 minutes. That shouldn’t be too hard. But my brain managed to pack so many words and thoughts into those 900 seconds. There were additions for my to-do list, sermon ideas were added and discarded, Netflix shows I watched the night before, things that made me angry from the news, maybe I should eat less. If you commanded me to have as many thoughts as possible in 15 minutes, I could not have achieved as many as my mind did while avoiding being silent. We say we long for peace and quiet, but silence can be deeply uncomfortable. It brings thoughts we would rather avoid. I had not realized how noisy my brain had become. It was so loud that I’m surprised you all could not hear what was going on inside my head. I longed for a word silently pleading.

Advent teaches us to wait, to listen, to soften the noise inside us. And no one embodies this lesson more honestly than Zechariah. He steps into the Temple assigned to offer the holiest of rituals—and instead God offers him a silence so deep it stretches across months. He has been chosen by lottery to light the incense in the inner Temple. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The odds of getting selected for this holy duty were roughly 1 in 600, and most priests never got the opportunity.

During major religious festivals, people gather in the Temple courtyards twice a day. The selected priest entered the holiest place in the Temple to light incense to begin the prayers. The incense symbolized prayers floating up to God. A specific formula of rare elements was combined in the incense, considered pleasing to God. After ritual purification baths, Zachariah entered the holy sanctuary alone. On one side of the altar were twelve loaves of bread, one for each tribe of Israel, symbolizing God as the provider of the people. On the other side was a Golden Minora, host of the perpetual flame.

When the angel Gabriel shows up, Zachariah reacts with fear. It fascinates me that after all that preparation, a lottery drawing, ritual baths, special incense, all done to create a holy moment, the priest is startled when an angel shows up. When Gabriel delivers his good news, Zachariah wonders how this can all be; he still wants a sign that this is true. If you have just heard the most important words of your life, spoken in the holiest place in the Temple, by the highest known angel, what else is there to say? Would a burning bush help, or touching a hot coal to his lips, or seeing the stairway to heaven? The sign he gets is silence, losing his speech. It may sound like a punishment for not fully trusting the words. But it is a powerful gift. The deeper truth and presence of God often require silence to be fully understood. Words can only approximate the awesome presence of God or the meaning of a blessing. When we cannot speak, then we may encounter the silent word’s pleading.

Years ago, I took a three-day silent retreat in a Benedictine monastery. No phones, computers, podcasts, books on tape, or iPods. At orientation, they urged us not to read any books except a few scriptures. Walk the grounds, sit in the chapel, rest in your room, but no talking. This meant mealtimes too, where we ate together in the dining hall. It was so hard not to say “good morning” at breakfast. The sisters and brothers were practiced in the art of warm smiles and moving on. It was a small cafeteria, so we sat close; hearing each spoon clink on china, the loud chewers, the noisy shifters.

Without morning news or conversation, there was nothing else to do but sit and eat. Just eat. I consumed that first meal quickly and began my day of silence. I soon realized there was no reason to hurry breakfast, because eating was something to do on a silent retreat. So, the next meal I lingered and tasted. The vegetable stew was seasoned with herbs from the monastery gardens, and I pondered how rosemary and thyme worked wonders with mushrooms, potatoes, and peas. I looked around at my silent and content companions, who spent part of their day weeding and watering the gardens, and contemplatively chopping onions for the soup. My meal was their labor and gift. I pondered which one was up early making the fresh bread, and who was it so skilled with the flaky apple pie crust.

Over shared meals, I began to notice others who were on retreat. The woman to my left ate with annoyance, huffing and sighing. The man to my right looked so sad, I thought he might try to drown himself in his stew. But the brothers and sisters surrounded us with a silent presence, a blanket of goodness and comfort. Were they praying for us or just savoring the moment? Is there a difference between the two? These men and women were ministering to me, showing me what God was like, just by being present. The quality of their silence said more than words could, and they were putting our hearts right again just with their presence.

By dessert, the huffy woman had noticed she was sitting in a lovely patch of sunlight. The sad man had forgotten his plan of death by stew, finding tender joy in eating apple slices out of his pie, saving the crust for last.

I learned all this about my companions without a word. If we were allowed to speak, I might have known less about them, as we shared what we did for a living or commented on the food we weren’t taking the time to taste properly. It is so easy to hide ourselves in words. We act like we are sharing, but we are really hiding the things that concern us most deeply. When my retreat ended, a new group of people was checking in at the lobby. They seemed so noisy and chatty. Where are you from? Do you come here often? I’ve never been on a silent retreat before! No kidding, I would have never guessed! It was jarring to return to the wordy world.

It didn’t take long to be buried again in words. Emails to read, tapping away at my keyboard, producing sermons and memos, phone calls, headlines, advertisements. I love words, but they can be exhausting. More and more of them do not make me happy or wise. I keep returning to the lessons of that silent retreat. When God seems distant, or I feel spiritually disconnected, I need a return to solitude where I can encounter the word silently pleading.

Advent begins not with noise, nor with certainty, but with a silence that pleads for our attention. Zechariah learned to hear God again, not through more words, but through the absence of them.

The Christ child—the eternal Word—comes to us wordless. His smallness and quiet presence speak the deepest truth of God’s love in a way no spoken sentence ever could.

As we come to the table today, I invite you into a holy quiet.
A pause.
A breath.
Space enough for the silent Word to plead with your heart.

And perhaps this week, each day, you might make room for even a minute or two of stillness.
Let the noise drain away.
Listen for the God who still speaks in a voice of sheer silence.

For in the silence, the Word is pleading.
For you.
For your healing.
For your peace.

Laid to Rest or Haste, Haste? | Luke 2:1-5 | November 30, 2025

Sun, 30 Nov 2025 15:38:02 GMT

An old carol can help us find Christ in the here and now

Luke 2:1-5

In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. ² (This was the first census that took place while ^[ ^a ^] Quirinius was governor of Syria.) ³ And everyone went to their own town to register.

⁴ So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. ⁵ He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child.

You all know the main plot and characters of the Christmas story, including Mary and Joseph, the angel Gabriel, shepherds, and of course, Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Without Rudolf, the wisemen might not have arrived. The biblical story and modern fables like “A Miracle on 34th Street” or “The Grinch” all circulate in our consciousness to create a Neuvo cuisine fusion of the meaning of Christmas. While I am a huge fan of fusion cooking (I prefer pineapple poblano salsa instead of cranberry sauce), it’s important to remember our origin stories.

Luke is weaving a story that leads us to an awe-filled, hopeful question asked in the carol, “What Child is this?” Luke grounds the birth of Jesus in a time and place. It occurs during the reign of Caesar Augustus, when Quirinius is appointed governor of Syria and Palestine, dating Jesus’ birth to around 6 CE. But to us, the names Augustus and Quirinius feel distant and academic. But to the first hearers, those names carried tension and turmoil, the way specific political eras do for us. If I said, “Jesus was born in the presidency of Herbert Hoover, just after the Wall Street crash,” you would have a foreshadowing of the world he was born to.

Luke begins with a fateful decree for the Christmas story. If paraphrased, it might sound something like this,

“I, CAESAR AUGUSTUS, SAVIOR OF ROME, BRINGER OF GOOD NEWS, PRINCE OF PEACE; DECREE EVERY CITIZEN RETURN IN GRATITUDE TO THEIR HOMETOWN, AND REGISTER FOR A CENSUS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS MATTER.”

Notice how the words parallel familiar biblical themes of peace, a savior, and good news. Luke cleverly uses Roman imperial language throughout the Gospel to make truth claims about Jesus. Caesar does not own these words, and Rome is not the ultimate power.

This census decree was meant to extend Rome’s power, but it went badly. The point of a census was to figure out how much you owe in taxes. It marks the first Roman move to assert direct control of Palestine. The historian Josephus reports that this caused an uprising led by Judas the Galilean. Jesus’ Galilean home was a hotbed of guerrilla warfare and resistance. Quirinius brutally crushed the rebellion, crucifying hundreds. This chaos was the world where Jesus was born, plagued with unrest, taxation, heavy-handed rule.

For Mary and Joseph, the immediate consequence was the fated journey to Bethlehem to register for the census. Luke tells us that the Holy Family is caught in the chaos of the day. Their lives are disrupted by societal forces beyond their control. They are forced to endure the hardship of traveling while Mary is pregnant. There are no tax extensions from Caesar for being pregnant. They travel despite the morning sickness and kicks in the belly. It wasn’t a day trip. Mary endured through a week of rough travel—more like a hike on the Appalachian Trail than a Christmas card. The child jostled with every step of that long journey, feeling his mother’s tension and exhaustion. He is not untouched by the world he’s entering.

Caesar’s decree wasn’t just a plot device to get Jesus to Bethlehem. It disrupted the lives of hundreds of families living on the edge. But Luke shows us that while Rome issues decrees to extend power, God issues decrees to extend hope. Four divine announcements chart God’s purposes:

· First, the angel Gabriel announces to Zacharias that he and Elizabeth will have a son, John, who will prepare the way for the Messiah.

· Next, he tells Mary to be not afraid, for she will give birth to a great man, whose kingdom will have no end.

· Angels visit Simeon and Anna to tell them they will see the Messiah before they die.

· And the big final announcement to the shepherds mirrors the words of royal Roman decrees, “I bring you good news of great joy for all people. To you is born this day a Savior, the Messiah, the Lord.” Plus, a heavenly host singing, “Glory to God in the highest, Peace on earth to those God favors.”

What child is this, entering Caesar’s world? A child whose birth quietly rivals Augustus.

Centuries later, another troubled world listened for the meaning of Christ’s birth: Victorian England. William Dix wrote the only Christmas carol that begins with a question. I love a good question, and this one is essential for us to keep asking. It moves us beyond seeing the nativity story as proof that Jesus is the Messiah to contemplating what Jesus is for us. What is God’s work happening in the story?

Dix’s carol marked a significant shift during the Victorian age in how Christmas was understood and celebrated. We can see this in comparing the popular carols pre-1800. The most famous carols of the 1700s were bold and majestic.

“O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant.”

“Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn king.”

“Joy to the World, the Lord is come. Let earth receive her King.”

When we sing carols from this era, they are buoyant and uplifting. I know the bass lines of all these songs by heart, and love joining the four-part harmonies. These three carols reflect a theology that God is transcendent and reigns in heaven. God is a majestic but distant power who controls human destiny from afar, usually through Kings and Lords who rule by divine right. The work of a faithful Christian was to give thanks and obey.

But carols shifted in the 1800s. We get songs more intimate and earthy. In carols like “Away in a manger,” Jesus has no crib for a bed…the little Lord Jesus is asleep on the hay.” “In Bleak Midwinter,” God enters harsh reality. Earth stood hard as iron. Frosty wind made moan. “What Child is This?” Dix says Jesus is born vulnerable and of “mean estate.”

What happened at the turn of the 19 ^th century that reflects such a different tone? Revolutions in America and France overturned monarchies. England was experimenting with a reformed constitutional monarchy. Royal imagery had become too politically charged. Hymn writers began softening or reinterpreting it to focus on Christ’s humanity and nearness. So, when Dix says, “This is Christ the King,” he tones down the grand royalty of Jesus to one more sympathetic to the plight of common people, who experienced hardship.

These 19th-century English hymns were also being written on the shoulders of Charles Dickens. He wrote “A Christmas Carol” in 1836, which contrasted the wealthy, hardhearted Scrooge with the hardships of low-income families and children like Tiny Tim. Dickens’ writings woke people to the sufferings in coal-choked cities, where wealth was built on child labor, where working families were often on the verge of starvation.

The popularity of “A Christmas Carol” influenced a shift in Christmas celebrations. More emphasis was placed on compassion, fostering togetherness in a heartless urban setting. Christmas carols reflected a shift toward focusing on God’s immanence, right here and right now. Mary and Joseph are just like other struggling families, the Christ-child is tender and vulnerable, and the stable and the manger become symbols of God entering ordinary life.

In this context, Dix’s question, “What Child is this?” becomes more profound. It pushes us to reflect on how Christ enters the world in our age.

He enters worlds that feel uncertain—worlds shaped by empire, economic strain, climate extremes, and the weight of decisions made far above our heads. He entered all the places where people were stretched thin and barely holding on.

What child enters our world?

A world where housing is out of reach for many who work here, where neighbors quietly choose between heat or groceries or medical bills, where fishermen watch the warming Gulf of Maine with growing worry, where storms bite harder into our coastline each year. A world where caregivers are exhausted, A world where grief and hope live side by side, even in small towns like ours.

If Christ could be born into Roman Imperialism and into Dickens’ London, then Christ can be born into Boothbay Harbor, Southport, and every Maine community where people still struggle to find room. He comes not to the world as it should be, but to the world as it actually is. And that is good news for us.

Because Christ can surely be born in our time too—
in our neighborhoods and nursing homes,
in the boats heading out before dawn,
in the families juggling winter bills,
in the quiet courage of those caring for one another.

And so this Advent, the question becomes an invitation:
Where is Christ being born now?

In the neighbor who checks on someone alone in a storm.
In the volunteer delivering meals or firewood.
In people working on climate resilience.
In the teacher encouraging a child.

In communities that dare to practice peace; offering hospitality to immigrants being threatened, imprisoned and deported.

Christ is still arriving in all the places we thought were too bleak, too ordinary, or too small.

What child is this?

Love in the flesh.

God with us.

May we have eyes to see him, hearts to receive him,
and lives ready to carry his hope into the world.

Amen.

Where the River Flows, Gladness Grows | Psalm 46 | November 23, 2025

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 15:34:44 GMT

Thanksgiving reflections on Psalm 46

Psalm 46

¹ God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble. ² Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, ³ though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging. ^[ ^c ^]

⁴ There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells. ⁵ God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day. ⁶ Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

⁷ The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

⁸ Come and see what the Lord has done,
the desolations he has brought on the earth. ⁹ He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields ^[ ^d ^] with fire. ¹⁰ He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”

¹¹ The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.

We often remember where we were when an epic tragedy struck, like the Kennedy assassination or the Challenger shuttle explosion. Similarly, a scripture can be a touchstone that brings us back to a moment where we sought and sensed God’s presence. Psalm 46 is that text for me. It runs together with the earth-shaking events of September 11, 2001, when I was serving a church in Poughkeepsie, NY.

That morning, I had been at my favorite diner, starting my second cup of coffee, when the TV brought the news of the first tower falling. I left my breakfast unfinished, feeling I had to get to work even though I had no idea what that work would be. I spent the morning on the phone offering comfort, fearing the worst, and hoping for some good news. Remember in 2001, few people had cell phones or email, so we didn’t know who was safe. We were close enough to see the dust clouds of destruction in the far distance.

The congregation gathered in the sanctuary after work, waiting in vigil for the Metro-North trains from New York City to arrive. I began the vigil reading to the congregation from Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength,
An ever-present help in trouble. ² Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth give way
And the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

As I read aloud, I felt a deep calm, aware of my heart’s pulses reverberating with the words as I read about mountains shaking and nations in uproar, the prick of teardrops gathered in the corners of my eyes. The words did more than reassure; they gave voice to my own fears and the awfulness of the violence and destruction of what just happened. A terrorist strike hit home, and thousands were dead. I had spent all day being practical, talking with people, being present to others, but not to my own shock and grief.

The scripture told me the reality of the situation without platitudes, but it also grounded me in a stronger presence and held me. Poetic words contain the gravitas to bring us to the weight of the moment. They help us see the truth and find the courage to meet it. These words from Psalm 46 have been tested by time, sung and spoken, and read for nearly 3000 years through all kinds of earth-shattering, blood-spilling moments. For times like these, we need more than memes, explanations, or accusations of fault. We need words that can knit us back together from the inside out, and then one to another. Holy words that create sacred space in the most profane moments of evil and injustice.

After I finished reading Psalm 46, we turned to the words of the hymn “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” written by Martin Luther, as a commentary on the Psalm. He wrote the hymn in 1527, which he described as the darkest year of his life. The Black Plague struck his town of Wittenberg, and several of his close friends died suddenly. Luther stayed and turned his home into a makeshift hospital for all the sick and dying people. His wife Katie was pregnant, and he feared for her. The Roman Catholic Church had excommunicated Luther, and the Pope ordered him to be arrested or killed. The Ottoman Turks were invading Europe and advancing toward Vienna. His close friend, Philip Melchthanon, reported that Luther would say, “Come Philip, let us sing Psalm 46 together.”

So, we sang these familiar words, still in shock and disbelief that the towers were struck down and so many were dead. What world were we living in when people would make suicide attacks against us? Just after we finished singing, the church doors opened, and several people entered. Some of our church members met on the train and brought others to the church with them. Tearful hugs of reunion swept through our growing assembly. It was a moment of both joy and grief, because eventually, bad news touched almost everyone. Our mayor’s husband was never found, and later we heard the devastating news that so many first responders who rushed to help others were killed or injured.

Psalm 46 became my bulwark. It delivered strength because the author had experience. In 701 BCE, the Assyrian army conquered 46 towns of Judea and laid siege to Jerusalem. Many people had lost their homes and fled for safety inside the mighty city walls. But they feared it was only a matter of time before food ran out and they would all starve, and watch their children starve.

But one morning, the city woke, and the Assyrian army was gone. As the Psalm said, “God will help her at the break of day.” Like many important events, historians disagree about what happened to the army. Assyrian accounts claim Jerusalem paid tribute, and they moved on. I Kings said,

That very night, the angel of the Lord set out and struck down one hundred eighty-five thousand in the camp of the Assyrians; when morning dawned, they were all dead bodies.

The Greek Historian Herodotus said mice brought down the warriors through plague. I like the idea that it was the mice. All creatures can be God’s agents. Perhaps they accomplished God’s work described in verses 8-9:

Come and see what the Lord has done,
The desolations he has brought on the earth. ⁹ He makes wars cease
To the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
He burns the shields with fire.

The Psalmist is not a historian but a theologian, who is not reporting the news but creating theopoetics. The author didn’t care if the direct agent was mice, men, shekels, or angels. The theological point stands. “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” An ever-present help in trouble is not theoretical. The literal translation implies a repeated experience, as in “a help that is well proved” or “a help abundantly found in distresses.”

To make sure the audience understands this God-given nature of help, the writer says, “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God.” If you know the geography of Israel and Jerusalem, there is no river feeding Jerusalem. So, we might think of this as a metaphorical river, the Spirit of God flowing towards us, bringing life and gladness. Many hymns refer to the river of God’s Spirit flowing into our souls. “I’ve got a river of life flowing out of me, makes the blind to walk and the captives free…”

That imagery made me wonder: where did Jerusalem get its water during the siege? So, on Thursday, I went down a rabbit hole and studied Jerusalem’s water system. The findings stunned me, both in engineering and theology. The city’s primary water supply came from the Gihon Spring, just outside the main city walls and vulnerable to attack. As the Assyrian armies threatened Judah’s borders, II Chronicles 32 says that King Hezekiah ordered the construction of an underground trench to bring water directly into the city. The ancient engineers tunneled 1750 feet through solid rock to bring water into the pool of Siloam inside the city. This remarkable work saved the city from dying of thirst, and the mice took care of the rest.

So, when we read, “There is a river that makes glad the city of God,” it could refer to Hezekiah’s tunnel. The river of life can be both a metaphor for God’s grace and the determined human work to save the city by digging through rock. Both God and humans have agency. God’s Spirit inspires our courage to act. Many mystics and poets compare God’s life-giving Spirit to an underground river. Here are a few examples:

“God is a great underground river that no one can dam up and no one can stop.” Meister Eckhart

“Our real work is supported by a quiet, persistent spring deep underground.” Wendell Berry

These quotes emphasize how God’s Spirit flows steadily and sure, even if unseen. When the world is going all kinds of crazy, there is still a stream of sanity flowing beneath. So yes, nations still rage. From Jerusalem to Wittenberg to my Poughkeepsie church on 9/11, the same river flows beneath every trembling city.

Kingdoms still totter. Our world still trembles.

But after all the shaking and roaring,
The Psalm gives us a simple guideline —not a command to strive, not a demand to fix the world, But an invitation:

Be still, and know, that I am God.

Be still — not because life is calm,
But because God is present.
Be still — not because you have the answers,
But because you are held.
Be still — not to escape the world’s pain,
but to remember the river beneath your feet.

And when we are still, we can hear the water flowing.
We will know, even in a trembling world,
There is a river that makes glad the city of God.

Things Fall Apart | Luke 21:5-19 | Stewardship Sunday | November 16, 2025

Sun, 16 Nov 2025 15:27:57 GMT

Living Between What Was and What Will Be

Any healthy religion needs to embrace the tension between the need for order and the necessity to adapt and change. Religion is a great force for stability that grounds us in something larger than ourselves. Faith helps us find meaning and moral purpose. We discover wisdom refined over centuries. Rituals, hymns, and sacred objects help center us on a broader horizon. By engaging in these practices of faith, we can become less anxious, more hopeful, kinder, more generous, and more honest. That is why we gather here this morning.

But too much order creates problems. Faith becomes rigid. When religion refuses necessary change, it ends up focusing on power and control. It joins a repressive status quo. Healthy religions need processes of confession, renewal, and grace. Order anchors us, but faith also flows like a river. You can guide a river, but you can’t force it to stay still. Healthy faith honors the banks and the current.

The life of Jesus embodied this tension between order and tradition vs. the dynamism of God’s life-giving Spirit. He was deeply rooted in tradition — teaching Torah, observing the festivals — yet he challenged hypocrisy, questioned hierarchy, and told parables that disrupted preconceived notions. He loved his faith enough to transform it.

So, how do we walk in the way of Jesus in our own time? How can his life and teaching help us find a center in a world where change feels faster than most of us can adapt? In our scripture for today, Jesus speaks about facing a tumultuous future and urges people to hold firm in times of tragedy and persecution. He envisioned a time when the most stable thing they knew, the Temple in Jerusalem, would be no more. So, let’s explore the text to see what we need to have a grounded, stable, yet adaptable and life-giving faith.

Imagine being one of Jesus’ disciples standing in the Jerusalem Temple. They were from the small fishing villages around Capernaum, where the biggest building was the equivalent of a three-bedroom house, with a half-bath unattached in the backyard (meaning an outhouse). For perspective, if you stood at the Washington Monument on the National Mall and looked to the Capitol Building, the Temple complex would cover a similar distance. Hundreds of thousands of people could fit inside the outdoor walls. The marble and gold Temple stood in the center, visible for miles from the mountain top. It rivaled any of the ancient wonders of the world and was a symbol of spiritual awe and national pride.

For Jesus to say that it would all be knocked down, not a stone left on stone, was unfathomable. The largest remnant stones on the Western Wailing Wall are 44 feet long, weighing 500 tons —more than a Boeing 747. To say he would build it again in three days was beyond hyperbole, since it took over 50 years to construct the Temple Mount fully.

The crowd might hear Jesus as that guy with a sign that says, “The End is Near,” trying to frighten us into turning towards God. By now, we have heard the prophecies of doom so many times that they just roll off us. The Y2K bug was going to lead to the breakdown of civilization. In 2012, a bestseller claimed that the Mayan calendar predicted the end of the world. Reading the signs of the end times is an obsession for some. Hal Lindsey, who popularized Rapture theology, wrote that the 1980s would be the decade of Armageddon.

We have witnessed so much doom come and go; you might think we would move past it and focus on solving our common problems. But just like the crowd around Jesus who wanted to know the signs of the times, dystopian stories are increasingly popular. People are re-reading 1984, The Handmaid’s Tale, and The Parable of the Sower. I’m currently watching “Murder Bot,” a futuristic drama about AI robots. (When I preached the sermon, only one other person has seen this show on HBO. I think they need another title.)

Dystopian fiction is not just entertainment — it’s a collective emotional processing experience . When people feel the world is shaking — politically, environmentally, spiritually — dystopian stories help us imagine our fears. Jesus performs a similar act in Luke. He names our fears honestly, but then calls us to courage, endurance, and hope. Jesus was not saying just hang in there till the end of the world, and God will save you. He was telling people not to lose hope in a God even as the world goes through cataclysm. Even more, watch for opportunities for love, justice and service.

For the first readers of Luke’s Gospel, the destruction of the Temple had already occurred. Jesus died around 33 CE, Roman Legions destroyed the Temple in 70 CE, and Luke wrote between 80 and 85 CE. Luke’s audience held fresh memories of this great trauma. They may have lost family members in the invasion. Or they fled and started a new life in another part of the Empire. For Jews, this was the kind of devastation that divided “before” and “after.” Like the grief America experienced after 9/11, Jews mourned the destruction of their national icon. Their sense of a safe world, where God watched over them, was shattered. The Temple was the literal house of God, the holy dwelling place. A primary religious duty was to travel to offer sacrifices in Jerusalem, but now the sacred place is gone. How does a religion survive when God’s dwelling is destroyed by invasion?

Both early Christians and Jews had to adapt after Roman imperial violence. Both formed smaller communities that met in homes. Rituals focused on eating together. Sharing communion made Christ’s table a pop-up temple that could be anywhere, where two or three are gathered in His name. Without priests and hierarchies, people had the freedom to experiment with forms of community, doctrine, and rituals that reconfigured the shattered faith of the past into new, mosaic-like patterns.

Things fall apart, but they also get reorganized. I think I chose to major in sociology and journalism because I wanted to understand why society falls apart and what holds it together. My early life was filled with conflict and uncertainty. Till kindergarten, I grew up on a college campus as the Vietnam War divided the country. I went to school and was drilled to put my math book over my head in case of nuclear attack. I learned about the branches of government during the time of Nixon’s corruption. When I entered college, the farm crisis was decimating the way of life I grew up with. One in three families lost their land and livelihood.

Experiencing collective tragedy made me search for answers. From sociology, I learned that societies often fail more from within than without — when institutions lose their higher purpose, when they serve hierarchies rather than the common good, and when they scapegoat instead of confessing and repairing.

And faith communities are no different. What holds us together isn’t stone temples, rigid doctrines, or even the traditions we cherish most. What holds us together is the God who chooses to dwell in human hearts, in communities that break bread together,

who welcome the outsider, and refuse to give up on one another when the world feels unsteady.

And that realization brings us full circle to where we began this morning.
Healthy faith has always lived in the creative tension between order and adaptation.
The Temple represented order — a sacred center, a place to anchor life.
But when that center collapsed, God did not vanish. God moved.

Or perhaps more truthfully: our attempts to contain God failed.

The Spirit moved into new forms of community and worship —from the upper room, to the homes where early Christians gathered, to every place where two or three meet in Christ’s name. When our world shakes — when institutions feel fragile, when headlines break our hearts, when our own lives enter seasons of upheaval — the God who carried our ancestors through destruction is the same God who carries us now. The forms of faith may change; the Spirit who fills them does not.

Things fall apart.
But God does not.

And in every season of collapse or confusion, the Spirit is quietly building something new —
a sanctuary not of stone,
but of living hearts;
not of marble,
but of mercy;
not of gold,
but of courage and compassion.

This is the holy tension Jesus invites us into:
to honor what is ancient and wise,
and to welcome what God is making new right now.

That is the Temple the world cannot tear down.
That is the hope Jesus places in our hands.
And that is the life that endures —by trusting God enough to love boldly in the present.

All Are Alive in Christ | Luke 20:27-38 | November 9, 2025

Sun, 09 Nov 2025 15:39:30 GMT

Resurrection isn't just about eternity

Luke 20: 27-38

²⁷ Some of the Sadducees, who say there is no resurrection, came to Jesus with a question. ²⁸ “Teacher,” they said, “Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies and leaves a wife but no children, the man must marry the widow and raise up offspring for his brother. ²⁹ Now there were seven brothers. The first one married a woman and died childless. ³⁰ The second ³¹ and then the third married her, and in the same way the seven died, leaving no children. ³² Finally, the woman died too. ³³ Now then, at the resurrection whose wife will she be, since the seven were married to her?”

³⁴ Jesus replied, “The people of this age marry and are given in marriage. ³⁵ But those who are considered worthy of taking part in the age to comeand in the resurrection from the dead will neither marry nor be given in marriage, ³⁶ and they can no longer die; for they are like the angels. They are God’s children, since they are children of the resurrection. ³⁷ But in the account of the burning bush, even Moses showed that the dead rise, for he calls the Lord ‘the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.’ ^[ ^a ^] ³⁸ He is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all are alive.”

Jesus loved to debate. In Luke’s Gospel, he debates scripture, poverty, taxes, whether God loves foreigners, and if the rich can enter heaven. Jesus’s first great debate in Luke’s Gospel is at his Bar Mitzvah. At the age of 12, he became so engrossed in discussion at the Temple that his parents left town without him, only to find him later arguing with the rabbis. I loved that story growing up. To me, it meant that you could ask questions in church and openly and respectfully debate them. That’s part of what faith is — not blind acceptance but holy curiosity: a living faith that argues even with God, wrestles with scripture, and still shows up for love.

When I was in baptism class, I often challenged Pastor Roy. We had a spirited debate about the meaning of “turn the other cheek.” He argued that it meant we must sometimes silently bear injustice until God makes it right. I countered that it meant we should nonviolently resist injustice, as Martin Luther King Jr. practiced during the Civil Rights Movement.

Pastor Roy wanted me to be a preacher, but without these radical notions about Jesus. Pastor Roy did not change my mind about Jesus and the power of nonviolence, but he remains a role model for me in that he engaged, discussed, and argued with me. Sometimes I’m sure I was a pain for him, but he never sidelined me. He wasn’t a great preacher, but he was a great listener who loved his people. He taught me the value of staying engaged during disagreement, even if it is exhausting. And now, having been an ordained pastor for over 30 years, if Roy is listening, thank you, and I’m sorry, and I look forward to picking up the discussion.

I’m a true believer in dialogue, but even my faith gets shaken in a polarized world. Arguments could be toxic in Jesus’ day, too.” This argument in Luke is his only one with the Sadducees. Who are the Sadducees? The Sadducees aligned with the leaders of the Temple in Jerusalem, and they only believed that the first five books of the Bible, from Genesis to Deuteronomy, were authoritative texts. That is why they begin their question by saying to Jesus, “Teacher, Moses wrote for us…” They did not believe in resurrection, so they were “sad-you-see.”

In contrast, while Jesus respected Moses, his favorite source of quotes was the prophet Isaiah, but the Sadducees would not see that as a credible source. Jesus might say, “Blessed are the peacemakers, or freedom to the captives.” The Sadducees would counter, “Where did you get those quotes, Jesus? MSNBC? The Failing New York Times?”

This lack of a shared narrative is a significant barrier to meaningful dialogue. We can’t even agree on which texts, stories, and information have legitimacy, let alone what they mean. This predicament is where any chance of reasonable and open discussion dies an early death. We live in separate contexts, so no amount of quoting our favorite sources will matter. Later, Jesus does something fundamental to any hope of dialogue and quotes from the other side’s texts. We must be somewhat fluent in other people’s texts if we want to engage in any conversation. It’s the only way to cross the bridge. It takes courage to do this, because what happens if we cross the bridge? Will be captured, rejected by our own side? Bridges often get blown up in conflict.

Let’s look at the issue. Like many debates, the Sadducees have constructed a farcical situation based on a very remote possibility, designed to make any answer from Jesus look stupid. I give them credit here for humor and creativity. They cite a passage from Deuteronomy 25:5, which was 1000 years old in the first century, about marriage. The practice, called Levirate marriage was that when a woman’s husband died, a brother or next male kin would marry her and bring her into the household so she would not be without a male patriarch to protect her. In a patriarchal society, this was often presumed to be benevolent and caring, although it also served to maintain the family’s property. And by property, I don’t just mean real estate. The woman was property too. So, imagine if there were seven brothers, each marrying her in turn, and then dying, whose wife will she be in heaven? I’m glad Jesus did not take this question too literally and pick a brother. I have been through a divorce, and I don’t want any ambiguity in heaven about to whom I’m married. Earthly marriage is complicated enough. So I can imagine the audience around Jesus eager to see what he does with this firecracker.

I love what Jesus does here. It’s a great pivot to what he wants to talk about. He says to the Sadducees, what if heaven isn’t at all like you think. Imagine there’s no marriage. No women are property, too. Imagine all the people, living for the day. You may think I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. You see what Jesus did there? He widened the horizon. Jesus is saying heaven isn’t simply a reward for the faithful. Don’t imagine heaven as a slightly improved version of earth. Resurrection isn’t an extension of this life — it’s a transformation into a new way of being, where no one owns or is owned, where power gives way to love.

Jesus refuses to get trapped in a rhetorical loop that goes nowhere. In our time, we know what it’s like to argue in circles — to quote our favorite media sources, to post and repost, and never change a mind. Because beneath the headlines are deeper loyalties, fears, and worldviews that shape everything we say. That’s why Jesus doesn’t stay in the shouting match — he changes the level of conversation.

Jesus does this by exploring the nature of God how God communicates with humans. He goes back to the most crucial story about Moses, whom the Sadducees revere more than anyone. Where does Moses get his aura of greatness? At the burning bush, right!? God calls Moses and says, “I am the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

Jesus focuses on the verb tense. It’s in the present tense , not “I was” but “I am.” Jesus says, “Now God is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.” God doesn’t speak of Abraham as someone gone, but as someone still held in a living relationship. Resurrection, for Jesus, isn’t a theory about what happens later; it’s a truth about our present relationship with the living God.

To God, Moses, Abraham, Jesus, Martin Luther, Martin Luther King Jr., and Harriet Beecher Stowe — all are alive as everyone in this room. They’re not ghosts from the past, but companions in the Spirit, the living cloud of witnesses surrounding us every time we worship, every time we choose hope over despair.” And maybe, if you quiet yourself, you can still hear them whisper courage into your heart.

Each Sunday we pray, “Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” In this text, Jesus shows us a glimpse of heaven. The ways we relate to each other through status, power and control are transformed. And if all the unjust systems of this world are to be undone in heaven, then we are called to begin undoing them now.

Don’t wait to get to heaven—live as if heaven were already here.

Because the truth that all are alive in God means that love never dies but continues to thrive. Every act of compassion, every word of grace and kindness, every small step toward justice ripples into eternity.

The saints who walked before us—Moses and Miriam, Jesus and Mary,
Martin Luther King Jr. and Harriet Beecher Stowe are not gone;
they are part of the living fabric of God’s presence.
Their courage still hums around us.
Their prayers still rise in the air we breathe.

The veil between heaven and earth is thinner than we imagine.
When we gather at the table, when we sing,
when we feed hungry people or speak a word of peace—
Heaven brushes against earth.

We live as people of resurrection—
refusing to let cynicism harden our hearts,
listening across the lines that divide us,
loving when it would be easier to walk away.
Every act of mercy, every bridge of understanding,
is a rehearsal for eternity.

This is the work of the living God—
the God who will not let love die,
who keeps widening the circle until every life is gathered in.

And when we do that work,
the communion of saints gathers around us and whispers:
“Keep going. Keep working it out.
You are already part of heaven’s story.”

Nevertheless, She Persisted | Luke 18:1-8 | October 19, 2025

Sun, 19 Oct 2025 15:29:58 GMT

Finding the faith for the next step

Luke 18:1-8

In a certain town there was a judge who neither feared God nor cared what people thought. ³ And there was a widow in that town who kept coming to him with the plea, ‘Grant me justiceagainst my adversary.’

⁴ “For some time he refused. But finally he said to himself, ‘Even though I don’t fear God or care what people think, ⁵ yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won’t eventually come and attack me!’”

“Nevertheless, she persisted.” This phrase caught fire on social media and soon spread to t-shirts, bumper stickers, and coffee mugs. A year later, it was the theme for Women’s History Month. You might think a famous woman like Maya Angelou or Hillary Clinton spoke these words, but the person was Mitch McConnell, then President of the Senate. Ironically, it is the most famous thing Mitch McConnell said in his many years in office. Before we judge the phrase or its politics, let’s see how Jesus once spoke of persistence — not in a Senate chamber, but in a courtroom long ago.

Unlike most parables, where you must wrestle with the moral of the story, Jesus tells us the point in verse one: “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” The storm clouds are gathering around Jesus as he faces strong resistance from religious leaders. He has preached a great hope that God has come near, and the kin-dom of God, a more beloved community, is happening among them. This vision seemed like a fantasy in the face of Roman domination, with support from the Temple religious establishment. The message isn’t just keep praying, and everything will be OK. Or wait on the hillside till I make everything right. Or stay pure in your theology inside the church walls. He exhorts us to persist in doing what is right.

The parable shows great contrast by pitting a widow against a judge. Judges have power and prestige. The ability to determine what is lawful or legal, who is guilty or innocent, determines the future of a society. Justice isn’t always simple and black and white. It requires wisdom and nuance to apply the law with fairness. And nothing is a bigger obstacle to justice than a corrupt judge. In the parable, this judge freely admits he has no regard for God or public opinion. You can’t get more audaciously corrupt than that!

In contrast, widows are among the most vulnerable. The Old Testament frequently said justice in a society is measured by how it treats widows and orphans. They had no rights in the economic and legal structures. In fact, this woman did not have the right to speak in court to the judge. It would be centuries before that would change. The first woman to be a lawyer in America was in 1869, when the Iowa bar admitted Arabella Mansfield.

So, how did this woman prevail with the unjust judge? She must have been waiting at the door to the court, calling out to him every day as he came and went. The judge could have ignored her forever. But he says, “I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” A literal translation of the Greek is more vivid. The judge says, “She is going to give me a black eye.” I don’t think he feared for his safety. This black eye is a metaphorical wound. It just looks bad to have this woman persistently bothering him, so he grants her justice.

Jesus then makes his point again. If an unjust judge can do good, imagine how much more good God will do. God hears us, even if we don’t have evidence in the moment. Jesus hopes that when God comes to act, there will be faithful people still believing and acting for justice and kindness. Can we find a way to stay true to Christ-like ideals even when it seems impossible?

Sometimes we cannot see immediate results from doing what we think is right. Goodness often loses, but that doesn’t mean doing the right thing is fruitless. Let’s revisit what happened that led to the phrase “She persisted.”

During a 2017 debate on the Senate floor over the nomination of Jeff Sessions to become Attorney General, Elizabeth Warren was reading a 1986 letter from Corretta Scott King, urging that a segregationist who is against voting rights should not be appointed as a judge in Alabama. Another senator interrupted and said this was against protocol. Senators should not speak against each other’s character, and Sessions was now a Senator. Warren said the King’s statement had been entered into the Senate record and was therefore admissible to read, and she began again. This led to a big commotion where Warren was ultimately censored on a party-line vote. McConnell quipped, “She was warned, she was given an explanation, and yet she persisted.” His words struck a nerve. McConnell’s words were meant to shame Warren, but it had the opposite effect. Soon, the phrase became a rallying cry for women who felt unheard. Jeff Sessions went on to be Attorney General, so Warren didn’t win the struggle. But “she persisted” lived on.

The following year, in the 2018 elections, record numbers of women filed to run for public office. For example, women running for the US House surged 74 percent. The number of women in Congress rose from 84 to 103, and the Senate went from 6 women to 14. It was an epic historic change. The pessimist might note that nearly 100 years after getting the right to vote, women in the House were still only a tad over 25 percent, and women in the Senate only 14 percent.

For comparison’s sake, here are a few countries where women have reached parity with men in elected office: Mexico, Nicaragua, Cuba, and the United Arab Emirates. One nation in the world has more than 60 percent women office holders: Rwanda. Rwanda is a fascinating case because women couldn’t run for office until 1984. Ten years later, the nation was devastated by genocide, and women were over two-thirds of the survivors. In the nation’s first election after this, 49% of the office holders were women. But numbers never tell the whole story. Sometimes persistence is written not in data, but in human lives — in places where justice seemed impossible to rebuild. My curiosity led me to further research and I found two stories of persistent women who found the faith and strength to keep moving to a better world in the face of chaos.

Josephine Dusabimana and her husband were subsistence farmers. They lived peacefully with their Tutsi neighbors, and when the killing began, Josephine traded her goats for a canoe, which she used to ferry 12 Tutsi women across the border to save them. Her husband was killed, and she lost all the farm animals. In the aftermath, she said, “I do not know when all this chaos will be over, but in the meantime, I must keep planting.” Soon after, a few women whom Josephine saved came back, and in gratitude, they gave her some cows to rebuild her herd and save her farm.

Another woman who would not give up was Veneranda Nzambazamariya . In the years after the genocide, she gathered women from every ethnic group into a coalition called Pro-Femmes Twese Hamwe—“All of us together.” She helped widows start small businesses, trained leaders for reconciliation, and pressed Rwanda’s new government to include women in rebuilding the nation. Veneranda often said,

“Our wounds are different, but our healing must be one.”

Through her persistence, compassion became policy, and hope took root in public life.

When I hear their stories, I have to stop and breathe. What gives rise to such faith? One possibility is necessity. Determination arises when we see that there is no one else to rescue us, no stroke of luck will turn the tide. God hears our cry and the arc of history bends toward justice, but maybe not tomorrow. Persistence is the only way to survival. But I don’t think that is the whole picture. The survivors of genocide live with incredible trauma. It’s hard to imagine the deep grief of having so many friends and family members killed so quickly. Tens of thousands of women were raped in the chaos, and many now had the burden of an extra baby. Trauma meets each heart differently. Some found the strength to act; others could only endure.

What strikes me about the persisters is their extraordinary compassion. They didn’t just want to survive or take care of their children. They worked to rebuild their broken world. Women created communities, starting with a few stragglers to work together. These communities transcended the ethnic hatred that had destroyed everything. Persistent came from embodying a higher purpose to rise above ancient hatreds and heal, plant, and build a better world.

Take a moment and think about where you feel like giving up. What would it look like to persist? If the road seems long and weary, focus on the first step. What is one small step you could take this week?

Persistence, Jesus says, is prayer that refuses to give up on love.

It is faith that keeps showing up when no one is watching, hope that knocks again even when the door stays shut. The widow before the judge, the women who rebuilt Rwanda, the ones who keep sowing mercy in barren ground — they all teach us that God’s justice grows in persistent, patient hearts.

So let us keep praying, keep serving, keep believing — not because we always see results, but because we trust the One who hears and holds us still.

And may that same Spirit of persistence live in us — steady, gentle, and unafraid — until love has the final word.

Peace with Creation Part 5: Small is Beautiful | Matthew 13:31-32 | October 5, 2025

Sun, 05 Oct 2025 15:25:01 GMT

The surprising power of mustard, leaven and beavers

Matthew 13:33-35

The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Although it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and nest in its branches.

It’s ironic that on World Communion Sunday, which dozens of denominations and millions of Christians co-celebrate as a big show of unity, the lectionary text focuses on small things. We are supposed to remember how vast the global church is, but today’s parables suggest that faith is like a mustard seed, starting very small. It is like the trace amounts of leaven that cause the dough to rise. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus showed the power of God in small things. Jesus valued the widow’s mite, her last coin. He initiated feeding 5000 with the gift of five loaves and two fish from a small boy. He did not say go forth and build megachurches, but wherever two or three gather in my name, I am in the midst of them. Small is beautiful.

However, we live in a culture that values bigger is better. Americans have larger houses, bulkier cars, bigger burgers, and thus bigger bellies than the rest of the world. Small thinking is a fault. We are expected to scale up, leverage ourselves, and amplify our voice through social media. Go big or go home. The Small Business Administration, mom-and-pop stores, or family farms don’t dominate our economy. Three or four massive corporations dominate every industry.

Some corporations are called “too big to fail,” so we must save them from failure, because they are big. Is bigger better? Big Oil, Big Pharma, Big Government, Big Brother?

You know who really liked big? Rome was into big. The Empire liked scale, excess, and grandeur. Rome loved scale—armies, temples larger than stadiums, statues of emperors taller than buildings. It’s no wonder they couldn’t fathom the power of a man who said, “Remember me,” not with a giant statue, but when you break bread.

In the face of a Big Deal Empire, Jesus said, “Small is beautiful. “Mustard seeds and yeast are not just random small things. They are invasive and catalytic. How many of you grow mustard? It is like mint on steroids. Imagine an eight-foot-tall mint. You don’t need a lot of mustard. Don’t eat it like yogurt from a spoon; just spread a little bit on your sandwich. Likewise, you don’t need a gallon of yeast in your bread, unless you are prepared to bake 341 loaves. Just two teaspoons will do the job. The yeast initiates a chemical process as it feeds on sugars and produces carbon dioxide gas. The air doubles the size of the loaf, and it continues to grow even more as you bake it. It begins so small, hidden from sight. You never see the yeast at work, but you know right away if you forgot to put it in. Small things can be mighty.

This idea is great in theory, but are small things enough in practice? Big things are just so big. Injustice is so enormous, and often well-funded. Do my small efforts matter? Hatred is so frightening. How can I stand against it armed with only a still, small voice? What am I going to do with a jar of mustard seeds and a few teaspoons of yeast at my disposal? Mustard and a few slices of bread don’t even add up to a whole sandwich.

I was at a clergy meeting on Monday, where we lamented our feelings of inadequacy in the face of the enormity of our task. How do we preach a Gospel of love when algorithms give preference to divisive voices? How do we discuss the unity and interrelatedness of all people when there is no trust? How do we speak truth when we live in different universes of facts and experience? Small does not feel beautiful or powerful; it just feels terribly inadequate.

A news story about beavers rescued me. A few years ago, in the Kawuneeche Valley of Colorado—high in Rocky Mountain National Park—the land was parched. Decades of water diversion and overgrazing had dried up the wetlands. The meadows where elk once waded were bare. Streams no longer spread across the valley floor but cut deep channels, rushing water away too fast for plants, animals, or people to benefit.

A group of conservationists gathered and asked, “How do we heal this place? “They didn’t bring bulldozers or pour concrete. Instead, they built small wooden structures—beaver dam analogs—consisting of just bundles of sticks and logs woven together. They looked almost insignificant in the broad valley.

But here’s what happened: the water slowed. It pooled. It seeped back into the ground. Native plants began to return. And then, one spring, something remarkable occurred— a family of beavers returned. They took over where the humans had started. Beavers are nature’s hydrology engineers. They improved and expanded the process, patching the little wooden frames with their own mud and sticks. Soon ponds formed, willow thickets flourished, birds nested, fish returned, and the valley began to sing again. A colony of about six beavers can restore up to eight acres of land in just a few years of activity. The state of Colorado has established large refugia zones in national parks, where the work of beavers is making the forests more resilient to wildfires. Beavers are better at restoring habitats than we are, and they do it for free.

Perhaps we need to expand our view of World Communion Sunday to include not just working with other churches, but also collaborating with different species on healing and restoring the earth. When we sing that God has the whole world in God’s hands, it is not just about humans, but all of life.

The beaver project shows the power of small things that make a vital difference. Economist E.M. Schumacher wrote a book in 1973 called “Small is Beautiful.” Schumacher critiqued the dominant model of modern industrial economies , which prizes bigness, growth, and technological progress, often at the expense of people, communities, and the natural world. He argues instead for an economics of scale, sustainability, and human well-being —that “small is beautiful.”

It is tempting to think that this is pie-in-the-sky thinking from the hippie era. But here is a partial list of successes based on Schumacher’s philosophy.

Nobody had heard of CSAs in 1973, but now there are 12,000 Community Supported Agriculture groups delivering fresh vegetables, such as tomatoes and rutabagas, to our kitchen tables weekly.
Fair Trade Certification created more opportunities for global small businesses to sell their products.
Sharing economy ideas include having tool libraries, co-working spaces, and car-sharing services. When the internet emerged, we could implement services like Freecycle to exchange items you no longer needed.
Schumacher’s most significant legacy is in international development, where nonprofits have adopted smaller-scale, local projects instead of focusing on large-scale infrastructure, such as dams and power plants. Small scale makes a big difference. One nonprofit, Practical Action, has created clean power and safe water for 47 million people in rural Africa.

One thing we learned during the COVID-19 pandemic is that our global supply chains are vulnerable. Suddenly, everyone seemed to have sourdough starters in the refrigerator to make their own bread, and we looked out for our neighbors. We realized how dependent we were on each other, and we didn’t need all the cheap goods from China. Are we slipping too quickly back to normal? Was that normal, really abnormal? We need to rebuild our local economies in ways that are sustainable, ecological, and inclusive of small businesses and a sharing economy. It’s happening here already, with projects like Rebuilding Together, which repairs homes, and the Community Refrigerator, which shares food.

We need to rethink what ‘too big to fail’ means. Planet Earth is too big to fail. On World Communion Sunday, we celebrate a table wide enough to hold the world. But notice what we have in our hands is small. Just a bit of bread. Just a sip from the cup. And yet Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.”

Small symbols are the pattern of the kingdom: mustard seeds, a pinch of yeast, a widow’s coin, a beaver dam woven from sticks. The world tells us we need to go big or go home. Jesus tells us that God works through what is small, hidden, and faithful.

When enough seeds are sown, when enough yeast is kneaded into the dough, when enough of us choose to live the way of Jesus, the loaf rises, the branches spread wide, the whole creation finds shelter and home. So take courage. Every prayer whispered, every meal shared, every act of kindness, every choice to live more gently with creation—these are kingdom seeds. God multiplies them in ways beyond what we see.

Come to the communion table not just remembering bread and cup, but becoming bread and cup for the world. Let us join with all people, and even all creation, in the slow, quiet, stubborn work of love. For in God’s economy, small is not just beautiful—small is powerful, small is how the kingdom comes.

Peace with Creation Part 4: The Full Catastrophe | Luke 16:19-31 | September 28, 2025

Sun, 28 Sep 2025 15:24:04 GMT

Embrace courage and open the gate

There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. ²⁰ At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores ²¹ and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table.Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

²² “The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. ²³ In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. ²⁴ So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’

²⁵ “But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. ²⁶ And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’

²⁷ “He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my family, ²⁸ for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’

²⁹ “Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.’

³⁰ “‘No, father Abraham,’ he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’

³¹ “He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

Luke 16:19-31

One of my favorite all-time great characters is Zorba the Greek. Zorba takes a large bite out of life, whether it’s eating, drinking, business ventures, or romance. He had been a soldier and a miner, and he loved to dance. He develops a friendship with an Englishman who is his polar opposite —a man who is cerebral, cautious, and paralyzed by indecision. At one point, he says, he has never been married, and Zorba says, “Oh, I had a wife, children, house, the full catastrophe.”

While Zorba says this with characteristic bravado, great sorrow was behind it. He had lost children to illness, his wife died, he had fought in war, and seen some of the worst in humanity. While Zorba experiences the trials of Job, he lives with an almost reckless hope and abandon.

The final scene of the movie version of the story shows Zorba starting a lignite mining venture. Suddenly, the elaborate wooden ramp to transport ore from the mine crashes to the ground, and bankruptcy is staring him in the face. In the ruin, his friend says, “Teach me to dance.” Zorba, played by Anthony Quinn, stands and holds out his arms straight to begin the traditional Greek dance. The movie ends with the two men dancing more and more wildly in the dust and ruin of their dreams, the full catastrophe.

I saw the movie near the end of college, and immediately identified with the narrator as I struggled to decide what to do with my life. I feared making a mistake in my choices. I vowed to be more like Zorba, willing to experience things fully despite the risk, to accept whatever comes along the way. Just don’t miss life.

The Kazantzakis novel was published in 1946, as World War II was over and there was enough catastrophe for everyone. It was a time of a meaning crisis. How do we live authentically in the face of war, suffering, and death? The same year Camus published “The Stranger,” and Sartre had just published “Being and Nothingness.” Existential philosophy posits that life is absurd, we are condemned to be free. Zorba burst into this somber, pessimistic intellectual scene with a giant splash that didn’t wipe away the suffering, nor keep us from dancing.

Zorba reminds us not to close off life when catastrophe comes. But Jesus warns us that closing our gates to others is itself the catastrophe. In the parable in Luke 16, Jesus is not in a dancing mood. The Pharisees have ridiculed him for saying you can’t serve God and money, so he tells one of his most severe parables. Two men die the same day. One was rich and dressed in fine, purple linens, living in luxury. At his very gate, used to keep out the riffraff, poor Lazarus lay, with the dogs licking his sores. You know you are bad off when the only health care you can afford is the mercy of a stray mutt.

In the afterlife, a great reversal happens. This move is highlighted by giving Lazarus a name, and the rich man is just a generic billionaire. Lazarus is known to the great forefather Abraham, meaning he is a part of the covenant community and will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. In contrast, Mr. Billionaire expresses torment. The original root word was from the use of a touchstone to test the purity of metals. It came to mean mental testing, to suffer from regret and shame. So his torment is not from flames, but from self. He just can’t believe someone as important and successful can end up like this.

To demonstrate that he still doesn’t understand his predicament, he asked Abraham if Lazarus could come down and give him a drink of water to cool his tongue. Even looking up from Hades, he sees Lazarus as his servant rather than a beloved child of God. Abraham answers that Lazarus can’t do anything for him, even if he wanted to do so, because now a chasm has grown. There comes a moment when a lack of empathy and apathy toward the suffering of others creates a permanent divide. That sounds like the full catastrophe.

Mr. Billionaire then asks if he could have leave to warn his family and friends. He wants to play Jacob Marley from the Christmas Carol and warn his Scrooge-like friends of the danger to their souls. But Abraham says they have the law and prophets to guide them. If they won’t pay attention to their scriptures and prophets, why would they believe a warning from someone resurrected from the dead?

This parable isn’t just about billionaires—it’s about all of us. Because we all build gates to limit seeing the suffering right in front of us. The parable speaks to all of us about the importance of noticing anguish and acting compassionately. You don’t have to be rich to be blind to misery and poverty. Lazarus is not just a generic poor person - a statistic about how many people are losing healthcare or SNAP benefits. When Lazarus dies, he is right at the gate of the rich man’s home. The gate is symbolically important because its purpose is to keep people out. The gate might protect the neighborhood from robbers, but it also protects the residents from seeing how their neighbors live.

To some extent, we all have gates that protect us from suffering we don’t want to see. It’s not that we are bad people for not seeing everything, because taking in the suffering of the world is overwhelming. It’s a whole catastrophe. Having some boundaries to the full extent of human suffering is self-preservation.

When I was a program manager for 120 shelter units, I could not contain all the individual stories of tragedy, addiction, and trauma. Without some mental barriers, I would not have been able to sleep or enjoy family time. But I also saw staff who closed the gate to compassion. They began to look down upon our residents, saw their suffering as entirely self-inflicted, and treated them harshly. Contempt became the gate to keep Lazarus out, not seeing him as a neighbor in need. He’s not among the “deserving poor,” so we can cut his benefits because he isn’t trying hard enough.

Boundaries are a survival skill that protects our mental outlook and opportunities for joy and happiness. But when we close the gate, it not only leaves Lazarus vulnerable. The gulf of indifference imperils us. Like the rich man, at some point, we will acutely feel the weight of our indifference.

The overwhelming nature of the problem tempts us to close the gate, but it doesn’t make the problem go away. Dealing with climate change is a large-scale example of Lazarus at the gate. It’s hard to take it in. We walk outside the gate, and it’s too hot, so we go back inside and turn up the air conditioning. I’m reading a book about the impact of higher temperatures called, “The Heat Will Kill You First.” It documents the limits of the human body to adapt to heat. Millions of people live in climates where no air conditioning is a death sentence. More people die from heat in the US than gun violence. Climate disruption is creating more refugees than war, even with millions losing homes in Ukraine and Gaza. The US military now calls climate change a “threat multiplier.”

I can’t take the whole book at once without my mind began racing with catastrophic thoughts. Where will all the refugees go? What about our drought this year? Will my well be safe? If it dries up, where will I live in the winter?

I needed a couple of hours to recover from my reading. The temptation is to stop being informed and deny reality. But denial is really a form a fear. And fear is never good for us. When we think about the problems of climate change, or poverty, or whatever overwhelms us, we must find a way to start with love rather than fear.

That’s why Jesus gives us this parable—not to paralyze us with fear, but to awaken us to love. Jesus nearly always believes that change is still possible. The parable sharpens the issues to bring us to a moment where we can make an important choice, a life-giving choice.

And the choice is this: to live in fear and denial, or to embrace the full catastrophe of life and love. Like Zorba, who dances amid the ruins, we are called to cross our gates, to share the catastrophe of others, and to discover joy in solidarity. And here is the good news: we don’t dance alone. In Christ, God has already stepped into the dust and ruin—into poverty, grief, even death itself. He enters the full catastrophe with us, and then takes us by the hand to show that compassion is stronger than indifference, and life is stronger than death.

So open the gate, step into the dance, and trust that Christ—who crossed the greatest chasm of all—is already dancing with us, even in the dust of our fears.”

Peace with Creation Part 3: When the Fired Guy Saves the Day | Luke 16: 1-14 | September 21, 2025

Sun, 21 Sep 2025 15:19:57 GMT

Stewardship lessons on economy and ecology

Jesus told his disciples: “There was a rich man whose manager was accused of wasting his possessions. ² So he called him in and asked him, ‘What is this I hear about you? Give an account of your management, because you cannot be manager any longer.’

³ “The manager said to himself, ‘What shall I do now? My master is taking away my job. I’m not strong enough to dig, and I’m ashamed to beg— ⁴ I know what I’ll do so that, when I lose my job here, people will welcome me into their houses.’

⁵ “So he called in each one of his master’s debtors. He asked the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’

⁶ “‘Nine hundred gallons ^[ ^a ^] of olive oil,’ he replied.

“The manager told him, ‘Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it four hundred and fifty.’

⁷ “Then he asked the second, ‘And how much do you owe?’

“‘A thousand bushels ^[ ^b ^] of wheat,’ he replied.

“He told him, ‘Take your bill and make it eight hundred.’

⁸ “The master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly. For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. ⁹ I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.

¹⁰ “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much,and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. ¹¹ So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches? ¹² And if you have not been trustworthy with someone else’s property, who will give you property of your own?

¹³ “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.”

¹⁴ The Pharisees, who loved money, heard all this and were sneering at Jesus.

Luke 16:1-14

Sometimes, the wrong title can mess up the story. Gatsby was not great. “The Never Ending Story” ended. No birds were harmed in “To Kill a Mockingbird.” And The Parable of the Unjust Steward? It’s a theological misfire. He’s accused, not convicted. He’s praised, not condemned. And Jesus ends with wisdom, not judgment. Sometimes, the wrong title can conceal the gospel behind a label. What the parable does do is challenge us to reevaluate the meaning of stewardship, which turns our modern understanding upside down. It echoes the frequent message in Luke to create more just relationships and an economy. Considering our Seasons of Creation theme, it can challenge us to work towards a more ecologically sustainable economy.

The first line of the parable says the steward was accused of mishandling the owner’s estate. Isn’t he innocent until proven guilty? However, sometimes accusations can lead to a rush to judgment. The original word in Luke was the verb form of diabolos. You have likely heard the word diablo, Spanish for “devil.” If you have ever tasted a Diablo sauce, you know it does more harm than good. In Greek, to be “diabolle” was to be slandered or falsely accused. It’s devilish and underhanded, and the man is fired. Slander was illegal in Greek and Hebrew cultures, and could be prosecuted. The 9 ^th Commandment says, “Thou shalt not bear false witness.” Slander was treated as a form of assault. What is happening to the steward is unjust.

We might first wonder why the steward didn’t fight the falsehoods to save his job. But maybe the perpetrator was anonymous, or he felt the damage was already done. It is hard when you are the small fry fighting “the man.” So, the steward starts rewriting loans to gain an advantage with his boss’s creditors. Maybe that would help land a new job. You might think this would make the boss more furious at the loss of income, instead of praising him for being shrewd. Since managers often added their own fees on top of the bill, it is possible that the manager was going to customers and removing their fee from the bill to gain favor. It’s a smart move because, if he’s fired, he will never get his part of the payment, and now he has won some friends for lowering their bill. Plus, it takes nothing away from the boss.

The devil is in the details, so let’s look at the numbers. One creditor owes 900 gallons of olive oil, but it has been reduced to 450 gallons. Another owes 1000 bushels of wheat, which is cut to 800 bushels. Those are markdowns of 50% and 20%. Today, such markups are routine in retail, at least 100% markups clothes and shoes you buy every day. It’s how the world works.

We are just three chapters away from the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector, who meets Jesus and suddenly gives away half his wealth, and says that if he has defrauded anyone, he will pay back four times as much. These parables sound like anti-price-gauging stories. Just because you legally can make that much doesn’t mean you should. When Jesus says to use wealth to gain friends, I don’t think he is advising us to buy our friends. Remember the passage a few weeks ago, Jesus said to invite people experiencing poverty to dinner, who can’t repay you. Jesus is teaching that wealth has relational implications. Greed hurts your neighbor and weakens the community.

The parable invites us to imagine ourselves in the place of the manager, the steward, and to evaluate how we handle our business, money, household, and investments. It's really a stewardship parable.

The steward is referred to as an oikonomos in Greek. Notice it sounds like our word “economy.” Oikos means household. The word encompasses not just finances, but also farm management, land management, labor, managing the storage of goods, and ensuring everyone is fed. The oikonomos, the steward, had to keep all this functioning for the good of the whole. This work is done on behalf of the true owner. The household is entrusted to the steward.

The study of managing this type of household management is oikologia, where our word ecology originates. Ecologists study how living systems interact and sustain life. You could say they are exploring our interactions with our home, the Earth. In other words, economies must understand ecology. An economy cannot be solely about making the most money; it must also consider how all living things interact and coexist together. Just as greed and overconsumption hurt the community, failing to understand ecology, interrelatedness, and reciprocity of life diminishes all life.

If Jesus challenges us to rethink how we manage our household economy, Robin Wall Kimmerer offers a living parable of what that might look like in the natural world in a household that includes the forest. In “The Serviceberry,” she describes the interactions the tree has with its neighbors. In the Spring, white blossoms become the first source of food for hungry pollinators. Without this lovely nectar, many bee colonies would starve. In return, the bees spread the pollen around, allowing fruit to form on the tree branches. In June, bright, purplish clusters hang like grapes. Its complex flavor is reminiscent of a blueberry and cherry blend, with small edible seeds that lend it an almond-like taste. Birds, deer, bears, squirrels, and humans all come and enjoy this free abundance. It comes at just the right time to feed baby birds. In return, all the animals help propagate the trees by distributing seeds widely. Tasty fruit is nature's gift to entice us to spread its future.

When Fall comes, the Serviceberry turns colors, and the leaves fall to the ground. Leaves are a gift to beetles, fungi, and microbes, who make their home in the leaves and break them down. This creates soil nutrients that feed the roots of the tree during a long winter’s rest. Worms burrow down and aerate the soil, which allows oxygen and water to move freely around the roots. Then Spring returns, and the cycle starts all over again.

If someone cut down all the Serviceberry trees on their land, 40 species of caterpillars lose their homes, and the birds and the bees can’t do their thing. The loss of these trees creates nature’s version of stagflation. Less is produced, and what is needed costs everyone more. Kimmerer suggests that we should take cycles of mutual relatedness and reciprocity seriously in economics. If we accumulate without giving back, the cycle is interrupted. The more damage we inflict on the ecological cycles, the more we undermine the ultimate source of wealth: the generosity of Earth itself.

Much of what we need comes to us for free from nature. What was your oxygen bill last year? We may pay for water, land, and food, but it was extracted. We did not create soil, plants, iron, or oil. We farm, cultivate, mine, and drill, and the Earth does not charge us a dime. We have thrived as a species and built enormous wealth, but now we are in danger of being an invasive species. In nature, invasive species never entirely rule the world, because they die out when they outrun their resources. This cycle is why environmentalism isn’t about saving the planet; it’s really about saving ourselves. It is about reclaiming our true purpose of stewardship, of wise management of the resources of our household.

Sometimes it just takes one small act to shift the whole system. One steward, falsely accused, decides to take less, to cut his profit margin, to restore the relationship and release debt—and somehow, that tiny move echoes a much bigger truth. Jesus tells us that the ones who are faithful in the little things, the hidden things, the hard-to-measure things, are the ones he trusts with more. Because in God's economy, what matters most isn’t the bottom line—it’s the relationships restored, the trust rebuilt, the household made whole again. That’s the kind of stewardship Jesus is pointing toward: not transactional but transformational. An economy rooted in reciprocity, not extraction.

You and I may not run global systems or write economic policy. But we each manage a little corner of God’s household: a few choices, a few relationships, a few dollars. Small acts like recycling and reusing, bring your own bags, buying food from local farmers, and taking a little extra to the Community Fridge are things we can do. Jesus said being faithful with small things is where we start. It creates habits and momentum for bigger things. Maybe your next step is to learn more from lectures at the Botanical Gardens or Bigelow Labs, join our Earth Justice Team next week, or join Climate Action Now and write your legislators.

The invitation is simple: be faithful with your small part. Give what you can. Forgive when you're able. Take less when the system tempts you to take more because the good news is—just like the steward, just like the tree—your little shift can be the seed of salvation.

Peace with Creation Part 2: Paradise Lost & Regained | Luke 15:1-10 | September 14, 2025

Sun, 14 Sep 2025 13:28:54 GMT

Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring" motivated us to save lost species

Luke 15:1-10

Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. ² But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered,

“This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

³ Then Jesus told them this parable: ⁴ “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? ⁵ And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders ⁶ and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ ⁷ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.

When you lose something of great value, finding it brings great joy. What was the last thing you lost that left you devastated, like there was suddenly a hole inside that you could no longer fill? I often lose things now, regularly retracing my steps to find my keys or wallet. I do not know what corners of the dark web suck my essential emails from the inbox. And when I find these things, I do not rejoice, because I feel like I’m losing my mind. Some losses can’t be replaced, which is why we have such joy when the lost can be found.

As a child, I had two small turtles, Lancelot and Elaine, who lived in a plastic terrarium in my room. Turtles didn’t do much, but I liked watching them tuck into their shells and poke their heads out to see if they were safe. They had a ramp, like a handicap ramp, to go to their food, so it didn’t get wet. When I fed them, they would “race” (sort of) up the ramp to eat. I found it reassuring that such slow creatures survived as a species for millions of years. One day, Lancelot disappeared. My mother wondered if I had left him out and forgotten about him. I had seen turtles climb on top of each other to get a boost higher, so I thought we might find him. But after 24 hours of searching, I had lost hope. I felt terrible about losing my pet and was sad for Elaine, who was alone in her terrarium.

Another day later, my mother was dusting under the bed, and she noticed a dust ball, moving, not with the air flow, but inching along on its own power. Lancelot was found. When I came home, there was great rejoicing. The lost was found, and my little world felt together again. As with all three lost and found parables, the outcome is not only joy, but also restoration. One sheep restores the flock, one coin completes the precious necklace, one prodigal son restores the family.

Jesus had a reason for telling these parables. Religious leaders criticized him not only for eating with tax collectors and sinners, but he welcomed them. The original word means an eager welcome. Jesus responded, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, because the sinners have much more fun.” (OK, that was Billy Joel in “Only the Good Die Young.) Jesus understood that when someone demonized him, it didn’t work to be defensive and criticize back. He told parables to help release the grip that ideology has on opinion. Parables create a different conversation about values.

Instead of saying, “We should welcome everyone, what’s the matter with you?” Jesus says, “Let’s talk about a shepherd who has lost his sheep.” No one wants to lose a sheep. Even one lamb out of a hundred cuts into your profit margins. But would you leave the 99 to search for the one? What if a predator attacks the flock while you are out searching? Is the risk to the whole worth the search for the one? Jesus gives a little commentary in verse 7:

I tell you that in the same way, there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.

Jesus is telling us what God is like, that divine love searches for us when we go astray, even when it is risky. Jesus also gets crowd psychology. When you stand up for one marginalized person, the 99 sometimes don’t like it. We see that in the third parable of the prodigal son. His older brother was a good boy and stayed home, and he is angry when the father rejoices at the return of the lost brothers.

Jesus could have stopped with one parable, but he quickly tells about a woman who lost a coin. This parable repeats the diligent search for what is lost and the joy of finding it. What does finding one of ten silver coins add to Jesus’ message? Women often wore a headband made up of ten coins that was also their dowry. For a woman of modest means, this would be the most precious thing she owned. To lose one coin was not only losing the equivalent of a days’ labor. The headdress symbolized hope and security. The lost coin is part of set, that is more valuable when complete. It’s loss isn’t decreasing her wealth by 10 percent, it is breaking the set. When we alienate ourselves from others, the set is broken. Some people try to find belonging by creating an “us vs. them” world. Jesus says that isn’t real community, that is breaking what belongs together.

Since we celebrate the Seasons of Creation this month, I was thinking of these parables in terms of our relationship to the environment, and all living things on this earth. We are living through a great loss, a time of mass extinction. Entire species are vanishing, like sheep scattered from the flock. These parables remind us that what is lost is not disposable, but precious — worth searching for, worth restoring, worth rejoicing over when life is renewed.

The most hopeful story of environmental lost and found comes from our backyard. Marine biologist Rachel Carson lived on Southport Island. She played a crucial role in eliminating chemicals that were killing birds. Carson could have written an essay like, “The Dangers of DDT to the Egg Shells of Bald Eagles and Osprey.” Instead, she brilliantly titled her book Silent Spring . She asked readers to imagine this kind of morning:

Over increasingly large areas of the United States, spring now comes unheralded by the return of the birds, and the early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of bird song.” — Rachel Carson, Silent Spring

What Carson did was call us back to joy and wonder to remind us that we all belong to the cycle of life, and we are all diminished when species are lost. It made us think about the many times we sat outside listening to the morning birdsong, the glimpse of the eagle soaring past. Carson later wrote in her book, The Sense of Wonder :

There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature — the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.

The human soul needs the wonder of creation, not to mention air to breath, water to drink, soil to grow our food. The earth is the basis of our economy.

What we need to learn from Rachel Carson is that reminding us of joy and interconnections motivates people to act and restore things to our common good. While I am deeply distressed about climate change and the lack of current commitment to our environment, I’m hopeful because we did remarkable things in the past. A decade after Silent Spring , the Clean Air and Clean Water acts were passed, and the Environmental Protection Agency was created.

Now back to that little boy who lost his turtle. I had not read Rachel Carson in elementary school, but my mother had. I remember wearing a T-shirt that said, “DDT bugs me,” with a little hornet creature on it. I was looking online for a copy of the T-shirt, but instead I found a T-shirt created by a chemical company that said, “DDT is good for me!” It pictured happy cows and apples singing and dancing with a mom wearing an apron. The claim was that DDT made for better agricultural production. It helped me understand what Carson was up against by asking, “At what cost?”

While I wore that T-shirt, my dad was crop-dusting fields with pesticides. My daily bread came from that work. I grew up with cognitive dissonance. It reminds me that self-righteousness doesn’t change behavior. We are all caught in an economy that creates imbalance and destruction of the source of life, the nature around us. To unravel ourselves from this dilemma requires different thinking than how we got here. Creating environmental law and regulation took us part of the way and restored our environment, but it didn’t alter the economic forces that devalue the earth, nor change our relationships to the species around us. That will require more of us. We must find the energy and diligence to restore a hope for what is possible, and a community of joy that celebrates creation. Imagine this-what if we got it right?

Jesus’ parables end not in loss but in rejoicing. God does not give up — not on one sheep, one coin, one person, or one fragile piece of creation. When the lost is restored, heaven breaks into song. Paradise may be wounded, but it is not gone. By God’s grace, paradise can be found again. When we join God’s search, share in God’s restoration, and lift our voices in joy — all creation sings once more.

Peace with Creation Part 1: Molded for Purpose | Jeremiah 18:1-11 | September 7, 2025

Sun, 07 Sep 2025 16:21:27 GMT

Dirt. Dust. Earth. Clay. It’s remarkable how many cultures around the world begin their creation stories with dirt of some kind. “Adam” literally means either “red clay” or “dust of the ground,” that is, dirt. Actually, the entire universe is dirt.

The character, Willie Stark, in the novel All the King’s Men, wanting “dirt” on his opponents, put this spin on the word.

"Dirt's a funny thing,” the Boss said. “Come to think of it, there ain't a thing but dirt on this green God's globe except what's under water, and that's dirt too. It's dirt makes the grass grow. A diamond ain't a thing in the world but a piece of dirt that got awful hot. And God-a-Mighty picked up a handful of dirt and blew on it and made you and me and George Washington and mankind blessed in faculty and apprehension. It all depends on what you do with the dirt. That right?”

Yes, dirt’s not just a funny thing. It’s everything. Carl Sagan wrote, “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.”

Which is just a more refined word for dirt.

I enjoy the writings of William Bryant Logan. In 1995, he published a book entitled Dirt. As Logan was doing research for his book, he often encountered people who wanted him not to talk about “dirt” — too filthy — but soil, earth, minerals, humus, or anything but dirt. Which says something about the human lack of humility. Get over it. We are dirt.

And dirt is immensely useful for all kinds of things. Growing stuff. Making bricks, adobe, cement. Sculpting. Dirt is even useful for preaching.

Jeremiah had a difficult job made worse because he never wanted it. He never wanted it because he knew it would get him into all kinds of trouble. You don’t have to be a prophet to know that if you loudly proclaim an unpopular truth, people will try, one way or another, to silence you. Jeremiah could clearly see Israel’s destruction looming on the horizon. He desperately wanted his people, the Judah which he loved, to forsake their idols, return to the Lord God, and avoid annihilation. He tried condemnation. He tried promises. He tried to act out parables to get through to folks. One of his sermons grew out of his visit to the potter’s house.

Alas, what did he accomplish? He gave his name to the word, jeremiad, a long speech that bitterly laments the state of society, often predicting its downfall.

Heedless of Jeremiah, fall Israel did.

Now some 25 centuries later, we still have his words. What will we make of them? Do we hear a warning? Is there calamity brewing today? What is about to fall if we don’t change our ways?

“So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.

Then the word of the Lord came to me. He said, ‘Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?’ declares the Lord. ‘Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel.’”

What a rich metaphor! Let’s extend it a bit. That lump of clay is not only Israel; that lump of clay is everyone and everything. The bad news is, everyone you hate is rolled into that mound of clay. The good news is, everyone you love and admire is in that mound of clay. Everything you see as ugly, everything you see as beautiful — all in that spinning lump of clay in the potter’s hands. And, of course, you and I are part of the clay, that pile of exquisite dirt.

How does the vessel that the potter is creating become marred? The clay is not behaving the way clay should. It’s not sticking together. The water within it is not evenly distributed. The pot isn’t developing properly to fulfill its intended purpose. So the potter gathers the clay into a ball and begins again, doing so as many times as necessary.

A pot may certainly be lovely. However, it’s usefulness comes from its emptiness. A vessel is formed to hold something — perhaps many things. Maybe water or oil or grain. Maybe the delight of the potter herself. Maybe beauty, kindness, justice. In his book, Dirt, Logan writes of clay acting as a womb for life, literally as well as symbolically. “[Clay] is the honeycomb of matter, whose activity is to receive, contain, enfold, and give birth.”

Earth, our planet, is itself a sphere of clay inseparable from humanity. Earth gives birth to us. Oceans run in our veins. Rock forms our bones. Forests, prairies, marshes are our lungs exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide. Microscopic beings compose our digestive system. Dirt covers us. Earth is us.

Just look at all this stardust sparkling in the hands of the potter. We are not in control of what the potter does. We can try to resist, but ultimately it’s impossible, as Jeremiah discovered. Why not relax into those hands caressing the clay into shape? Even if we feel as though sometimes we are being pounded, pinched, or scraped, still we are held. Still, we are in the process of being molded in order to contain joy.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Right-Side Up Part 5: Move Down to Lift Others Up | Luke 14:1,7-14 | August 31, 2025

Sun, 31 Aug 2025 14:14:53 GMT

Practicing the Beloved Community by Choosing the Low Place

Luke 14:1, 7-14

⁷ When he noticed how the guests picked the places of honor at the table,he told them this parable: ⁸ “When someone invites you to a wedding feast, do not take the place of honor, for a person more distinguished than you may have been invited. ⁹ If so, the host who invited both of you will come and say to you, ‘Give this person your seat.’ Then, humiliated, you will have to take the least important place. ¹⁰ But when you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, ‘Friend, move up to a better place.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all the other guests. ¹¹ For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

¹² Then Jesus said to his host, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. ¹³ But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, ¹⁴ and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Jesus seems like a great dinner guest—until you invite him. We love it when he critiques arrogant religious leaders and welcomes the humble. But imagine him at your Thanksgiving table, calling out your family's tensions, sibling rivalry, or challenging your uncle's politics. In Luke's Gospel, Jesus attends six meals and sparks controversy at every single one of them. He rebukes the Pharisees, receives a tearful anointing as a woman dries his feet with her hair, and dines with tax collectors, such as Matthew, and sinners. He corrects his distinguished hosts. After today's Sabbath meal, the next meal Luke records is the Last Supper, where Judas leaves to betray him.

Why is Jesus such a difficult dinner guest? (In fairness, that is only six bad dinner parties in a lifetime. He might have mostly been the life of the party.) The context of the dinner in Luke 14 is the Sabbath meal. This meal isn't just a banquet, but the beginning of the Sabbath ritual. Extended family and guests would attend. At sunset, women light the oil lamps to mark the transition from ordinary time to sacred time. Next, the head of the household would bless the wine and bread with the kiddush prayer:

Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe,
Who creates the fruit of the vine and the grains of the fields.

After the blessings, people would eat the most abundant meal of the week together, followed by a time where a rabbi or head of the household would teach from Scripture, and discussion would ensue. Jesus' words about Sabbath practice, etiquette, and status-seeking are within the bounds of what occurs at the Sabbath meal.

However, the first sentence indicates that this is not a friendly community gathering. In English, it says he was being carefully watched. Have you ever been in a situation where you were at dinner and felt that every move was being scrutinized? Like when you are meeting your fiancés parents for the first time. The Greek verb here can imply malicious scrutiny, like you are being spied upon, or a trap is being set.

Jesus could have played it safe when asked for his opinion and offered words about the wonders of God's creation, the steadfast divine love, or volunteered to deliver the children's sermon. Instead, he addresses the elephant in the room —the status-seeking and hierarchical nature that exists even at the Sabbath meal. At first glance, this teaching isn't a huge rebuke. There are no charges of being hypocrites or a brood of vipers. Jesus' words are a simple wisdom teaching, much like Proverbs 25:6-7, which reads:

6 Do not put yourself forward in the king's presence
or stand in the place of the great;
7 for it is better to be told, "Come up here,"
than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.

J esus finishes off this wisdom teaching with the phrase, "The humble will be exalted and the exalted will be humbled." This phrase occurs throughout Scripture, most dramatically in the Magnificat, which is Mary's song of celebration during her pregnancy. Urging humility is standard teaching in Christian history. You won't find many sermons urging that the church could use a little more hubris.

But here is the problem. We don't seem to be very good at noticing when we lack humility. Pride and hubris have been among the most damaging vices to the church's reputation for centuries. How can a spiritual organization preach humble Jesus to others, while siding with Empires, wealth, and power? Or acting morally superior while hiding clergy sexual predators? When we are insiders, we hardly notice the ways we set one person higher than another.

We may philosophically believe that all people are created equal, but we often rank and compare, even within the church. Early congregationalism wrestled with this tension. On the one hand, we were defined by believing that every person had a connection to the wisdom of the Holy Spirit, and therefore should have a voice in how the church practiced faith. (Of course, they still meant men only!) Early Congregationalists fled the hierarchical Anglican Church and refused to have bishops, even creeds that established orthodoxy. But colonial America was quite hierarchical. At early Congregational colleges like Harvard and Yale, class lists and seating arrangements reflected not academic merit but family rank—right down to where students sat in chapel and the dining hall. So, you knew every moment where you stood in the social order by where you sat. This ranking carried over to church, where the front pews belonged to high-status citizens, and you worked your way back.

Do you wonder what the sermons were like when Luke 14 was the topic of the day? On the one hand, early Puritan preachers condemned pride as the greatest sin, and humility the most essential virtue. But it didn't occur to them to conclude that it means we should change the seating arrangements at church. They didn't notice the hierarchical church arrangements any more than a fish notices water.

So, I wonder if I would notice these failings in myself. I have heard teachings about humility my whole life, and I try to make some effort as a straight, white male to be aware of how a little arrogance slips in with social status. But I was at a clergy meeting recently and found myself subtly mentioning that I was chair of the Maine Conference Personnel Committee, to bolster my point. I didn't need to do that, but a little ego crept in. I may have the big, obvious kinds of hubris under control, but that doesn't mean the subtle ego games don't matter.

But Jesus giving us more than personal spiritual advice. He's describing a posture that reshapes community and upends our seating charts entirely. Jesus wants our internal spiritual work to move us to take concrete action. What action does he want? He encourages us to be willing to take the low seat. This means a willingness to see that life is like at the end of the line, the bottom of the heap. It means a willingness to treat people at the margins with dignity and respect, equal to your family and social class.

Getting our ethics right all starts with getting the proper seating for the Sabbath meal. Eating the Sabbath meal together is a metaphor for the Kin-dom of God, the Beloved Community. Luke uses a very clever wordplay in Greek to make this point. The word eschaton means the end. When applied to time, it means the end of times. Whenever the Bible says, "In the last days," the word is eschaton. Eschatology is the study of the end times. But eschaton has a different meaning when applied to space. It could refer to the farthest away place or the lowest status position. When Jesus advises taking the lowest seat, the Greek phrase suggests taking the eschaton. So, the meaning here is that if you want to experience the eschaton, you must sit at the eschaton. If you wish to be part of the Beloved Community, take the low place. Or when you take the low place, you will enact the beloved community.

This creates profound new meaning to Revelation, which says, "Jesus is the first and last." He is the eschaton, meaning either that his way is the ultimate goal, or he has come as the lowly one. So, how do we take the low place?

I'll bring an example from a concert we hosted last night for Overdose Awareness Day. Between songs, a woman shared the heartbreak of losing her daughter. Unable to find a support group for grieving parents, she started one. That group has grown into three, with over 100 people on her email list. But her most sacred act? On the anniversary of every overdose death, she sends a personal email and posts a memorial—what she calls their "Angel-versary."

She didn't wait for a seat of honor. She chose the seat of sorrow and turned it into a sanctuary. She made room for those the world had forgotten—spoke names that others had let slip away. That's what the Kin-dom looks like: humble presence, small faithfulness, and an open table for those on the margins.

And this isn't just a spiritual practice. It's relational, communal, even political. It reshapes who has a voice, whose grief matters, and how a community holds one another in love. To move down is to challenge the seating charts of a world obsessed with rank and reward.

So here's the question Jesus leaves with us: Where is he calling you to move down, so that someone else might rise?

What table might you sit further down at?
Whose voice might you amplify instead of your own?
Whose pain might you honor by simply being there?
Because when we sit lower, Jesus rises among us.

This week, take the eschaton seat. Sit low. Listen deep.
See who else is sitting there.
That's where you'll find Jesus.
That's where the Kin-dom begins.

Right-Side Up Part 4: What is Sunday For? When the Bent Over Stand Tall | Luke 13:10-17 | August 24, 2025

Sun, 24 Aug 2025 14:10:45 GMT

Luke 13:10-17

¹⁰ On a Sabbath Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues, ¹¹ and a woman was there who had been crippled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and could not straighten up at all. ¹² When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, “Woman, you are set free from your infirmity.” ¹³ Then he put his hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God.

¹⁴ Indignant because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, the synagogue leader said to the people, “There are six days for work. So come and be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath.”

¹⁵ The Lord answered him, “You hypocrites! Doesn’t each of you on the Sabbath untie your ox or donkey from the stall and lead it out to give it water? ¹⁶ Then should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be set free on the Sabbath day from what bound her?”

¹⁷ When he said this, all his opponents were humiliated, but the people were delighted with all the wonderful things he was doing.

People come to church for all kinds of reasons. We had a paid choir in my first church, and a tenor would read his novel in the balcony when he wasn’t singing. I would joke with him afterwards, “I saw you listening to the sermon today. Be careful, a little Jesus might rub off on you.” A state legislator belonged to my home church in Iowa, and he had a big car dealership. That guy could sell a Chevy at the passing of the peace, plus a Ford at coffee hour. Some people come out of obligation, someone dragged them through the door, or it’s been the family church for four generations.

In our more secular time, there is less social pressure, and I think most people come with good intent. You want community and to see friends. A little uplift and hope wouldn’t hurt. Music to stir the soul, ideas to guide wisdom, stories for the journey, finished by a good cup of coffee. Sometimes we come more needy, grieving, and hurting; other times it just feels like a good thing to do.

We can come for all the right reasons and best intentions, but stumble into bad habits. Sunday morning can be very ordinary. Pass the peace to the same four people. Sing three hymns (if you are lucky, you like two of them). Glean a nugget from the sermon, pray, check in with Gary and Grace at coffee. It's just an hour or so out of the week. A decent hour, but ordinary. We could even start to critique the service, much like a movie. “Jesus is a good leading actor, but the supporting cast was a little weak. More character development would help, and more snappy hymns. Two stars out of four this week.”

Sometimes we like church precisely because it is ordinary, even if it is predictable. We need just one place in our lives that isn’t out of control, making big demands of us, or edging us out of our comfort zones. But then it happens. A song reminds us of our mother or another loss. A tear forms, and grief surprises us. Someone shares a concern that breaks our heart, hits close to home. A phrase in the sermon shakes us up and challenges us. Sometimes it is an irritation, and other times it is the Spirit breaking in, and we can’t decide if we like it or not. What if it isn’t just another Sabbath in the synagogue, and God’s Spirit actually moves in among us and sits down?

Since Luke doesn’t name where Jesus is in chapter 13, it could be any synagogue, or sabbath day, any time and place. On the third Sunday in August, a woman slowly walks to her usual seat, stooped as she has been for nearly two decades—nothing to see here, so far. When we read about someone with an infirmity entering the scene with Jesus, we expect them to get healed. But in real life, we hardly notice them.

The text is a little strange, saying that a spirit cripples her, almost like she has a demon. The Message Bible inserts that perhaps she has arthritis. Our modern mind likes to diagnose, so we can suggest a medication to help, or an ointment or vitamins. We would rather fix and cure than care. The King James was translated into English before modern medicine, and it gets the Greek more precisely. She had a spirit of infirmity or weakness. The word is commonly used for physical weakness and also for being downtrodden or vulnerable. Luke could mean both physical infirmity and a spiritual vulnerability.

Let’s think about this woman for a moment. Somehow, she walked to the synagogue despite being bent over. How far did she have to walk? Since there was no Uber, I assume this was a hardship. The text doesn’t mention that anyone was with her. How did she get through her days? Did anyone care for her? She had been like this for 18 years. That is a very precise number. Not many years, not as long as anyone could remember, but 18 years. That means she was familiar to the people of the synagogue. She didn’t suddenly come that day. So why did she walk in alone? Why isn’t she even named in the passage? Perhaps she shuffling to Sabbath, with great effort, possibly pain, faithfully coming every week, and while people recognized her by sight, they didn’t know her name or how she lived.

But Jesus notices her. This quality of attention that Jesus has for the people around him always impresses me more than any miracle performed. I’m not a miracle worker, but I would think if you had the power, miracles would be easy. I’m more impressed by how Jesus noticed people who others overlook. Many biblical accounts begin with Jesus’ focused attention. He sees Zacchaeus up in the tree and asks him to come down. He sees a widow put two pennies in the offering and sees her faith and dignity. He hears Bartimaeus calling out when others are trying to silence him. Jesus considers the children wanting to come to him being held back by the disciples. Noticing what is happening with people in the moment is the beginning of creating sacred opportunity. I can’t work miracles, but I can see people. If you don’t notice, everything just stays ordinary.

Sometimes the Sunday rituals themselves get in the way of noticing people. I have a lot on my head on Sunday. Did I get all the announcements? Are the nuances of the sermon right? Who is visiting and who is missing? I forgot to return a call. Did the Deacons put grape juice in the pitcher? Why did we pick this hymn? I don’t really like it. You might have your own inner dialog. Joan is wearing a pretty shawl. Did she knit that one? Joe has put on some weight. I hate the passing of the peace. Or, I can’t wait till the passing of the peace! I wish we clapped more. I wish we had never clapped. I wonder what the new renovation will look like.

It takes some focus to be present to why we are here, to be together in the presence of God. Showing up is generally better than not showing up. We get some benefit by being here. A little osmosis occurs. But Sabbath is a much thicker concept than just doing what is expected of us at the right time. We are meant to stop so we can be in God’s presence and truly be renewed for the rest of the week. That takes focus.

I try to stay mindfully present, so that I am worshiping with you, not just performing, not just thinking ahead to remember to announce the following hymn. But Jesus takes this presence to the next level. He notices the bent-over woman, the one everyone recognizes, but can’t come up with her name. “Woman, you are free from your infirmity.”

True to form, something out of character happens in the middle of church, and some people love it and, as always, someone doesn’t.

I don’t blame the synagogue leader, really. He wanted things to go as planned. That’s how he kept order, how he kept the community functioning, how he managed his own expectations. Maybe that’s even how he kept his own fear and weariness at bay—by sticking to the script. We all do it. We build routines to feel safe. We lean on familiar rituals to give life some structure. But sometimes that structure starts to matter more than the people it’s supposed to serve. Sometimes the way we’ve always done things becomes a shield that keeps us from seeing what’s actually happening around us—or from letting God interrupt us.

But Jesus didn’t come to keep things running smoothly. He came to set people free.

That’s what the Sabbath is for.

So today, I want to leave you with a simple invitation. You may not be able to work miracles, but you can notice someone. Just one person. Someone who’s always here but easy to overlook. Someone who may be bent over with something you can’t see.

And maybe that someone is also you.

Because we all carry something, we all have weeks where we shuffle in with a weight we don’t know how to name. And most of us would give anything—not necessarily to be fixed, but simply to be seen. To have someone notice. To hear that gentle voice say, “You are not invisible. You are not forgotten. You are set free.”

That, too, is holy work. And maybe that’s what Sunday is really for.

Right-Side Up, Part 3: Burn, Baby, Burn | Luke 12:49-56 | August 17, 2025

Sun, 17 Aug 2025 15:08:28 GMT

Igniting Holy Fire without Getting Scorched

I’ve come to start a fire on this earth—how I wish it were blazing right now! I’ve come to change everything, turn everything rightside up—how I long for it to be finished! Do you think I came to smooth things over and make everything nice? Not so. I’ve come to disrupt and confront! From now on, when you find five in a house, it will be—

Three against two,
and two against three;
Father against son,
and son against father;
Mother against daughter,
and daughter against mother;
Mother-in-law against bride,
and bride against mother-in-law.”

^54-56 Then he turned to the crowd: “When you see clouds coming in from the west, you say, ‘Storm’s coming’—and you’re right. And when the wind comes out of the south, you say, ‘This’ll be a hot one’—and you’re right. Frauds! You know how to tell a change in the weather, so don’t tell me you can’t tell a change in the season, the God-season we’re in right now.

"Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.

Jesus brings the fire in this scripture, and you might feel a little scorched by his words. What happened to the Jesus who prayed for his disciples, "That they may all be one," which is the United Church of Christ motto. United is literally in the title of our denomination! (Though many say "the Untied Church of Christ" would be more accurate.) Where is the Christ Paul described as the one who reconciles us to God and each other, who brought down the dividing walls of hostility? Where is the Christ proclaiming that when we are baptized in Christ, we are all one, neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male and female?

I heard fiery Evangelical preachers warn of Hellfire and division between the righteous and the unrighteous, but they never compelled me. Augustine said long ago that if we turn to God because of a fear of Hellfire, that isn't true love. We just don't want to be punished. Perfect love casts out fear and empowers us to seek God from love.

Jonathan Edwards, the first great American-born preacher, was one of the best at flaming imagery. His classic sermon, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," depicts Hell as a great furnace of angry wrath, and sinners dangle over it, like a spider by a thin strand of webbing, so repentance is urgent before the strand melts, and we are lost.

Ironically, I preached from Edwards' original Northampton Church for nine years, with a giant bronze relief of Edwards glowering over the congregation from the side wall.

Ron Story, a local historian and church member, told me that Edwards' famous sermon was not well-received in Northampton. It was a little over the top emotionally for New Englanders. They eventually tired of his scolding and forced him out. Story wrote an alternative history of Edwards titled, "John Edwards and the Gospel of Love." He believed that Edwards's best work focused on seeing God's wonder in creation, aligning theology with science and the works of Isaac Newton, and a theology sympathetic to the rise of individual liberty in John Locke. Edwards was a complicated man, full of flame and wonder, and American religion divided along those fault lines. Do we follow the path of the angry God of Hellfire, or the wondrous God of "rainbow, fiery pillar, leading where the eagles soar?"

As I re-read Jesus' words about fire and division this week, I kept thinking about the multiple ways we use fire as a symbol. We say someone has fire in the belly to express passion. We hope our ideas will catch fire. We would like to light a fire under some people. Or we might sing, "Come on, baby, light my fire," with the Doors. We would rather not have a trial by fire or go out of the frying pan and into the fire. Keeping the home fires burning is a good thing, but we also encourage some people to stop playing with fire.

Fire is essential to humanity. The discovery of fire transformed us. Cooking food was an evolutionary leap. Roasting things made them taste better and allowed humans to take in more calories for less work. We put more energy into brain development. Burning wood allowed us to adapt to a broader range of cold climates. Burning coal and oil led to the Industrial Revolution and made trains, planes, and automobiles possible. Fire also destroys things. We learned to package fiery destruction into gunpowder, TNT, and later an atomic bomb from nuclear fission. As the Canadian wildfires burned last week, we had some bad air quality days, and a reminder that we are burning down our house in slow motion, a gallon at a time. Fire gives us the ability to adapt and create, but we must also respect its destructive impact.

When Jesus says he brings fire, it can mean more than divine wrath or judgment. A full exploration of fire in scriptures shows us that fire can light our way, refine our moral purpose, and empower our efforts.

The most famous biblical fire encounter is the story of Moses and the burning bush. Curiosity led Moses to take a closer look at a bush that flamed without being consumed. People often describe a moment when God is near, when we sense a clarity of sacred duty or insight, as a burning bush moment. Fire is a symbol of light and enlightenment. All light requires fire: a candle, an oil lamp, a lightbulb, and the sun that lights the earth. So fire can symbolize the Spirit's presence and a deeper spiritual awareness. Think of the Quakers focusing on maintaining the inner flame. Or the disciples who saw the risen Christ on the road to Emaus said, "Did not our hearts burn while he taught us!" Jesus bringing the fire here in Luke can mean he is bringing people near God so that they can see the light.

A second metaphor is fire as refining. Scripture often refers to the process of refining gold and silver to God's Spirit working in us as we go through challenges and conflict. Refining gold requires intense heat, since it has a melting point of 1947 degrees Fahrenheit. Lead or zinc has much lower melting points, under 400 degrees. This process allows for separation, or the elements oxidize and create dross that can be stripped away.

Job compared his suffering to the refining process:

“(God) knows the way that I take; when I'm tested, I shall come out like gold." (Job 23:10)

Proverbs 17:3 states,

“The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, but the Lord tests the heart.”

The Hymn, "How Firm a Foundation," makes the spiritual metaphor clear:

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.

As Jesus speaks about bringing the fire, and bringing division, not peace, it can be understood as a refining away of some of the impurities, not necessarily ultimate damnation and Hellfire. Transformation often costs us something and frequently comes through a challenging process.

If we never faced conflict or had our assumptions challenged, we would not be transformed into something golden. We would remain covered in dross that keeps us from shining. That dross could be:

· The ego that needs applause.

· The selfishness that neglects the neighbor.

· The apathy that refuses action.

I love how The Message Bible translation comes right to the point about refining fire and even conflict are sometimes necessary:

I've come to start a fire on this earth… I've come to change everything, turn everything right-side up! Do you think I came to smooth things over and make everything nice? Not so.

Every fiber of my midwestern-nice soul cringes at this sentence. I will forever be a recovering people-pleaser and a recovering fixer, who wants to smooth things over! A little diplomacy is good, a gentle word can turn away wrath, but we also must be clear, set boundaries, or take on injustice. Because if the world is upside down, we must work to tip it right-side up again. We can’t nicely accept the unacceptable.

One of the most important crucibles of my life was going through divorce, leaving ministry for a time, and taking a job at a shelter and transitional housing program. Almost everyone I knew was angry at me. At first, that was devastating, but then it was freeing. If everyone is already angry, I was free to live my life. You don't like my choices? Get in line! More importantly, to help people with substance abuse addictions and severe mental illness, I needed to set boundaries. I learned to tell people "no" for the common good. Our housing was mandated to be clean and sober. A second relapse meant moving out. My heart wanted to give another chance, but that would create problems for everyone working hard on their sobriety.

And I learned the importance of honesty from some remarkable people in recovery. People who had lived on the streets and lost everything taught me the real meaning of a fearless moral inventory. To turn a life right-side up again takes some refining fire.

The fire Jesus brings doesn’t just change who we are—it ignites what we do.

To speak truth in love.
To set boundaries that heal.
To name what's broken, and choose what's just.
To stand with the scorched and the silenced.

This fire does not consume us—it transforms us.
It burns away pretense and fear.
It clears the way for light, for courage, for clarity.

May we be a people lit with holy fire—
Burning not with rage, but with compassion.
Not with condemnation, but with conviction.

Let the fire fall.
Let the dross be consumed.
Let love shine like refined gold.

Burn, Baby, Burn.

Right-Side Up, Part 2: Faith for the Long Journey| Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16 | August 10, 2025

Sun, 10 Aug 2025 15:04:27 GMT

Looking for wild raspberries in thorny times

Hebrews 11:1-16 (click for full reading)

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” Hebrews 11:1

On my first day of retreat on Monday, I climbed down the stone ledges behind our house to Rocky Point Cove. I thought this would be the most peaceful place possible, sitting on a rock at high tide, the water gently shimmering, listening to the sea birds calling overhead. I found a large, flat boulder to sit on and absorb the coolness of the Sheepscott River. What a great spot to center and listen for signs of hope!

Before I could settle, a lobster boat chugged in to haul traps, loudly transmitting some kind of Country/Rap fusion. I waited him out, trying to focus on the osprey overhead. As the boat putted away, I noticed that the seagulls out on the rock outcroppings were boisterously discussing some menu disagreements, or they did not like rap country trap music. Soon, the landscapers started mowing. Even here, where I had no cell reception, Wi-Fi, or outdoor plumbing close by, the world was full of chatter. I journaled for a bit and then made my way back.

I tried to focus on the rocks and trees around me and let go of the inward discontent when I noticed it. I saw a red raspberry hiding in the weeds. Despite its tiny size, it was delicious, a compact flavor burst with just enough pucker. I looked around and discovered another, and then more. I picked a handful of wild raspberries hidden below the ridge of our backyard. I rarely go there, so it felt purely like a generous gift from the creator, nature’s bounty that required none of my toil, except to be present. I have deep positive associations with plucking raspberries. Harvesting is like a treasure hunt. A few berries may entice you to the bush, but most stay hidden. You must change angles, carefully move leaves and branches, and reach between the protective thorns to find the treasure. Picking a ripe berry patch is meditative and enriching to me. We had great raspberry patches in Poughkeepsie and in Northampton, which took a few years to develop, and then we left them to start over—so finding this wild patch felt like hope.

This experience made me think about a line in our scripture text today. "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for and a conviction in things unseen." Hope requires some searching. My search didn’t go as planned, but I found hope by being alert to a different solution. The more I looked, the more raspberries I found. I would not have seen anything sitting on my porch waiting.

Let's talk about hope. Hope is not compiling evidence to help us decide whether to be optimistic or pessimistic. That would be a conviction in things seen, not unseen. If I'm only weighing evidence, I'm not sure I would get to hope. Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr once said the only Christian doctrine you can prove by reading the morning newspaper is sin. That isn't going to help us much. More information will not strengthen our capacities for faith, hope, and love. It might just numb us. Hope is believing and acting on possibilities despite the evidence.

Hope is the point in the Epistle to the Hebrews. The writer looks at examples of faith from the Old Testament to show the way. Take Noah, who built an ark before there was a flood, to be ready when it came. Now I have all the same questions about Noah's ark that our kids in vacation Bible School had. He couldn't possibly have two of every species on the ark because they would have eaten each other. But we can understand the point that there is a loving God at the center of the universe who guides us, so we have hope, whatever floods may come. Noah took a great leap of faith in something unseen because he had hope.

The writer of Hebrews gives us a travelogue of faith — people who walked roads they could not see the end. God calls them in a vision to leave their home and go to a strange land to find a new life. We know stories about the trials of immigration. Abraham was migrating nearly 3000 years ago and living in a tent. If you read Genesis, Abraham and Sarah didn't accomplish too much. They made many mistakes, but they had faith and stuck in there. Hebrews points out that they never fully attained what they hoped to do. They were the first-generation immigrants who sacrificed so that the next generations could fulfill their hopes. Their faith was the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.

This story is not just an ancient story, but it still lives in our time. Moving to a new country is challenging in any age. It may involve learning new languages, customs, and changing diet. Most immigrants do the backbreaking work that others don’t want to do, like farm labor, construction, and physical health care. I have met dozens of immigrants from around the world, and they often strike me as our contemporary Abrahams and Sarahs, hoping for things they do not yet see.

More people are on the move than at any time since World War Two. Climate change and warfare displace people, and as they flee dry and violent lands, there is now a backlash around the world against them. There is much I could say about the futility of solving a problem by rounding people up into detention camps, but today’s passage is about hope. So, I hope that we would use the billions of dollars spent on ICE to address the root causes of people leaving their homes. If we look at a map of countries hemorrhaging refugees, and overlay it with places receiving the least rainful, they overlap. Places like Sudan, Syria, the Middle East and Central America are ground zero for our climate crisis caused by global warming. My hope is that the challenge of climate change will force us to acknowledge our common humanity, to realize we are in this together. With have a great choice, to unify and thrive, or to stay in conflict and court disaster, even extinction.

From Abraham and Sarah’s long road to the uncertain paths of refugees today, the thread is the same: we find our bearings by looking back at how God has led others on the journey. Hebrews does precisely this — gathering stories from our spiritual ancestors as a kind of map for our travels. Our forebearers had faith in God's goodness during difficult circumstances, and we, too, can hope in the same God. The strategy of remembrance works. Notice that each story requires the hearer to take a journey.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen. Hope calls us to part ways with the prevailing gloom. An article in the NY Times by Joan Chasten said, "Try to Resist the Call of the Doomers." She observed that we have become too hopeless with all the bad news. Chasten says, "Doomerism luxuriates in the awful, and people seem unable to get enough of it — the equivalent of rubbernecking at a terrible car accident." She also challenges the idea that if you hammer people long enough with the severity of the situation, they will take action. As if telling people we are facing a crisis of species extinction so many times will motivate them. Instead, people just disengage. She quotes climate activist Michael Mann,

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/23/opinion/climate-doomers-possibility.html?searchResultPosition=1

"Climate doomerism can be harmful because it robs us of agency, the agency we still have in determining our future….I have found that the best way to spur action is to begin from a place of optimism — a belief that the thing you want really is possible."

I'm not a short-term optimist. But I have a warm relationship with hope. Hope tells me that even if I can't see the way, I believe a way will come. Hope says God hasn't brought us this far in history to leave us behind. I trust that God takes what we do and weaves them into the forces for good. Hope has a history with me. I was born in 1964, the Beatles came to America, and LBJ signed Civil Rights into law. I have lived to see a black president, maybe someday a woman too. I remember the first moonwalk, both Neil Armstrong and Michael Jackson. The Berlin Wall fell, gay people can marry, and every time I use my iPhone, I feel like I am on Star Trek. Hope is also very intimate. For me, hope comes from moments of deep prayer that lead to my calling as a pastor, falling in love, healing from divorce, and falling in love again; knowing a God of second chances and third chances, and seeing my kids build their own lives, discovering Maine, and kayaking.

When I look back, I see these moments as mile markers on my journey with hope. I have lots of hope. I know we have many problems, but faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Where is hope leading you this morning? As the spiritual says, "Deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome…someday." Faith is not a place we arrive, but a road we walk — sometimes in the dark, sometimes with raspberries in our hands. Now we must take the journey.

Right-Side Up, Part 1: Richer Than You Think | Luke 12:13-21 | August 3, 2025

Sun, 03 Aug 2025 15:00:32 GMT

Why Chasing More Might Cost Us Everything

Luke 12:13-21

¹⁴ Jesus replied, “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” ¹⁵ Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.”

¹⁶ And he told them this parable: “The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. ¹⁷ He thought to himself, ‘What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.’

¹⁸ “Then he said, ‘This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain. ¹⁹ And I’ll say to myself, “You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.”’

²⁰ “But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?’

²¹ “This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.”

Do you remember the commercial tagline, "Some things money can't buy, but for everything else there is Mastercard."? One ad began:

"Formal dress: $100; date night shoes: $50; your date showing up on time: priceless!"

The filming of the 1997 ad was outside the Budapest Opera House, so I imagine that date cost more than $150! Another ad went:

Two baseball tickets: $28

Two hot dogs, two popcorns, two sodas: $18

One autographed baseball: $45

Real conversation with an eleven-year-old son: Priceless

This campaign was one of the most successful in history. The "Priceless" campaign ran for 20 years and created a 99 percent brand recall. Mastercard closed the gap against Visa's dominance in the credit card industry.

What interests me is the ad's emotional and relational framing. Ironically, a credit card company tells us that money is not what matters most. The commercial hooks into deeper values of what matters-relationships, love, memories, and belonging. It's not the stuff that matters, it's sitting the love of our life still smiling after 20 years, our children laughing, or the beauty of a sunset, especially if it is from Antigua. The best things in life, money can't buy, but wouldn't your anniversary be better in Budapest than the Tugboat Inn?

This ad was the beginning of aspirational identity marketing. The message is: you're someone who knows the actual value of things. You're wise. You're a good parent, friend, and partner. Money isn't everything, so spend it on what matters. It sells better than promoting their 18% interest rates. The "priceless" campaign tricks us into believing money can buy us happiness while congratulating us for knowing better.

It shouldn't surprise us that credit card debt is over $1.2 trillion in the US, and 37% of Americans have a maxed-out credit card. If we were to modernize Luke's parable, "You fool, this very night, MasterCard is taking your soul, freezing your account, and turning you over to the collection agencies.

When we read Luke 12, we would like to turn the rich man into Jeff Bezos or a Kardashian who lives in a world of private jets, yachts, and enjoys oysters served on chilled Carrara marble, garnished with 24 karat gold leaf and Don Perignon foam. That certainly has nothing to do with me. What does this scripture mean to those of us who may read the Tightwad Gazette, instead of Vogue?

The parable pulls me in because it wrestles with modern dilemmas about how much is enough, and where do I draw the line. I learned to save money and spend carefully. One of my favorite stories is about the ant and the grasshopper. The dutiful ant worked all summer and stored food for winter, while the grasshopper played and was lazy. But when winter came, the ants had enough to live on, and the grasshopper was cold and starving. I like the Pixar version "A Bug's Life" better because the ants organize and throw off the rule of the grasshoppers. What is so bad about the man who had a plentiful harvest to say, "Relax, eat, drink, and be merry," when he had worked hard for his savings?

Everyone needs some savings. I looked at the retirement calculator tool on the UCC Pension website. It says I will fall short of the needed $1.2 million. It projects I will run out of money between the ages of 78 and 87. What will I do? (I may need to be your pastor for a long time!) On the other hand, a million dollars sounds like a fortune. I never thought about being a millionaire. But now that is supposed to be a baseline. People in Jesus' day didn't live to be over 40, let alone 65 or 95 years old. Now we might have to save for the last third of our lives. It almost makes me feel like a hoarder, just a little greedy because I don't know what I will need in the future. Was the rich man in the Bible a fool or just facing reality?

I did a little research on the phrase, "Eat, drink, and be merry," and the source will surprise you. The book of Ecclesiastes, known for its cynicism, uses a similar phrase five times. After the famous passage about there being a time for everything, Ecclesiastes 3:12-13 says:

"I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; moreover, it is God's gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil."

Without context, the interpretation might be, "Let's get the party started!" But the deeper reflection is that life is unpredictable, wealth fleeting, and rarely satisfying. Life is random and often unjust, and we can't control things. Ultimately, death comes to us all, and you can't take anything with you. If Ecclesiastes had a bumper sticker, it would say, " Life is a glitch, and then you die. So, eat, drink, and be merry."

The deeper advice of the text is about how we face times that seem meaningless. It is essential to enjoy the moment, to find pleasure in basics like sharing a meal. The message isn't to live in excess, but rather the ethics of a potluck. Come together and enjoy each other and what you have as a gift from God.

You can drive yourself past exhaustion seeking fame, fortune, or control over people and events. Don't get too caught up in these things because they won't satisfy or save you. This philosophy is not unlike the Buddhist ideas of nonattachment and being mindful of the present moment. Nonattachment means letting go of clinging to people, possessions, outcomes, or identities, recognizing that all things are impermanent. It doesn't mean not caring—it means loving and living fully without trying to grasp or control what we cannot hold.

So, if Luke's rich man with the fabulous barn is quoting Ecclesiastes, what makes him a fool? Jesus introduces the parable with the words,

"Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions."

The Greek word for greed, pleonexia, means the insatiable desire to have more and more. Nothing is ever enough, not possessions, fame, money, success, or whatever the object of desire is. Pleonexia takes hold of the soul and degrades it, leaving it morally impaired. Plato and Aristotle understood this greed as the root cause of social injustice. Pleonexia disrupts relationships and creates imbalances in society. Greed creates inequality, war, and civic breakdown.

We get three small clues as to why the parable condemns the rich man, whom I call Mr. Bigger Barns. First, the parable says the land produced an abundance of harvest. The man's wealth is not created from nothing, but is dependent on the gift of the earth. There is no such thing as a self-made person, no matter how hard they work. All of life's essentials-air, water, land, raw materials-were here before humanity existed. We are interdependent.

Second, the man's inner dialogue is self-contained. He is not talking to his spouse, family members, or praying about what to do. What might be good for the community or others does not enter his thinking. He talks to his soul as if he owns that too, but the parable reminds him that there is part of us that God created and still belongs to God.

Third, the meaning of the word fool is striking. An "aphrone" is not stupid; rather, fools lack moral and spiritual discernment. A fool acts contrary to God and lives as if there are no consequences for their actions. As Psalm 14:1 says,

Fools say in their hearts, "There is no God."
They are corrupt; they do abominable deeds…

The bottom line is Mr. Big Barns has twisted "eat, drink, and be merry" away from being grateful and enjoying what you have with others, to justify a life of selfish excess that will not satisfy, and leads to societal injustice.

What is the remedy? How do we be rich towards God?

Ecclesiastes reminds us we don't find joy in stockpiling wealth, but in sharing a meal, enjoying our labor, and receiving each day as a gift. Jesus warns that real poverty is living for yourself alone—cut off from others, from gratitude, and God.

Plato and Aristotle saw greed not just as a personal flaw but as a threat to justice. It breaks down communities and creates inequality. The rich fool's barns weren't just too big—they were empty of compassion.

To be rich toward God is to live with open hands. It means seeing all we have—our money, our time, even our breath—as gifts to be shared. Not to build walls, but to extend tables. Not to store up, but to lift up.

Some things really are priceless. But perhaps the most priceless thing of all is a life shared in love and service, rooted in the kind of richness no card, bank, or barn can offer.

Teach Us To Pray | Luke 11:1-13 | July 27, 2025

Sun, 27 Jul 2025 13:50:26 GMT

The bold simplicity of the Lord's Prayer

Luke 11:1-13

11 One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.”

² He said to them, “When you pray, say:

“‘Father, hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come. ³ Give us each day our daily bread. ⁴ Forgive us our sins,
for we also forgive everyone who sins against us.
And lead us not into temptation….

⁹ “So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. ¹⁰ For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.

The townfolk knew this would happen when the Temperance Bay, Maine, village council lifted the laws banning the sale of alcohol within the town limits. A dive bar called "Blue Law Lounge" opened across the street from the Baptist Church. The pastor implored his congregants to pray for its demise. A week later, the lightning struck the bar and burned it to the ground. Next Sunday, Deacon Obidiah Crumble, long known to be an opponent of drinking, gin rummy, chewing gum, and tattoos, spoke during the Joys and Concerns. He rejoiced that God had spoken and hoped the town council would take note and repent of their actions. Many applauded, and everyone gave glory to God.

By Wednesday, the pastor had received word that the owner of the Blue Law Lounge was suing the church, claiming that the prayers had destroyed his business. All the Temperance Bay townsfolk turned out for the court hearing, where the church adamantly denied accountability for what they called an act of God. After hearing both sides, the stumped judge summed up the case, "It appears to me the issue is that the bar owner believes in the power of prayer, while the church does not."

Jesus said, "Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will open." But a great promise comes with a responsibility to use the gift with wisdom and compassion in our hearts. Many cultures have tales of being careful with your wishes. King Midas wished that everything he touched would turn to gold, which ultimately led to the tragedy of turning his beloved daughter into a golden statue. Aesop's fables tell the story of a dog content with a bone, until he sees his reflection in the water and thinks it is a dog with a bigger bone. When he jumps into the water to get it, he drops his bone and loses it.

In some ways, prayer is easy and natural. As Anne Lamott wrote, there are three simple prayers: "Help, Thanks, Wow!" But because we are human, our prayers can get tangled in ego, bias, and short-sightedness. How do we pray well?

Our text from Luke 11 begins with the disciples noticing that Jesus often goes off by himself to pray. He does this before all critical moments, taking a 40-day retreat in the wilderness before gathering disciples, or atop Mount Horeb, which leads to the Transfiguration, the Garden of Gethsemane before his arrest, and numerous quiet times alone. The disciples discerned that prayer guided Jesus and was a source of wisdom and direction, so naturally they wanted to learn this discipline, this secret, for themselves.

So, Jesus instructs the disciples with a prayer blueprint. You likely noticed Luke's version is the stripped-down version. The five simple thoughts follow traditional rabbinical teachings, with a few little twists of Jesus' theology.

Father, hallowed be thy name," begins with awe, as it is a more intimate address of God. God is referred to as a Father only three times in the Hebrew scriptures, often metaphorically rather than as a proper name. God is called "Yahweh" 6,000 times in the Old Testament, which is usually translated into English as "Lord." But Yahweh comes from Moses encountering the burning bush and asking God's name. God answers, "I am who I am." It would be fair to translate "Yahweh" as the one beyond names, and later Judaism would not say or write the full name of God. It's part of why I chafe at the use of the English "Lord," which makes God much like a glorified English landowner rather than the unnamable source of all that is.

Jesus' first line holds together a paradox. The most holy, sacred, and hallowed one is also intimate as a parent. The One beyond names wants a familiar relationship with us. God is transcendent beyond all our categories and yet intimate; therefore, we can address even our basic needs and questions to God.

Line two urges the prayer, "Thy Kingdom come." This rich theme permeates Luke's Gospel. Jesus frequently says the Kingdom is drawing near. It isn't just something to hope for in a utopian future, but is rising like leaven in the dough; it is like the tiny mustard seed that will grow into a massive plant. The Kingdom is also like a great banquet where all are welcome. It is where the lost, if found, the prodigal son comes home. The blind see, the lame walk, the poor receive good news. To pray "thy kingdom come" is to recognize where God's love is already present, changing lives, and to commit to making God's hope a reality. Jesus reminds the disciples that their prayers are grounded in a greater reality of God's hopeful presence in the here and now, and its ultimate growth.

Give us our daily bread. The context for praying for our basic needs is likely the story of gathering manna in the wilderness. Moses instructed the Israelites to go out each day and collect a sticky substance from the tamarisk plant, which became their daily sustenance. It was nutritious and abundant, but you could not stockpile it. Asking for daily bread is not a prayer for prosperity, but an acknowledgement that the daily provision is an abundance, a gift of the earth, and something that should be available to everyone in a just world of God's Kingdom.

Next, Jesus acknowledges that as humans, we make mistakes. We need grace and forgiveness; otherwise, we get stuck in a cycle of guilt and shame. Likewise, we need to maintain an attitude of forgiveness towards others so that we can be restored. The prayer is simple but living it out is complicated. We struggle to believe we are forgiven; we wonder what might be too much to forgive. We would like some assurance that the harm will not be repeated. These questions are challenging, so we need daily prayer to discern how to live them.

Finally, Jesus teaches us to pray for wisdom and strength in the face of trials and testing—a recognition of our vulnerability and our need for divine help to avoid being overwhelmed. We don’t pray because we expect to avoid hardship altogether, but because we trust that God will walk with us through it. “Lead us not into temptation” is not a request for a charmed life, but a plea for clarity when things get confusing, and for courage when the easy path looks tempting but false.

I was taught to go to God with my challenges. As verse two of "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" says,

Have we trials and temptations?
Is there trouble anywhere?
We should never be discouraged—
Take it to the Lord in prayer.

As a teenager, I was struggling with a decision. The actual issue is lost, but likely some teenage trial over who I should ask out on a date, or whether I was practicing basketball enough, were the kind of anxieties that ruled my world then. I had heard the story of St. Francis, who prayed to God and said he would allow his Bible to fall open, and he would do whatever the page indicated. He landed upon, "Go sell all you have and come and follow me," so he lived a life of renouncing worldly possessions. I lifted my deep concerns to God and prayed. To help God out, I asked a "yes or no" question, and figured that if the Bible fell open to the Old Testament, the answer would be "no," and the New Testament would be "yes." I balanced my Bible like a referee tossing a jump ball—and let it go . And the Bible fell on its side with a thud. No page. No sign. Just silence—and then, I laughed. Perhaps that moment was God's gentle way of saying, "You don't need magic. You just need wisdom, and you get that by making choices."

Jesus said, "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened." That's not a formula. It's an invitation. Asking takes vulnerability. Seeking requires persistence. Knocking demands courage, especially when we're not sure what waits on the other side. And the truth is, sometimes we ask and don't get what we expected. Sometimes we seek and feel more lost. Sometimes we knock, and nothing seems to open.

That's where faith comes in, not the kind that guarantees results, but the kind that keeps the conversation with God alive. The door opens not to the answers we control, but to the relationship we are invited into.

So let us keep asking with humility, seeking with hope, and knocking with trust; not because we expect lightning to strike, but because we believe in the God who listens. Lord, teach us to pray.

Amen.

One Thing Needed | Luke 10:38-42 | July 20, 2025

Sun, 20 Jul 2025 13:44:17 GMT

Luke 10:38-42

³⁸ Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him. ^[ ^a ^] ³⁹ She had a sister named Mary, who sat at Jesus’s ^[ ^b ^] feet and listened to what he was saying. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted by her many tasks, so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her, then, to help me.” ⁴¹ But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—indeed only one. ^[ ^c ^] Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

Some of the most stressful conversations we have are not with strangers. They’re with the people we love the most. A sibling. A spouse. That family member who knows exactly how to push your buttons. These are the people with whom we share a house, a history—and often, a little simmering resentment.

In Luke 10, Jesus walks into such a moment. He arrives at the home of Martha and Mary. On the surface, it’s a story about hospitality. But if we look closer, it’s a scene charged with emotional tension, family patterns, gender dynamics, and spiritual choices. This is more than a tale of housework versus prayer. It’s an invitation to choose the better place—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.

Let’s set the scene. Martha opens her home to Jesus and his disciples. It’s likely her house, suggesting she’s the older sister and the household head. In a culture where hospitality is sacred and women’s roles are clearly defined, Martha springs into action. The meal won’t cook itself. Loaves and fish do not appear out of nowhere. She mobilizes all her formidable skills to make sure everything is just right.

Mary, meanwhile, chooses a different posture. She sits at Jesus’ feet, listening to him teach. This is not only a radical choice—sitting in the place of a disciple, usually reserved for men—but also a deeply spiritual one. She chooses presence over productivity, contemplation over control.

And this drives Martha up the wall.

She stews. She stirs. She slams the cupboard just a little too loudly. Finally, unable to contain it, she bursts into the room and says, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

How much undercurrent, blame, and passive-aggressive martyrdom can you fit into one sentence? "Don’t you care?" is more attack than inquiry. It puts Jesus on the defensive. When someone says, “If you loved me, you’d do X,” it creates an emotional trap. Even if you have a good reason not to, your refusal now feels like rejection.

Martha had options. She could have quietly asked Mary to lend a hand. Or even gone big and asked Jesus to send a couple of male disciples to chop vegetables. But instead, she triangulates—pulling Jesus into the middle of a family conflict. In family systems theory, this is a classic move: draw in a third party to reduce relational tension between two people. But it rarely helps. The third person usually ends up carrying everyone’s emotional baggage.

Jesus, however, does not take the bait. He doesn’t side with one sister against the other. He doesn’t reorganize the disciples into a dishwashing brigade. Instead, he addresses the deeper issue—not the tasks, but the anxiety behind them.

“Martha, Martha,” he says. The repetition of her name is tender. Throughout Scripture, when God repeats a name—“Abraham, Abraham,” “Moses, Moses,” “Saul, Saul”—it signals love, urgency, and a call to deeper awareness. Jesus is not scolding Martha. He’s reaching out to her.

“You are worried and upset about many things,” he continues. The Greek here is vivid. The word for “worried” means pulled apart internally. The word for “upset” refers to visible turmoil, external chaos. Jesus names both Martha’s inner anxiety and the way it’s spilling out into the room.

And then he says: “Only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen the better place, and it will not be taken from her.”

Tradition often interprets this as an endorsement of contemplation over action. But it’s more nuanced than that. Jesus isn’t saying that working hard is wrong or that hospitality is unimportant. He is gently pointing out that anxiety distorts our relationships, our spiritual lives, and our ability to be present.

Let’s be clear: both Mary and Martha have valuable roles. One is serving; one is learning. Both are essential parts of discipleship. But the key difference is not what they’re doing—it’s the spirit in which they’re doing it. Mary has chosen to sit, to be present, to listen. She is in the better place because she is in a less anxious place.

We see this dynamic again in John’s Gospel. When their brother Lazarus dies, it’s Martha who marches out to confront Jesus: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Later, at Lazarus’ resurrection dinner, it’s Mary who anoints Jesus with perfume—an extravagant, emotional act that upsets the status quo. Mary consistently chooses presence and intuition. Martha thinks she is the one holding everything together and bears the emotional load. Then that self-imposed weight becomes too much.

That’s the invitation for us. To choose the better place—not the easier place, not the passive place, but the calmer, grounded, centered place. The place where we are not ruled by our worries, our need to control, or our fear of being unseen.

When we’re anxious, we often act like Martha. We move into over-functioning. We control, we micromanage, we lash out. We triangulate. And we lose our connection—to others, to God, even to ourselves.

Jesus doesn’t reject Martha. He doesn’t tell her to stop serving. He calls her by name and names her struggle. That’s grace. That’s the beginning of healing.

So how do we choose the better place?

First, we manage our own anxiety.

In tense situations, we often try to fix the other person or control the outcome. But the most powerful thing we can do is stay grounded ourselves. Slow your breathing. Pay attention to what’s happening in your body. Ask yourself, “What is so challenging for me right now? What do I really want?” The first rule of leadership or crisis management is to manage yourself. When you regulate your internal state, you have a chance to shift the emotional temperature of the room.

Second, we address anxiety before we address content.

Whether in family conflicts, church meetings, or workplace drama, the temptation is to argue over the facts. But anxious systems don’t respond well to logic. The conversation will be driven by the most reactive person in the room unless someone introduces calm. A wise pastor once told me, “Don’t let the most anxious person in the room set the agenda.” Be the person who restores calm, so creative solutions can emerge.

Third, we practice presence.

Mary sat at Jesus’ feet not because she was lazy or irresponsible, but because she was fully present to what mattered most. In our multitasking, distracted world, that’s a revolutionary act. To put down the phone. To stop mentally editing your to-do list. To listen—to another person, to yourself, ultimately for the still, small voice. “Be still and know that I am God.” That’s a spiritual discipline.

Finally, we let go of control.

So much of our anxiety is rooted in the fear that if we don’t handle everything, it will all fall apart. But that’s not the good news of the gospel. The truth is that we are not God. We are not the Savior. We are invited to rest in the presence of the One who is.

So maybe the better place is not just a location in the house, but a posture of the heart.

The better place is the place where you breathe instead of brace. The place where you listen instead of lash out. The place where you connect instead of control.

And here’s the promise: “It will not be taken from you.”

When you choose presence over panic, peace over pressure, Jesus says that space is yours to keep. The better place is not about escaping your responsibilities—it’s about inhabiting them with less fear and more grace.

So the next time the kitchen gets hot—literally or metaphorically—the next time you feel alone, overwhelmed, and unseen, remember this moment. Remember, you don’t have to fix everything. You don’t even have to win the argument. You just have to choose the better place. Claim the place of calm. The place of connection. The place where you listen instead of lash out. Where you breathe instead of break. Where you stay grounded in love, not driven by fear.

Choose the better place. And let it hold you. What better promise could there be for us?"

Jazz Sunday | The Jazz of Neighboring | Luke 10:25-37 | July 13, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 13 Jul 2025 15:25:03 GMT

Following Jesus Off Script on the Road to Justice

Luke 10:25-37

³³ But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. ³⁴ He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. ³⁵ The next day he took out two denarii ^[ ^c ^] and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

³⁶ “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

³⁷ The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

The parable of the Good Samaritan has the strongest moral resonance of any story in the Bible. Hundreds of organizations are named Samaritan's Inn, Samaritan's Purse, or Samaritan Health Service to offer food, shelter, and care for people in need. But the story is more provocative than we often realize.

Parables, by design, make us uncomfortable. New Testament scholar Charles Dodd said that if you read a parable and you agree with it, you probably missed the point. Parables are a story bomb meant to challenge assumptions. For example, laborers in the vineyard come throughout the day and work different amounts of hours, yet they all get the same pay at the end of the day. The unfairness forces us to consider grace, divine generosity, and the reversal of worldly merit systems.

What is so provocative about the parable of the Good Samaritan when we all know we are supposed to stop and help a person in need? It can aggravate us in three ways, starting with the profound question, "Who is my neighbor? How far must my compassion reach?" It is also startling to see who walks by, the priest and the scribe, and who the hero of the story turns out to be.

The lawyer who debates with Jesus is the perfect foil for Jesus' parable. He asks, "Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" That is such a lawyer question! He doesn't ask how to get to heaven, or what makes for a good life, or the secret of life. He wants to know how to inherit heaven. Lawyers deal with inheritance, who gets the deceased's property, bank accounts, and rare coin collections? What must you do to inherit something? Usually, you need to be related, and the closer you are, the greater claim you have to the proceeds. What is the lawyer asking here? Does he want God to change their will? Is he trying to get a better place in line to affirm his right?

Like a good rabbi, Jesus answers the question with a question: "What is the greatest commandment in scripture?" This question is easy for a lawyer. Everyone with a bit of knowledge knows the great commandment, to love God with all your heart, mind, and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself. It's a merger of Leviticus and Deuteronomy. But the lawyer doesn't want the conventional answer, so he presses, "Who is my neighbor?"

You get the sense that the lawyer might be trying to prove how smart he is, or to trick Jesus with a difficult question, or he just likes to argue. He is the kind of guy who says, "Let me play the devil's advocate." OK fine, you be the devil! But it is actually a tricky question to answer.

Who do you consider your neighbor? How many blocks before they are not your neighbor? Do you stop at the city limit, the state line, or the national border? Does it stretch beyond human life to animals? Is a person's race, gender identity, or political affiliation a consideration for who is my neighbor? Does loving my neighbor mean I should send money every time I see an ad for Save the Children? Do I have to show my love for all six billion people currently sharing this planet? The lawyer would like a little advice. How about just friends and family? Or just Christians? Just Americans? Just patriotic Americans? How about I just pick my top 10, plus one person I don't like.

Jesus isn't about to get sucked into a legal debate with a lawyer, so he tells a story. A man lies beside the road after being beaten, robbed, and stripped. Thank God a priest comes along. Just kidding, he passes by. He doesn't investigate, but goes to the other side of the road. Same story when a Levite comes along. Why did they go to the other side of the road? If they came in contact with a dead body, they would be ritually impure and unable to perform their duties for a week. (Numbers 19:17-19). Jesus has made a devastating critique that law and ritual as more vital to them than mercy. Some people seem to think the great commandment is to be perfect. Stay pure to the letter of the law, and all will be well. Jesus critiques the false morality of the religious establishment, but here comes the lightning bolt.

Guess who comes to help? History helps us grasp the meaning of a Samaritan's status. Samaria was formerly the Northern Kingdom of Israel, which broke with Judea and the Davidic monarchy in 930 BCE. They started their own Temple and reportedly put a golden calf in it. There were nine centuries of violence and rivalry between the two states, much like the history of Ireland and Northern Ireland. They were siblings who hated each other.

You can change the characters depending on where you tell the story. In Boston, you would say a Yankees fan had mercy and saved the man. Two Evangelical pastors walked by, but a drag queen stopped and helped the man. Or it was a tired Mexican farm worker, even though he is fearful of getting involved in a legal investigation of a crime scene. Or two people with rainbow buttons and a “Free Palestine” button walk by and decry how the system has failed the man in the ditch, but the guy in a MAGA hat stops and helps. You get the idea. Whoever you put in the moral category as depraved is the hero, while your side failed in its stated moral obligation.

Jesus asks, "Who was a neighbor to this man?" It is so clear, even a lawyer could understand it—the one who showed mercy. Go and do likewise, Jesus says. I think he means more than simply helping a person who you see in trouble. Most suffering isn't out in the middle of the road. Jesus means an active mercy, one that might look at why there is so much crime on the Jericho road, or that has an adequate health care system when someone is injured, whether by robbers or on the job. A Good Samaritan pays attention to where there is prejudice or racism in society, and seeks to overcome unjust attitudes or laws. Instead of asking, "Who is my neighbor?" the Good Samaritan says, "You are my neighbor." Or perhaps, "Won't you be my neighbor?"

I conclude with a note from the world of jazz and our next song, "Isfahan." The Duke Ellington band performed this Billy Strahan song on a goodwill ambassador tour to the Middle East. Duke loved Iran and especially Isfahan, which he called a city of poets. The Jazz ambassadors were sent by a State Department program created by President Eisenhower. He believed that the Cold War struggle against the Soviet Union was partly a cultural battle, and wanted the US to be a force for liberty and justice for the whole world. But America's racial injustice was hurting our prestige and foreign policy. Eisenhower wanted to show we were making progress and send black jazz musicians around the world as goodwill ambassadors.

Jazz was immensely popular around the world, except that more authoritarian regimes had banned it. It is no surprise that Nazi Germany would ban non-white musicians, but the Soviet Union also banned what they called "decadent and degenerate" music. But even top Soviet officials smuggled in all the jazz records they could get. In 1957, Louis Armstrong was asked to tour the USSR, just as the school desegregation crisis hit in Little Rock, Arkansas. The governor ordered the National Guard to block nine black students' entry into the High School, creating a stand-off to integrate the school. To quote Armstrong directly, he told the State Department, "Hell, no. Not if this is how my people are treated." An official press release from the Voice of America said this showed the strength of freedom of speech in America, if a black man could criticize the government and not be arrested. As Wikipedia put it, "It was a weak hand well-played."

Many Jazz musicians used their music and voices to support civil rights activists, and as federal support increased, many musicians went overseas to share a message of hope and peace. And Duke Ellington came back from his travels with a cultural message of peace to an American audience, with music influenced by his time in Iran.

You can't be a neighbor if you never meet your neighbor. You must try their food and hear their music. Jazz shows us how to cross borders with curiosity and compassion. So does mercy.

Jesus said, "Go and do likewise." Let's pick up the rhythm.

Go Light, Go Bless | Luke 10: 1-11, 16-20 | July 6, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 06 Jul 2025 15:17:02 GMT

Reflecting on Jesus sending 70 disciples

10 After this the Lord appointed seventy-two ^[ ^a ^] others and sent them two by two ahead of him to every town and place where he was about to go. ² He told them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field. ³ Go! I am sending you out like lambs among wolves. ⁴ Do not take a purse or bag or sandals; and do not greet anyone on the road.

⁵ “When you enter a house, first say, ‘Peace to this house.’ ⁶ If someone who promotes peace is there, your peace will rest on them; if not, it will return to you. ⁷ Stay there, eating and drinking whatever they give you, for the worker deserves his wages. Do not move around from house to house.

⁸ “When you enter a town and are welcomed, eat what is offered to you. ⁹ Heal the sick who are there and tell them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ ¹⁰ But when you enter a town and are not welcomed, go into its streets and say, ¹¹ ‘Even the dust of your town we wipe from our feet as a warning to you. Yet be sure of this: The kingdom of God has come near.’

Luke 10:1-11

I was driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic in Washington, DC, when I saw them. They stood out on the thronging sidewalk among people from every curve of the earth. Some people carried luxury Coach bags, and others had garbage bags with all their worldly possessions. To beat the heat rising from the pavement, women wore skirts and sleeveless blouses, men in Bermuda or khaki shorts. However, I noticed the two young men in long-sleeved white shirts, solid black ties, creased pants, and wearing backpacks. They walked through the inferno with open, Midwestern smiles that said, “Nice weather we are having! We’re sharing a message of hope centered on Jesus Christ. Could we share it with you?" I noted my adverse internal reaction, and then felt a little guilt for quickly judging them. After all, it’s not like they were flashing gang signs, selling drugs, or wearing White Power t-shirts. They were just two young Mormons doing their year of public service, witnessing to their faith, perhaps not unlike the young disciples Jesus sent out two by two.

Why the negativity regarding these missionary endeavors? I know Jesus said he would make his disciples fishers of people, but who wants to be a fish on a hook? I understand Jesus was offering these fishers a new vocation, but the analogy falters when we start seeing people as our daily catch. Many of you have experiences with religious people who are pushy, annoying, and judgmental. The offensiveness of missionaries stems from their attitude that they have the one true path. Get right with God or get left behind. Most Protestant denominations have repented of the paternalism and imperialism of missionary endeavors and renamed Mission boards as Global Partners or World Outreach. I served on the UCC World Mission Board in the 1990s when we underwent a shift in our approach to working in mutual partnership with churches worldwide.

Another critical issue is being more respectful of a multi-faith world. In the last 20 years, we have reconnected with the Jewish roots of Christianity. Millions of people have learned about Buddhism and Hinduism through mindfulness practices and yoga. I have a bookshelf on Buddhism because meditation practices have deepened my spiritual practice. I don’t think I’m making the world better, or more spiritual, by trying to get a Buddhist, Mormon, or Muslim to be a Christian. Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh said that when he talks with Christians, he hopes that they will become better Christians, and he will become a better Buddhist.

So, I’m not going to send you all out in pairs to knock on doors or hand out tracts at Hannaford’s. Most likely, you would find the practice demoralizing. The average Mormon missionary draws about 1-3 baptisms per year of full-time service. You must be good at taking rejection. The best salespeople aren’t necessarily the brightest or most articulate people. They are the ones who have had ten “no’s” and will still make the cold call at 4 PM. So, despite the low success rate, the Mormon church is the fastest-growing religious group in America over the last decade.

Here is the challenge I feel in the United Church of Christ. I was attracted to the UCC precisely because it values tolerance, questions, is open and affirming of LGBTQ people, and does not force creeds on its members. That is lovely, but since I have been ordained, the UCC has gone from 1.7 million members to 700,000. The math is not hard. We are down 1 million people. And in the same period hate groups like neo-Nazis and white power groups have grown by 50%. Their influence on our culture is greater than the UCC and possibly all traditional Protestant churches. Do we accept that it is an inevitable shift for the future?

Here is an important question I am asking about this mission. While it is not our nature to be a proselytizing or converting kind of faith community, our mission statement clearly states that we are a welcoming church. In 2004, the UCC launched the “God is Still Speaking” campaign. One goal was to become a church of extravagant welcome.

We said valuable things like,

“This campaign is not just about bringing people into church. It’s about shaping a different kind of church—where all God's children find belonging, meaning, and purpose.”

“We believe that faith is a journey, and that church should be a place where you don’t have to leave your questions—or your identity—at the door.”

Since that time, we have gone from 600 to 1600 Open and Affirming Churches. That’s right, 1000 new ONA churches, which is a 177% increase for the mathematically minded. I think a lot of people believed that if we were on the cultural cutting edge, welcoming gay people, we would reverse our membership decline. I think the UCC played a significant role in gaining acceptance for marriage equality and LGBTQ rights, but that doesn’t necessarily mean people are going to flock to church. I’m proud of the work the UCC has done, and there is still more to be done. While these achievements are significant, Jesus invites us to go even further—not just to welcome, but to walk with, bless, and serve in simplicity. Let’s look at what Jesus says to the 72 as he sends them. The harvest is plentiful. Don’t carry a lot of baggage. Bless people. Leave the dust behind.

Jesus told his disciples the harvest is plentiful, but I think we have stopped believing that is true. A malaise of inevitability has set in that many churches will die with the baby boomers, so let’s get our affairs in order. Here are two reasons I don’t believe death and decline are inevitable:

1. While church attendance has declined, belief in God—or at least in a higher power—has remained steady for most of the past half-century. Even today, more than 4 out of 5 Americans say they believe in something beyond themselves. The crisis is not a death-of-God crisis. It’s a crisis of how we do church—and how we show people the way to a spiritual life that feels real, honest, and alive.

2. I’m also hopeful about some of the recent data on church attendance. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, Generation Z, those born after 1996, have reversed decades of decline and are returning to church. You may be surprised to learn that the generation least likely to return to church since the COVID is the Baby Boomers. The loss of community and connection has made meeting places like churches essential again.

Jesus tells his disciples to travel light. Don’t take a purse, a bag, or sandals. Some people take this too literally. The Carmelite monks split into factions between the shoeless and show-wearing disciples. Jesus’ point is that the more baggage you carry, the harder it is to focus on love. Sometimes we have suitcases full of traditions and ways of doing things. There is nothing wrong with keeping some traditions, but they need to fit into one suitcase and an overhead bag. Too often, we have three suitcases of the way we do things, and they weigh so much that it’s all we can do to manage them. Traveling light means we focus on what is most essential, and give the rest to Rotary Barn.

Perhaps the most essential instruction Jesus gave is to bless the house you enter, saying, “Peace be upon this house.” Blessing is a powerful act of kindness and hope. A clergy friend of mine is leading what she calls “The Blessing Project,” which encourages the congregation to look for opportunities to bless others. Don’t just count your blessings. Give your blessings. Pastor Susan says a blessing is offering a hopeful vision for a person’s future. Blessing is noticing what people do and sharing with them that it matters. It expresses belief in someone and encourages them on their journey.

My friends, this is not a time to shrink back or pack up.
It’s a time to remember who we are—
not just people who gather, but people who are sent.

We are not the leftover church. We are the 72.

Not famous. Not flashy. Just sent. Sent not to conquer, but to bless. Sent not with judgment, but with peace. The world is not beyond hope—it’s full of harvest. And God is sending us into it.

Not to argue. Not to pressure.nBut to walk lightly. To love deeply. To live as if Jesus is still speaking—through every act of compassion and courage. Jesus sent the 72 with almost nothing—no bag, no shoes—just a blessing and a message of peace. And that was enough. You don’t need a script. You don’t need a title. You just need a heart willing to bless.

So when you leave this place—whether it’s a hospital room, a classroom, a kitchen, or an office—walk like someone who trusts the harvest is still plentiful. Live like someone who believes love is stronger than fear. Speak like someone who carries peace in your presence.

Go light. Go bless. And know: Christ has already gone ahead of you.

For Freedom, For Love, For All | Galatians 5:1-13-25 | Open & Affirming Sunday | June 29, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 29 Jun 2025 16:16:20 GMT

Galatians, Circumsicion, and overcoming toxic cultural wars

Galatians 5:1-13-25

For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another. (v. 14-15)

By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, ²³ gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. (v. 22-23)

"For freedom Christ has set us free." That's the bold declaration that begins Galatians 5 — and it raises a question that still matters today: what kind of freedom are we talking about? In Paul's day, as in ours, people often confused faithfulness with rule-keeping. Paul disagreed — he said freedom begins with grace, not law, and that true belonging doesn't come through obedience, but through the Spirit. This freedom is not doing whatever we please; it's about loving faithfully and becoming our true selves, shaped by the Spirit of God. And that kind of freedom bears good fruit. Not bitterness, but joy. Not division, but peace. Not control, but kindness.

So let me ask: Do you feel freer today than you did twenty years ago? Freer to speak your mind? To love openly? To live with integrity?

I've been thinking about that question a lot lately. I was born into a world where inter-racial marriage was illegal in 16 states, and gay marriage was prohibited in all of them. My mother couldn't have a bank account or credit card without my father's permission, let alone pursue reproductive health services or abortion. Stores were closed on Sundays, and you could only wear striped ties. Most of that changed by age 10, and gay marriage came along at age 48, but striped ties stuck around. I was pleased to look around the room at our son's wedding party two weeks ago. Their friends were richly diverse, including inter-racial couples, gay couples, and some inter-racial and gay couples, as well as many without striped ties. I am happy to think about the world my children are growing up in, compared to a time when people had to hide their true selves and couldn't openly love who they desired.

I celebrate the progress of freedom, but I worry about the future. Have we lost the meaning of freedom? We live in a culture where freedom often means don't tell me what to do. Too frequently, exercising our First Amendment rights of free speech means the freedom to vent, blame, attack, and threaten. Social media gave us the freedom to connect like never before. In 2008, we hoped it would usher in democracy and change. Instead, it feels more like a free-for-all than a true community. Our discourse becomes so toxic that many people opt out. When discussion is shut down, and disagreement makes us enemies, freedom deteriorates. Cultural innovation and growth become stunted, and we fight the same battles with nobody listening to each other.

I think Paul wrestled with a toxic and divided culture. The issues were different, but human nature endures. Galatians addresses what to do about cultural divides. In the first four chapters, Paul reveals the dangers of being overly legalistic and rigid. The specific issue in the church was over forcing Gentile believers to be circumcised. Thank God we don't have to fight this battle anymore. Imagine the protest signs! "No snip, no problem." "Jesus never said, cut it out." This ancient issue highlights the danger of adhering too closely to the letter of the law. God commanded Abraham to practice circumcision in Genesis 17:9-14. For one faction of the church, that settles it. God commanded it 3000 years ago, so we must do it forever.

However, in Acts 15, approximately 1,500 years after Abraham, the early church holds its first council to discuss this controversy. Peter's speech says that the law does not save us, but by grace. Following every law won't make you a better person. Love makes you a better person. We learn to love by the grace of God and walking in a faithful relationship with the divine. Peter persuaded the council to vote that circumcision and kosher dietary laws did not apply to Gentiles, and they got to join the club. Let that sink in for a moment. The church voted to change a direct command from God to Abraham. Can you do that? It's chaos! What is next? Are we dropping commandments five through eight? What truth is left once you drop circumcision?

Here in Galatians, Paul is trying to slow everyone down and lower the temperature. He argues that the starting point for all theology is love of neighbor. This commandment is the greatest. Leviticus said so. Jesus said so. Now Paul affirms that everything starts here. We must read scripture with the eyes of love. Sometimes that means changing some of the cultural norms and ideologies.

But how do we know we are doing it right? Paul makes the same argument Jesus makes in Matthew 7:20: "You will know them by their fruits." What gets produced? Paul lists the bitter fruits apart from God's Spirit, and not just about sex, but hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions, and envy. In contrast, if you are living by God's Spirit, the ripened fruit will be love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, gentleness, patience, and self-control. Which list most describes the mode of discourse in our day?

Paul makes a powerful point. It is not just what we think that matters, or what our theology, ideology, or political point of view is. How we believe it, how we live out our convictions, matters just as much. You can be on the right side of things and get it all wrong if you forgo love. We harm our deepest values when we engage each other with bitterness and strife.

Imagine a church where the fruits of the Spirit are not just personal virtues, but the marks of our public life together. What if our freedom made others feel more free—to speak, to belong, to be loved?"

It is not easy to create relationships and foster a freer community spirit. I appreciated the atmosphere at the Pride Parade in New Castle and Damariscotta yesterday. People spoke passionately, without anger, sharing stories of self-understanding and overcoming shame. Some spoke powerfully about being rejected for who they are, and how much acceptance and solidarity matter for healing. There was honesty about rights being lost, the potential threats to trans health care, and people. I didn’t hear partisan attacks or dehumanizing words; instead, I listened to peoples’ hope to live and love as they are.

As the parade began, the lead organizer gave us the route to cross the bridge from New Castle to Damariscotta. She said, 'Remember, we must keep crossing bridges to help people understand, to ask questions, and overcome stereotypes.'

Likewise, Congresswoman Sarah McBride shared in a lengthy interview with Ezra Klein last week. This sentence stuck with me:

"People are hungry for an approach that doesn't treat our fellow citizens as enemies, but rather treats them as neighbors — an approach that's filled with grace."

McBride frequently used the word "grace" in the interview. I think what she met by grace is the understanding that people constantly evolve their perspectives based on experience. So, how can we bridge the gap for people who have some openness to understand? Don't immediately assume disagreement means hatred, that questions imply rejection. People may disagree on some parts of your hopes and ideals, but you may find some agreement on others. Yes, some people are actively harming and harassing gay and trans people. Some want to take away marriage equality and deny the rights and humanity of trans people. But McBride says that we must guard against assuming disagreement on one issue means they are the enemy.

McBride took a lot of heat for this interview for saying we must meet people where they are if we want to create social change. While I don’t agree with everything she said, I offer her some grace as a trailblazer. To those who want her to be louder and bolder, she answers, "Do you really think we are not making more progress because we are not loud enough and angry enough?"

When McBride came to the US House, a bill was immediately passed to restrict bathroom access for transpeople to the gender that they had at birth. The goal was to target McBride and force her to use the men's bathroom, even though she lives and presents as a woman. Rather than protesting, McBride responded, "I am here to do the job of legislating." McBride said she didn't want to begin her career with a fight over bathrooms. She said, "The goal… was to caricature me, to turn me into something to be against." She refused to take the bait so that she could forge her own path.

How often do we take the bait? Let us not be drawn into shouting matches or defined by what we're against. Let us walk by the Spirit with love that listens, joy that lifts, peace that steadies, patience that stays. With kindness that welcomes, goodness that restores, gentleness that softens, and self-control that resists the urge to fight every battle. That is not weakness, but strength. That is how the early church made space for Gentiles. That is how love changed hearts in the civil rights movement. That is how grace continues to build bridges today.

Imagine a church where the loudest thing we say is love, where we don't treat people as enemies but as neighbors, where our freedom sets others free. For freedom Christ has set us free — not just for ourselves, but for all.

How Can I Keep From Singing? Acts 16:16-34 | June 1, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 01 Jun 2025 16:11:26 GMT

A hymns power in a prison cell

Acts 16:16-34

¹⁶ One day as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a female slave who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling. ¹⁷ While she followed Paul and us, she would cry out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you ^[ ^a ^] the way of salvation.” ¹⁸ She kept doing this for many days. But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour.

¹⁹ But when her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the authorities. ²⁰ When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, “These men, these Jews, are disturbing our city ²¹ and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us, being Romans, to adopt or observe.” ²² The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates had them stripped of their clothing and ordered them to be beaten with rods. ²³ After they had given them a severe flogging, they threw them into prison and ordered the jailer to keep them securely. ²⁴ Following these instructions, he put them in the innermost cell and fastened their feet in the stocks.

²⁵ About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. ²⁶ Suddenly there was an earthquake so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken, and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened. ²⁷ When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. ²⁸ But Paul shouted in a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” ²⁹ The jailer ^[ ^b ^] called for lights, and rushing in, he fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. ³⁰ Then he brought them outside and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” ³¹ They answered, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” ³² They spoke the word of the Lord ^[ ^c ^] to him and to all who were in his house. ³³ At the same hour of the night he took them and washed their wounds; then he and his entire family were baptized without delay. ³⁴ He brought them up into the house and set food before them, and he and his entire household rejoiced that he had become a believer in God.

The continuing theme in our exploration of Acts is that God's Spirit shows up in surprising people, places, and moments. Grace breaks out where we least expect it. A Roman centurion joins the movement. Women are empowered to lead. A chief persecutor becomes Paul, the lead apostle. Gentiles and outsiders are welcomed. But like every great epic story, the Empire strikes back. Even if you destroy the death star in episode one, even if resurrection breaks the powers of death, the Empire persists. Our series continues to explore Paul’s resilience through setbacks, threats, and now jail—to live a great truth: love is the force we need.

Paul and Silas weren't looking for trouble, but it found them. They were trying to deal with a challenging situation with a troubled woman. There was no diagnostic manual to explain her condition. If someone was off, the only diagnosis was demon possession. We might think this will be another miracle story, but helping this woman means she can no longer function as a soothsayer, and her owner is losing money. Setting her free from exploitation also meant dismantling a profitable system built on her suffering.

Paul and Silas are arrested, beaten with rods, and thrown in jail. A sidebar here is that Paul and Silas are Roman citizens. Roman law says you cannot beat a citizen or imprison them without a trial. Something is very wrong when mob threats and violence replace the rule of law. An Empire that does this is not strong but is cracking. The once-great ideals have failed, and holding on to wealth and power become the hidden agenda. The success of the Jesus movement is partly because it reveals the contradictions and brutality of the Empire. One face claimed strength and honor. The other revealed crucifixion, violence, and imprisonment—tools used to dehumanize in the name of control. Jesus' followers offered the world a better way based on human dignity and grounded in agape love. (You will be happy to know that the chapter ends with a higher court stepping in and forcing an apology to Paul and Silas.)

Jail is not a place where people experience love and affirmation. I visited jail many times to screen people for transitional housing. Every hour of the day minimizes your existence as a free human being. A BBC article notes,

Day after day, year after year, imagine having no space to call your own, no choice over who to be with, what to eat, or where to go. There is threat and suspicion everywhere. Love or even a gentle human touch can be difficult to find. You are separated from family and friends. ¹

One former inmate said,

"It does harden you. It makes you a bit more distant; you become even harder, even colder, and more detached."

I once encountered a man in the church parking lot in Poughkeepsie, NY. He was powerfully built, had a shaved head, and covered with tattoos-and he was in tears. A parole officer dropped him at the church parking lot and told him to meet the pastor and go to the homeless shelter, or else he would be sent back to prison. He was terrified of everything. Sleep was impossible in an open bunk room, with no bars locking him in at night. He didn't know who to trust, had no compadres for mutual protection, and had even lost the ability to buy something in a store. Prison had hammered free choice out of him. He had learned to survive by hardening himself, but he was more afraid in freedom than ever.

The prison in Philippi was likely airless, crowded, and unsanitary, and the text tells us they are in stocks, chained together. We might expect to hear Paul and Silas' bitterness and despair. We would not be surprised to read about their dark night of the soul as they wonder where God is in the dank cell. But instead, the story highlights that they are spending the midnight hour singing hymns. I wonder what they sang? Perhaps, "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen."

At least 100 hymns in our hymnal quote Paul's letters. Paul later wrote a letter to the Philippians, and at least three songs from our hymnal may have been formed in that prison cell.

"Be thou my vision" mirrors Philippians 3:13–14 – "...forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on..."

Philippians 4:7 says, "And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts.: The hymn "It Is Well With My Soul" is based on these words written by a pastor whose entire family drowned in a shipwreck.

Philippians 1:18 speaks of rejoicing in all things, even hardship, a theme of our closing hymn, "How Can I Keep from Singing?" Listen below or read verse 3 (You can also listen to the Enya version, but I found this Mennonite choir to be the most clear and passionate version.)

What though my joys and comforts die,
I know my Savior liveth.
What though the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night he giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Love is lord of heav’n and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

Prison could not keep Paul and Silas from singing. Music has an energy of its own. Through poetry and vibration, it transports us to a higher consciousness. Singing has empowered the most important religious movements. Benedictines chanted together daily to sustain monastic life. Martin Luther put Christian words to beer hall songs to teach Reformation doctrine. Charles Wesley wrote hundreds of hymns to propel the Methodist movement across the American frontier. The Civil Rights movement surged with the spirituals of the black church.

Singing produces solidarity. Paul and Silas are together, participating in the reality of God present even in the darkest hour. Singing together, we join voices across centuries, prison bars, and boundaries. We remember that we are not alone. How many times have the words of a hymn reached you when you needed uplift?

The singing is interrupted by an earthquake. The seismic moment, shakes open the prison doors and shackles from the prisoner's legs. These effects are highly precise. Random earthquakes don't break chains. The text implies divine action. Earthquake is an apt metaphor for what is happening through Paul's journeys. The old foundations tremble. These tremors don't just crack stone—they fracture the certainties of the Empire. The old foundations—domination through fear, obedience through violence—fail. In their place, something new rises. Not the power of coercion but the strength of song. Not fear, but fellowship. The earthquake doesn't just free prisoners—it frees the story from the grip of the Empire.

The jailer, once the very agent of state control, is undone—not by force, but by faith. He had been entrusted with a simple task: keep the prisoners silent, shackled, and contained. But instead of silence, he hears singing. Instead of despair, he witnesses defiant joy. When the earthquake hits, and the doors swing open, his first instinct is fear. Not just fear of punishment from above but of a world where the rules no longer hold. In a moment of despair, he nearly takes his own life—until Paul's voice stops him: "Do not harm yourself. We are all here." It's not the tremor of the earth that shakes the jailer—it's the tremor of grace. He realizes that the men he guarded had already been free in Spirit. He, the one outside the chains, was the one truly imprisoned. And now, something in him breaks open. He takes them home, washes their wounds, and is baptized with his household. He moves from enforcer to disciple, from warden to worshipper. The song he once heard through stone walls now sings in his soul. Grace doesn't just shake the walls—it rewrites the roles. The man was never meant to be a jailer. He was meant to be part of the song.

We often fear the shaking ground beneath us. But sometimes, it's the way to freedom. Earthquakes—whether literal or spiritual—disrupt what no longer serves us. They shake open the prisons we didn't even know we were in: the prison of cynicism, the cell of false comfort in a suffering world, the solitary confinement of self-interest. These tremors invite us to live differently.

In Paul and Silas, we see resilience born of song. In the jailer, we know the vulnerability that leads to rebirth. And in the collapse of the prison walls, we glimpse a truth that still breaks through today: that love will find a way, even in the most locked-down places.

So, what prison are we sitting in? What song still waits to be sung? The Spirit has not stopped shaking the foundations. The hymns of freedom still echo through jail cells, refugee camps, protest marches, and churches. The invitation is the same now as it was: moving from guarding the old world to joining the new one.

The Spirit still moves in surprising places. In midnight hymns. In broken systems. In the most unlikely people—even us. Don't be afraid of the earthquake. Sing through it.

1. https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20180430-the-unexpected-ways-prison-time-changes-people?utm_source=chatgpt.com

Guided By Detours | Acts 16:6-15 | May 25, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 25 May 2025 16:05:09 GMT

Sometimes our detours become the new main road

Acts 16: 6-16

They went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. ⁷ When they had come opposite Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them; ⁸ so, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. ⁹ During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” ¹⁰ When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.

It’s tempting to believe that if we could discern God’s plan, life would run smoothly and bring fulfillment. Conversely, when life feels chaotic and out of whack, we think we are off course from where God is leading us. This theology is compelling because it makes logical sense to our organized brain. Find the divine plan, and life will be good. Stray from the path, and we will feel the repercussions. That’s an idea as old as faith itself. Psalm 1 paints that picture: the righteous flourish like trees planted by the waters, the wicked blow away like chaff.

However, that is not how things work out in the scriptures. Other Psalms lament, “Why do the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer?” The Book of Job complains about why bad things happen to good people. Prophets protest that injustice is winning. When we read about Paul’s missionary journeys, we confront a tension. God’s Spirit guides Paul, yet his work is chaotic and challenging. Even when he does the right thing, Paul suffers setbacks, must labor for months to see results, and is often unsure he is on track. Acts do not proceed like a self-help book; promising that once we know the secret of life, we move from strength to strength in our successes.

Our reading from Acts 16 says Paul tried to travel through four Roman provinces but was blocked by the Holy Spirit. Some English translations say the Spirit forbids him, which sounds annoyingly mysterious. We may think that Paul is getting clear directions from the mouth of God about what to do next. But a close read of the text will reveal that attending to the inner voice of God’s Spirit does not produce certainty, immediate success, or even peace of mind. Paul’s great work is full of stumbles and detours.

Why would Paul sense he is pushed away from these four places scattered across modern Turkey? The Great Commission said to share the message worldwide, so why not Phrygia, Mysia, and Bythnia, just because they are hard to pronounce? In context, this is Paul’s second missionary journey. Paul’s first journey through this region had mixed success. He is expelled from Antioch, threatened by a mob in Iconium, and stoned and left for dead in Lystra. There is a pattern to each incident. Paul is preaching in synagogues to Jews and Gentiles. When large numbers of Gentiles respond to the message, the old guard forces him out. (And the reason is not that people reject the message of Jesus per se but because the vision is inclusive. Paul is doing exactly what the early church discerned and suffering the consequences of backlash.

So, after not feeling the Spirit’s call in four different provinces, he dreams of a man in Macedonia calling him to come and help. That sounds like a welcome detour from being stoned. When Paul sets sail, he moves from Asia to Europe, landing in the Macedonian city of Philippi. His first major success is serendipitous. Luke says he goes on the Sabbath by the river where women gather to pray. Notice there is no story of preaching in the synagogue on the Sabbath. To have a synagogue requires ten men to form a minion. Perhaps there aren’t even ten Jewish men in Phillippi. And Paul never finds that man from his dream calling from Macedonia. Instead, he meets Lydia, a cloth merchant and head of a wealthy household. She becomes the first known European convert to the Jesus movement. The Spirit may guide Paul’s success in this story, but it does not unfold according to a careful plan or fulfill his original objective. It happens outside the institutions and customs Paul knows. It is the detour into unknown territory that yields fruit.

Detours are often powerful turning points in life. Frequently, the first sign is clearly marked, getting us off the main route, but then the signs become more sporadic and less clear the longer you go, and you wonder if you are still on the right track.

Just like Paul, I once thought I was on the right road—until I hit a spiritual roadblock. I was news director of the college radio station, reported for South Dakota Public Radio, and worked for a local easy listening station. I was offered a full-time job with KELO. It was a great deal, and I could finish college part-time and launch my career at 21. But, I had a dissatisfaction that I could not define. Maybe it was my growing sense that news was too often a business to gain listeners and advertising rather than a medium for telling the truth. Or it may have been my discomfort with reporting on someone’s pain and tragedy and then moving on to the next story. I also tired of saying, “And now back to more light and easy music, here on KELO-FM, Sioux Falls one and only, where you always have a friend.” (Imagine it in the creepy, easy listening voice!)

I took a detour and followed a vague but deeply present yearning to experience more of the world. Some might take a semester abroad or join the Peace Corps, but I joined a traveling mime ministry. I spent the summer painting my face white and visiting church youth groups from Sleepy Eye, Minnesota, to Queens. We performed in churches, Chuckie Cheese’s, and Jones Beach on Long Island. My friends and family doubted my sanity, but it was the detour I needed.

Some of my experiences were harrowing. One day, I drove our large Dodge Ram van through rush hour traffic in Queens to get to our performance. I was following a church member who was driving a Volkswagen Rabbit. He suddenly dove through two lanes of traffic and took an exit, and I was left going across a bridge with no idea where I was. There were no GPS devices or cell phones in 1985. So, I drove into Harlem at dusk. The shops were closing, and people were pulling down graffiti-covered metal shudders over their windows. Squeegee men were offering to wash my windows. Not only were we the only white people in sight, but we also had our mime faces painted. You cannot stick more as a white person than being a mime. I didn’t feel that white on a trip to Kenya. People pointed at our van and laughed, and others looked as concerned for us as we felt. (When I told this story to a racially diverse, mostly non-white group, they laughed hysterically. “Welcome to our world! This is what it feels like to us in America every day.”)

The short version ending is that we went to McDonalds to find a phone, which is not easy when you are a mime and can’t talk without breaking character. But we finally got directions back to Queens.

This experience stuck with me. Sometimes, when we get into a chaotic, even a little scary situation, we plan to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But other times, an internal discomfort calls us deeper. My lack of cross-cultural experience gnawed at me, leading me to a Boston seminary and a field education ministry with people living on the street. The detour became the new main road. We don’t have time to cover all the turns from mime to Maine. I want to point out a tension in the process. In hindsight, I sense moments when I believe that the Spirit moved and opened a new door for me. But in the moment, it was never 100 percent clear. I’m about 90 percent sure I’m in the right place for now, which is very high for me! Most of my crucial detours began with dissatisfaction that would not go away. I didn’t know how to resolve it at the moment. The resolution often involved walking through a door into the unknown. Whether it was becoming a mime, going to Maine, or Macedonia, neither Paul nor I knew what would happen until we arrived.

And I know I’m not alone. Many of us have stepped into seasons that felt more like disorder than direction. We often look at surrounding chaos as a threat disturbing our well-ordered plans. I don’t want chaos, but sometimes it just exists, whether I like it or not. Chaos is often a tool of injustice, making us feel cynical and demoralized. When a political spokesperson says one thing on Monday and the opposite by Friday, it is calculated to make us crazy and not know what to believe. We can pretend it isn’t there or get stuck in anger that doesn’t lead us anywhere. We can double down on our plans and desire to control things, events, and others. But when chaos stirs, our inner life must be strong and coherent so our actions can be clear and constructive.

The path won’t always be straight. It may not even be visible. But the Spirit still guides—sometimes through blocked roads, strange dreams, or quiet urgings. Even now, even in chaos, we find a next step. And that is enough. The church is where we gather—like Paul by the river—to listen for the Spirit, to name the detours, and to help each other walk them with courage.

Strange Dreams and Shared Tables | Acts 11:1-18 | Children's Sunday | May 18, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 18 May 2025 16:00:54 GMT

God's Spirit redraws the dividing lines

Acts 11:1-18 (click for full scripture.)

So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him and said, “You went into the house of uncircumcised men and ate with them.” Starting from the beginning, Peter told them the whole story. (v.2-4)

I like to think I'm an independent thinker—rational, open-hearted, with good moral judgment, and not easily pressured to conform. Social psychologists would tell me I am dead wrong. The people I hang out with likely have far greater influence than I realize. So, I probably rationalize some decisions to please the people with whom I want their approval.

I was stirred by exploring Peter's challenge when he gets criticized for eating with Gentiles. Peter had a transformative experience on a spiritual and relational level that pushed him to new insight: who belongs, who is in, and who is out of the community? Like many original thinkers, Peter's epiphany is not well-received by his community. I want to explore how Peter responded to the attacks in a way to build bridges rather than further division.

First, let's talk about Peter is up against about human nature. Psychologists have tons of data to back their point about how we conform to group pressure. Solomon Asch devised the line test in the 1950s. Here is an example. Participants were shown a line and had to pick from three other lines to see which was the same size. Five of the six participants were actors who would all give the same wrong answer. Guess what happened! 75 percent of the participants conformed with an obviously incorrect answer at least once. If we are so easily influenced about the length of a line, think how much we conform to complex issues of race, gender, and morality.

Stanley Milgram took things further, testing how far people would obey authority. Participants thought they were in a memory study. They were told to shock a “learner” (an actor) for each wrong answer, increasing voltage—even to “Danger: Severe Shock.” Even when the learner cried out in pain, 65% of the participants delivered the maximum punishment. This result shocked everyone (pun intended!).

Why do people act like this? Let's look at the example of Peter's opposition. Our first take might be that these people are barriers to change, stuck in their ways, and maybe even a little bit xenophobic against Gentiles. Aren't these the same kind of people who excommunicated Galileo and thought telescopes were an instrument of the devil? The same who burned witches or excluded people from church based on race, gender, class, or sexual orientation? After all, Acts names them the "circumcised believers." That doesn't sound like a label I want. I'm not against it, but it does sound creepy!

But let's walk in their sandals for a moment. Like most first century Jews, they chaffed under Roman rule. They are isolated, belonging to the faction of Judaism that is following Jesus, who Rome crucified. What is a gentile to them? Greco-Roman culture has been infiltrating Israel for three centuries. They have already fought one war in the Maccabean rebellion. Greek was the language of commerce, and Greek religion filled the empire with temples, idols, and strange gods. To Jews, this threatened their identity and the Ten Commandments' call to reject idolatry.

Peter's opponents act like many of us do when we believe our values are threatened. In their minds, Peter eating with Gentiles is contributing to the gradual eroding of the Jewish faith, and he is participating in the downfall of their religion and way of life. They’re caught—alienated from both Greek culture and mainstream Judaism for following Jesus.

Peter's response to them breaks some interesting ground. Peter could have pushed back and told them they were being like the Pharisees or that they were prejudiced. He could have told them to get with the program and stop being a barrier to God, and by the way, he was Peter, who worked side-by-side with Jesus and was commissioned by him to lead the church.

Instead, verse four reads, "Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step." He is going to take them through how his thinking evolved. How has your thinking evolved? Have you ever changed political parties or moved to a different denomination? Maybe you didn't believe in God for a while. Or do you now see an issue like gun control or gay rights in a different light? Perhaps you were a Yankees fan and switched to the Red Sox. What did you believe ten years ago that you no longer believe? If you tell me nothing has changed, you have either reached the state of perfection, or I should be worried about you.

It's healthy to grow and evolve. But we often state our positions without sharing how we shifted and came to this place. We can be angry and judgmental of people who haven't had the same experience and expect them to get on board. Peter does not get defensive. He is going step-by-step.

Step one: Pete has a strange dream. Peter is told to eat from a variety of unclean, non-kosher animals. It's a dream, so he might have seen a dancing pig in a toga, a snake is eating shrimp cocktail, and a rabbit is nibbling bacon-wrapped scallops. Peter knows better than to eat any of that stuff and piously refuses. It happens again, and a voice says not to call unclean what God has made clean. After three times, Peter wakes up and thinks, I should not have eaten that squid falafel. Was it a silly nightmare, or was it a divine message? Most of us aren't sure about intense dreams in the light of day.

While Peter ponders the dream, he gets invited to visit a Roman centurion in Caesarea. Cornelius, obviously a gentile, dreamed of an angel who told him to seek Peter's counsel. The dramatic scene is much like the Pentecost story from Acts 2, where God's Spirit is present, and all of Cornelius's household become believers. Once Peter told his story to the "circumcised believers," he quoted the words of Jesus, saying that the Holy Spirit would baptize all. He doesn't start by whacking them with a Bible; he brings his experience first. Peter is authentic. He shared his reluctance to change his mind about eating with forbidden food with gentiles. He is astonished to be in this situation, but it feels God-driven.

Let's wrap our minds around this conclusion. Two people come together from vastly different cultures with tensions and mutual suspicions. One is a Jewish fisherman, the other a Roman centurion. The only thing they had in common was a dreamlike vision that disturbed their status quo. They found common ground in a mutual experience of who God is.

A question we asked in Bible study was, “Who gets converted in this story? The standard interpretation focuses on Peter winning over Cornelius to following Jesus. But everyone in the story must go through a transformation. We often assume the goal is to bring someone else around—to persuade them, to change their mind, to win them over. But in this story, no one walks away unchanged. Not Peter. Not Cornelius. Not the believers back home.

Through the lens of our polarized divisions today, this whole story can feel like a fantasy. Who changes their mind anymore? We’re entrenched in worldviews, insulated from each other, exhausted by decades of the same divisions. I don’t want to give up my convictions—they’re hard-won—but I’m also weary of the attacks, the anger, and the fear of even speaking honestly. Is there any hope for real transformation?

I don’t have any easy answers. Last year I asked a hard question during a clergy meeting. Is it possible to be both a truth teller and a bridge-builder? These virtues are two of my highest values. Tell the truth. Build bridges. Too often, if I say what I believe is true, it angers people, and if I try to build a bridge, other people are angry because they see me compromising. How do we heal a society when honest compromise seems impossible?

Here I enter the realm of faith, not current evidence. Scriptures tell us that the early church transcended so many cultural and national divides. Saul the oppressor of Christians becomes their chief apostle. Cornelius the centurion believes. He later writes to the Galatians that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female. The motto of the United Church of Christ is “that they may all be one,” after Jesus’ prayer for his disciples. In light of all that, are we going to give up on overcoming the divides?

I know—it all sounds like a strange dream.

People from opposing worlds sharing meals. Minds opening. Hearts changing. Not through force, but through story. Not through arguments, but through presence.

But isn’t that how God so often works? Through visions we barely understand. Through invitations we never expected. Through conversations we once feared.

I believe the Spirit still moves—between unlikely people, through honest dialogue, and in hearts willing to be disturbed. Not everyone will change. But some will. And that might be enough.

May we be brave enough to speak truth, humble enough to listen, and faithful enough to believe that even now, God is building something new—one conversation, one meal, one converted heart at a time.

The Ongoing Resurrection Movement | Acts: 9:36-43 | May 11, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 11 May 2025 15:55:24 GMT

The Acts of the Apostles seeks to answer the question, "So what?"

Acts 9:36-43

³⁶ In Joppa there was a disciple named Tabitha (in Greek her name is Dorcas); she was always doing good and helping the poor. ³⁷ About that time she became sick and died, and her body was washed and placed in an upstairs room. ³⁸ Lydda was near Joppa; so when the disciplesheard that Peter was in Lydda, they sent two men to him and urged him, “Please come at once!”

³⁹ Peter went with them, and when he arrived he was taken upstairs to the room. All the widows stood around him, crying and showing him the robes and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was still with them.

⁴⁰ Peter sent them all out of the room; then he got down on his knees and prayed. Turning toward the dead woman, he said, “Tabitha, get up.” She opened her eyes, and seeing Peter she sat up. ⁴¹ He took her by the hand and helped her to her feet. Then he called for the believers, especially the widows, and presented her to them alive.

The most important question any sermon should answer is, “So what?” It’s helpful to know about the context of a biblical passage, how it relates to the historic Christian faith, tell a good story, or quote a poem. But at some point, we must ask, “Why does this matter? What difference does it make?” This season after Easter and before Pentecost is a great moment to ask, “So what?” Over the last six months, we have moved from Advent to Christmas and journeyed through 40 days of Lent. We have remembered the betrayal, arrest, and crucifixion of Jesus, culminating in Easter morning. It’s a great story and we know it well, but “So what?”

The Acts of the Apostles is the follow-up story written by the same author as Luke’s gospel to answer this question. What will become of this movement as Jesus is no longer present in the flesh? Why does it matter that he was raised from the dead? Will this small group of misfit disciples make any impact on the world?

If you lived in first-century Jerusalem, you could reasonably conclude that Jesus’s crucifixion was the end of the road. A few malcontents spread strange stories of divine resurrection, but wouldn’t the resurrected Christ have appeared at the Temple if they were true? That would be a climactic moment worthy of Steven Spielberg. But by the seventh chapter of Acts, Stephen is stoned to death, and the disciples in Jerusalem have scattered. The “powers that be” have effectively neutralized the movement, and Jerusalem will never be the capital of Christianity. But perhaps God’s Spirit has other plans.

Today’s reading is a transition point as the action moves to Joppa, the main coastal port of ancient Israel near modern Haifa. Often, location is part of the meaning of the passage. So why Joppa? On the map, it seems like a detour—but in the story of Acts, detours are often where the Spirit moves. The Hebrew narrative arc goes with the trade routes from Egypt in the South, moving east through Syria and stretching far to the East. Israel was not a seafaring nation. There are few great Jewish sailing tales like Homer’s Odessey, Jason and the Argonauts, or Moby Dick.

The only voyage is Jonah’s ill-fated attempt to escape his destiny to be a prophet to Assyria. Getting on a ship was going the wrong way and a sign of his disobedience to God’s call. And guess where Jonah launched-Joppa! You only go to Joppa to leave home, to stand on a swaying deck instead of solid ground, and you will likely go overboard and be swallowed by a whale. For the narrative to shift from Jerusalem to Joppa is to exit to stage left from the mainstream of the biblical tradition to this moment in time. It’s about to change from the land of the Jews to the sea of the Greeks.

But there are a few big surprises for us in Joppa. First, there is already a thriving community of Jesus believers in Joppa. They know who Peter is and invite him to come in a moment of distress and grief. I wonder how that happened. Jesus never went to Joppa. I estimate we are only 12 to 18 months past Easter. Somehow, a thriving church has sprouted while the main movement is being pulled out by the roots in Jerusalem. This church is growing in a diverse town of Jews and Greeks who look to the sea.

We can see the cultural diversity of Joppa from the leading actor using two names interchangably. Her Hebrew name is Tabitha, and her Greek name is Dorcas. Have you ever noticed that all the main characters in Acts undergo a name change? Simon has already become Peter. Saul will become Paul. Tabitha becomes Dorcas. Names shift to show a cultural identity shift, just like Robert is no name for a Pope. He chooses a name that symbolizes what his ministry will be like. Robert becomes Leo. Leo XIII was the pope who brought the church into the modern world and challenged the injustices of industrialization. He supported labor rights and fair wages. Renaming matters. As Christians, we should be comfortable calling people their chosen names because, clearly, it is a significant part of our tradition.

As the story shifts to Joppa, we see that the movement didn’t end in Jerusalem—it moved, adapted, and grew. The Spirit wasn’t stopped; it spread. The early church broadened its identity, embraced new cultures, and became more inclusive. That’s the “so what” of this passage—and it still speaks clearly to the church today.

As we return to Acts 9, Dorcas gives us a model for the kind of character and piety honored and cultivated in the early church. She dedicated her life to acts of good work and charity. Many of those gathered to mourn her death were widows, who were a vulnerable group in a patriarchal society. They showed Peter some wonderful clothes she had sowed for them, so they weren’t reduced to wearing rags. The character of this early community is to pay attention to poverty and suffering.

Notice in the very first line of this passage that Dorcas is called a disciple. I checked the Greek to ensure that it is the same word used for all the male disciples in the Gospels, just the feminine form. She is a disciple. Dorcas is the only person in the church that is called by name. Peter doesn’t meet with the male pastor; it sure looks like she is the head of this church. The church called for Peter because they had just lost their beloved pastor. Unfortunately, it took the church so long to recognize the equal discipleship of women. The Congregationalists ordained Antoinette Brown in 1858, the first woman ordained in the US. It was so controversial we didn’t fully affirm women’s ordination as a denominational policy until the formation of the United Church of Christ in 1957. It’s taken us a long time to catch up with what God’s Spirit was already doing in Joppa.

Dorcas has a legacy in the American Church. My last two congregations had a Dorcas Society. Women formed these societies in the 1800s to deal with poverty and distress. Many began in Britain in the industrial towns to support families of workers who were killed or injured. Dorcas Societies spread throughout the Northeast as women made room to organize and be leaders beyond the institutions of the local church. They gathered to make clothes, visit the sick, and deliver food, and many became philanthropy groups, too.

We keep adding layers of “so what” moments to the text about a church that includes Greeks and women and cares for the poor and suffering. That would be enough for this brief story to carry, but we also have Peter coming to this grieving church, praying for Dorcas and calling her back to life. I do not try to explain how this can happen any more than the Gospels explain what happened in the tomb on Easter morning. I can’t explain how resurrection happens nor do I want to explain it away. What is crucial is to embrace the meaning.

Resurrection is not merely a one-off event specifically for Jesus. Nor is it only a future promise of eternal life.
Resurrection continues and grows whenever we embrace the life that Christ lived among us. He is present when two or three are gathered.
Resurrection happens in Joppa not only on a deathbed but from the kindness of a disciple named Dorcas. It occurs from the point of her needle-pulling thread to make garments of dignity for widows.
Dorcas was raised again 19 centuries later by women who wanted to be full disciples, carry out good works, and care for the sick and suffering.
Resurrection is the power of life unleashed whenever we recognize that love means acting on behalf of others. In each of these acts, love snatches a small victory from death.
So—what does it all mean? What difference does it make? It means that resurrection is not locked in the past or held in reserve for the end of days. It is unfolding now, wherever love rises to meet suffering, wherever hope refuses to be buried. It means the Spirit moves still—across borders, beyond fear, into every corner where grace dares to grow.

The so-what is this: we are called to be resurrection people. Like Dorcas, we are called to clothe the vulnerable in dignity. Like Peter, we are called to show up in moments of grief and trust in what we cannot explain. Like the church in Joppa, we are called to embody a faith that includes, uplifts, and acts.

So let us go—not only to remember the story, but to become part of it. Let us go with open hands and open hearts. Let us go, trusting that God’s Spirit still moves—through us, beyond us, and always toward life.

Reflection questions for your week":

Where do you see signs of resurrection—not just in miraculous events, but in ordinary acts of love, inclusion, or renewal—in your own life or community?
Who are the “Dorcases” in your life—people whose quiet compassion and service have shaped you or others? How might you honor or emulate them this week?
Where might the Spirit be calling you—like Peter—to show up, cross a boundary, or respond to grief or need with presence and prayer?

Freedom Practices VIII: The Freedom of Resurrection | Luke 24:1-12 | Easter | April 20, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 20 Apr 2025 16:20:22 GMT

There is hope beyond death and taxes

Luke 24:1-12 (click for full reading)

While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. ⁵ The women ^[ ^b ^] were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men ^[ ^c ^] said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen. (v. 4-5)

The old saying goes, "Nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes." Tuesday was Tax Day here in the United States, and many of us parted ways with some of our savings. Wednesday, I received the news that IJ Pinkham died. Even though I knew he was ill, it came as a shock. This news is on top of memorials already planned for Donald Duncan and Arlene Smith. We come to Easter morning fully aware of the inevitable challenges of life. It costs us something to live, and those costs tend to rise more than they fall. And life is finite. We have lost many whom we love, and death will come for us someday as well.

It is worth returning to the context of Ben Franklin's statement about the inevitability of death and taxes. The quote appears in a letter dated November 13, 1789 , from Benjamin Franklin to Jean-Baptiste Le Roy , a French physicist and member of the Royal Academy of Sciences. The full quote reads:

"Our new Constitution is now established and has an appearance that promises permanency, but in this world, nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes."

Franklin wrote this letter at a precarious time. The Constitution had been approved a year earlier and took effect five months before, when George Washington became the first president. The states were skeptical of centralized power, and tensions simmered between North and South. The colonies had massive war debts and no national currency, only money issued by each state. Every major power in the world was a monarch who claimed the divine right to rule. They all watched and expected the rebellious colonies to collapse from their lack of coherence. Franklin received news from Le Roy that the French Revolution had its own problems. That summer, Parisians stormed the Bastille, a symbol of the monarchy's power. A large crowd of women marched from Paris to Versailles, demanding bread, forcing the royal family to flee.

France would soon descend into the Reign of Terror, where more than 16,000 people were executed by guillotine.

The key phrase in Franklin's letter should have been that the new Constitution has an appearance that promises permanency. His hope that something new was beginning was far more important than the cynicism of death and taxes as the only sure things. The story is a reminder that essential moments in history didn't feel like inevitable outcomes to the people living at the time. Every great human evolution of consciousness felt fragile in its infancy. Franklin's era was uncertain. So was the first Easter. The women who came to the tomb were also living in a world where power seemed absolute and fragile all at once.

The women who came to the tomb Easter morning were keenly aware that death and taxes were strong forces in their lives. They knew their taxes enriched Rome, and they had just seen with their own eyes that Rome had the power over life and death. They came that morning with their spices and oils to prepare the body of Jesus for final resting. Death was not outsourced to a funeral home. The intimate acts of preparation were a family affair, a ritual of love and grief. The older women had done this before, but perhaps it was a first for some younger ones. Did any women in the silent morning procession turn their faces to warm in the precious golden sunrise? Did the sound of early birds' singing reach their ears? Or were they still remembering the shouts to crucify, the whip's crack, the taunts of Roman soldiers?

The women did not come to the tomb with any hope but rather with the solemn awareness of the inevitability of death. When they see the stone rolled away and the tomb empty, they do not shout, "Halleluiah! He is risen!" Verse four says they are perplexed; the Greek word apereo can mean confused, bewildered, or at a total loss about what to think or do. Death may be a harsh inevitability, but at least they had a ritual of what to do. But now the body is gone. What new disaster does this signal?

Two men in dazzling clothes suddenly appear. To say they are dazzling, I don't think Luke meant they were dressed like Elton John, wearing Versace with sequins and feathers. The word for dazzling is closer to a lightning flash. This appearance echoes two other famous scenes in Luke, the angels appearing to shepherds at Jesus' birth and Jesus himself at the Transfiguration. These are the three significant announcements about Jesus—worthy of dazzling attire! So, now must be when the women break into song, with all the Alleluias, full organ pipes, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in the background. "Christ the Lord is risen today, Alleluia!!!"

Instead, while the women are face down in terror, the angels engage in a teaching moment,

"Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to the hands of sinners and be crucified and on the third day rise again."

This response feels unfair. The shepherds were told to "Be not afraid," and said this is good news with great joy. Matthew's angels at the tomb also say, "Be not afraid." John has the angel say, "Woman, why are you weeping?" Why does Luke have the angels give these women a brief theology lecture? Pastoral Care 101 is "Though shalt not lecture the grieving." In Bible study Monday, we thought the question, "Why are you looking for the living among the dead?" was a bit snarky.

This question occupied my mind all week. Are there ways I am looking for the living among the dead? Are we too busy doomscrolling through the news that we do not act with hope? Are we holding on to what has died—so tightly that we can't reach for what gives life? Does injustice overwhelm us? Does this mean our hands have such a tight grip on fear, anxiety, grudges, or resentments that we have no room for new life, curiosity, or new ways of doing things? It is hard to find life if we are rummaging around the long-dead things.

Perhaps this question is more directly relevant to the reader than the women. It echoes Moses' ancient call in his farewell speech to choose the way of life:

"See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity... I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live."
(Duetoronomy 30: 15, 19)

Another reading of the angels' question occurs to me. Their goal was not to bring comfort or good news but to charge these women with the sacred task of bearing witness—to proclaim that Jesus no longer belongs to the realm of the dead but to the living.

Perhaps the angels speak so matter-of-factly because they know what lies ahead: not praise but resistance; not Alleluias but disbelief-even ridicule.

But these women are up to the task. They have stood at the cross. They have returned to tend a broken body. They are strong-hearted enough to carry a message of life even in the face of death.

They will not back down when called ridiculous, naïve, or hysterical.

Because angels know, as we do, that death and taxes feel inevitable. That life often isn't fair, that the world can be unjust. And yet—into that very world, they carry something new.

The resurrection didn't arrive in a time of peace or progress. It broke in when things were falling apart. It does not break forth because the nation has finally become righteous enough to deserve it. Humanity had not finally reached an apex of spiritual enlightenment to understand the ways of God. It arrives in the uncertainty of history. It makes a way where we see no way.

We still live in an uncertain world. There are wars and famines, inequality, and injustice. But that question still echoes from the empty tomb:

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?"

It is not just a rebuke. It's an invitation.

An invitation to stop scouring the tombs of disappointment and despair for answers they cannot give.
An invitation to stop clinging to old certainties that no longer give life.
An invitation to risk believing that life can break through — even here, even now.

Christ is not in the grave. The body is not where they left it.

And neither are you.

You are not abandoned to death, despair, fear, or shame. You are called to bear witness to life.

So go.
Carry this fragile, impossible, joyful news into a world that needs it more than ever:

He is not here. He is risen. May he rise in you!

Freedom Practices VI: The Freedom to Speak | Luke 19:28-40 | Palm Sunday | April 13, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 13 Apr 2025 16:14:22 GMT

Once truth is loose, it won't be stopped

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”

⁴⁰ “I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”

Luke 19:39-40

Writer Annie Dillard’s essay “Teaching a Stone to Talk” tells the story of her neighbor, Larry, who tries to train a rock to speak. Much like training a parrot, he puts the stone on a shelf daily and says a few words. Dillard does not know why he decided on this action or what he hopes the rock will say. She writes, “The wonder is not that it fails, but that he keeps at it.”

Though the ritual is absurd, Dillard does not mock him for it. She sees it as a metaphor for our spiritual hunger for God. We persist even when we encounter the sheer silence of the divine in the face of our questions and sufferings. Dillard searches nature for signs of God with the rigor of a biblical scholar. She finds trees, rocks, and rivers alive with divine presence and seeks to understand their creator’s wisdom.

Biblical writers often call our attention to the wonders of nature to awaken us to the presence of God and teach us wisdom. Nature’s voice is not always passive, like a painting in a museum. Listen to this passage from the Book of Job,

But ask the animals, and they will teach you;
The birds of the air and they will tell you;
Ask the plants of the earth, and they will teach you;
And the fish of the sea will declare to you.
Who among all these does not know
That the hand of the Lord has done this?
In God’s hand is the life of every living thing
And the breath of every human being.

When Jesus tells the Pharisees the very stones would shout out, this may be more than a metaphor. Jesus often used hyperbole. He said, “It’s harder for a rich man to get to heaven than a camel through the eye of a needle. Remove the plank from your eye before the speck from your neighbors.” The stones will shout. The truth will sound no matter how you try to stop it. But what is truth Jesus brings on Palm Sunday? Why do some cheer while the Pharisees resisted? What were they afraid of? Let’s look at the scene more closely.

Multiple symbols embellish the story. Jesus begins his journey from the Mount of Olives, where Zachariah said the Messiah will appear. The close reader will notice that the chief symbol of the day, the palms, is missing from Luke’s narrative. Instead, people throw their cloaks before Jesus, and his donkey walks across the garments. Today, we roll out red carpets to honor fame, but that pales compared to laying down your cloak in the dirt.

I found only one biblical parallel: placing garments on the road when Jehu was declared king (II Kings 9:13). I doubt the royal symbolism is lost on the religious leaders as throngs of people shout praise and honor Jesus even with their clothes. It’s Passover, the highest holy day. Jerusalem is packed with pilgrims, and Jesus’s fanfare creates a significant disruption. The Pharisees fear Roman crackdowns, arrests, or riots. No pastor wants police involvement in their festival, like an arrest in the middle of the Christmas pagaent.

Meanwhile, Jesus also embraces upside-down symbolism by riding a donkey. Luke spends more time arranging for the donkey than describing the parade—so it must matter. You don’t have to be a biblical scholar to understand the difference between riding gloomy Eeyore into Jerusalem versus arriving on a mighty Arabian steed. Donkeys don’t carry kings. They carry sidekicks—Sancho Panza, not Don Quixote. They’re humble, get-it-done burden bearers. And that makes Palm Sunday hard to preach: we want to focus on the hosannas. Even the NRSV calls this the triumphal entry. But it is the entry of the one who bears burdens, not the hero who comes out on top.

By riding the donkey, Jesus repeats his message: the last shall be first, the first last, and the greatest the servant. Now, he delivers this truth to the Temple leaders—a spiritual Doordash they didn’t order and don’t want. They push back, “Make them stop Jesus, and remind them who is in charge.” Jesus answers, “Good luck with that. When the truth is loose, even stones will shout.”

We’d like to think we’re the ones throwing our LL Bean jackets in front of his donkey. But during holy week, everyone around Jesus fails. The disciples fall asleep when needed. Peter denies him three times. Judas betrays him. So, maybe we should imagine ourselves in the Pharisees sandals, asking Jesus to tone it down.

The Pharisees weren’t evil—they were guardians of tradition, trying to protect their people and their place in a delicate, dangerous balance of power. But in their concern for order, they missed the vital truth of Jesus that could set them free. It’s easy to point fingers at them, but how often do we do the same?

We silence uncomfortable truths in favor of polite religion. We ask the prophets in our midst to tone it down, to stop disturbing the peace, and to speak only of positive things. We curate our faith to be palatable, respectable, and safe. We say, “Not here, not now.”

Like the Pharisees, we may not reject the truth outright—but we push it to the margins, delay its demands, and disguise our fear of disruption as prudent caution. And all the while, the truth is undeterred because it does not need our permission. If we do not speak it, even the stones will. Truth doesn’t vanish just because we avoid it.

Yet deep down we long for a truth that is etched in stone. Humans often try to get stones to speak by making sacred monuments. We wonder at the ancient engineering feats of Stonehenge or the giant Moai statues on Easter Island. In the Old Testament, various characters place stones in memory of critical spiritual occasions. After Jacob envisioned a stairway to heaven, he built a pile of rocks, anointed it with oil, and named the place Bethel. Moses put twelve stones around Mount Sinai to remember the covenant made with God. We bury our dead with stone monuments and crosses in the hopes that they speak of eternity beyond our mortal flesh. We long for the stones of our sacred places to speak words of assurance and tell us absolute truths.

But there is a difference between carving stones to look like the God we want and listening to what the stones say. Are we trying to make stones speak, or are we trying to learn their language?

If stones do speak, Maine would be one of the noisiest places on earth. A stone ridge in my backyard rises like the curve of a whale surfacing for air. It is an information highway for traveling deer, foxes, and birds, and I learn as I observe life moving along. The Maine shore tells the geological story of the earth. Twenty thousand years ago, the last Ice Age glaciers carved deep bays and valleys out of granite and schist. Our woods are scattered with great round boulders like a giant child forgot their marbles mid-game. My first view of morning reminds me that the earth was older and active long before civilization. If Bishop Usher and the creationists who believe the world began in 4000 BCE visited Maine, they would know they were late to the creator’s party.

Walking our ancient shores reminds us of how shallow our 24-hour news cycles have become. The 15-second TikTok video with millions of views is just a wave crashing and disappearing against the rock that has seen it all come and go. Rock, stone, and mountain tell the story of the earth that began long before what we call the Stone Age.

We carve things in stone when we want them to last.
We carve names into granite walls to honor soldiers who gave everything.
We carve the image of Martin Luther King Jr. in towering marble, standing as a reminder that justice rolls down like waters.
We etch the names of first responders like firefighters, police, and nurses into the 9/11 monument, declaring that courage and compassion leave a mark on history.
We lay down headstones to whisper our grief and hope across generations.

The question is not whether the stones are speaking.
The question is whether we are listening.

If we open our hearts, we will hear truth not only etched in commandments or carved into marble, but spoken through compassion, through justice, through mercy—
Truth that does not boast but bears burdens.
Truth that kneels to wash feet, tends to the wounded, and feeds the hungry.

Because what we put into stone—what truly lasts—is not our power or our pride,
But a truth made visible in service.

So here is the question we each must answer:
What truth will your life carve into the world?
Whose burden will you help carry?
What kind of love will you leave behind, worth remembering in stone?

That is what the stones remember.
That is what they shout.

So let us listen.
And let us live a truth worth carving in stone.

Freedom Practices IV: The Risk of Freedom | Luke 15:1-3,11-32 | Fourth Sunday in Lent | March 30, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 30 Mar 2025 13:19:42 GMT

How to live when love hurts

Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

15 Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. ² And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” ³ So he told them this parable:

¹¹ “There was a man who had two sons. ¹² The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. ¹³ A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. ¹⁴ When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵ So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. ¹⁶ He would gladly have filled his stomach ^[ ^b ^] with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. ¹⁷ But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! ¹⁸ I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; ¹⁹ I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ’ ²⁰ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. ²¹ Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ ^[ ^c ^] ²² But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. ²³ And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, ²⁴ for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

²⁵ “Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶ He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. ²⁷ He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ ²⁸ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. ²⁹ But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. ³⁰ But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ ³¹ Then the father ^[ ^d ^] said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. ³² But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”

Some scriptures sound ancient and strange, like we just brushed off mummy dust to read them. But today’s passage about the prodigal son hits us with so much emotional resonance that we feel shot through the heart. Most families have lived through one of these soul-shaking events. A child rebels and leaves home in anger. Someone makes a terrible mistake but never reaches out because of shame or a belief they are cut off forever. Sibling rivalry keeps a family tied in knots for decades. These estrangements inflict wounds that are hard to heal. Love hurts, as the Scottish heavy metal band Nazareth sang during my teenage years. We played this song every time we got dumped:

Love hurts, love scars
Love wounds and marks
Any heart

ht tps://youtu.be/soDZBW-1P04

It's popular to focus on the joyous turnaround part of the story. We like narratives where the main character crashes and burns, and then rises from the ashes to a better life. Rocky Balboa goes from washed-up boxer to champion. In Les Mis, Jean Valjean, once a convict with no future, is transformed by grace and devotes his life to passing it on. Tara Westover’s memoir “Educated” tells her story of escaping from a cultish family, but not without deep inner conflict and painful transformation.

Jesus’ parable captures an epic story in just 20 verses—but let’s not rush to the happy ending. Before the celebration, there is pain. There are clues in the story that show how love hurts for each character. The father, son, and brother are each wounded in this story. Hurt people get defensive. They withdraw, cut people off, or blame and scapegoat others. Each character must learn to move toward openness and growth to heal their heart and the relationship.

To understand the parable’s full force, we need to step back and consider the context. At the start of Luke 15, the Pharisees are grumbling because Jesus is eating with tax collectors and sinners. They think he should not be associating with those people. Pharisees want to be clear: who are the righteous people, who are the sinners, who is in and who is out. They would have loved Westerns because all you had to do was look at the color of the hat, white or black.

Jesus responds with not one, not two, but three parables about the joy of finding something lost. A woman finds a valuable coin. A shepherd searches for a lost sheep. A father welcomes a lost son. When loss and brokenness are overcome, we should rejoice, not be upset because people don’t neatly fit into our categories of who is in and who is out of our circle.

That said, I don’t think Jesus is telling us to ignore harmful and destructive behavior. The parable is not about a battered woman welcoming back her abuser for the sake of forgiveness. Jesus also told his disciples to shake the dust off their feet when they were not well received. Don’t throw your pearls before swine. You don’t have to give away all your heart has to offer to people who refuse to respect and appreciate who you are. If Jesus knew modern psychology, I think he would agree that healthy boundaries are good. But don’t make your boundaries so tight that you are inflexible, put people in a box, and don’t allow for change and transformation.

Let’s start with the character of the father. His younger son wants his inheritance. We all know how inheritances work. You receive a portion of a relative’s estate when they die. What the son is saying to the father is, “You are dead to me.” If you were in the parent’s shoes, how would you react? Would you refinance your house, break into your 401K, and give your child their inheritance while you are still alive? I’m guessing not because this request is bonkers! A reasonable parent might say, “I’ll help with college, or I’ll give you a security deposit for an apartment, and if you want to make your way, get a job.”

What could explain the father’s extravagant generosity in the face of such an outrageous request? Did he feel guilty for not being home more? Did he feel like a failure? Was he at his wits end with a selfish son? Or was he so generous of spirit that he would risk so much out of love? Whatever the father’s reason for the gift, I can imagine the heart constricting in his chest as the son goes out to the world ill-prepared and over-financed. Did he look down the road daily, longing to see a lone figure walking back? Remember, this parable follows the lost sheep, where the shepherd leaves the flock to find the one, but here, the father must let go of the sheep to find his way. Control is not the answer. The father risks hoping that his son will learn how to be free.

While the father waits with an aching heart, the younger son is busy unraveling. He quickly uses his new freedom and fortune. “squandering his property in wild living.” The Greek word “asozo” shows the sons behavior to be more self-destructive. “Sozo” means to save. The son acts “asozo,” the opposite of saving. He loses everything and ends up alone in a time of famine. The terrible failure ends at a pigsty, where the son starves for the pig’s food. I raised hogs, and I like them. But Jewish dietary codes forbid pork as spiritually unclean. There is no such thing as the Jewish Pork Producers Council. He has hit bottom.

As the son wrestles with shame, he remembers life on the farm. Dad’s looking pretty good right now. The parable says, “he came to himself.” He lost himself along the way. His self-image, integrity, and worth are shattered. Too often, in despair, we think there is no going back. The bridge is burned. There is no welcome home. People accept failure as an identity. Sometimes, they blame others to avoid self-loathing. But this man comes to himself. He sees his error and is willing to risk humiliation and rejection to find himself. So, the son practices this little speech he plans to say:

Father, I’ve sinned against God; I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’

Perhaps he repeats this speech hundreds of times on the long walk home. But he never gets to say it. Upon arrival, the father brushes it aside with an extravagant welcome. We might expect the father to say, “What do you have to say for yourself? Did you learn your lesson?” Had the father gone through months of doubt? Did he harbor any resentment? Instead, he runs his son, a culturally undignified thing to do. He kisses him repeatedly and throws a party with great indulgence.

Hollywood would have ended the movie with this triumphant reunion. But the older son has feelings, too. It’s easy to condemn him for being jealous and lacking in charity for his brother. But wouldn’t you be miffed? Your irresponsible younger sibling comes home smelling like a pig and gets a party. Classic family dynamics where the older sibling feels like they have to carry the load and younger siblings get all the breaks. (Or if you are a younger sibling, classic first-born who always thinks they are the boss of me.). When these things don’t get sorted out, I’ve watched people in their sixties still fighting out sibling rivalry at a parent’s funeral.

Kudos to the father for paying attention to the oldest son’s hurt. It’s painful to feel taken for granted. The father reminds him that everything he has belongs to the son, addressing the insecurity of connection. When we feel insecure, it is hard to celebrate someone else’s good fortune. But this can lead to bitterness and trap us in smallness.

C.S. Lewis once wrote,

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers of love is Hell.”

That’s the truth this parable lays bare. Love will always carry risk. To open your arms means opening your heart to pain—but also to joy, to healing, to reunion.

So, we come back to the origin of the parable. The Pharisees can’t accept that people once on the outside and be welcomed equally into the Beloved Community. Ultimately, the risk of freedom is the risk of love—love that waits, hopes, and opens its arms, even when it hurts.

But love also sets boundaries. The father in this story doesn’t chase his son or shield him from the consequences of his choices. He lets him go, not out of indifference, but out of hope that he will find his way home.

That’s the tension we live in. Real love doesn’t enable harm—but it also refuses to shut the door forever. It leaves the porch light on.

So where in your life are you being called to risk freedom today? To step out of shame? To release control? To hold a boundary—but keep your heart open?

The father in the story ran toward his son, not because he forgot the pain—but because love still had the final word. Love always carries risk. But the greater risk is living without it.

Freedom Practices III: The Patience of Freedom | Luke 13:1-9 | Third Sunday in Lent | March 23, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 23 Mar 2025 13:13:21 GMT

Like a gardener, do all you can-then wait.

Luke 13:6-9

Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and hewent to look for fruit on it but did not find any. 7 So he said to the man who tookcare of the vineyard, ‘For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on thisfig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?’ 8 “‘Sir,’ the man replied, ‘leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around itand fertilize it. 9 If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.’”

How patient are you? On a scale of 1 to 10, where do you stand? What made you most impatient this past week?

I've been observing myself to see where I am impatient this week. When do I start to fidget or feel irritated? I'm generally patient, so I thought it fun to take a patience quiz. (Try it here.) I expected a high score, but it wasn’t that kind of test—it identified how I’m impatient.

My scores said I was much more patient with others than with myself. The results noted that I get bored with routine. I'm curious and like new things, but I often get distracted and leave things unfinished. I'm too impatient to follow through when I'm eager for the next thing. (For the record, I only have six books waiting to be finished.) The recommendations said this impatience could stem from the desire to distract me from things that make me uncomfortable or fear failure. I start a new project instead of doing what is most important and often demanding.

This test was not as fun as I thought, but it was on target. The quiz reminded me that we are all impatient in different ways, likely due to something we are uncomfortable with about ourselves. When we are impatient with ourselves, we are not free.

Our parable from Luke 13 instructs us about patience by illustrating a fig tree. When you bite into a fig, you taste 11,000 years of human civilization. The earliest records date fig cultivation to near Jericho in Israel. When a biblical passage mentions a fig tree or a vineyard, it evokes a Middle Eastern cultural symbol of the good life. Flourishing figs and vines means all is well, the nation is prosperous and peaceful, and all is well with the soul.

Figs take years to develop and can outlive humans. Planting a fig tree is not just a hope for tomorrow but a hope for a generation. After three years of waiting, the man who planted the tree is frustrated that no fruit has come his way. Is that reasonable?

According to my Google search, figs produce fruit between two and six years after planting. Numerous factors influence the maturity date. Figs need sun and struggle in rain. Overwatering causes root rot, and bad pruning affects flowering. Fig trees are not radishes that sprout in days and are ready to eat in a few weeks. I don't like to eat radishes, but I plant them because their growth rate to harvest is so satisfying.

The fig tree owner demands productivity, saying, "Don't waste the soil on an unproductive tree. Cut it down and plant a new tree!" But the tree has just entered the possible productivity zone. If the tree is cut down, three whole years are lost, plus it will take three more years to get a new tree going.

The landscaper in the parable understands the dynamics of cultivation and encourages the owner to be patient another year with the fig tree. Dig around the roots and aerate the soil, put some fertilizer around it, and let's see what happens.

Trees, like humans, are complicated living organisms, and we don't all unfold on the exact timetables. Patient fig producers can be rewarded with a crop for 50 years—long enough to pass on to descendants.

Where is God in this parable?

You might quickly associate the owner of the land with God. If so, God has the authority over the earth and life and can judge what to do next. If the fig tree isn't bearing fruit, cut it down. If a person isn't bearing fruit, they will be judged and uprooted.

But what if God is the gardener?

Then God is patient, understands that people take time to grow into who they are, and does everything possible to promote human flourishing. A third possibility is that the parable demonstrates the interplay of justice and mercy. As disciples of Jesus, we are responsible for being fruitful with the lives we have, but God is patient and merciful as we find our way.

While portrayals of God as an angry judge are common, patience is more prevalent . From the first time, humans disregard God in Eden, through every era in Scripture, God holds back on judgment to give people time to try again and mend their ways. Jesus often revealed a God of second chances in how he treated sinners. Every time we sing "Amazing Grace," we proclaim a patient God who continues to work with us as we are.

Grace is Christianity 101. We know this—but the challenge is acknowledging God's patience and acting with patience.

For people who have tried God's patience for generations, we have not shown as much for each other or ourselves. Patience is listed as a fruit of the Spirit, one we all can acknowledge needing improvement. Yet it persists. Let's explore patience more deeply and how we can cultivate it to grow within us.

As we explore patience from different angles, I'm starting with the definition of impatience because we understand it.

Impatience is the emotional state of restlessness, irritation, or frustration that arises when a person experiences delays, obstacles, or unmet expectations. It shows a struggle to tolerate waiting, ambiguity, or effort. We live in a next-day delivery culture where to be slow is almost a moral offense. How long will you stand in line or stay in the phone queue waiting to talk to a human? When you must wait, do you think, "I'm so grateful I have a moment to catch my breath and ponder life"? Or do you keep checking your watch, fidgeting through your phone, and begin to feel angry that your time is being wasted?

How dare they make you wait?

Restaurant workers report a rise in people being verbally abusive. Waiting doesn't just make us impatient—it makes us frustrated and angry.

Given that reaction, it's interesting that the Greek word for patience is macrothymia. Macro means far off, as in the macro picture. Thymia means anger, wrath, or passion. This patience means we don't rush to anger—we are slow to angry reactions.

The Hebrew word is similar to when we read Psalm 103:8, "The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love." The word literally means "long in nostril." Someone who can take a deep breath before acting.

The consumer culture attitude of "I want what I want, and I want it now" has seeped into our relationships, politics, and even thoughts. When Amazon, Facebook, and your smartphone can deliver goods and information quickly and efficiently, we unconsciously expect that of others.

Patience is the ability to endure delay, hardship, suffering, or provocation without frustration or complaint. It is a virtue that allows one to remain calm and steadfast in the face of difficulties, trusting in a greater purpose or outcome. That sounds terrible. Why would we want to do that? Why can't the world come to me instead of me taking life on life's terms?

Chris Hayes just wrote a book titled The Sirens' Call: How Attention Became the World's Most Endangered Resource. He shared this anecdote about holding his newborn son—the wonder of feeling his warm breath and smelling that fresh new life smell. While in wonder, he notices his phone and feels the pull to check his email and see what people say on social media. He stops himself in mid-reach and thinks, "What am I doing? There is nothing more important than holding this baby for the first time! Not Candy Crush, breaking news, or Facebook reels of hilarious cats."

“We can't be with others if we don't slow down and be patient.
If we can't be in the moment, we will always be anxious and out of touch.”

The University of Virginia engaged in research where participants were asked to sit in a room and do nothing for fifteen minutes. People hated it. So, the researchers offered the alternative of giving yourself a shock over sitting quietly. The result? Many participants preferred to sit in the room and shock themselves rather than be alone with their thoughts.

Two-thirds of men preferred electroshocks to sitting quietly—and one guy shocked himself 190 times in 15 minutes to avoid being alone with his thoughts!

Patience is not just about waiting—
It's about trusting.

Trusting that growth is happening beneath the surface.
Trusting that fruit takes time to ripen.
Trusting that God hasn't given up on us—
So we don't need to live like we've given up on ourselves.

The fig tree in Jesus' parable wasn't cut down because it still had potential.
And so do we.

God, like the gardener, sees the long view.
God digs around our roots,
nourishes us with grace,
gives us room to breathe.
and time to become.

What if we did the same?
What if we stopped rushing to judgment?
What if we were slower to anger—kinder to others—and gentler with ourselves?

That's what freedom looks like.
Not being driven by urgency or shame,
But moving through life with trust, with grace, with patience.

Maybe it's time to dig around our roots.
To loosen the soil.
To feed what's hidden.
To trust the process.
And to wait with expectant faith.

Freedom Practices II: The Courage to Be Free | Luke 13:31-35 |Second Sunday in Lent | March 16, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 16 Mar 2025 13:07:26 GMT

The mothering hen against the crafty fox

Luke 13:31-35

³¹ At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” ³² He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ^[ ^a ^] ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. ³³ Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ ³⁴ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! ³⁵ See, your house is left to you. ^[ ^b ^] And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when ^[ ^c ^] you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’ ”

A few weeks ago, our neighbors came dinner and presented us with a dozen eggs from their hens that just started laying. With egg prices these days, that is a valuable gift. I noticed the price of lobster and eggs are almost the same at Pinkham's Deli. But I also valued these eggs because I knew a fox had slaughtered their chickens last year, and they were starting from scratch. Raising chickens can be heartbreaking. Hens don't fly or have a lot of defenses against predators, and they are so enticing to eat.

I also saw a little red fox on our property, where he could stake out his maneuvers. He didn't look deadly, but looks are deceiving. Foxes are intelligent and adaptable. They navigate using the earth’s magnetic field, open latches, and trick other animals into traps. Some even learn traffic signals to cross safely. All the folklore about foxes tricking animals to get what they want is based on reality. They are quite cunning.

I wonder if Jesus was drawing on one of the many ancient fables about foxes and hens as he responds to the Pharisees about Herod's threats. My first read of the scripture focused on Jesus' courage to stand his ground as he is warned to leave. Why did Jesus call Herod a fox and compare himself to a mother hen? It doesn't sound flattering to either one!

Our story starts with the Pharisee's warning that Herod wanted to kill Jesus. Herod executed John the Baptist in Luke 9, and when Jesus became popular, Herod worried that John had come back from the dead. Why are the Pharisees warning Jesus? Their relationship was mostly adversarial. The Pharisees accused Jesus of blasphemy and lawbreaking, and he fired back, calling them hypocrites, vipers, blind guides, and unmarked graves. Jesus was not a meek debater! If he had been a settled pastor, I'm sure his Deacons would have told him to cool it. Don't make so many waves; people will get upset. A small group of Pharisees may want to help Jesus, but Jesus didn't say, "Thanks for the warning." When he instructs them to speak with Herod, he makes the point that he knows they are Herod's messengers.

Herod wants to get rid of Jesus, but killing him is problematic. John's execution created dissent, and moving on Jesus might have sparked a rebellion. It's better to threaten and scare him off. This is how tyrants work: make an example of one, and the rest fall in line. It happens in politics, workplaces, even families. Fire one person loudly, and everyone else will get the message. If you step out of line or criticize leadership, they will find a way to put you in your place for everyone to see. Vote the wrong way on the bill, and you will get a primary challenge or lose campaign funding. You know you are playing in Herod's world when your opinion leads to threats and intimidation.

Jesus shows courage when he says,

"Tell that fox that I've no time for him right now. Today, and tomorrow I'm busy clearing out the demons and healing the sick; the third day I'm wrapping things up." (Lk 13:32 – The Message Translation)

Using the word fox cuts Herod down to size. He is not Herod, the Lionhearted, or the Eagle of Galilee. Herod is a sneaky little fox, still dangerous but not all-powerful. Jesus calls the bluff. He is not going to be intimidated by a fox.

Jesus's response teaches us two things about the nature of courage. First, when we feel called to do the right thing or speak an unpopular truth, we tend to inflate the potential opposition so humongous that we lose heart. Out of fear, we turn the fox into a lion in our minds. My first thought when contemplating a challenging situation is to envision the worst possible response. If I tell the truth, people will get angry. I will be fired, I won't be loved anymore. I will be locked in a gulag, and I will die alone and penniless. (See, I'm really good at this game! You can play Catastrophe with me sometime, but I will win.). Our brains have developed a threat detection system to protect us from harm over millions of years. This ancient reptilian part of our brain can't always distinguish between a lion in the grass or a situation that makes us uncomfortable and anxious.

Courage requires us to move beyond instinctive fear. Instead of fight-or-flight reactions, we must assess the situation with clarity. Speaking truth is often braver than fighting. Courage is meeting the moment honestly and saying what needs to be said with clarity and some generosity of spirit never hurts. You can say things perfectly or do precisely the right thing and still get pushback. No good deed goes unpunished. But I have accumulated far more regrets from not speaking up than from saying my piece. For all the angry voices in our world, I think those who know the truth and won't speak up are just as harmful.

Second, clear purpose strengthens courage. When Jesus meets opposition, he returns to his mission statement. He heals people and clears out the demons. Jesus' first sermon in Nazareth spells out that he has come to set people free at multiple levels, heal the sick, and free the captives. This scripture is the ninth time in Luke that Jesus is associated with healing the sick and driving out demons Jesus knows his mission: bringing people to God’s healing love and driving out the demons that deceive us.

Being clear about mission and purpose builds courage when facing adversity. In these challenging times, living by our mission statement is vital. We have discerned and voted to be a church of extravagant welcome, to grow in faith and spirit, cultivating justice and joy. When we are fearful, we must remember who we strive to be. We are an Open and Affirming congregation of LGBTQ+ people. As we see a rise in hateful speech, discrimination, and violence against this community, what might we be called to do besides show acceptance and kindness to people who come to us?

Jesus longs to protect people under threat and uses this lovely image of a hen gathering chicks under her wings. We hope the church is a place of safety, security, and belonging. These qualities of well-being need more than personal inward attitudes; we need tangible community and support. This image of a protective wing is both warm and vulnerable. There are several references in the Old Testament comparing God’s care as eagles’ wings. But Jesus puts us under a chicken wing. He calls Herod a fox and then takes the role of the prey protecting her brood. We might wonder, “Where are the eagles? Where is the "mighty fortress is our God?"

Perhaps Jesus reminds us that the things protecting us are vulnerable and need our support and commitment. A community is held together by shared culture, values, stories and experiences. These are delicate and feathery things. When there is a threat or disagreement, we feel uncertain. Even a tight knit community can be torn apart by fear.

A constitution can create a common story and norms for working out our differences. But it can only create the common good through virtuous citizens. If we allow some to violate it, we no longer believe it can protect us. Fear will quickly turn people against each other. It takes courage to confront the Herods who use fear to protect their wealth and power. It is scary to think that our protection is a mere wing of a mother hen.

We have courage when we love fiercely, but this love makes us vulnerable too. As parents, we love our children and will sacrifice in ways that make us vulnerable. We take risks for those we love. I would do anything for Jeanne and our children. Jesus calls us to extend this courageous and vulnerable love beyond family and friends to anyone who is suffering.

A strength of this congregation is our care for one another. We show up for those in need, offering comfort, meals, and generosity. We strive to be a welcoming church, a refuge of kindness. But courage doesn’t end at these doors. The world outside is growing harsher, more divided. Fear and intimidation thrive when good people remain silent. So, what does this mean for us?

It means we must have the courage to be free—not by the world's standards of power and dominance, but by Jesus' example of fierce love and seeking and defending truth. The foxes of the world will always be there, trying to intimidate, to sow fear, to keep us silent. But Jesus calls us to something greater.

We are called to stand together under the wings of love, not in passive shelter, but in active defiance of fear. To speak up for what is good when it would be easier to stay quiet. To create community when the world chooses division. To build bridges when others are tearing them down.

This is the courage to be free disciples of Christ. This courage that will carry us forward. During our prayer time, reflect on one step you might take to live with more courage. What is hard for you to face? Write it down and put it into our prayer jar. Our courage grows when we share it together.

Freedom Practices I: The Freedom of Attention | Luke 4:1-13 | First Sunday in Lent | March 9, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 09 Mar 2025 12:59:03 GMT

Lent begins with temptations to live with unfreedom

Luke 4:1-13

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spiritinto the wilderness, ² where for forty days he was tempted ^[ ^a ^] by the devil.He ate nothing during those days, and at the end of them he was hungry. vs.1-2

For Americans, freedom is our highest value. Freedom is the high note of our national anthem. To reach "O'er the land of the free," you must climb the vocal peak to a high F. A well-trained soprano can hit and hold the note for a few seconds. Beyonce and Mariah Carey's Superbowl riffs went to the stratosphere above. Most of us stop at the base camp and wait at the "Home of the brave." (Did you realize this ending is a question? The national anthem ends with a question mark: Can you hit that high F? Do you think you can handle freedom? Can you rise to what it takes?)

Claiming to be free means many different things, depending on whether we are talking about personal autonomy, emotional or spiritual well-being, financial capacity, or political liberties. We might feel free in one area and not in another. Generally, American culture emphasizes freedom from constraint by outside forces. The Rolling Stones sang, "I'm free to do what I want, any old time." Or Lesley Gore's song "You Don't Own Me" belted out, "Don't tell me what to do, and don't tell me what to say." We have a strong current of individualistic "freedom-from" energy.

But there is another side to freedom. After a visit to Ukraine, historian Timothy Snyder observed their culture talks more about the freedom to do things- to create, have a family, integrity, live a decent life, freedom to vote, and build the common good. It is a "freedom-for" culture. Freedom is living by specific values and creating a better life. Snyder remarked that we need both freedom-from and freedom-for. We need to protect individual liberties and not be coerced on how to live, but if we don't have any sense of using our freedom for things of value, a good life, and a common good, it is an empty husk. Freedom is the release from what binds us to do what is good.

You can get what you want and still be unfree. Paul's letter to the Corinthians said,

"I have the right to do anything," you say—but not everything is beneficial. "I have the right to do anything"—but not everything is constructive. No one should seek their own good but the good of others." (1 Corinthians 10:23-24, NIV).

Even the Rolling Stones came around on freedom. They did what they wanted any old time in 1965, but their hit in 1969 was "You Can't Always Get What You Want." Paul would say that what you want might not be good for you anyway.

Christian theology has lived in this tension about freedom. We are not just free from things; we can do what is good, beautiful, and true. Paul wrote extensively about freedom to the Galatians. The Message Bible's translation of Gal. 5:13-15 would fit into Timothy Snyders's philosophy,

God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that's how freedom grows. Everything we know about God's Word is summarized in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That's an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out—in no time at all, you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?

Christian spirituality understands that humans don't have an outstanding record of using our freedom well. As a teenager, I longed for the freedom to drive my own car. The popular Chevy commercial then was, "It's not just a car, it's your freedom." A car meant no more riding the bus to school, freedom from depending on my parents to go somewhere, and I could pick up my date. My first car was a bright orange Ford F-100 truck purchased from the Department of Transportation. People made fun of it, but I made it my trademark. I was ready for anything with that truck. One bright summer day, I felt euphoric about my mobile freedom and stepped on the gas. I took a corner on a gravel road a little tight, and felt the back end start to fishtail. I now know how those big S-Curve skid marks get on a highway. I tried to keep it straight but went right into a six-foot ditch. I had to get towed and lost my freedom for a while.

Freedom is a great thing, but if we are tempted to use it for a thrill, for our selfish ends, to amuse ourselves, and to impress our friends, eventually, we will drive our freedom right into the ditch. Temptation seduces us to live in the fast lane, seeking social status, material possessions, comfort, and thrills without regard for our neighbor. Temptation is the force that tries to distort our view of what is good, to pull us back into being unfree. The freedom that is only for our selfish gain is what Timothy Snyder is warning us about. Without positive freedom with a purpose, freedom that includes the common good together, we are going to drive our country into the ditch.

Dealing with temptation is a challenge that Jesus dealt with in the wilderness. He had just received a great blessing at his baptism, the voice of God saying, "You are my beloved, and in you I am well pleased. Here are the keys to the car." But his first road trip is alone into the wilderness, intentionally taking on the testing of his motivations and desires.

We will eventually meet a devil if we sit in silence long enough. Let's be clear about the devil. The Greek word does not describe the personification of evil, who wants you to sacrifice children and worship darkness. The word is diabolos. It can mean someone who slanders, accuses, or distorts the truth. We can see this in all three temptations Jesus faces. Diabolos offers him three ways of fulfilling his purpose, each with a slightly untruthful catch, and in each, Jesus turns to scriptures for an answer.

"You look a little hungry, Jesus. Why don't you turn stone into bread?" There is nothing wrong with feeding yourself when you are hungry. In fact, I bet you could feed 5000 people. Nothing wrong with that. Jesus knew feeding hungry people was a religious obligation, but he had higher ambitions than filling bellies. He wanted to fill people with transformative hope and love. "We don't live by bread alone, but from every word from the mouth of God."

"I bet you would like some real power to do some good," Diabolos says. "Pledge your loyalty to me, kiss the ring, and I will put you in charge. Everybody must play the game if you want to be a mover and shaker." Diabolos assumes that power and authority are his to give. Jesus counters that God is the highest authority. If you sell your soul to the devil, you eventually must pay.

Jesus answers the first two challenges with scripture, Deuteronomy to be precise. Never say there is no value in dusty old Deuteronomy. So, Diabolos quotes some scripture, too. Anybody can quote scripture to justify themselves. Drawing on Psalm 91, Diabolos says,

"If you are God's Son, jump. It's written, isn't it, that 'he has placed you in the care of angels to protect you; they will catch you; you won't so much as stub your toe on a stone'?"

This temptation might be that if you are chosen, then you are protected. You are special and don't have to be subject to norms and laws. Be spectacular and get people to follow you, maybe even worship you.

Diabolos does not ask Jesus to do anything outright wrong; it is just a distortion of what is right, with a promise that it will benefit him. His words sound so good and comforting, but something isn't right. The diabolos is the gas lighter who convinces us that wrong is right. Your situation is not your fault; it is someone else's fault. The ends justify the means. Greed is good. You will eventually drive into the ditch if you believe and act on these things.

These distortions didn't end in the wilderness. They take new forms in every age. Today, we may not be asked to turn stones into bread, but we are constantly tempted by easy shortcuts—chasing success, validation, or comfort at the expense of what truly matters. The voice of diabolos still calls, not in obvious evil, but in distractions that quietly pull us away from purpose.

True freedom is not just the absence of chains but the presence of purpose. It's not the right to do anything—it's the responsibility to choose what is good, meaningful, and true.

Distraction and temptation will always compete for our attention, distorting freedom into self-indulgence. But true freedom is not just avoiding what enslaves us—it's choosing what is worth living for: love, integrity, and the common good.

So, where will you place your attention—on distractions that fade, or on what truly endures? Because in the end, the freedom you embrace is the life you create.

Week III: Six Stone Jars | Fill My Wounds with Healing | Luke 4:22-30 | February 2, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 02 Feb 2025 17:56:39 GMT

We must tell stories worth living, even when it is hard.

“Truly I tell you,” he continued, “no prophet is accepted in his hometown. ²⁵ I assure you that there were many widows in Israel in Elijah’s time, when the sky was shut for three and a half years and there was a severe famine throughout the land. ²⁶ Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them, but to a widow in Zarephath in the region of Sidon. ²⁷ And there were many in Israel with leprosy ^[ ^a ^] in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed—only Naaman the Syrian.”

²⁸ All the people in the synagogue were furious when they heard this. ²⁹ They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff.

Luke 4:21-30

It is challenging coming back home when you are from a small town. You may get mixed reviews. Some people are glad to know that a person from their hometown is doing well in the world. They take pride in their success. I'm from Boone, Iowa, founded by Daniel Boone's son. Mamie Dowd Eisenhower was born in Boone. We turned her modest house into a museum because good people come from Boone.

Jesus made his way in the wider world and people crammed into the synagogue to hear him. They are amazed that he has become an eloquent speaker and teacher. Isn't that Joe and Mary's boy? So, why did Jesus decide to poke the hornet'snest, saying,

And you will tell me, 'Do here in your hometown what we have heard that you did in Capernaum.'" ²⁴ "Truly I tell you no prophet is accepted in his hometown."

Maybe Jesus attended his class reunion the night before and encountered the chasm that can grow when you move away. I went to seminary in Boston, struggled with culture shock, and all the jokes about being a hick from Iowa who doesn't know how to pronounce Worcester. (Frankly, Bostonians should not make fun of anyone's accent.). I thought maybe I made a mistake, but I stuck it out. I became a graduate assistant and found my place. People forgot I was from the fly-over territory.

But then you go to the class reunion and discover many of your friends haven't changed much. Off-color jokes about fags and wetbacks aren’t funny anymore. If you speak up and say something, the reaction is, "Oh, so you have been to seminary now. Just because you know big words like "exegesis" doesn't mean you are smarter than us."

Growth often creates cognitive dissonance with your past. On the one hand, my bedrock values about community, hard work and respect are very Iowa. On the other hand, we must adapt and change as the world moves like lightning strikes. Doing this well often causes conflict back home.

Something lit a fire of indignation in Jesus, and he needed to speak. Notice the turning point from when all speak well of him to all being furious with him. He tells two stories of healing from the prophets Elijah and Elisha, where they performed acts of healing for foreigners, a widow from Sidon, and a general from Syria. Why did that make people so furious?

The context is that Israel had tensions with Syria and Sidon. Sidon was Canaanite territory, and they worshiped Baal and made human sacrifices in the Old Testament. The infamous Jezebel was from Sidon. Many conflicts simmered with the Syrian region, including the fall of Northern Israel to Assyria seven centuries before. Why is Jesus talking about mercy for lepers and widows from Sidon and Syria? What next, Jesus, will you tell us to love our enemies? (That is the lectionary reading in three weeks!) The story they know is that the messiah is supposed to liberate them and restore Israel. But Jesus edited story—one of healing and love that crossed boundaries.”

So, his hometown people are ready to throw Jesus off the cliff. He could have said love your neighbor, healed a few people, and gone on to Capernaum, but he had to go there. I've heard that people can get upset when you venture into conflictual social issues from the pulpit. We just had a modern-day re-enactment of this scene at the National Cathedral as Bishop Budde called for mercy for immigrants, LGBTQ people, and others who are afraid of persecution. Half the country sees her as a saint, and half want her fired and censored.

I would like to look at her words not through the lens of partisanship, but the context of the churches Bishop Budde represents. Nearly all denominations have statements on immigration dating back decades. These documents have been debated and voted in at Synods and contain the theology and mission of the wider church. This week I read numerous denominational statements on immigration from Episcopal, Roman Catholic, Lutheran, UCC, and Southern Baptist Churches. They all agree that immigration is a complicated issue, and the church has a unique role in the national debate.

Did you know church agencies are the largest US nonprofit group doing resettlement work with immigrants and refugees? We resettle 70 percent of refugees in the country. Financial support for these ministries is the most significant budget items for humanitarian relief ministries. When denominational leaders speak out on these issues, it isn’t partisan, its our mission. Church leaders represent the people working on the front lines doing the daily work to find housing, food, and clothing, teach English as a second language, and provide job training.

Every denomination I searched has a statement on immigration. The Southern Baptists have many ministries for ESL and basic needs for immigrants. The Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission emphasizes balancing compassion with respect for the rule of law. In a recent statement, the SBC pushed back on the issue of ICE agents entering churches and programs, saying:

"[The President] is right to fix our broken immigration system ... but it must be done so without turning churches into wards of the state or expecting pastors to ask for papers of people coming through their doors. The unintended impact of this change will be that many law-abiding immigrants will be fearful to attend our churches." https://apnews.com/article/religion-churches-trump-immigration-crackdown-sanctuary-2746fa5c80aa8e2ce6db878e0d6e1c24

I noticed strong similarities between Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Episcopal, and UCC statements. They all call for comprehensive reform of a broken system to address the root causes of migration. They support family unity, a clear path towards citizenship, and respect for the human rights of all immigrants and refugees. There are no denominations that support a mass deportation of immigrants. Bishop Budde spoke for her church. The Episcopal Church Government Affairs Office statement focuses on values and principles. The first line of their statement on immigration is, "The Episcopal Church champions and advocates for humane policy towards migrants because of our belief that every human being is a child of God and must be treated with dignity.” These values have come into conflict with all the last three presidential administrations, regardless of party. Many denominations supported lawsuits around the treatment of immigrants during the Obama Administration. All leaders have blind spots, regardless of party, and the church must speak truth to power regardless of who is in charge.

Returning to Jesus speaking in Nazareth, he models that we must have the courage to speak our convictions. But we must also take great care in how we do this. It is not an invitation to condemn people who disagree with us and rant at people on Facebook. Later this month, our text will be "Love your enemies." Something I appreciate about Bishop Budde's style is her focus on the central themes of the faith. She focused on mercy and human dignity and did not wander off into personal condemnation or the weeds of accusations. The best thing we can do is stick to the central themes of our story and invite and implore everyone to join us in the bigger story.

This point became clear to me after reading Yuval Harari's history of the human race, called "Sapiens." Harari notes that people's ability to move from wandering hunters and gatherers to larger civilizations is based on a shared story or myth. People cooperate when we agree on the story we are living; The story might be a common God or spiritual belief, the divine blessing on a king, or a shared Constitution of government. Finding a shared story creates possibilities such as peace, trade, problem-solving of complicated challenges, and a society that can tolerate and affirm diversity. Without a common story, there is not trust. When the dominant narrative dehumanizes and assigns blame to others out of our perceived tribe, society will break down. Cooperation falls apart, problem solving grinds to halt, and resources go to conflict and violence rather than human progress. Nothing is more important than the quest to tell stories that unite us.

Jesus knew that telling a better story—one of mercy, inclusion, and love—would get him rejected by the people who knew him best. But he told it anyway. The church today faces the same choice. Will we tell a story worth living? Will we speak a truth that heals, even when it’s unpopular?

Our faith stories emphasize God's great love for all of humanity. God challenges us to love as we are first loved. When we get fearful, frustrated, or anxious, we can lose the thread of our story. As a writer I understand this challenge. I can get stuck on a word choice. I worry about my internal critic who says my words aren't good enough. Maybe no one wants to hear my story and it doesn't really matter. I can move forward when I ask, "What is this story about?" Have I told a story worth hearing, worth living? If not, edit and refine before sharing.

Friends you are the living embodiment of the story of God's love. Your life is the only Bible many people will read. Tell the story with all your heart.

Week II: Six Stone Jars | Fill My Plans with Purpose | Luke 4:14-21 | January 26, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 26 Jan 2025 17:51:53 GMT

Jesus' solidarity with human suffering must inform our purpose

Luke 4:14-21

To be fully alive, we need a sense of purpose. If we know our why, we find the energy, courage, and drive to move through the challenges of the human condition. Our lives can be filled with to-do lists and busyness, but we feel spent and pointless if these are not linked to a deeper purpose. Sometimes, it is hard to identify our purpose because life is too overwhelming. Uncertainty makes us anxious. Injustice frightens us. Conflict paralyzes us. Only a compelling purpose can carry us to act and live fully alive.

Harry Emerson Fosdick, the great preacher at Riverside Church (and Mouse Island here in Boothbay), believed that purpose ignites us when something bigger than ourselves captures our imagination, and we are drawn to engage in something that betters the human spirit. In the 1943 book On Being a Real Person, he wrote:

"The person who does not know the thrill of being used for a purpose recognized as a mighty one, who does not know what it is to belong to a movement that is bigger than his own life, that person has not lived."

In the last two Gospel readings, we hear the first words of Jesus to define his purpose and invite us to join in. Last week, John revealed the first sign of Jesus' purpose in the biblical metaphor of new wine, which enlivens a wedding feast. He has come to fulfill and initiate the great banquet. This week, Luke introduces Jesus' purpose as he reads from the scrolls of Isaiah at his home in Nazareth. Jesus grounds his purpose on the words of the scripture and the direction of the Holy Spirit. He reached for words 500 years ago to express his ministry. Isaiah wrote to people in exile expressing God's blessing to a downtrodden people, and Jesus finds deep meaning in his context and says,

"The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
Because he has anointed me
To proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free, ¹⁹ to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.

When I went back to read these verses of Isaiah 61, I realized Jesus didn't quote them exactly. He added the freedom for captives from Isaiah 58, but he also dropped off the ending of 61:2, which reads, "to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor and the day of vengeance of our God." Jesus dropped the vengeance. The prophets often announce blessings and restoration to oppressed and exiled people, with corresponding judgment to the perpetrators. Isaiah had ten chapters (13 to 23) of terrible woes that God will bring upon various nations who treated Israel harshly. Every decent prophet has a measure of wrathful lightning bolts smiting the wicked. What do we make of Jesus dropping the vengeance?

Vengeance can distort or even overtake our greater purpose. People can make vengeance a dark purpose for their lives. Our culture often celebrates vengeance as a sign of strength or justice. Films like John Wick, The Gladiator, The Revenant, or V is for Vendetta glorify revenge, but they rarely show the moral toll or lasting harm it causes. The movie ends before we learn that the avenger has no peace of mind or satisfaction from violence. Retribution blurs the line between justice and revenge, offering a false sense of purpose.

Ancient storytellers and philosophers recognized that taking out our anger on others distorts who we are, ruining our moral judgment. Homer's Iliad is a tragedy because Achilles was a great hero who is destroyed by his vengeance. He feels insulted by King Agamemnon and refuses to go to battle. When his best friend Patroclus takes his place and is killed in battle, Achilles' remorse is so deep that he kills Hector of Troy. In a venging rage, he desecrates the body and won't return Hector to his father for burial. This act is so terrible that it shocks his allies and the gods, and he sinks further into depression.

Psychologists describe moral injury as the harm we do to ourselves when our actions violate our values. This loss of meaning and self-worth reminds us that vengeance and unchecked anger damage not just others but our souls.

We can understand moral injury on a personal level. When we argue and say things we later know we shouldn't have said. In the moment of anger, we felt justified. We were hurt, the other person was wrong, so we laid into them, and both sides were shattered in the aftermath. When we cool down, we might still believe the other person was wrong, but we might also be appalled at who we were at that moment. We are stuck feeling both our grievance and being disgusted with ourselves. Letting loose our wrath does moral injury to ourselves as well as harming others.

To heal this kind of moral injury can only begin when we recognize and respond to the suffering of others. Achilles can't overcome his despair until Hector's grieving father comes to appeal for his son's body. The experience of suffering connects Achilles to his humanity. He shows mercy towards the father and begins the process of soul repair. We cannot connect to a greater purpose until the pain and suffering in our souls are addressed. We may need to show mercy, receive mercy, or overcome some fear that resists change and growth. And we need something more than ourselves, someone to announce that wholeness is possible, and now is the favorable time.

Jesus' words in Luke's Gospel address our human condition of fear and anxiety. Many people are poor and need the basics to survive, and almost all of us are economically anxious about the future. Oppression comes in many forms. It might be from political oppression, racism, or all the various ways people fear and hate differences. We may also feel the oppressive weight on our chest at 4 AM, uncertain about how fast the world changes and powerless to comprehend and do something about it. It feels like the blind are leading the blind; this is the year when God is abandoning us to our own devices.

To all these afflictions, Jesus says, I have come to proclaim good news. The good news is more than looking on the bright side and saying everything will be OK. The good news is the conditions that bring us anxiety, pain, and suffering are being addressed. God has taken notice and is working in the world. Now is the time for God's favor.

Jesus reads from the scroll of Isaiah not just to offer purpose and hope to people in Nazareth but to anyone who hears them in any time and place. Imagine being present for that moment. He sits in the chair to teach and says, "Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." What does that mean? This dusty old scroll has been lying around for 500 years. It's lovely poetry of a hopeful future, but the present moment in Galilee is still under the yoke of Rome. John the Baptist will soon be arrested and beheaded. There will soon be 5000 people to feed, so someone must stock the food pantry. Here we are 2000 years later, and we are still wondering when these hopes will be fulfilled. What does it mean that Jesus said now this scripture is fulfilled?

My best answer is that it is always the right time to do good. God is present whenever we welcome the Holy Spirit to be upon us, too. Every day presents opportunities to be a part of God’s work to heal and repair the world. Jesus said sometimes it is as simple as giving a cup of cold water to the thirsty, feeding the hungry, or giving a coat. For us, it might be listening to someone as a befriender, making and delivering soup, and creating beauty through music and art to feed our souls. If we pay attention, we will find 10 times a day to say a kind word, uplift people feeling overwhelmed, and help someone struggling. Never feel guilty because the act is slight. Do small things with great love.

Also, recognize that some things before us are hard. Some challenges before us demand not just prayer but courageous action. We are called to do more than hope for change; we must be the change. When we face the devastation of violence in schools or witness efforts to deny the dignity of others, such as our transgender siblings, we cannot remain silent. God's call to proclaim good news to the oppressed implores us to advocate for justice and inclusion in both word and deed. As bearers of light, how can we step into these spaces with courage and compassion?"

We often sing to always be the light. Only light can drive away the darkness. We are not alone in this calling. The Spirit of the Lord is upon us, just as it was upon Jesus, equipping us to bring light and healing to the world. Trust that your acts of love are a light shining in the darkness. And the best time to shine your light is right now!

Week I: Six Stone Jars | Fill My House with Hoping | John 2:1-11 | January 19, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 19 Jan 2025 18:58:44 GMT

Kin-dom Come: Finding Abundance in the Face of Scarcity

When they started running low on wine at the wedding banquet, Jesus’ mother told him, “They’re just about out of wine.” Jesus said, “Is that any of our business, Mother—yours or mine? This isn’t my time. Don’t push me.”

John 2:1-11

Twenty minutes before the wedding, the caterer had not arrived. The band was setting up in the otherwise empty reception hall, and only champagne on ice and cupcakes had arrived, but no food. The couple had stretched their resources for the wedding. She worked as a paralegal, and he was a produce manager. They were involved in all the local musicals and stalwarts in our choir. Their friends were actors and musicians, and they had a marvelous party planned. But where was the food?

Fortunately, the couple was blissfully unaware of the problem. We had a beautiful wedding ceremony, but I was holding the tension about the reception. After the "I do's" rings and the big kiss, I went to the hall while people entered the receiving line. It was still empty. The bride's grandmother told me she would pay for food if we could find something, so I was at the end of the receiving line to deliver the news. As I moved from congratulations to "your caterer did not show up," I watched the bride’s jaw drop and a tear formed in the corner of her eye. But then she softened as she looked at her now husband. She threw her arms around him and said, "It doesn't matter as long as I'm with Steven."

While their love relieved and touched me, I wanted to make this right. So, I told them their grandmother and I would take care of it. I told the band to play, and the DJ could start with all the various first dances, the mother/son dance, father/daughter dance, Grandmother/ Grandson, second cousin of the bride dance, make stuff up to keep people occupied while I forage them something to eat.

I rushed into the State Street deli, my local favorite, explained the situation, and asked if they could do sandwich platters, the macaroni salad with artichoke hearts, and Polish potato salad for 60 people ASAP. As caterers, they took to heart the moral failure of their tribe and pulled all the staff to make sandwiches. Twenty minutes later, I was at the counter with a mountain of plastic trays of turkey, ham, and tuna sandwiches. They rushed me past the ten people in line, explained that the caterer had not shown up at the wedding, and people got out of line to help me load the car.

Jeanne and I arrived with the platters just as the mother-of-the-groom/oldest-male-cousin dance ended, and people applauded. At that point, the absence of prime rib did not matter. A pastrami on rye felt like a miracle. A community came together because this love needed to be celebrated.

This story is where my mind goes when I read about the wine running out at the wedding in Cana. Everyone wants their wedding to be remembered as a time of joy and abundance, not as if the family lacked planning or was cheap. Good food and drink are essential to celebration. Wine also has deep symbolic meaning in scripture. Amos speaks of the hope for restoration after hard times, saying, "The mountains shall drip sweet wine, and all the hills shall flow with it." In the parable, Jesus compares his message to wine, saying that new wine must go into new wineskins. It will ferment and burst the old skins. The symbol of wine in communion as a sign of the new covenant is central to our faith. John is telling us the very first act of Jesus after baptism is this wedding where there is not enough wine. He is foreshadowing that Jesus is the one who will re-supply joy and grace to all people. This sign is John's first of seven signs about who Jesus is. He is the light of the world, the living water, the bread of life, and the true vine.

But first, there is a conversation with his mother, Mary. She says to Jesus, "They have no wine." Grammatically, these words are a simple statement of fact. It is not an imperative, just a mother telling her son the wine is out. However, many know from experience that indirect communication between parents and children carries more weight than what is said. "Look at the dirty dishes in the sink." It may not be a command, but to answer, "You are so right, Mother, there are a lot of dirty dishes," is the wrong response. Take the hint and get to work.

Jesus, being intuitive, immediately understands the nudge to obligation. "Woman, what concern is that to me and to you? My time is not yet come." The message translation says, "Is that any of our business, Mother—yours or mine?"

What is at stake in this conversation? It seems to be about social obligation. Cana was a small town about a two to three-hour walk from Nazareth. A wedding in a small village would be a significant social event, and people would celebrate for several days. Running out of wine would be a damper the whole town would feel. We don't know whose wedding this was, but perhaps family friends or distant cousins to Jesus. Jesus' response is, "Why us? This isn't our obligation." Isn’t this the father of the bride's responsibility? Don't they have closer kin to bail them out? Jesus doesn’t think they are close enough kin to be obligated.

Mary doesn't bother to argue and tells the servants to do whatever Jesus says. This version of Mary is no longer quietly pondering things in her heart. She has raised five teenagers and expects them to know how to act. The bride and groom might not be direct kin, but they are human beings in a tight spot and need help.

Remember when Jesus said, "Love your neighbor as yourself," and a scribe asks, "Who is my neighbor?" Jesus then tells the story of the good Samaritan, to illustrate that anyone in need is your neighbor. Maybe Jesus learned that lesson from Mary in Cana. At the heart of the Gospel, there is a stretching of kinship ties and obligations to family and tribe, to include a wider community. Kinship is not just about immediate relatives, we are all from the same human family, we all share DNA, we are in this together. This is why Christianity could transcend one nation and culture and spread.

The word kin is used in an interesting way in our liturgy. In the song, "Abundance" the lyrics use the phrase "kin-dom" where we might expect "kingdom." Drop the "g" and put in a dash, and you get kin-dom. Ruth Duck, the prolific hymn writer we celebrated last week, was an early advocate of using kin-dom in liturgy.

You have sung and prayed, "thy kingdom come" for years, so it sounds natural. But would you be comfortable bowing to a king? We celebrate every July 4 ^th that we overthrew a king and established one nation under God, with liberty and justice for all. It is odd we keep using the word king so much in worship, when we are against the idea in real life. It sends an unintended message that we affirm an older hierarchical order, rather than seeing each other as equal before God.

What shifts in your heart and mind when you say kin-dom, instead of kingdom? What I notice is a movement away from focusing on a political structure, hierarchy and power, towards relational ties, equality and community. I feel more included in a kin-dom than a kingdom. It makes me responsible for the community, not relying on someone else to form it. One good thing about kin-dom in the liturgy is that no one will know which word you are saying in church. But I urge you to test it for yourself. At the bell choir party, Jamie said she moves people to different bells, so they learn to be flexible, and it is also good for your brain. This change is not always popular with the bell choir. But we have a very good bell choir. A little change is good for the brain and good for the soul.

At the end of the story Jesus tells the servants to fill six stone jars with water which become wine. When the master of the banquet tastes it, he remarks, “Complex and full-bodied, with a hint of black current. The finish lingers like a fine conversation. You have saved the best wine for last.” What if everyone knew the wine was made in the stone jars set aside for water of ritual cleansing? Some would have been horrified at the sacrilege. But Jesus first miracle lifts something more important than ritual observance and perfection.

The great wedding feast has begun. Just as the deli workers, the band, and the guests came together to transform a moment of scarcity into joy, Jesus invites us to join in his kin-dom, where we share in the abundance of grace and love. This miracle wasn't just about wine—it was about abundance, joy, and the expanding circle of God's kin-dom, where no one is left out.

Today, we are called to do the same. To stretch our sense of kinship, to see neighbors not as strangers but as family, and to bring joy and grace to a world so often focused on scarcity.

The Baptism of Jesus | Luke 3:15-17, 21-22 | First Sunday after Epiphany | January 12, 2025

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 12 Jan 2025 16:15:16 GMT

The waters of baptism and a life of grace

"Spirituality is not about achieving something but receiving something. It is about living in a continuous awareness that we are the beloved of God."

²¹ Now when all the people were baptized and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, ²² and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Luke 3:21-22

On New Year's Day, my email inbox was a disaster zone, trying to convince me to feel guilt and inadequacy. It started with mild self-help articles like "8 ways to keep your resolutions year-round." Lose weight fast with Noom. Meet your hydration goals with the Hydro Flask stainless steel water bottle. Track your goals with this moleskin journal. As if that weren’t enough, there were stories of overachievers reading 75 books, mastering Swahili, and learning to prepare a souffle. Who are these people?

Am I the only one who finds New Year's resolutions overwhelming and even oppressive? On December 31, I thought I was doing OK, mostly comfortable in my skin. The next day, the world wants a new me. It adds to the pressure to be more productive and constantly transforming myself. What do I know what a whole year may bring? The best things of last year had nothing to do with resolutions.

So, on Friday, I celebrated National Quitters Day. Did you know that many resolutions fall by the wayside on the second Friday of every year? Why not celebrate freedom from the cult of excessive self-improvement? Arby's changed its menu to help everyone avoid their diets by rebranding their menu for the day. They renamed their French fries and steamed vegetables. You could order a salad with dressing and walk away with a double beef and cheddar in the bag, but your resolutions are intact.

If you love New Year's resolutions and find fulfillment in yours, knock yourself out. But surveys show that only 10 percent of people feel they achieved their resolutions. Maybe the whole process if flawed. Christian spirituality offers a different path. The phrase "self-improvement" occurs precisely zero times in the Bible. The Bible encourages us to find our best nature, to love one another, to do justice, and to embrace the fruits of the spirit, such as love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, and kindness. That sounds like a lot of effort. However, the spiritual path has a different starting point. In his book Life of the Beloved, Henri Nouwen wrote:

"Spirituality is not about achieving something but receiving something. It is about living in a continuous awareness that we are the beloved of God."

Listen to the metaphors for spiritual development from the scriptures:

· "I am the vine, and you are the branches. Abide in me, and I will abide in you."

· "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."

· Jeremiah described God as the potter who works with clay and fashions the human soul into an elegant form.

Christian spirituality begins with the outflowing of God's love. If we are willing to receive it, divine love will heal us, free us, and teach us wisdom. This transformation comes not from efforts at self-improvement but through sacrament. The sacraments, baptism and communion, are visible signs that we can touch and relate to, and they symbolize the invisible grace that gifts us with love. When the waters of baptism flow over us, we are submerged in the womb of life from oceans and rivers. The Hydro Flask company correctly says we should be well-hydrated, but they don't tell us why. Baptism tells us that hydration is sacramental, linking us back to God and inviting us to receive life. Spirituality is not simply about eating a healthy diet but recognizing that our eating is communion. We are consuming the earth's gifts; at Christ’s table we are symbolically taking in the body of God. Life is received as a gift.

In baptism, Jesus does not achieve anything. John does not baptize Jesus because he passed a test and is now ready to graduate. Jesus does not become a messiah because he is the brightest student in the Yeshiva, that he fed more hungry people, or discovered some great superpower. We know almost nothing about Jesus from birth to baptism. We don't know how much he struggled with who he was, if he had doubts about God, fell in love, had his heart broken, or how many times he struck out in Little League baseball. His background is shockingly unimportant compared to modern sympathies. The ancient Gospel writings show us that Jesus is who he is because of his willingness to receive a calling and direction from the Divine. So, he puts himself in cousin John's hands to be submerged in water. He receives the baptism of repentance, literally the baptism of metanoia, the baptism of turning around to a new life.

What Jesus receives in baptism may seem too simple since we have been so conditioned to the promises of advertising. The Holy Spirit is present to him, and God says, "You are my beloved, and in you I am well-pleased." There isn't a game plan to get 12 disciples, communicate God's strategic initiatives, how to handle Pharisees, or tips to expand his social media outreach. Jesus doesn't even get any prophetic "thus sayeth the Lord." Just the simple, “You are my beloved.” It all begins with love flowing in, so love can flow out.

Baptism reminds us that grace is a gift, freely received. But living out this grace can feel challenging in a society that values constant achievement. Practices like prayer and meditation—rooted in stillness—help us embrace this divine love, though they can seem like 'doing nothing' at first."

Think about how Advent is different than New Years’ resolutions. The key words to Advent are watch and wait. We sing hymns like “Let all mortal flesh keep silence.” “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” The Christian liturgical year begins by learning to keep silent and listen for God.

Thomas Keating, an originator of the Centering Prayer movement, said, “God’s first language is silence.” Silence is hard because we are not in control. We are learning to stop and receive, and how it helps us is mysterious. You can’t stand on a scale and weigh how well you prayed. In the moment it can be frustrating, but after a few weeks you start to realize a greater sense of well-being.

Here are a few more practical examples of what I mean by faith is received, not achieved. Wisdom is cultivated, not collected—more like gardening than coin collecting. Wisdom isn't under your control. You can read hundreds of books, travel the world, and get a Masters degree, but not embrace wisdom. Many have knowledge and will tell you about it for hours. But they still do the dumbest things. It's painful to watch someone make the same mistake repeatedly and never learn anything. While some people graduate from the School of Hard Knocks with wisdom, others fail to pass the test because they are stuck in blame, excuses, and resentments.

Wisdom requires humility. You must know the limits of your thinking and experience. Arrogance turns false assumptions into certainty, which leads to failure. A wise person isn't afraid to ask questions and admit they don't know something. A mentor of mine, Gail, was a master at cultivating wisdom. As the Executive Director of Hudson River Housing, she would consult a handful of people with differing viewpoints before making a decision. Her choices weren’t about finding a consensus but about listening deeply and crafting a response that balanced organizational values, and assessed the risks that went with the decision. Gail’s wisdom was received, not achieved—it came from her willingness to listen.

The greatest lessons are often learned when we admit a mistake. When I must look someone in the eye and say, "I was wrong," I don't forget that. If I apologize, fully admit how my words and actions have hurt someone, and listen to their response, that creates change. I don't want to be in that situation again and feel shame or humiliation or that I have caused pain. When you apologize, you embrace your actions and become a little wiser. When you can't apologize, you fail to take responsibility, you hide from the truth about yourself, and you will likely fall short again. Some people think you should never admit a mistake and never apologize because it makes them look weak. In truth, it just shows that a person is an insecure fool, and you can't trust them. It means they will never truly see you or value you.

In the new year, set aside the relentless pursuit of self-improvement and embrace the deeper truth that spirituality begins not with achieving but receiving. The love of God, revealed in baptism and communion, is not a reward for our efforts but a gift freely given. When we open our hearts to that love, it flows through us, shaping us into who we are meant to be.

You don’t have to be perfect, just listen well—to God, to one another, and to the silence where God’s voice often speaks. As we receive love, let it flow outward, creating the beloved community we all long for.

Remember the words spoken to Jesus at his baptism: “You are my beloved, and in you I am well-pleased.” These words are not only for him—they are for you, too. Carry them with you, Let them guide your journey.

The Manger: A Place of Care | Luke 2:1-20; I Corinthians 12:22-26 | Christmas Eve | December 24, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Tue, 24 Dec 2024 19:26:10 GMT

In an ever-changing world, God moves around, and even next door.

"The Word became flesh and made a dwelling among us."

Dwelling can be a noun or a verb, making it a homonym. It can be where you live or the act of living somewhere. I can be at home or making a home. Where we dwell and how we dwell entwine.

The sense of home has been poignant this year. Jeanne and I spent much time supporting her father in moving from his home on Virginia's Eastern Shore to Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, near her brother. We spent two separate weeks of vacation to help him pack and make moving decisions. Even though we felt this was a good decision for his well-being, it felt like dismantling the family home. Each room had memories: grandchildren chasing around the house, Jeanne's Mom singing funny Irish songs, shells collected from boat trips to the barrier island beaches. What do you do with boxes of old letters or photo albums of travels throughout Europe in the 1950s? I lugged the heavy boxes to the moving van, knowing their destiny was for our storage, but how could we let this family history go? It felt like the work of "undwelling." Grammerly tells me undwelling is not a word, but if a word can be both a noun and a verb, I can undwell.

To counteract all this sad energy, Jeanne and I threw ourselves into outdoor landscaping in Maine. We constructed raised beds for vegetables and dug rocks (so many rocks!) out of thin Maine soil to plant rhododendrons and hastas. Dead trees came down, and we bought a 27-ton pressure wood splitter. We went all in on Maine as we felt the emotional fragility of what makes a home. We wanted to dwell well.

The family center of gravity shifted again as Jeanne's daughter, Christina, started searching for a home this Fall. As the angel Gabriel might say, "Be not afraid. Behold, I bring you good news of great joy! Your daughter and fiancé have bought a home in Edgecomb, and they shall dwell 20 minutes from your abode."

So, the word dwelling is bittersweet in our hearts this year. Even as we feel a sense of being undone with changes to family and our world, we are grateful for our dwelling, both as a noun and a verb. I'm mindful of how many people have lost their homes this year. We have had 24 weather disasters in 2024, and war and violence displaced 114 million people. The safety of home can quickly be fragile.

I was surprised doing my word studies that dwelling conveys a sense that home is transitional. It moves around. (I know many of you come to Christmas Eve for carols and the candle lighting, but this section is for everyone hoping for Christmas Greek and Hebrew word studies!). The Greek word in John 1:14 can mean to pitch a tent or to stay temporarily. The Hebrew word for dwelling refers to a Tabernacle. While the Hebrews wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, they pitched a tent called the Tabernacle for God to dwell. God moved around with them in their nomadic life.

I love that God is on the move rather than fixed in one sacred spot. God is not fixed and static in some far-off eternal dimension. God is not stuck in a set of ideas and doctrines, or one religious group, or one people or political party. God is on the move. I like this because my life often changes with transitions and uncertainty. Everything changes so rapidly that it is hard to find a good flow and feel grounded. Imagine that God, too, is moving around in flux. God pitches a tent and moves around to different campgrounds. Life changes so much that God is a backpacker in the Universe.

The Message translation for John 1:14 says, "The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood." We can get so caught up in how word becomes flesh, how can Jesus be divine and yet fully human, lost in the metaphysics, and miss the point. God is relational and actively seeks humans. I'm unsure why since I don't always like people, but it is in God's nature. God loves us, which is a mystery, and moves into the neighborhood.

This message is truly good news. It is always good to hear that your new neighbor is terrific. When we get a new neighbor, we fear they might be too judgmental, distant, and unfriendly, or they will want to borrow all your tools and never return them. When they say they want to invite you over, they don't really mean it.

But God's nature is to dwell among us and create neighborliness. If that is what it takes to create a world where we love our neighbors as we love ourselves, God will somehow be born in a stable.

This Advent, remember that God's love is not fixed or far away but always moving toward us. God pitches a tent next to ours, seeking connection and offering love like a good neighbor. If God has moved into our neighborhood, then we can become better neighbors, especially to people who need shelter, love, and hope. Blessings on your dwelling. Amen."

Bethlehem: A Place of Humility | Luke 2:1-14; Romans 13:8-11 | Fourth Sunday of Advent | LOVE | December 22, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 22 Dec 2024 19:22:03 GMT

A Revolution for Shepherds and Stables

“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.

(Luke 2:10-11)

For good measure, the heavenly version of the Mormon Tabernacle choir appears and launches into a selection from part one of Handel’s Messiah. Or perhaps they sang Bach’s “Gloria in excelsis deo,’ followed by the jubilant strings of Vivaldi’s “Gloria.” It was a concert for the ages.

This display stands in paradox to the sign the shepherds are given that they will find the baby all wrapped tight and lying in a manger. My mind goes to the state of pediatric care in first-century Palestine. This birth takes place long before the Affordable Care Act. The only insurance was family and friends who would come and act as midwives to assist in the delivery. The men were all kicked out because, by religious law, they could become ritually unclean if they contacted any placenta or birth stuff. That law may have been made up just to get the men out of the way, making it all the more surprising that Gabriel sent a bunch of shepherds, which was what Mary didn’t need. Perhaps the shepherds had helped deliver a few lambs, but Mary was not having a little lamb. (Well, symbolically speaking, she was birthing the lamb of God.)

Using the stable as a birthing center was likely common in ancient times. It might be better than being born in the back of an Uber, which happens a few times yearly. Childbirth was fraught in ancient times. According to sources, one in ten children died in childbirth, and 30 percent of children died in the first year of life. Only half of the children born survived past age five. Becoming human is not for the faint of heart.

When you think about it, the whole nativity scene is a healthcare disaster zone. Mary is stuck with a bunch of guys for comfort and support—no mention of cousin Elizabeth or a midwife for help. Farm animals are in too close proximity for cleanliness, and baby Jesus is asleep on the hay. We sing this peaceful little melody about away in the manger, but what if that was your grandchild asleep on the hay? Have you ever spent a night sleeping in straw?

I ask the question because I have a story to tell of birth among farm animals. My serious farming education began in 7th grade. That year, my grandparents gave me a pig for Christmas. You might be thinking of a pig like Charlotte’s Web or Babe, but this was a 500-pound pregnant sow we named Hampy. My grandparents said, “Here is the start of your college fund. “Hampy” delivered on a midnight clear, not to the music of harps of gold, but the painful grunts from the barn ringing out in the subzero night. By the time I struggled into layers of coats and socks, she delivered four little piglets; three were just like Mom, black with a white stripe across the shoulders, and one light orange and spotted brown, presumably like Dad. She had delivered her first litter alone and greeted our arrival with rapid huffing grunts. As Dad and I spoke calmly to her, she rolled back in the straw with a long sigh.

But the piglets were damp and shivering and wouldn’t survive without our interventions. You don’t simply climb into a pen with a 500-pound momma and start messing with her newborns. Not if you value all your limbs. So, my Dad nudged a piglet up to her nostrils so she could coo and breathe warmth over it. While she was distracted, I snatched up a piglet at a time, rubbed it in a blanket, and snuck to the house to feed it warm milk until each one stopped shivering. We trusted she was too tired to count. The third little piglet, the one with the spots, squealed as I was putting him back in the pen, and I got a full lecture from Hampy on what would happen to me if I touched another one. We managed to warm and save everyone, and finally, happy piglets slept in a row next to Mom in the straw. Finally, the world in solemn, stillness lies, and I cleaned out the afterbirth with a pitchfork.

This peaceful moment is when the shepherds enter after all the grunting, sweating, and shivering. Death has been denied, and new life surges into being. For a moment, everyone can catch their breath. This picture is what you see on Facebook, the traditional nativity scene, as told by Christmas carols, as everyone reverently looks down at the piglets or the little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes.

I’m not trying to ruin Christmas carols for anyone, but a barnyard birth was more likely Mary screaming, donkey braying, ewes bleating, nervous hens clucking, and Joseph passing out at the first site of blood. Silent night comes after the blood, sweat, and tears are cleaned up.

Telling a story about a birth in a barn is not a detour in the Christmas story; it is the main highway in Luke’s narrative. Remember, the angel Gabriel began his pronouncements clouded in incense next to the holy of holies in the Jerusalem Temple. The orthodox belief held this place was the very dwelling of God. To suggest that the presence of God had moved from grandeur to the stable is a spiritual revolution. Imagine, after spending 50 years building a wonder of the world to be the house of God, the Divine says, “No, thank you. You will find me lying in a feed trough in a barn. You will find me in the human blood, sweat, and tears of bringing new life into the world.”

You will find me in human courage and Mary and Joseph protect Jesus from Herod.” From the stable onward, God dwells in the low places where hope, peace, joy, and love are most needed. The nativity scene of new parents and babe does not include close family, but shepherds, wise men from the East, and assorted animals to show us the wonder of the Beloved Community. Now that you know where to look for God, it is time for our work of Christmas to begin, to do justice, love kindness, and walk into every humble place with God.

Nazareth: A Place of Simplicity | Luke 1:26-38; Romas 15:12-13 | Third Sunday of Advent | December 15, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 15 Dec 2024 16:06:28 GMT

A Visit to Nowheresville

28 The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.” 29 Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. (excerpt from Luke 1:26-38)

We are following the Angel Gabriel's Christmas Tour in Luke's Gospel. Last week, he suddenly appeared at the Temple, interrupting the 9:00 AM Mass to tell Zachariah that he and his wife would give birth to John the Baptist. Six months later, Gabriel is visiting the tiny village of Nazareth to make his second proclamation to a peasant girl named Mary. Next Sunday, Gabriel will travel to Bethlehem to give a birth announcement to the shepherds. Luke's birth story shows us the contrast between the decree of Ceasar Augustus, who wants to tax everyone for his empire, and Gabriel's decrees in Jerusalem, Nazareth, and Bethlehem. These decrees declare the inbreaking of hope, peace, joy, and love through Jesus of Nazareth.

As we visit ancient Nazareth, the contrast with Jerusalem is immense. Jerusalem is the center of the biblical narrative, and Nazareth could fit in the corner of the Temple. The rest of Israel has a low opinion of Nazareth. In John's Gospel, when Philip the disciple first hears Jesus is from Nazareth, he says, "What good can come from Nazareth?". The ancient historian Josephus, one of the essential non-biblical sources for information about Jesus' time, lists 240 villages in upper Galilee. Nazareth does not appear. We know from archeological digs that the town was there, but it's not worth mentioning. The town had limited geographical potential because it wasn't close to water. Nazareth had one well that could support 100 to 400 people at best.

Small towns get no respect and have names like Nowhere, Oklahoma; Boring, Oregon; Lost, Pennsylvania; or my favorite, Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Nazareth could be derived from the Hebrew word for branch or shoot, Netzer. The name could refer to the messianic words of Isaiah 11:1, "A shoot shall come from the stump of Jesse; from its roots a branch shall bear fruit." A shoot from a stump. We have a large stump from a dead tree in our backyard, which I use to chop wood. Last year, a shoot grew from it and sprouted leaves. The tree was dead, cut down, but there was some new life from the stump.

In the same way, the Davidic line of great kings in the Bible failed, but the Messiah will be new life from the failed lineage. If this is what the people of the tiny village of Nazareth were thinking, I like their spunk. We may be Nowhere, Galilee, but new life starts here.

A young peasant woman named Mary was on her way to the town well. You might not pick her out of line up as the mother of the Messiah. The Bible never tells us if she is short, tall, pretty, intelligent, or a good knitter. We might think Elizabeth, John the Baptist's mother, was better suited to be the First Mom. She descended from priests, and her husband Zachariah was an important priest. Interestingly, Gabriel appoints the powerful priestly family to birth the rabble-rouser, anti-establishment prophet John the Baptist, who wears camel hair and eats locusts. Some kids just have to rebel.

We only know about Mary by how she acts. Gabriel approaches the young woman and says, "Greetings, favored one. The Lord is with you." In Latin, the words are "Ave, Maria." The King James reads, "Hail Mary, full of Grace."

The scripture says Mary is perplexed and ponders this strange greeting. This translation is too mild if we compare it with other uses of the Greek word "diatarraso" in the Bible. When Herod discovers a new king has been born, he is "diatarraso." When Jesus faces his arrest in John 12:27, he says his soul is "diatarrso." The same word describes how the disciples feel when they think they have seen a ghost walking on the water. Mary is just a teenager who is asked to take on a mission to be the mother of the Messiah. Troubled barely grazes the emotions more like distressed or disturbed.

We need to look at Renaissance art to identify with Mary. When you enter the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy, the first room contains Martini's Annunciation. We know Martinni is capturing the moment of the greeting because the words coming out of his mouth are "Ave Maria." Mary pulls back from Gabriel and looks over her shoulder with an epic stare-down. That is a first-class version of the "What are you looking at?" teenager "mind-your-own-business" look.

Gabriel wisely moves to his standard line, "Be not afraid." After that stare, he may be talking to himself. Remember that Gabriel is playing the role of royal herald, so the following words may have been delivered like a grand announcement:

You have found favor with God. 31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32 He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom, there will be no end."

“How can this be?” Mary answers. A 21st-century Mary might answer, "Seriously? How is this going to work since I haven't even, you know, been with a guy before?"

Because of the theology of the virgin birth, I think this passage gets over-sexualized. Mary's question may not be just about sex but the whole process. She is a teenager who is engaged to Joe through an arranged marriage. She hasn't even thought about her dress, wedding venue, or invitations. Is there going to be a honeymoon? Or maybe she is more concerned about the "Son of the Most High, kingdom without end" proclamation. Raising a child is a big task, but how can she raise a Messiah? Remember, we are in Nazareth, with 200-300 villagers, where Amazon takes two weeks. How is Mary supposed to manage this? Again, wouldn't Elizabeth be more qualified?

Let's suppose that Gabriel's answer is also not describing how the sexual encounter is going to work. "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the child shall be holy." The role of the Holy Spirit is central to Luke's story. The Holy Spirit delivers wisdom and insight to various characters 17 times in the Gospel and another 49 times in the Acts of the Apostles. In the other 65 references, the Holy Spirit guides, directs and gives people insight without impregnating them. Could Gabriel be saying, "Mary, you will have guidance all along the way. The Holy Spirit will be your companion. God has asked something hard of you, and God's got you through it all." If you were Mary, would you rather know how the IVF is going to work or if God is going to be with you to raise a Messiah?

I'm not arguing "for" or "against" the traditional theology of the virgin birth. Since two of the four Gospels don't mention it, and two do, we are 50/50. I'm not advocating dismissing it, but rather, being open to the guidance and wisdom of the Holy Spirit is the central message of Luke's Gospel. Seeking the Spirit is the daily work of being a Christian, listening, and following the guidance to bring forth love into the world.

It fills me with awe that the origins of Jesus lie in a village beneath mention in history—a real Nowheresville. Mary has no rank, connections, or worldly prospects. But she does have spiritual perception and a willingness to listen for God’s Spirit. When Gabriel finishes, Mary replies:

"Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

"Here I am." Sound familiar? When God speaks from the burning bush, Moses answers, "Here I am." Abraham, Jacob, Samuel, and Isaiah respond the same way. Mary echoes these great figures, aligning herself with God’s call. In Hebrew, "let it be" isn’t passive. It signals readiness, attention, and a willingness to act.

Too often, Mary is portrayed as submissive, but "let it be" is more like "let’s do this." For Star Trek fans, think of Jon Luc Piccard commanding, "Make it so." Mary’s words echo God’s in Genesis: "Let there be light." “Amen is also a form of “Let it be.” We say the word quietly like it means “the end. But it’s more like “let’s roll.”

Mary’s “Let it be” is not a whisper of submission—it’s a bold declaration of trust and action, echoing the very words God spoke to create light and life. Her faith reminds us that greatness often arises from unexpected places, even from the “Nowheresvilles” of the world.

What is God calling you to say “Let it be” to? Where in your life can you step forward with Mary’s courage and trust?

Are you ready to listen, trust, and act when called—confident that God’s Spirit is with you? As we go forth, carry the words in your heart of Gabriel, “Do not be afraid,” and Mary, “Here I am. Let it be.”

Amen.

Jerusalem: A Place of Waiting | Luke 1:5-17; Romans 12:9-18 | Second Sunday of Advent | December 8, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 08 Dec 2024 15:59:52 GMT

Even the grace we want can shake us up

5 In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. 6 Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly. 7 But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old. 8 Once when Zechariah’s division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, 9 he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. 10 And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside.

11 Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. 12 When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. 13 But the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John.

Luke 1:5-13

I have a strong drive to answer questions. I was that nerdy, annoying kid in grade school who knew all my multiplication tables, the periodic table, state capitals, and how many home runs Babe Ruth hit in 1927. I liked being the "answers guy" and applied this trait to my faith. I memorized important scriptures, took Greek in college, and loved theological debate. If someone had a faith question, I wanted the answer.

Ministry soon taught me that many answers are hard to come by. While I sat and prayed with people in hospital rooms, people wanted answers that doctors could not give. Why had suffering and death entered their lives? Where was God in tragedy and injustice? I've participated in funerals after suicides, for children, and two mass murders have touched my ministry. I can give you the theological answer of what Reinhold Niebuhr or Jurgen Moltmann says about suffering and evil. But those answers don't solve the anguish of a woman with two small children whose husband dies suddenly from a brain tumor. I value the life of the mind, but matters of faith get worked out in the heart and soul as we struggle to understand. Why did this happen? Where is God?

The priests of Jerusalem in Jesus' day struggled to find a certain faith in an arbitrary and unjust world. They embraced a faith in a strong law code and a grand Temple in Jerusalem. The scripture from Luke today tells the story of a priest named Zachariah, who faithfully served the answers of the day but who was astonished when an angel arrived with a message.

Luke shares three relevant details about Zachariah and his wife, Elizabeth. First, both are descendants of priestly families going back to Moses' brother Aaron more than 1000 years ago. They have been in the God business for generations, so they know all the conventional answers. Second, Luke says they are righteous in the sight of God and observe all the commands and decrees blamelessly. That's probably a compliment, but it also says they were rule-followers. Luke doesn't say they fed the hungry and visited the sick (Jesus’ measure of faith) but they were great at commands and decrees. But I'm going to give them credit because Luke is generally negative on the Temple; Jesus turns over the money changer's tables and condemns priests as broods of vipers right and left. So, Zechariah is a righteous guy in a corrupt system.

The third characteristic is crucial. Zachariah and Elizabeth have no children. They are pretty old, probably mid-30s, and there were no IVF options. The couple likely carried some pain around infertility. The social stigma was strong. If children are believed to be a blessing from God, then what does no children mean? What did the relatives say about the family line of priests lasting a thousand years being broken? Did they do something wrong? Luke is clear that they are righteous in every way, but despite living up to all the answers perfectly, the family they hoped for is not happening.

Zachariah gets some good news: He has been chosen by lottery to light the incense in the inner temple for the 9:00 AM Mass. This chance may not sound like a big deal to you to perform a ritual in church, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The odds of getting selected for this holy duty were roughly 1 in 600, and most priests never got the opportunity.

The privilege of leading the ritual for a special event can be moving. I officiated at an AIDS Remembrance Day service in the 1990s, and a woman asked me what she could do to help. I told her I needed someone to light the candles. Her eyes went so wide I thought I had insulted her, but she did it. Afterward, she told me through tears that, as a lesbian, she had always felt judged and excluded from church. Lighting the candle was the first time she felt God might love her.

We don't know how Zachariah felt about being randomly selected, but perhaps it felt like God's blessing in the face of disappointment. We need to get inside the worldview to understand the experience. During major religious festivals, people gather in the Temple courtyards twice a day to say prayers at 9 AM and 3 PM. The selected priest would light the incense to begin the prayers. The incense was meant to convey prayers floating up to God. A specific formula of rare elements was combined in the incense, considered pleasing to God. After ritual purification baths, Zachariah entered the holy sanctuary alone. On one side of the altar were twelve loaves of bread, one for each tribe of Israel, symbolizing God as the provider of the people. On the other side was a Golden Minora, the perpetual flame that had always to be lit. The priests' job was to attend to all these holy objects and rituals. Few entered this space next to the holy of holies where God dwelled and only the chief priest could enter.

The key to understanding these archaic rituals is that people believed God dwelled right there in the Temple. The house of God was not a metaphor. God lived there. If someone asked where God was in Jesus' day, God is hanging out at the Temple, beyond all the burning candles and smoldering incense. If you wanted answers, you tried to get as close as possible to where God was. We don't know how God felt about all this. It is too close to “I Dream of Genie,” keeping a genie in the bottle for my beliefs.

When an angel, later identified as Gabriel, shows up, Zachariah reacts with fear. It fascinates me that after all that trouble of baths, special incense, drawing responsibilities by lottery, all to invoke God's presence, that a priest is startled when an angel shows up. Why do we spend time filling communion cups with the proper grade of Welches juice, getting the trays just right, the colors on the table, remembering what to say as we share the bread and cup, if not to make God's presence real? Yet we would be startled if Christ sat among us and spoke. We can get so focused on the ritual we are startled by the presence.

Gabriel's news is tremendous. Not only will Zack and Liz finally have a child together, but this child will be like the great prophet Elijah and prepare the way for the Messiah. If your family has been priest for a millennium, that is as good as the news can get. Imagine how proud they were when asked what their son did for a living. "Oh, he is in the State Department, he is the front man for the Savior of the world."

With all the good news, I hate to be a downer, but we know the rest of the story. John ends up in Herod's dungeon, and is beheaded for doing his job of being a great prophet. Just because God answers prayers doesn't mean our problems are over and we will live happily ever after. Sometimes an answer to prayer challenges us to make a shift in perspective or to take action that calls for courage and effort. I believe the Holy Spirit always moves in us with love, and beckons us to what we truly need. But answering with love often stretches us to change and grow.

For example, if you asked, was I called by God to be a minister, I answer “yes.” But the sense of calling has evolved through many twists and turns. I was out of the ministry for five years after a divorce, and had planned a new calling for myself. I was working with homeless people and completed a psychology degree, and planned to be a mental health counselor. I had become a Quaker, a meditator, and felt like I was on an authentic spiritual path.

Then one day I heard a quiet whisper that I would preach again. I dismissed it because it made little sense after so much effort to rebuild my life, get a masters degree, and I felt strong in my faith. Besides, my brain whispers all kinds of ridiculous things. I have great sympathy with Zachariah, for it was hard for me to believe the whisper I heard.

A few months later I received a phone call asking me to preach for this small Lutheran Church who had fired their pastor. They asked if I would preach for three weeks. Three weeks was extended to three months, and finally to three years of a part time preaching gig. All that time I was wrestling and discerning how my life would work with that whisper. My life did not change with one big bang. After a whisper in the middle of the night, my soul took time to rearrange around what I experienced. It took time for things to unfold, and ongoing patient discernment.

In the quiet whispers of our lives, God still speaks, inviting us to trust, to grow, and to act in faith. May you have the patience to let the God’s Spirit lead you where we truly need to be, and the grace and courage to take the steps you need.

Rome: A Place of Longing" | Luke 2:1-3; Romans 8:18-25 | First Sunday of Advent | HOPE | December 1, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 01 Dec 2024 17:41:52 GMT

Why Luke's Christmas Pageant Begins in Rome

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Stewardship in Uncertain Times: Grounded in Faith, Growing Together | Mark 13:1-8 | November 17, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 17 Nov 2024 16:03:27 GMT

Don't turn inward, turn to each other and protect those most vulnerable

Mark 13:1-8

⁷ When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. ⁸ Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes in various places, and famines. These are the beginning of birth pains.

Why is Jesus being so provocative? Doesn’t he know that the last thing you should preach to a church is that the building isn’t all that important? He never had to preach through a capital campaign to replace the boiler or the carpet. But this passage tells us something we already know. A church is not just a building or an institution. It is a community and a movement. A church works to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God. Being a church is not easy, but living by the golden rule of loving your neighbor is the hope of humanity. I will dive deep into Jesus' message about the Temple and conclude that building a solid community is deeply important in challenging times.

The Temple complex in Jerusalem is the holiest ground for Jews, Christians, and Muslims today. The Western Wailing Wall and the Al Aksa Mosque sit on the mountaintop Solomon built up with stone for the First Temple in 957 BCE. Babylonian destroyed Solomon’s Temple in 587 BC. Herod the Great rebuilt walls surrounding this area in Jesus’s day. The enclosed area is about 36 acres, the size of seven high school football complexes with quarter-mile tracks surrounding them (about 5 acres each), laid out side by side. The Wailing Wall, the remains of Herod’s wall, is about 187 feet high. That is about the height a 12 to 15-story building. This was a vast open-air complex that would have swallowed most football stadiums. For historical comparison, it was larger than the Coliseum in Rome.

The disciples were justifiably in awe. In the presence of such grandeur, why is Jesus not impressed? For clue number one, let’s start with who built it-Herod. Remember your Christmas stories? Jesus had reason to hold Herod in contempt. His family fled to Egypt to escape the slaughter of the innocents. Jesus may have leftover issues with any landmarks of Herod’s grandeur. Where others gaze in wonder, Jesus sees blood money and taxes stolen from people who can’t afford it, national wealth spent on Herod’s glory while people suffer in poverty.

This episode takes place about three days after the cleansing of the Temple when Jesus took a whip, drove out the moneychangers. Aren’t you surprised they let him back in? You would probably be banned if you did that at a church flea market or craft fair. But the Chief Priests feared the crowds enthralled by Jesus.

One of the disciples blurts out, “Teacher, look at these buildings and huge stones.” The wiser and more sophisticated disciples might think, “You moron! Are you paying attention? Jesus does not like the Temple or the Priests because they want to kill him. They are the bad guys. Try to keep it straight, OK?” Jesus has had enough of the opulence of the Temple. He says, “The day will come when all of this will be thrown down, and not one stone will be left upon another.”

Now Jesus is getting everyone’s attention after poking the hornet’s nest. “When will this come about? Look around, Jesus. Those stones are humongous. This Temple will be here forever, like the Great Pyramids of Giza. What has God revealed to you about the future?” Jesus calms everyone down before one of the Chief Priests listening in has an aneurysm on the spot. Jesus then delivers this warning:

“Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nations will rise against nations, and kingdoms against kingdoms, there will be earthquakes and famines in various places. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.

Here is my paraphrase of what Jesus would say today,

“Don’t let fear and anxiety rule your heart. Terrible things happen. We are in a climate emergency with hurricanes and floods. We had a pandemic and inflation, and people are bitterly divided into political factions against each other. It is a frightening and uncertain time, but don’t get distracted from the core message to love one another and serve the common good. Everything feels like it is changing, but life is always changing. Don’t be led astray by leaders who offer easy and simplistic answers or blame others for our problems. Pull together in the hard times. That is how you get through. I’ll be with you, too, and I will show you the way.”

The first readers of Mark’s Gospel faced great tumult. Mark is writing around this terrible atrocity in Jerusalem. Is it a coincidence that the first written account of the Gospel story appears in the aftermath? As the shock of civilization-altering violence reverberates, Mark dips a quill into ink and writes these opening words of his story, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God.” Good news!? That is what the word Gospel means. Here is some good news. Writing about good news amid deep trauma and grief takes a lot of courage. Mark could have written a different story. He could have written a deep lamentation to speak of the collective suffering. Christians in 70 CE were still a faction within Judaism. They may have been in tension with the Temple leaders, but many hoped for reform. Human nature prefers gradual change. There are no early Christian texts hoping for the apocalyptic destruction of the Temple. Mark expresses strong language condemning corruption by Temple leaders, but there is no gloating in his Gospel. He never says God brought this destruction because of injustice and unfaithfulness. Nobody deserved this.

Mark doesn’t try to explain the destruction of the Temple. He has a different story to tell. Destruction and chaos are not the work of God. Instead, God has been at work behind the scenes. The Spirit was working in Jesus of Nazareth and the community formed around his life death and resurrection. His disciples have gathered to follow his teachings, and here is the good news. In verse 2 of Mark’s story, he quotes Isaiah, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make the path straight.” It’s an old story grounded in Moses and the prophets, but here is the new chapter, even as their hearts are still breaking and wounds have not yet healed.

Mark moves relentlessly forward for 13 chapters as Jesus heals, offers grace and forgiveness, challenges prejudice, hatred and arrogance, and invites people into the coming Kingdom of God, which I like to translate into the Beloved Community. His message is still valid for us. Amid fear and uncertainty, pay attention to the path Jesus taught. Don’t just look for good news; create some good news, be the good news. The facts on the ground may be terrible, but hope is always about what we cannot see. Hope is not about data; it is about possibility. We are called to be stewards not just of what we see but of a future we cannot yet perceive.

The last line of today’s text says, “These are the beginning of the birth pangs.” New life does not come easy. The birthing process is a great wonder to me. Women, you understand the ways of life better. Babies aren’t simply born; you must painfully push new human life out of your bodies and into the world. I can’t fathom it. I can only gaze in awe and wonder and try to say encouraging things. Breathe! Push! You can do it. Here it comes.

I don’t know if Mark or Jesus ever saw a birth. But they know a good analogy when they see it. History has birth pangs. We face significant challenges, such as the climate emergency, and new technology that spreads disinformation faster than wisdom; culture is changing so rapidly that we struggle to adapt. Where is it all going? The world as we know it is being shaken to its foundations.

There is a strong tendency to turn inward in times of trouble to find grounding and serenity. I’m a strong advocate of inward practices to strengthen the soul. But inward spirituality alone won’t bring us peace. Self-care is not just walking in the woods or treating yourself with something you like. Being in the community is also a vital part of self-care. In an anecdote from anthropologist Margaret Mead, she once held an ancient femur bone. She pointed to a healed break, saying, “This is when civilization began, when we advanced to care for the vulnerable.” Civilization declines when we forget protecting people who are vulnerable.

To bring the future, we must go through the birth pangs. Breathe! Push! We can do this! The temples we cling to may be toppled someday, but the good news of the Gospel story continues. We hope for things beyond what we now see. We are stewards not just of what we have now but of the future. Thanks be to God. Amen.

How Will We Live Together? | Galatians 3:27-29; 5:13-15 | New Member Sunday | November 10, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 10 Nov 2024 16:16:45 GMT

What would Paul say to a Purple Church?

¹³ You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh ^[ ^a ^] ; rather, serve one another humbly in love. ¹⁴ For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” ^[ ^b ^] ¹⁵ If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.

Galatians 5:13-15

The Apostle Paul was the church’s first conflict resolution specialist. Every letter he wrote in our scriptures was to a church in turmoil. The Galatian church was torn over whether to require circumcision, the Corinthians over meat sacrifices to idles and factionalism, and the Romans over the role of Jewish law in the emerging Christian environment. In each case, the underlying issue boiled down to how two different cultures co-exist in the community. Can the Jewish culture from which Christianity emerged and the Greco-Roman culture of the Empire live together, or must one prevail over the other? We don’t have any responses to gauge his success rate other than he had to write the Corinthians at least twice. Some scholars argue this was his crowning achievement, and others say he failed. I guess he won and lost some; afterward, Greek philosophy overwhelmed the Hebrew worldview.

We have a window into the challenges of an expanding multi-cultural religious movement based on the life and teachings of Jesus. These letters give us some of our most poetic and profound words about love in action, mind-numbing discussions about Hebrew law, and occasional contradictions. Like why tell women they are equal and then say that they should not speak in church? The essential legacy of these letters is that a church of Jesus’ followers must endeavor to love expansively enough to bridge culture, class, and ethnicity to form the Beloved Community that reflects the Kingdom of God. How do we claim Paul’s scriptural legacy in our divided culture?

Early in my ministry, I realized I was not good at handling conflict. I was a placator who wanted everyone to get along. When the church was in conflict, I worked relentlessly, going to different people to find a way for everyone to be happy. My unconscious belief was that if I were a good pastor and preached great sermons, my church would never have conflict. So, if there was conflict, I blamed myself. Ministry became exhausting, to the point of being ill, and I knew I needed to change.

I had a sabbatical and got a Lilly grant to study conflict transformation. I took several courses on mediation and reconciliation at the Eastern Mennonite Summer Peacebuilding Institute and then spent six weeks in Belfast, Northern Ireland. I had meant peace workers from Northern Ireland who connected me with people who had worked tirelessly through the Troubles and taught me about the courage and patience it takes to do the work of reconciliation.

I returned to my church in New York, eager to use my newfound skills, and the congregation was keen to help, so they had conflicts with each other. Instead of engaging in shuttle diplomacy between the angry parties, I said, “It sounds like you need to talk with each other. Would you like me present to facilitate?” Not everyone liked this new approach. My ex-wife didn’t like that I stopped placating, and asking for more dialog. My Sunday School Superintendent said, “Todd, I liked you better when you fixed everything for us. This talking with each other is very hard.” She laughed at what she said and added, “But this is what we need.”

My core convictions since then include:

· Conflict is inevitable and not always bad.

· It never gets better by burying it and not talking about it, like the proverbial dirt swept under the rug never disappears.

· Coming to a place of collaboration and respect requires honesty, patience, and courage.

Congregations all over America are trying to figure out how to live together amid a great ongoing national argument about who we will be in a divided and polarized nation. Many churches have chosen to pick sides in the cultural wars. This morning, hundreds of congregations will celebrate the election results of electing God’s chosen candidate. Jonathan Cahn, a pastor who was #5 on the NY Times bestseller list, has compared Trump to Jehu, the king who killed Ahab and Jezebel and everyone who followed them. He has called on Trump to be the avenger and purify America, ending abortion, homosexuality, and liberalism. Other congregations may look like the Democrat partly at prayer.

Some congregations will try a second path. They will try to ignore our political division and not talk about it. They will pull inward, focusing on loving each other in community and avoiding topics that might cause controversy. That option might sound safe and comfortable, but a mentor once told me that comfortable churches are dying churches.

I led a workshop several years ago titled “How to Have Brave and Bold Conversations in church.” Initially, I asked people what they could not talk about in church. One person mentioned gun control. Another said, moving the pews. Abortion. Homosexuality. Money. Racism. The list grew long, and someone said, “We cannot talk about anything in church. No wonder our churches are dying. They are not honest or relevant, and who would come to a place where you can’t talk about what is happening in the world? It sounds like a cocktail party without the alcohol.” We may worry that people will leave if we talk about controversial things. But it is also true that if we avoid all controversy, a different group of people will leave because they feel unsupported and the church is irrelevant.

So, what are we called to do as disciples of the way of Jesus in this terrible and conflicted time? The answer is not straightforward because Jesus’ words can offer great comfort like:

Look to the lilies of the field, and do not worry. God will take care of you.

Come all who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

And other times, Jesus says, “Pick up your cross and follow me.” He toppled the table of the money changers in the Temple and said he came to free the oppressed and was freer with the term “brood of vipers” than I would be.

These seeming contradictions tell me that the church must hold together being a place of peace, serenity, and belonging, while also having the courage to be truthful and just.

By chance I had two clergy meetings this week, before and after the election. We are all deeply concerned about both our nation and our churches. We don’t want to divide our congregations, and we also want to preach with integrity when our values are threatened.

The common phrase we all hear is to “thread the needle.” What does it mean? Sometimes, it may simply acknowledge how hard it is to be any public figure today. It may mean to seek consensus. Some mean it as a compliment.

Sometimes, we hear, pastor, please be our miracle worker and say the right things that will make us feel like a community without us having to do the work of talking about our differences or the painful reality of what is happening in the world.

Many have told me they are scared and worried for the future and need a church where they feel safe to talk about it. People have asked me what will we do if some of the worst proposals come to pass? What if marriages are annulled for LBGTQ people? We might be relieved this election happened without violence, but what if violence against ethnic minorities, Muslims, Jews and gay people rise as they did after the 2016 election? What if women are going to be denied reproductive health care, even in the middle of a miscarriage?

Some people have told me not to make any waves, avoid controversy, and don’t name evil and injustice because it is upsetting. Others have challenged me to find my inner prophet and preach boldly against injustice. As I learned earlier in ministry, I cannot fulfill these conflicting desires. As a leader, if you look over your shoulder and no one is there, you are just out for a walk. I want to be your leader, in a way that is collaborative. This work belongs to us all.

The next steps for our congregation are not a complete mystery. I have been thinking about this week and preparing for it since January (which doesn’t mean I’m fully prepared!). My sermon series has been on topics like how to have more meaningful conversations as a spiritual practice. I have preached about the importance of eating together. We had dinners in each other’s homes and had a wonderful launch to Supper and Spirit last Sunday. Our book group has been reading “The Sin of Certainty” about embracing complexity and wisdom and moving through doubt to a richer understanding of God. Friends, I have hoped that all this work would give us the perspective, tools, and culture to meet this moment we face now after the election.

We don’t have a new blueprint for our congregation, and perhaps we don’t need one. But we know our world is shifting, and we face changes we can’t fully predict. As we move forward, can we find a place where courage and grace meet, where honesty and love bridge our differences, and where every conversation draws us closer to the beloved community we seek to be.

If we commit together—to walk this path with respect, to listen without fear, to speak with conviction—then we can embody a deeper peace and justice the world is not able to find right now. Let’s not settle for comfort alone but reach for the transformative power of Christ’s love. This work isn’t easy, but it’s ours to do. Amen."

Imagine a Table for Everyone | I Corinthians 11:17-34 | All Saints Sunday | November 3, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 03 Nov 2024 16:10:11 GMT

Remembering Jesus means welcoming like Jesus did

I Corinthians 11:18-21

In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. ¹⁹ No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God’s approval. ²⁰ So then, when you come together, it is not the Lord’s Supper you eat, ²¹ for when you are eating, some of you go ahead with your own private suppers. As a result, one person remains hungry and another gets drunk.

I have only been to one bad potluck my entire life. I have been to potlucks in at least nine states in over 50 years, and I have never been to one that ran out of food or had terrible choices. It can be a little challenging for vegetarians, but it is hard to mess up a potluck. Potlucks are based on faith and trust. The word was first used in the 16 ^th century for a common meal for guests consisting of whatever people had to throw in the pot. I'm sure there were some interesting soups. It might be chives and possums or roadkill chili, but no one went away hungry. The idea of potlucks became popular in churches during the Great Depression. It was an affordable way to unite people and offer a little extra to struggling folks.

So, about that one lousy potluck. I joined Clearwater, an environmental group that worked on cleaning the Hudson River. As a member, I could sail on their sloop once a year and go to their monthly potluck. So, I brought a beautiful cherry pie and came hoping to meet some new friends and hear a lecturer about the dangers of the local nuclear power plant. Pete Seegar welcomed me at the door and marveled at my cherry pie. Great start! The food looked good, with a big pot of Jambalaya and interesting salads. People were talking around the table, and I noticed they didn't move. They ate from their plates standing around the table, so I had to keep excusing myself to try different dishes. Everyone stayed in the cliches and blocked access to the best dishes. One guy even dipped his used spoon into another dish to try it. You would think an environmentalist would know better. Clean the Hudson equals using a clean spoon!

But the greatest assault on the potluck code was what happened to my cherry pie. Pie comes in slices. If you have a round pie pan, you cut a line through the center and make six to eight slices. You cut one in half if you don't want an entire slice. Someone had taken a big serving spoon and dipped a scoop from the center of the pie, thus ruining all the slices. That is the definition of barbaric. It is not a cherry crisp or custard; it is a pie. It was already sliced. Have you no decency, sir!

The problem with this potluck run amuck was not with the food; it was a lack of hospitality. The vibe of this meal was that it was for true believers only. These were Pete Seegar's people, and they were protecting their exclusive access and insider status. You can't just walk in with your bourgeois pie slices and button-down collar blue oxford shirt. We wear Birkenstocks here. Even though their movement inspired me, the message was that I was not welcome. They were the elite and doing just fine without me, so I never returned.

The Apostle Paul presents a similar challenge in his first letter to the Corinthians. Their communion remembrance of Christ had become a potluck run amuck, which was the symptom of a larger problem in the church. It sounds like Corinthian communion was different than ours where we each get the same amount of bread and the exact size cup. Paul criticizes some church members for having their own private suppers, with finer and more plentiful food than others. Their communion may have mirrored Roman feasts, with a hierarchy of who got the best seats. It wasn't a potluck where everyone shared, but more like each bringing their own picnic, and some had a charcuterie board and meat carving station, while others could only afford mac and cheese. Imagine the following Deacons meeting if we held communion like that.

On the one hand, I like the idea of communion being a full meal. It makes sense since the Last Supper was on Passover, and Jesus added this ritual to the Jewish feast, remembering the liberation of slavery from Egypt. Eating together builds unity and close ties among people. Jesus told his disciples, "Take this bread. Drink this cup. Do this in remembrance of me as often as you do it." The purpose is to align us with one another in the ways of the Kingdom of God, the Beloved Community.

If someone comes to communion wishing for a better wine list and prefers a Shiraz over a cabernet, they are missing the point. Or if they are showing off their wealth while someone else barely makes it, Paul says it is not honoring Christ. The apostle goes further, noting that this style of communion mirrors their broader problems of factions and theological arguments and divisions. He even suggests that if they are going to be a conflicted church and mirror the divisions of society, they might be better off not going to communion. Why have a ceremonial meal remembering Jesus if they don't follow him in the Great Commandment to love their neighbor as themselves?

Let me contrast this with another potluck. I was invited to be an honorary member of the African American Clergy Association in Poughkeepsie, New York. My congregation had many East African immigrants, and the black clergy invited me to their monthly breakfast. I felt much more self-conscious and anxious about belonging to this group than at the Clearwater. The food was much more fat and high carb than I could eat, especially with Crohn's Disease. Everyone's piling on the sausage, and I'm sitting there with toast. During the devotional, people would punctuate everything the speaker said with "Amens" and "Hallelujahs." The speaker broke into song, and everyone clapped along.

It was clear that I could not sing or keep rhythm like everyone else in the room. Much of their theology was more conservative than mine, and honestly, I was a little intimidated by the joyful exuberance of faith these pastors had. But this group made sure I felt welcomed. "Pastor Weir, it is so good of you to join us. Will you offer the blessing this morning?" After a hymn, one pastor told me, "Listen, Rev., you want to hang with us, you have to shout and clap. Don't worry about the rhythm or the sound; just praise the Lord." It wasn't a criticism but more like, "I see you are uncomfortable; here is what you do to fit in."

It took some getting used to the culture, but I muddled through and eventually made friends. This meal brought great fruit. The friendships we made eating together led us to work on an affordable housing project in the community. My congregation started having several joint services with an AME Zion black congregation, including pulpit exchange. But before that could have happened, we had to break bread together.

What this experience taught me is that feeling welcomed isn't conditioned on how big the cultural divide is. The cultural divides of race, economics, gender roles, and cultural norms were much larger between me and the African American clergy than the Clearwater crowd. However, welcome and inclusion are about the size of the host's heart. Does the host want to include the new outsider or protect the status of the insiders? Are you greeted positively or ignored? Are you a potential ally or a threat? Do you belong at this table? If the answer is "yes," the host will do their best to welcome everyone, especially the newcomer.

Early Christianity was remarkably diverse as it spread to many cultures in Europe, the Middle East, and Northern Africa. Paul's letters reflect that it was often challenging to create a community of equals across the cultural divides of the first century. The practice of gathering around the table as friends of Christ was a powerful unifying force. Things happen when we eat together. When Jesus called us to remember him, he did not tell us to go off in the wilderness alone and fast but to break bread together. Eating together was Jesus' great plan to create a beloved community as a sign of God's Kingdom.

A great meal is made or broken by the host. Welcoming people to the table is our most powerful asset. At a Passover feast, where Jesus instituted communion, the tradition was to save one seat for the prophet Elijah, with a cup of wine poured and ready for him. This empty chair signified the coming of the messiah to make all things new and good. The empty chair symbolizes hope. When Jesus said “Do this and remember me,” I wonder if he was filling Elijah’s chair. At every communion we not only welcome Christ to sit in the empty chair, but we welcome the stranger to Elijah’s chair as a way of following Jesus.

Today, our churches have many empty chairs and empty pews. Imagine a ritual where we take a moment to honor an empty chair every time we meet. At every worship service, book group, Bible Study, or social event, what if we took a moment to say, who needs this chair? How will we invite them, how will we welcome them? In a world so filled with division and strife, our empty chair is a hope of creating a community where all are fed all are welcomed.

Imagine a World Made Whole | Isaiah 35:1-8 | October 27, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 27 Oct 2024 15:33:49 GMT

Hope requires persistence and poetry

The desert and the parched land will be glad;

The wilderness will rejoice and blossom.

Isaiah 35:1

While in college, I drove across South Dakota to visit Badlands National Park. The Lakota people called it "Mako Sica," which translates "land bad," referring to the stark landscape with sharply eroded buttes, deep gorges, and steep canyons. It is a great film site for movies like "Wyatt Earp" and "Dances with Wolves." The landscape is so surreal that several sci-fi movies have also been filmed there.

After eight hours of driving across the flat Dakota plateau, I was stunned by what I saw. The panorama before me was not barren but covered with green grass and bright purple flowers. It was a wet year, and the desert had blossomed. Since I anticipated stark beauty, I couldn't tell if I felt more awe or disappointment.

Sometimes, hope can be so surprising we can't quite grasp that it is real. The good news takes our breath away. The cancer is gone, the marriage proposal finally happened. You made your last student loan payment. The wilderness rejoices and blooms. Occasionally, history surprises us with the fall of the Berlin Wall. I also remember New Year's Eve in 2000, when Nelson Mandela lit a candle in his former prison cell. Apartheid was finally ending, and a parched land became glad. Moments we never expected to see became reality.

Isaiah 35 sounds wonderfully hopeful, but it is easy to feel that it is not for us. If you live long enough in the Badlands, it is hard to believe they will ever blossom. Many scholars think Isaiah wrote this poetry in a time of national despair. The Assyrians had conquered northern Israel and posed a constant threat of invasion. A gloom hung over the nation. So, Isaiah may have been writing to remind people to trust and hope that God had not forgotten them.

Are you more hopeful or worried about the future? We are holding our breath to get through the election on November 5. It is like waiting for a biopsy to see if we have cancer or not. We may despair that our divisions are so great that elections don't solve things anymore. We wonder if we have lost our ability to do big things together because we don't trust each other. How can we live in hope with so much uncertainty and division?

Some of us are more hopeful as a disposition. Do you know the difference between an optimist and a pessimist?

Pessimist: Sees the glass as half empty and probably thinks the water is contaminated. Optimist: Sees the glass as half full and believes there are probably free refills.

Pessimist: Wakes up and thinks, "Great, another day for everything to go wrong."

Optimist: Wakes up and thinks, "Wow, another day to make questionable decisions with enthusiasm!"

Pessimist: Believes that every silver lining has a dark cloud attached to it. Optimist: Believes that every dark cloud has a silver lining, plus a rainbow and maybe a pot of gold if they look hard enough!

I think I am a pessimistic optimist. A pessimistic optimist is the one who thinks, "I'm sure everything will work out, but let's be honest, we'll probably run out of snacks before it does." I cannot take credit for this term. It was coined by Reinhold Niebuhr, the author of the Serenity Prayer, about changing what we can and accepting what we can't. Niebuhr believed that because we are human, limited, and mortal, there is good reason for pessimism. But because God is good, and God is love, there is reason for hope and optimism. Our hope in God outweighs our human limits; therefore, we live as pessimistic optimists.

I know things can go terribly wrong. I lived through a major car crash when I was five. My Dad survived a plane crash and then died of cancer. I have had six surgeries and almost died from a perforated intestine. I grew up in the farm crisis; I went through a divorce. A family was murdered in my first church, and I ran a homeless shelter for eight years. I know life can go very, very wrong because I have done the funerals.

And yet, my blood type is B Positive, so optimism is in my blood. I would rather be hopeful and risk being wrong than be cynical and right. With pessimism, you lose either way. Hope is something more than being optimistic and thinking things will be OK. Some things won't be OK. Hope is a trust in the possibility that all is not lost, that there is meaning even in suffering, that God can make a way when it feels like there is no way. The Christian faith proclaims a God of second chances. In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul encourages them, "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed daily."

Hope doesn't come from evidence but trusts God despite all the evidence. The Apostle Paul said, "But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently." (Romans 8:24-25, NIV)

Biblical hope is a mix of persistence and poetry. Jesus taught his followers to love in active and engaged ways. Doing small things with great love makes a difference. Even a small act of giving a cup of cold water matters. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Lead with proactive goodness; don't wait for others to step up. If you have the faith of a tiny mustard seed, you have enough to move mountains. Jesus did not tell his followers to wait on the mountaintop for the second coming but to live daily knowing that the Kingdom of God is near when we act in love.

So persist in love and acts of kindness. But we need some poetry to carry us through.

Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
and the ears of the deaf unstopped. ⁶ Then will the lame leap like a deer,
and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
and streams in the desert. ⁷ The burning sand will become a pool,
the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

Isaiah 35:5-7

We need these words of poetry in our bloodstream to persist in love, even as our world is shrill and divided. We can acknowledge the gravity of our problems but still move towards a hopeful vision of the future. That is why we gather every Sunday to confess where we fell short, sing music that is good for the soul, hear words of encouragement, and know that we are not alone in our quest.

What is your hope? Sharing it publically brings hope to the forefront of your mind.

I place hope in generous people. I pray that no one in our community will die of cold because the Fuel Fund and the Woodchucks provide backup support. I have faith that no one will be hungry because of the food pantry and the Community Fridge. Active faith leads to hope.

I hope for a community where you are not forgotten and where you can age with dignity. We are the oldest county in the oldest state, so actively engaging in this support matters to our mission. We can't move into the future in a way that leaves behind anyone growing older. That is why we have a robust online ministry, are working on handicap accessibility for our worship space, and take the time to visit and connect. We must be a church that is not afraid to face suffering and grief to be with people amid pain.

I hope we can also be a multi-generational community. We must not give up on welcoming young families and children. At times, that may push us to change how we do things. We will need an attitude of curiosity, flexibility, and willingness to try new things to welcome a new generation. We must be learners as well as teachers.

I hope we are a church confident enough to take risks and not afraid to fail at something. Gordon Crosby, one of my favorite preachers, often said he wanted to preside over more failures than any other pastor in America. Nobody gets the Holy Spirit right the first time around. We should always have an experiment to learn more about how to put our love into action. We have two experiments bubbling right now as we launch Supper and Spirit, a dinner church experience. We are also exploring a Green Team to work for creation justice. I hope to be a church that celebrates the wonder and awe of creation, and works to care for God's creation, and invites and advocates for others to do so.

Hope is the energy we need when we are weary. Even the desert can bloom, and what is barren can be filled with life. Leave here holding onto this promise, trusting that God can bring joy and renewal even to the wildernesses, even with contested elections, of our lives. Go forth with hearts open, hands ready and eyes focused to see new life spring forth.

Imagine Healing | II Kings 5:1-15b | October 20, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 20 Oct 2024 15:27:07 GMT

Inner healing and facing vulnerability

¹⁰ Elisha sent a messenger to say to him, “Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.”

¹¹ But Naaman went away angry and said, “I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy. ¹² Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?” So he turned and went off in a rage. II Kings 5:10-12

If I asked you who Naaman was in the Bible, you must be a fan of Bible trivia to answer. Outside of II Kings 5, Naaman is only mentioned once, by Jesus in Luke 4:27. In his first sermon in his hometown Nazareth, Jesus said, "And there were many in Israel with leprosy in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed—only Naaman the Syrian." Jesus is making a point that God is gracious to heal an outsider. Now listen to the following two verses:

All the people in the synagogue were furious when they heard this. ²⁹ They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built to throw him off the cliff.

Tough crowd! Apparently, what Jesus learned in seminary didn't translate back home. I wonder about this gap between Jesus' words about healing and this violent reaction. Jesus' healings often stirred anger instead of celebration. Shouldn't a healing story be good news? There are several stories where Jesus healed, but people were angry because it was the Sabbath, which broke religious law. I realized for the first time this week that Jesus healed people four times on the Sabbath, just in Luke's Gospel. You might think that after people got angry, Jesus could switch and heal them on Monday or maybe even Thursday. Clearly, Jesus wanted to make a point by healing on the Sabbath four times, knowing it would upset people!

Today, I want to explore this disconnect surrounding healing and wellness. What is it about these moments of grace that stir anger? What can we learn from Naaman's story, which happened 850 years before Jesus and still upset people? And how does this story speak to us if we imagine being a church that imagines being a source of healing in our troubled and broken world?

I understand Naaman and his resistance to go to the Jordan River to be healed. This is a classic story of a great hero who must become vulnerable to become whole. Naaman is at the highest levels of achievement and competence, a victorious general of great renown, but he has leprosy. Superman, the man of steel, is susceptible to kryptonite. Vulnerability is a part of being human.

Naaman had leprosy, which was more than a health problem. Social and moral implications were also in the mix. A wide variety of skin conditions were lumped together under the term leprosy, and Leviticus outlined guidelines for priests to examine people to decide if they were contagious or not. (Yet another thing I did not learn in seminary!). Leprosy was seen as a curse or the result of sin. Of the 61 defilements in ancient Jewish laws, leprosy is the second most serious, after contact with a dead body. People with leprosy were forced to stay at least six feet away from physical contact to avoid contagion. (Sound familiar!).

I bet leprosy created rumors around Naaman. Is he guilty of some secret sin? Can we go near him? Is he competent to lead us in battle? Will we lose God's favor in the next war? This skin condition had national security implications.

Who is going to solve this problem? A Jewish slave girl, captured in a border raid, speaks of the great prophet Elisha, known to cure diseases. The Hebrew text emphasizes she is a "small slave girl." She may be the least influential person in all of Aram (Syria). Her suggestion went from Naaman's wife to Naaman to a conversation with the king about asking a foreign prophet of an adversary to heal their great general. This simple suggestion from a small voice will involve careful international diplomacy.

The political leaders of the two nations completely botch the negotiation. The king of Aram sends a letter and a caravan of gold and silver. The letter reads, "When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent you Naaman, my servant, that you may cure him of his leprosy." Crucial information is left out, like finding Elisha the prophet. Israel's king freaks out, rips his clothes, and says, "I am not a God. I don't have the power of life and death and healing." It's a trap. When he doesn't heal the general, the invasion will come. It is fascinating that the author of the Book of Kings shows us that two kings are incompetent in dealing with something as simple as a man's skin problem. II Kings is not a narrative glorifying kingly power and wisdom. The king of Aram thinks money and wealth will solve the problem, but gold does not heal. And Israel's king sounds anxious, paranoid, and cowardly. Notice that neither king gets a name in the story. They are just as nameless as a slave girl.

Elisha is the non-anxious hero needed to sort out a crisis. Step one for any leader in trouble is to deal with your fearful emotions first. Great leaders manage themselves so they can make clear decisions. Leaders who are grandiose and play to the crowd, or who lead by threats and insults, who blame and scapegoat others rather than take responsibility are weak because they can’t manage themselves.

Elisha sends a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel." Naaman now travels to Elisha's house with chariots, war horses, silver, and gold. This display of wealth and power is supposed to awe Elisha. But what does he do? He again sends a messenger to say, "Wash in the Jordan River seven times, and you will be healed." Naaman is insulted by this ridiculous suggestion. In his mind, Elisha should come and face him, wave his hand over the leprosy spots, and heal him in a grand ceremony worthy of his importance. And why the Jordan River? It's a small, muddy river when Aram has beautiful, mighty rivers of sweet, clear water. Why can't I just go home and wash in our rivers?

Elisha's cure is psychologically brilliant. The powerful general who has conquered many lands must be humble enough to wash in the little muddy river of a minor rival. It's terrible publicity. Few people look good after being dunked in water, with wet hair clinging to their faces, clothes sticking to their bodies. Naaman must do this seven times. He must be baptized in a foreign river. A baptism is an act of humility. You must be washed and made clean. You are submerged in an unfriendly environment where you can't breathe. The hope is that you will emerge as a new being, healed by grace, to be who you are meant to be in God's eyes. Martin Luther said remember your baptism every day. Remember it every time you wash your face. You live by grace. You must get wet.

No wonder Naaman just wants Elisha to wave a hand over him and be healed. I wish every peace deal, every act of Congress, or divided Supreme Court decision required leaders to dunk themselves in the rivers of their opponents seven times. Congress should have an annual day to humbly walk out into the Potomac, or every state governor must wade into the river of a state governed by the opposite party. Maybe every voter, too. Elisha says the way towards healing is to swim in your opponent's river. You must get wet.

Who will save Naaman from his pride? Once again, a lowly servant saves the day and convinces him to go. It's not his king telling him to do whatever is necessary and return to work. It's not a trusted advisor. It's a humble servant who sees what must be done and says, "Naaman, if the prophet told you to do something hard and courageous, you would do it. All you must do is bathe in the river. Isn't your healing worth it?”

Finally, Naaman takes the plunge, dips himself seven times in the Jordan, and emerges a new man. It is not only his skin that is healed. This affects his soul. Naaman understands God in a new way. His awareness of God is opened as he sees that other rivers, and other peoples, are just as sacred as he is. This God works not through kings and generals but through small servants, strange prophets, and acts of humility.

So where is your river this morning? Where are you called to take a step into a vulnerable place? You don’t want to do this thing, but wholeness requires it for you to be your best self. Where do you need to see a conflict from a different point of view, or to either forgive or set better boundaries? What life change do you need to be healthy? Remember, healing begins with humility, and God meets us when we are willing to wade into unknown waters. Friends, claim your baptism. Live in grace. Whatever it is you must do, God will go with you. In the rivers we least expect, God’s grace flows strongest. So, when the moment comes, and you stand on that river’s edge, remember: the God of wholeness invites you to step in and get wet.

Season of Creation VI: A Little Lower Than the Angels | Psalm 8 | October 6, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 06 Oct 2024 13:20:29 GMT

Does the Universe Wink? Finding our place in the vast universe.

Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory in the heavens. ² Through the praise of children and infants
you have established a stronghold against your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger. ³ When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place, ⁴ what is mankind that you are mindful of them; human beings that you care for them?

⁵ You have made them a little lower than the angels and crowned them with glory and honor. ⁶ You made them rulers over the works of your hands; you put everything under their feet: ⁷ all flocks and herds and the animals of the wild, ⁸ the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas.

9Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!

-Psalm 8

Living in Maine has rekindled my interest in watching the nighttime skies. I didn't realize how impoverished I was, shielded from heavenly wonder by our well-lit suburban neighborhood. It brings me back to my childhood fascination with space. I watched Neil Armstrong's first step on the moon on a small 15-inch black and white TV. I dreamed of space travel, watched Star Trek, and drank Tang every morning. On a trip to an observatory, I saw the rings of Saturn and the Horses Head Nebula, and I tried to wrap my mind around the idea that a light year is 5.88 trillion miles.

In some areas of science, more knowledge removes the mystery, but with space research, the more we know, the greater wonder. Look at these images from the Hubble Telescope. The first nebula picture is called the Pillars of Creation. The nebula is an active star nursery with radiation and stellar winds shaping the pillars. New stars are forming within the clouds. This glimpse of creation still birthing new worlds shows us that the Universe is not a static reality created millions of years ago, but is still in process.

After Isaac Newton constructed laws of gravity and motion, there was a tendency to view God as the designer of a predictable and complete universe, who then stepped away and left the rest to humanity. God was like a watchmaker, as we were to keep up with the winding to make time tick forward. If the Universe is still forming, how can we view God as static, fixed, and easily pinned down by clear doctrine? I think it's hopeful to imagine that God is still speaking, "Let there be light of even more stars." If God is not finished with the Universe, then God is not finished with us either.

The second picture (above) is the Bubble Nebula. The Bubble Nebula is an emission nebula created by the intense winds from a hot, massive star at its center. The star, SAO 20575, is about 40 times more massive than the Sun. The bubble-like structure is formed as powerful solar winds push away surrounding gas and dust, creating a shell of glowing gas about seven light-years across. That bubble is over 41 trillion miles, equal to traveling around the Earth 1.65 billion times. Think of the frequent flyer miles!

From Earth, all the stars look the same. From a distance, they seem static enough for mariners to navigate the oceans. But the Universe is busy blowing bubbles. As a species, we barely scratch the surface of the Universe's beauty and powerful forces. Perhaps if we got away from the bright city lights and the glow of our screens, it would stimulate our imagination and curiosity to be more creative. If nothing is majestic, then we are stuck in our deadlocked ideology, our fear of new ideas, and the sense that there are not enough of things for everyone. If we can launch a telescope into space and see these wonders, we can figure out simpler issues like food security or how to get energy to power the world without destroying planetary life. Some people think our problems stem from pushing God out of schools or the public square, but I think we have a deeper problem: we have pushed God out of our imagination and creativity. We limit our possibilities by believing God is static and far away.

The Psalmist asks the obvious tricky question. In a universe light-years-vast, what are we that God might be mindful of us? We might think we are alone in the cold, dark Universe, living on an insignificant little planet. So, why not be selfish and enjoy life as we want? To heck with striving towards something better. Why would a God of a million galaxies pay attention to our little planet, our intractable wars, or what is happening to our relationships or feelings? Have you ever felt in prayer that your heartbreak is too insignificant for God when millions are displaced from their homes in Sudan or Gaza? Who am I that God would be mindful of me?

In Neil deGrasse Tyson's book "Astrophysics for People in a Hurry," he writes:

"The Universe is under no obligation to make sense to you. But from time to time, it can be remarkably accommodating, almost as if it has taken pity on us…[Every} now and then, it winks at us."

In spiritual terms, we might call this moment a mystical experience, a Divine revelation of our interconnection with this vast Universe. We could call this interconnection love. We are loved by a God who might be unfathomable yet still knowable, if even by a wink.

What does it mean if someone winks at you? If someone winks at me, I'm slightly startled and wonder if I saw things correctly. I might be both skeptical and intrigued. It can be playful, like you are an insider to what this person is doing or thinking. It might invite more relationship, stimulating curiosity without making promises, more like a "come and see," as Jesus often said to people with questions. Does the Universe wink at us in the twinkling stars? Does God try to get our attention by blowing giant gas bubble nebulas seven-light-years-wide?

The author of Psalm 8 thinks something is communicated to us from the Universe, "You have made us a little lower than the angels and crowned us with glory and honor." How much is a little lower? An inch or a light year? Genesis 1:27 says God created us in the image and likeness of God. We aren't gods, but there is some Divine DNA shaping us. We are mortal yet made with a bit of stardust. Therefore, like God, we are creative and capable of doing good and beautiful things. We can call this the theology of Original Blessing.

Our Calvinist forebearers were more skeptical of human potential. John Calvin believed in the total depravity of humans, meaning that every part of our being- mind, will, emotions, and body- is corrupted by sin. We are selfish, prideful, and rebellious against God. Therefore, we cannot save ourselves or do good on our own, but we must repent and throw ourselves to the mercy of God. If the Universe winked at us, we would think we own the place. This theology leans hard towards original sin, and there is no winking. God speaks more through burning flames.

There are days when I look at the events of the world and see much that looks like total depravity. Reinhold Niebuhr once said sin is the only theological doctrine you can prove by reading the morning paper. Notice he did not say original sin; we just often fall short of our God-given calling. Niebuhr was profoundly influential in my development in seminary. He reflected deeply on the questions of Psalm 8 about how we relate to God in his book "Nature and Destiny of Man." He believed that we live in this place of constant tension between being created in the image and likeness of God; and also being sinners who do terrible things to each other. Our spiritual path must embrace both aspects. If we lean too far towards thinking we are like God, we tend towards hubris and pride. We believe we are right; others are wrong, and try to bend the world to our desire and comfort. On the other hand, if we lean too far towards thinking we are totally depraved, we can fail to see our potential, and we hide in fear rather than act in faith. Much human anxiety comes from knowing we have so much potential for good, and yet we are limited, mortal, and can't see the big picture.

Niebuhr wrote a prayer to help people navigate this dilemma. "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Niebuhr was not thinking about Alcoholics Anonymous when he wrote the Serenity Prayer, but it fit, and has become the touchstone for dealing with addiction. It reflects that we are made a little lower than angels, that being entrusted with stewardship of the world requires courage to do the right things. And we are also mortal, limited beings, always in need of wisdom that transcends our limited experience.

This prayer may be exactly what we need for the year ahead. As we leave here today, carry the knowledge that though we are but a small part of this vast universe, we are still deeply loved, deeply known, and called to be stewards of creation. Live in awe of the wonders around us, and with courage, embrace your potential to do good. For every star that twinkles, every bubble that forms, may we be reminded: God is still winking at us, inviting us into a deeper relationship with the divine and with one another. Amen.

Season of Creation V: The Healers of Creation | James 5:13-20 | September 29, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 29 Sep 2024 18:25:52 GMT

What is the point of praying, in the wake of Hurricane Helene?

^{Pillars of Creation Nebula from the Hubbell Telescope}

Is anyone among you in trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing songs of praise. ¹⁴ Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵ And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. ¹⁶ Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.

James 5:13-16

Does it matter to pray for the planet and about climate change? Will we have any effect on rising sea levels, scorching summers, or more intense weather disasters? Or is prayer a personal practice that helps us navigate daily life? People often ask me to pray for good weather for an outdoor wedding, and I often quip, "I'm in personnel, not management." Some problems of the universe are above my pay grade! But our Sunday prayers usually include many things far beyond our control.

These thoughts lead to more profound theological questions, like if prayer works and, if so, how. Does praying for peace in the Middle East or easing world hunger matter? Sending our thoughts and prayers after school shootings has become a ridiculed cliché since we have had 28 school shootings this year. Should we pray about the planetary-sized problems or stay in our lane with the challenges and sufferings of daily life?

Curiosity led me to read the latest from the Pew Research Foundation. It notes that 65 percent of Christians think prayer is an integral part of faith, 55 percent report praying daily, and 45 percent believe they have answered prayer in the past year. About 25 percent pray for broader issues of society like poverty or world peace. What do we make of this declining staircase of prayer statistics? I'm surprised only 65 percent of Christians see prayer as necessary, which means one in three do not see its value. It doesn't surprise me that just over half pray daily; that seems high, given how busy life can be. I admire the 10 percent who pray daily but don't think they have had any answers to prayer in the past year. That is a faith commitment! My takeaway is that while the average Christian prays, we are nearly 50-50 on whether prayer is worth our time and if it accomplishes what we hope. And since only one in four pray for more encompassing issues, I wonder if it means we don't think prayer will make any difference on the world stage other than just making us better individuals.

I will make the case that prayer significantly impacts our faith development. Taking time to connect with the divine improves our well-being, guides us to wisdom and courage, and helps us understand and connect to even the intractable world problems. Also, relating to climate change, I will make the case that integrating creation into our spirituality is essential to addressing our climate challenges. A more creation-oriented spirituality provides a new path to faith for a more secular generation.

In our scripture reading from the book of James, the author concludes his brief epistle by urging people to pray in various situations. If you are in trouble, pray. If you are happy, sing praises. Pray for people who are sick, bringing the elders of the church together. Confess your sin so you can move forward and change. James shows us that prayer includes a rich diversity of practices in different life situations. Prayer is not just asking for things; it also involves seeking wisdom and strength in times of trouble, gratitude for good things, reflection on where we fall short, and seeking good things for others, including healing. This list is a great beginning but not exhaustive of the possibilities. The influence of Buddhism has led to more people practicing mindfulness, a prayer of learning to be silent and present right where we are.

James also notes the importance of praying together, not just alone. If someone is sick, we need all the elders to come in. Praying together reminds us that we are not alone in stumbling toward God but are upheld by a community. The Lord's Prayer is meant to be done together. We pray to "our Father," not just our personal God. We pray for a kingdom to come, a new and more just order for things, not just for our salvation and well-being. Give us this day, our daily bread, which means every human deserves food security.

We discussed this in Bible study on Monday, and several people who have gone through significant illness addressed the value of prayer support as essential to their well-being. Becky Welsh said the prayers of this congregation saved her life. This discussion raised an important issue. What do we mean when we say prayer "works" or is "answered?" Efforts at research into prayer have established that people who pray are often happier, healthier, and more caring and involved in the community. But not everyone. I know people who pray daily who are miserable, narrow-minded, and judgmental. I also know people who are kind and generous, and yet they die of cancer despite many prayers. Prayer does not have a simple formula for results; if you pray the right way, say the right words, and do it often enough, you will get the desired result. Prayer is not God's way of taking opinion polls. God does not stand over us like an emperor at the coliseum, waiting to deliver a thumbs up or down based on the number of prayers. Nor does God have complicated rules like the Senate and filibusters us on healing or world peace until we can get 60 percent of us to pray the same way.

We pray together because prayer is a way of relating. Prayer guides how we relate to life, God, the Universe, each other, and ourselves. It does not produce a commodity but rather strengthens our relatedness. Prayer is more about aligning than getting what we want. It is more like piano tuning than getting compound interest in our bank account.

James shows us the way to a rich and diverse prayer life, where we match different prayer forms with varying life circumstances. The Psalms of the Old Testament also teach the importance of varieties of prayer in multiple circumstances. There is a Psalm for everything, including the harvest, laments for things gone awry, appeals for justice in the world, asking for forgiveness or healing, looking for God's presence, and even a few curses for enemies. I asked ChatGPT what percentage of Psalms are about broader social issues, and this is the answer I got:

Approximately 40% of the psalms are classified as laments or psalms that call for justice and address societal issues. These psalms frequently express deep cries for God's intervention in the face of injustice, oppression, and suffering. Many focus on the plight of the vulnerable, including the poor, orphans, and widows, emphasizing God's concern for justice.

The prayers of the ancient Psalms encourage us to pray about the big picture. Specifically, Psalms urges us to lament when devastation strikes us. Lament is not a significant prayer form in our culture, but perhaps we need it more than ever. A lament voices our emotional pain, anguish, and grief. Our culture tends to bury strong negative emotions. We cover death with flowers rather than throw a handful of dirt into a grave. Grief is often buried and not spoken. Many people who are grieving a death have told me that they feel like they have the plague and people are awkward around them. Lament helps us give voice to grief. Lamenting together means we are not alone. Prayer can't reach back and change the past, but it can bring us closer to God and one another. It stimulates the healing of our souls.

We also feel grief about what is happening in the world. Whether the devastation is from war in the Middle East or Hurricane Helene pounding the Southeast this week, it burdens our hearts. The church has a necessary and powerful role to play amid all kinds of grief by showing our solidarity and care. This care is a step towards healing, hope and action. (Not just thoughts and prayers.) Climate grief is now a new psychological diagnosis, especially causing emotional distress for younger generations. Many wonder if they have a future, and some are deciding not to have children. This situation looks like an opportunity for ministry to distressed people. We might do well to remember the generation gap in climate change. Seventy percent of people in Gen X to Gen Z consider dealing with climate change a top priority, while only 58 percent of Boomers identify the same priority. If you are worried about not seeing younger generations in church, perhaps we need to get more in touch with their priorities.

I'm wondering if a creation-oriented spirituality can play a role in the renewal of the church, not just because of climate change but because of technology and the increasing secularization of society. Connecting with creation is a pathway to wonder and awe. Awe is an antidote to grief and hopelessness.

Robert B. Hubbell , a political commentator I read on Substack, is also an amateur astronomer. He concludes his columns with a daily dose of perspective with pictures of brilliant star systems and far-flung nebulas. Historian Heather Cox Richardson also provides a weekly picture of sunrises, sharing our beauty with her readers. These writers understand how much we need awe and wonder. We need to live out of a bigger perspective. Wonder stirs love. And we only create change when we truly love.

Season of Creation IV: To Hope and Act WITH Creation | Mark 9:30-37 | September 22, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 22 Sep 2024 18:20:03 GMT

On Welcoming the Tomato Snatching Chipmunk

Mark 9:30-37

The noble theme of our Seasons of Creation, "To Hope and Act With Creation," begins with great ideals and possibilities. Hope is how a journey must begin to imagine the possible future. Many climate advocates recognize that doom and despair are not great motivations for change. Doom leads to denial or depression. We need hope to act. But hope is not the most challenging word in the title. The preposition "with" can be more complicated. A decade ago, the theme probably would have said, "To hope and act "for" Creation." The preposition for implies that we have a responsibility to be good stewards of the Earth, but the living plants and animals are passive recipients of our good works. Acting for Creation is not a bad thing. It is undoubtedly better than acting "over" Creation, which was the human default, while we wantonly cut down forests and hunted beavers or whales to near extinction. But acting "for" Creation still sees other life as passive objects of our benevolence, without any relationship.

Using with suggests a partnership and interconnections between humans and the natural world. It implies that Creation is in God; active and working towards healing, restoration, and flourishing. Humans are part of Creation, not separate from it, and called to act in harmony and solidarity with the Earth and its ecosystems. With is a hard word for humans to embrace. As we unpack the Gospel lesson, Jesus struggled to get the disciples to understand his mission as working "with" humanity rather than "over" others or even "for" others. While the disciples argue over who is the greatest, Jesus is trying to get them to understand how to be servants with each other. Indeed, how can humanity be with God and each other, rather than constantly trying to be over each other?

We can relate to their confusion if we walk in the disciple's sandals. This story is the second time Jesus says he will be betrayed into human hands and killed, and after three days, he will rise again. If someone tells me we all must suffer more, I think that is a bad plan. I am not a fan of martyrdom or martyrs. I can find the courage to face suffering, but that doesn't mean I plan to create it. So, what does Jesus mean?

I believe Jesus is predicting the inevitable consequences of speaking truth to power. It doesn't take a vision from God to see that Jesus is on a collision course with political and religious power. He has 13 significant confrontations with religious leaders in Mark's Gospel. Martin Luther King Jr.'s last sermon before his assassination had that same eerie tone that he knew he was not long for this world.

The disciples fear this possibility and don't want to ask Jesus about it. Instead, they are going to argue about who is the greatest. Let me pause the story and quickly relate this to climate change. Scientists have been telling us for 40 years about the consequences of continuing to burn more carbon into the atmosphere. I played the early SimCity computer game when the goal was to save a coastal city from destruction from rising sea levels in 2030. The flooding crisis is becoming apparent as we now close in on the date. People may not believe this is true, but their insurance company begs to differ. They are canceling insurance in flood plains. Like the disciples, we are distracted by our problems, which are very real. We all must put food on the table. We want to feel worthwhile and loved. But if we ignore the big picture, what is happening to the Earth, we will lose what we need to build a hopeful future for our families.

Jesus tries to persuade the disciples of a better way to live the good life. Our true value is in serving others. Jesus uses the Greek word for a lowly servant of the household, diakonia, the root word for the office of Deacon. Deacons don't rule over the church but serve the needs of the church. The early church understood Jesus' message about service when the first office they created in the book of Acts was to appoint Deacons to visit sick people and feed hungry people in the community. Imagine the impact in a hierarchical Roman culture to say, "Our leaders are Deacons, servant leaders.”

What would it mean if we appointed Deacons to serve the needs of Creation? What would Creation Deacons do? They would think about the ecological impact of the mission of the church. For example, when our Trustees changed the outdoor lighting system, they considered the impact of bright lights on migratory birds. Creation Deacons could pay attention to ensure we know the best practices for using our building, land, finances, and other resources in an ecological way that serves all life in Creation.

Two troublesome chipmunks are challenging me to come to terms with working with Creation. After Jeanne and I built our new house on 3 acres of Barter's Island timber, she gave me the book, "Nature's Best Hope: A New Approach to Conservation that Starts in Your Yard" by Douglas Tallamy. The book's basic thesis is that a typical grass yard is a food desert for most birds, pollinators, and wildlife. If people re-dedicated half their grass space to native plants, pollinators, trees, and cover for more wildlife, we would double the square acreage of our national park system and improve our natural environment. I went all-in, and Jeanne I set to work this spring. We planted a clover yard and enjoyed the full blooms in June and the sound of our yard buzzing like a beehive. We dug out rocks to plant native rhododendrons, hydrangeas, and, of course, blueberries. We knew the deer would come after the hasta and hydrangea and learned how to mitigate the possibility.

The deer have taken their nibbles but have mainly expressed appropriate gratitude by grazing on the clover. But two chipmunks have not gotten the memo. We planted four cherry tomato plants, which have produced hundreds of fruits, but to date, I have eaten exactly ZERO! Every time a tomato shows a slight redness, it will have a bite out of it the next morning. Chipmunks do not simply take a tomato and eat it; they will sample five or six with one bite each and leave them to rot. I spotted one of the little scoundrels with a whole green tomato in its mouth and chased it out of the yard. Most distressing is to see all the little branches that once contained ten to twelve tomatoes all picked entirely clean. I have seen them run up the branch and pilfer everything in sight.

People have told me various ways to mitigate the pests. Fences are no help; they can get past anything. Reddit articles say you can spray a solution of hot pepper and water because they don't like the smell and taste on their nasty little feet. Other people trap and move them, but we live in the forest. Some even get a BeeBee gun to shoot them. I have my fantasies. One option is not to plant cherry tomatoes. Our basil, lettuce, chives, and other things were just fine. One kind of large tomato seemed less delectable to them, and we pulled about 20 green tomatoes and ripened them on the porch. I could simply buy all my tomatoes at the farmer's market.

Those solutions are what most rational humans would do, but I confess to irrational antipathy, especially towards the chipmunks. Given all the hatred in the world of other people who don't look, act, and think like us, I have gone through some soul-searching. Here is the microcosm of the challenge of working “with” instead of “over” or “for” nature. Other living things simply don't conform to our plans. They have their agenda, indeed, their own purpose.

I recently did a training on nonjudgemental listening, which emphasized approaching other people with curiosity and compassion. So, I'm trying this out on chipmunks. My curiosity has taught me a few things. First, chipmunks are essential to the ecosystem for dispersing seeds. They bury nuts and fruits all over, and the ones they don't retrieve grow. Chipmunks also help disperse the spores of mycorrhizal fungi, which form symbiotic relationships with plant roots. These fungi are crucial for nutrient exchange between plants and soil, promoting healthy plant growth. Chipmunks are the feet for rooted trees and plants, perhaps the midwives of the forest. I was pleased to learn that chipmunks are also part of the food chain, and foxes, hawks, owls, and weasels eat them. That sounds like a great solution! But it means I must consider a habitat that welcomes and protects foxes, hawks, and owls. We have learned the hard way that by killing all the wolves, we ended up with too many deer.

Life is interconnected. The Seasons of Creation theme encourages us to hope and act with Creation. This call encourages us to notice our relatedness and act in concert with all nature. Our Gospel passage shows us how challenging it can be to serve others, to be a Deacon, a servant leader.

What has this stimulated for you? My might you interact and work with creation in a new way? What do you find most hopeful about this possibility? Most challenging? How does the idea of Creation Deacons land for you?

Season of Creation III: The Cross in Creation | Mark 9:27-38 | September 15, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 15 Sep 2024 16:51:40 GMT

What does it mean to pick up the cross when dealing with climate justice?

Mark 8:27-38

“If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it."

Whenever Peter is a main character in a Gospel story, I say, "There is my guy." He is the avatar for my awkward, mistake-filled, yet passionate and committed journey towards God. His character shows me where I am overconfident in my thoughts, living in denial, and yet longing to get it right. I've often preached on this scripture, and it still provokes new insight. This week's thought experiment was to view this story from a new angle. As we celebrate Seasons of Creation, what might this text say about climate change, creation care, and justice?

Three things occurred to me in my meditations. Peter’s character can help us work through our fear and denial, which is the most significant barrier to navigating the threats of climate change. Second, picking up our cross, in relation to climate change, means doing hard things with great hope. Third, the image of the cross is not just about pain and suffering but also shows us we are interconnected, and God is working in us to make all of creation whole. To help us, we will look at the image of the Celtic cross, which is rooted here on Earth and connects us to heaven.

The power of this story is that we often stand in the same space as Peter. We are drawn to the message of God's great life-transforming and healing love but struggle to face the challenging implications of following the path. Peter begins the story as the hero with the wisdom to recognize Jesus as the Messiah. But when Jesus says the leaders of established religion are going to reject him, kill him, and yet he will rise, Peter confronts Jesus. You may be the Messiah, Jesus, but you have got it all wrong. We will organize the people, march into the Temple, and take charge. I think that was Peter's plan because it was precisely the plan of the Jewish revolt in 66 CE. The outcome was the total destruction of the Temple. Jesus had something more powerful in mind than seizing power. He offered a deeper soul transformation through the power of love. Jesus wanted more than power, he wanted to shift human history.

A powerful part of Jesus' teachings is the wisdom and courage to face our fears. Jesus does not teach us that we will always be successful, triumphant, and protected from harm and loss. His message is since the Creator of the Universe is Love, we can face anything with faith, hope, and love. What Peter and I have in common is clinging to the false gods who promise certainty, power, and success instead of the spiritual struggle that goes with being transformed by love.

What happens when I worship a false god of security and certainty without facing the inevitable struggles of being human? We start to deny reality. When we don't face fears honestly, we end up in denial to protect ourselves. Here, Jesus' message to pick up a cross and follow him intersects with climate change. There is a powerful temptation to deny what is happening to our planet and lives.

I remember when I first became aware of the possibilities of climate change. In grade school in the 1970s, I saw the movie Soylent Green, Harrison Ford's first major movie. The plot was that overpopulation and destructive uses of the environment lead to eating Soylent Green, which was actually people. I was terrified by this possibility, but when I shared this with my fourth-grade class, they thought it was ridiculous. My teacher asked if my parents knew I had watched this movie. It was their idea, I responded. I wonder if she called Child Protective Services. I got the message to be careful talking about things people don't want to think about. Soylent Green was 40 years ahead of the Netflix Movie "Don't Look Up," where the human response to a meteor heading to Earth was to say, just don't look up.

Climate change was hardly a topic in last Tuesday's presidential debate. That evening, Hurricane Francine was charging towards the Louisiana coast, and millions of people were bracing for life-threatening impact. Wildfires due to drought conditions in Orange County raged. Yet climate change was barely mentioned by either candidate. When talking about the housing crisis, no one said last year, over 135,000 homes were severely flooded, ¹ and 3000 families lost their homes to wildfires. ² We heard concerns about inflation but not the $92.9 billion spent in 2023 on climate-related weather disasters. How serious is $92.9 billion? The entire budget for Housing and Urban Development is only $70 billion. We heard a great deal of bluster about immigration, but not that climate change is a significant driver of people leaving their homes in Central America. Climate change will drive food prices, housing costs, immigration, and foreign policy for the next few decades. Saying that out loud feels like saying, "Soylent Green is people" at the movie's end.

But there is another way. It involves picking up our cross, as Jesus called his disciples. It means losing some of our life now to save it for the future. Let's unpack this idea.

When I say "cross," what comes to mind? What are the songs related to the cross? You likely know the refrain of "The Old Rugged Cross." I have nostalgia for the music but not the theology. It describes the cross as "an emblem of suffering and shame" and emphasizes the importance of blood sacrifice to overcome guilt. While this idea that God demands sacrifice does appear in scripture, Old Testament prophets often said that God demanded justice, right action, and loving your neighbor over making sacrifices at the Temple. Jesus directly confronted the sacrificial system when he cleared the sacrificial animals out of the Temple.

Sacrifice is a tricky word. It can be a positive action. Parents make financial sacrifices to help their children prepare for life. Veterans and their families sacrifice to defend our nation's freedoms and values. Doing something for others at a personal cost is a worthy character trait. But when sacrifice becomes the point, we distort the meaning. Our goal is to do good for others, not to bring pain and suffering to ourselves. At times, theology has glorified pain and suffering for its own sake. But the wisdom of scripture is not that suffering is good for you. "No pain, no gain" is not a scripture reference nor a good motto for going to the gym. You often learn something when you suffer. I learned things from physical suffering with Crohn's Disease. I learned to stop doing things that made me suffer needlessly.

The symbol of the cross must not be reduced to glorifying suffering and sacrifice. The values and intentions of God that lie beyond the suffering matter. God calls us to value love, not pain. Paul is clear in his theology that the cross is a symbol of both death and resurrection. The cross has dual meanings, representing brokenness and hope. It reminds us of the worst evil humanity can do and the great love that God intends for us. Paul says that the cross, a symbol of punishment and domination of the Roman Empire, God has changed into a symbol of peace and reconciliation.

When Jesus says, "Pick up your cross and follow me," he is not glorifying suffering and martyrdom but calling us to do hard things for love, truth, beauty, and justice.

I propose that how we portray the cross can help us better understand what the symbol means. My favorite symbol of the cross is the Celtic cross, with its circle around the beams. Tradition credits St. Patrick and St. Columba, the early apostles to the Celts, Picts, Druids, and other peoples of the British Islands. Indigenous people worshiped God in nature, especially the Sun (as you might when you see so little of it). Early Celtic crosses incorporated symbols from these indigenous religions to show Christian compatibility with their beliefs.

The Sun Cross is representative of a phenomenon in nature known as a parhelion or “sun dog.” This image forms when light refracts the sunlight through ice crystals in the atmosphere.

The Celtic cross brings together the cross of Christ with this phenomenon of wonder. This cross vividly portrays the dual nature of the cross representing death and resurrection, hope within suffering, and a God that is within all of creation, not removed to the heavens. Picking up this cross is to overcome our denial of separateness from creation and each other, and embrace our interconnectedness. It celebrates a God who weaves a new creation even within tragedy and injustice.

In a world where it's easier to deny or look away, Jesus calls us to pick up our cross—not as a symbol of suffering for its own sake, but as a commitment to love, truth, and justice. The Celtic cross reminds us that we are woven together with all of creation. It challenges us to see the divine not as distant but as intimately involved in the fabric of our world, urging us to act. It can help us move beyond denial, embrace our interconnectedness, and take up our cross. Together we can commit to the hard but hopeful work of healing our world, for in doing so, we participate in the sacred act of creation that God is weaving among us even now.

Season of Creation II: For the Love of Animals | Genesis 1:24-31; John 10:1-5, 14-16 | Rally Day | September 8, 2024

Sun, 08 Sep 2024 16:46:35 GMT

This, from Henry Beston, a great nature writer and once farmer in Nobleboro:

“We treat them with condescendence for their incompleteness, for their tragic fate of having formed so far below us.” And in this we are wrong, and we are wrong greatly. Because we are not the measure of the animal. In a world older and more complete than our own, they evolve finished and complete, living through voices we will never hear. “They are not our brothers and sisters; they are not our subordinates; they are other nations, caught with us in the net of life and time, companions of the splendor and fatigue of the earth.”

Animals. Other Nations unto themselves. Wondrous mysteries to us.

And it was good, God said, it was good.

This morning I hope what I share you already know. But even if you do, we don’t often talk about animals—except our pets. And we should.

They were created before us. Genesis says this: we are to have dominion over them. Dominion: This word, so misunderstood, so abused. The Hebrew word is Radah, meaning to rule on behalf of God, as God would care for them in all their wondrous singularity, not see them as things, but to care as a shepherd cares for the sheep, as Jesus cares for each and all of us.

The Hebrew Bible often speaks of animals. There are rules for keeping the sabbath holy: rest, rest for farm animals as well as people. In Exodus 20, all are to rest: “sons and daughters, slaves, oxen, donkeys, livestock, immigrants…that they may rest like you.” Sabbath is the great day of equality among all God’s creatures.

Job shows us God providing and taking delight in independent creatures beyond our human experience, and Job shrinks in the order of creation.

And the New Testament: Jesus shows respect for all animals. He rides the donkey gently on Palm Sunday, not burdening it with the hundreds of pounds of rocks I once saw in Marakkesh. Jesus weeps over Jerusalem as a hen weeps over her chicks. He is a mothering hen. And we, we are his sheep, not dumb sheep, but gentle sheep who wait for the sound of his voice to follow. Jesus never indulges, never eats too much, in fact we rarely see him eat or drink. Just enough. And, at the Last Supper it is bread and wine. He hurts nothing in all creation.

They were, of course, there before us at the manger, the animals. They knew who he was.

We know other cultures see some animals as sacred, the cow for the Hindus, for example. Even if not seen as sacred, animals have always been close to us, maybe closer than they are now. So many had farm animals, some living in wings of their huts, for warmth. Facebook and Animal Planet bring animals into our homes now. For many of us it our companion animals whom we are so close to. We would let nothing harm them. I learned this with my dogs their wonderful otherness, and in their deaths I learned that something profound had left me, something I could not talk about. One victim of the recent California fires had lost an earlier house to fire. But the only thing that grieved him about the loss of the second house was their shy little cat whom no one could save.

But what about the rest of the animals, all those in our planet’s ark? It is them I want to hold up to you this morning. All the others. The great artist and utopian writer William Morris once said we cannot be happy unless we know others are. I think I cannot be fully happy unless I know all the animals are.

When Beston was writing about our complex relationship with animals, only 30% or so of Americans considered how we treat animals an important subject. Most saw animals as objects, as things to be dominated and used by us. Now, around 60% recognize them. A lot is changing. Animals are now in our minds and hearts more than they ever were.

But we are still not in a good place regarding animals and I grieve that I will not live long enough to see the end of animal suffering. Any words on animals must speak to the elephant in the room, or the elephant in the planet. Philosopher Christine Korsgaard says the way we treat animals is a moral atrocity of enormous proportion. We worship our pets, we, most of us, want to preserve wildlife and grieve their loss of habitat. But in between are all the other domesticated animals, chickens, turkeys, pigs, lambs, steer. And they are not faring well especially in the US, not on factory farms anyway. If I were to detail what is going on there, and no one can get in legally to witness, the animals have no legal protection, being seen as property, you would be kept awake at night as I am. You have all seen the pictures. Let me just say that I grew on a farm, a chicken farm, an egg farm, and my relatives were dairy farmers. I know how these animals should be allowed to live, in the open, and how they should be killed if they are. I have lifted baby chicks out of their boxes, felt for an egg under a chicken, coaxed her into letting me take it. I have fed her from a pail in the yard and watched her peck. I have roamed in cow pastures, among large animals with kind faces and wonderful eyes that looked into mine. I often say to others, quoting Dylan Thomas, I am famous among barns. So I suppose my passion now to protect, love, honor all animals comes viscerally.

How can we change big agra’s ways in the US of abusing animals in the quest for profit? Already there are signs, but too few. We must carry on in animals’ defense. I am always signing emails about kind transport, increasing inspections, etc. More of us now know about the pollution, the methane gas, the waste of water, these farms produce. We grieve for the workers. And of course articles, like one recently by Nicholas Kristof in The Times, who showed a painful undercover video (the only way to do it) of the slaughter of a pig. Some states, the ones without much big agra, have banned gestation crates in which pigs are confined, unable to lie down. Around the edges of big agra, despite the Florida governor’s attempt to keep them out for the farmers’ sake, are new companies growing meat from cells, meat without suffering. We have hope! I have hope your children live to see this. This science can help a starving world which doesn’t have the room or stomach for factory farms or the billions of acres needed if we all became vegan.

Europe is doing far better than we are, so here is a place to look: the meat industry hasn’t such a hold. Britain’s House of Lords recently introduced a bill which uses scientific research on sentience and emotion in animals as the benchmark for all policies affecting animals. Switzerland has banned killing lobsters by immersing them in boiling water, because they are sentient beings. They must be stunned either by electric shock or mechanical destruction of the brain before boiling. I have been guilty.

Do what you can and at the same time immerse yourself in the new animal research so that you open to the wonder of animals. Books on eels, owls, foxes, wolves, and on and on. When we look we consider the ant, or Emily Dickinson’s narrow fellow in the grass.

Our news helps us here. A recent article in the NYT was entitled “cows are the new puppies.” A professor of psychology, who had been researching dog brains by urging them into MRI scanners and discovered their brains were like ours in their capacity for joy and love, got some cows. He says, While cattle are as intelligent and as lovable as dogs, I’ve found that they go through life at their own leisurely speed. Whereas dogs adapt to the rhythms of human society in all its varied forms, cattle don’t abide sudden movements or states of human agitation. By forcing people to adopt their pace, cattle connect us to the environment in ways that no other animal does. It may be time to take seriously the beneficial effects of cattle on our mental and emotional states, just as we do for other animals, such as dogs and horses.” When I was in the Outer Hebrides this May I saw that the cows, or coos as they are called, reign over the roadways, as do the sheep. We were advised, just wait if you see them.

I am not yet as close to pigs—not as close as I was as a child, when Petunia pig ate her chocolates. I look at a lot of pictures now, of pink baby pigs, clear baby pigs, smart, nuzzling people who pet them. I am learning they know empathy. In Holland, pigs who played happily listening to classical music (with treats) were joined by others who had not. Conversely, if the pigs became scared, the others did too. And this empathy occurs across species. Even tiny mammals, mice, appear to respond to others’ suffering. Can we change the ways we experiment on them? It is beginning.

Do animals have consciousness? We don’t know yet, and may never know. We know they have their own languages and that they sometimes understand ours. I would keep asking my dog as she aged, let me know when it is time. Each time I thought it might be, she resisted, until one day she didn’t. Lying on her stomach all day next to my husband, her head lifted when she heard the voice of her vet come in the room to end her suffering. She was ready. Do they really not fear their own death? We don’t know that either—many are averse to situations that they recognize as dangerous. We are only at the beginning of this research.

William Blake says,

Everything that lives is holy.

And Jesus says, love and care for all of God’s beautiful world.

And so we must.

Season of Creation I: Every Good and Perfect Gift | James 1:7-27; Song of Solomon 2:8-13 | September 1, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 01 Sep 2024 13:07:15 GMT

The Song of Songs reveals how the Earth's gift is a sign of Divine Love.

Song of Song 2:8-13, James 1:17-27

When Jeanne and I took a fall walk in the woods, we experienced something magical. I heard the snaps of twigs breaking, dry leaves rustling, and then the unmistakable rhythm of hoofbeats. A magnificent stag thundered down the steep hillside, moving with power and grace. He held his antlers high, bounding across our path, only twenty feet before us. He was so startled by our presence that he jumped straight up, landing gracefully before scampering down the hill. He looked back at us for a moment, snorting and waving his antlers as if to say, "I don't know where you came from, but you don't scare me. Do you see my horns?" For the rest of the hike, I felt a sense of elation—a deep joy from this unexpected encounter with such a majestic creature. I was struck by the raw beauty of his vigor and the vulnerability in his surprise.

This encounter in the woods made me think of the scripture from the Song of Songs we read today: "The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills. My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag."

Most of us haven't heard many sermons from the Song of Songs and might wonder why a piece of love poetry is included in scripture. My fifth grade Sunday School class teacher wondered, too. We got prizes for memorizing scripture, and I scoured the Bible, looking for strange stories to recite in class. My favorite from Song of Songs 4 is, "Your hair is like a flock of goats, your cheeks like pomegranates, your neck like the tower of David…" I was cut off when I recited, "Your breasts are like two fawns feeding in the lilies." Mrs. Mitchell was actually blushing.

These viral images of two young lovers adoring each other were too much for fifth-grade Sunday School, but this love poetry made it into the Bible. While many theologians avoided the Song of Songs as if its sensuality was radioactive, many embraced its passion. Well-respected first-century Rabbi Akiva wrote, "The whole world is not worth the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel, for all the Writings are holy, but the Song of Songs is the Holy of Holies."

There's something profoundly spiritual in this imagery of nature and love intertwined. For centuries, theologians have seen the Song of Songs as a celebration of human love and a metaphor for the passionate relationship between God and Creation.

The most prolific advocate of this book was Bernard of Clairvaux, one of the most significant medieval theologians. Bernard wrote 62 sermons based on Song of Songs, quite an achievement by an abbot of a celibate monastery. Like most early theologians, he did not interpret the text as being about passion in marriage but as an allegory for our spiritual relationship with God. In a sermon on today's text, Bernard wrote,

"The voice of your beloved is not just a sound to hear, but it is the Word of God that speaks within you, penetrating your heart and awakening your soul to love."

Bernard believed that faith is not just getting your theology right but also having a true passion for the divine.

He also liked verse 2:10, "My beloved speaks and says to me: 'Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.'" He viewed this as an invitation to the monastic life and the need to retreat from worldly affairs to be with God. But this verse reminds me of that wonderfully sultry Nora Jones song, "Come Away with Me."

I noticed one thing Song of Songs and Nora Jones have in common. They use images from the earth and creation to express the more profound nature of human passion. What is it like when a new love is kindled? The Song of Songs says,

for now, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone. ¹² The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land. ¹³ The fig tree puts forth its figs,
And the vines are in blossom;
They give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my fair one,
And come away.

Nora Jones sings of walking in fields where "yellow grass grows knee-high."

And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms

Many composers use nature imagery to express the depth of human love. Stevie Wonder sang, "You are the sunshine of my life." Van Morrison sang, "Your love is as sweet as Tupelo honey." Carrie Newcomer's song "I Believe". "I believe in a light that shines and will never end. Oh, the rain, it falls like laughter, the winter snow, the softly drifting snow."

These songs resonate with us because, like the Song of Songs, they draw on the natural world to express something sacred and profound.

Our scriptures, too, use these natural metaphors to speak of human love and illustrate our relationship with the Divine. When James says, "Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above," he reminds us that these gifts of nature—the rain, the flowers, the seasons—are reflections of God's love for us. Nature is both a gift and a guide, calling us back to our Creator.

John Philip Newell, a contemporary theologian, reminds us of a 9th-century Celtic scholar's wisdom:

"There are two books through which God is speaking. The first is the small book…the book of scripture. The second is the big book, the living text of the universe…We need to read both books." If we read only the book of scripture, we miss the vastness and wildness of God's voice in creation. But if we read only the book of nature, we risk missing the intimacy of God's call to justice and love.

But what happens when we forget this divine connection to nature? When do we see creation not as a gift but as a resource to exploit? Even as floods ravage cities and wildfires burn homes, we are more tuned into the latest political polls of who is ahead for the moment than the long-term health of our planet. Our relationship with nature has been taking without giving, dominating rather than stewarding. It's time we see the earth not just as a storehouse of resources but as a sacred gift that sustains us. Our modern world is facing an environmental crisis. Indeed, hundreds of people have died from record-breaking heat. It's also a spiritual crisis that calls us to new connections with creation.

Folk singer Pete Seeger understood this connection when he started the Clearwater movement. The Hudson River was a polluted industrial river. You couldn't eat the fish; no one wanted to be near it. Seeger knew there was insufficient political will to force the investment to clean the river. He needed people to interact with the river in a new way. So, he built the Clearwater, a sailing sloop that became an education ship. Seeger traveled the river with his banjo, stopped in towns, and gave out free pumpkins and concerts. He offered educational tours to every fifth-grade class on the riverbanks. Kids would crew the ship, learn about sailing, and take water samples to see what made the river so disgusting. Over time, Seeger built a movement to clean the Hudson because people now had a relationship with the river. New York has come a long way from seeing the river as a convenient place to dump waste to a place of beauty and joy.

Here in midcoast Maine, we have a similar opportunity. People come to our shores to experience the natural beauty of "Vacationland," but how can we help them see it as more than a scenic getaway? As a church, how can we create spaces where people can deepen their connection to creation and hear God's voice in the rustling leaves and crashing waves? Imagine our church's mission as a pilgrimage, where people come not just to rest but to reconnect—to creation, each other, and God.

My friends, we are called to read both books—the book of scripture and of nature- and to see every part of creation as a 'good and perfect gift' from above. Remember that our relationship with the earth is about spirituality, sustainability, and survival. Let's commit ourselves to this sacred work of stewardship. Let's find ways to reconnect, to listen, and to act.

Go out into the world this week. Walk in the woods, sit by the water, or simply step outside and breathe deeply. If you are tired of reading about the election, learn more about the planet, its wonder, and its vulnerability. (We will help with daily posts of spiritual quotes and environmental info on our Facebook page.).

For the rest of this month, we will join thousands of Christians celebrating this Seasons of Creation. Together, we will explore how to live this theme, to hope, and act with creation. It's about hope, not doom. We will embody this hope in prayer and preaching, service and solidarity.

From Blind Spots to Beacons | Matthew 5:13-17, 7:3-5 | Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost | August 25, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 25 Aug 2024 14:39:52 GMT

Can I be light to the world even with a log in my eye? After all, its just a speck.

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Telling Stories That Free Us | Luke 8:26-39 | Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost | August 11, 2024

Sun, 11 Aug 2024 14:17:18 GMT

Releasing our demons to find a better story to live

The stories we tell shape who we are. Stories of courage, kindness, and selfless acts on behalf of others inspire people to take good actions. Tales that justify greed and corruption on the way to fame and fortune encourage that behavior. So, I was delighted to read that the "Reality TV" bubble is bursting. There is a 57 percent annual decline in production of shows like "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" and "Say Yes to the Dress." Compared to five years ago, pre-COVID, only half as many reality TV shows are being produced. That is excellent news if Americans give up watching TV where people try to get attention for shallow, greedy, and bad behavior. No corresponding research shows Americans are reading Nobel Prize-winning novels instead. Maybe people have just migrated to TikTok instead and are watching dance routines and cat videos, but that is a step up. (If you have a favorite reality show, I doubt it’s making you a bad person. Quantity matters!)

The idea behind reality TV was that if you take ordinary people who are not trained as actors and put them in a situation with no script, the outcome would be interesting and authentic. In the show "Survivor," people are on an island, subject to various mental and physical challenges, and each week, they vote one of their own off the island. It encouraged people to develop alliances and betray each other to win, normalizing this group dynamic. The storyline to the viewer becomes there is not enough for everyone, so do what is necessary to get yours. "The Apprentice" followed a similar psychology and created an atmosphere where only the most aggressive and ruthless people could succeed in business. If you grew up watching that show, you might think these staged TV situations are like real life in the business world. (I've heard the show's star still thinks it's real and is trying to fire people.)

Many reality shows reinforce the worst stereotypes. Real Housewives shows women as catty, materialistic, and obsessed with status and appearance. Shows like "Yes to the Dress" create a climate where people have started to turn their wedding into a destination event and are produced as tightly as a TV show. I'm delighted there is now some pushback. People are burning out on reality TV and saying "Yes" to the simple wedding and “no” to the cut-throat work environments. It's possible that COVID isolation and making our own sourdough caused people to reflect on what makes for a good life, and "Love Island" and "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" are not it. Maybe life is more like the "Great British Bakeoff" or "Home Makeovers." At least something is made at the end.

I'm hoping we are choosing better stories to live by. Jesus told many stories. He told parables like the forgiving father who welcomed his prodigal son and a brother who struggled to accept this. Or the story of a Samaritan considered an enemy, who acted justly and saved a man beaten beside the road. Jesus' theology is much more about stories than abstract principles.

But some of the stories get a little wild and crazy, like this reading about the demon-possessed man in Luke's Gospel. For those of us on the Maine coast, it is significant to note this story begins with sailing. Many great tales start this way: Homer's epic Odyssey, Gulliver's Travels, The Chronicles of Narnia, Treasure Island, and Moby Dick. This sail takes Jesus into the Gentile region of Genaseres, a Greco-Roman town in modern-day Jordan. It is the first move into Gentile territory in Luke's Gospel. Remember that Luke was a gentile who followed Jesus, and he wrote the book of the Acts of the Apostles, where Jesus' message spread around the Mediterranean. This voyage is the first foreshadowing of direction.

The first character Jesus meets brings him a challenge worthy of Odysseus or Jason and the Argonauts. This man is so tormented that he can't wear clothes and lives among the tombs, and when people try to restrain him with chains, he breaks them and runs into the wilderness. Ancient people had no other way to describe him than to say demons possessed him. Forces beyond understanding control him, and it is terrifying to the people around him.

But the man fears Jesus and confronts him. "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me." Interestingly, this tormented man knows who Jesus is, but no one else has identified Jesus this way yet. Peter naming Jesus the Messiah isn't until Luke's next chapter. Those who are broken and distraught may recognize Jesus more than solid church folks.

This situation could move sideways quickly, but Jesus de-escalates things by asking the man's name. Would that be your first impulse, or would you avoid the problem by just keeping it moving? Asking for a name is an invitation to be known. Rather than fight or flight, Jesus invites the man to say who he is. "Legion," the man answers. Legion is a Roman military term for a division of about 5000 soldiers. The Legions were the heavy infantry and greatly feared as they projected Roman power worldwide. Perhaps this man had seen them in action, either as a soldier or he had seen some poor city crushed. Certainly, PTSD might explain his distress. Or the name may express the magnitude of his inward despair. I am Legion; I have a multitude of co-occurring diagnoses. I take Lexapro, Thorazine, and Trazadone to sleep, and I have a thyroid condition, and it's all just so much.

Whatever holds of this man, whether it is psychological, physical, or demonic, he realizes that Jesus won't let the status quo stand. Rather than be destroyed or cast out, the demons ask to go into a herd of pigs. When granted this request, the herd plunges over the abyss to their death. I missed this chapter in seminary about expelling demons, and as fascinating as it is, I can't explain it. We know Jews didn't raise pigs, and this might be a hilarious moment as they rush over the cliff. It might mean that evil creates its destruction. But the end of the story is that people come from the town, and you might think they would ask Jesus to heal their sickness and teach them and stay for a while. Instead, the local pork producer's council and the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals come to Jesus and say, "You have got to leave. We were fine with our demons and our pigs, and you need to go back to where you came from."

I wonder if they went home and turned on "Survivor" or Real Housewives of Rome. They were more comfortable with the "reality stories" of how life works than with the transformative story of a tormented man finding liberation and hope. Reality TV stories tell us a comforting but disempowering story. You don't need to change to have what you want. All you need is a lucky break. If you are willing to be a little sassy and scheming and get the right people's attention, you can find fame and fortune. You don't have to change or be transformed; you just stay as you are and watch for your break, then be bold enough to seize the day.

No wonder reality TV is collapsing. These stories don't hold weight. The greatest stories have character development, struggle, and transformation that lead to a new way of being. This is the opportunity Jesus offers. We don’t have to live in torment. Nor do we need to fear change. We are brought into the sacred story of hope and wholeness. We don’t need a lucky break or a better scheme, but to know that God is near, and we are loved.

At the end of this scripture, the man once known as Legion begged to go with Jesus. But Jesus has a different path for him, "Return home and tell how much God has done for you." This charge from Jesus makes this man the first to share the good news to Gentiles beyond Israel. The most important thing he has to offer the world is his sacred story. It is one of the best of classic plots; from lost to found, from brokenness to wholeness, from isolation and loneliness to connectedness and community. This story invites everyone to reflect, if this man can find new life, then surely, I can too.

If you don’t like the story you are living in right now, here is the good news. There are better stories to live by than reality TV. God offers to ground us in a new reality, a reality where love is the most powerful force in our lives. Your flaws and shortcomings are not your destiny. They are the starting point of a new chapter, and bring you to become a part of God’s sacred story. Where will your story go from here today?

Learning to See | John 9:1-17 | Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost | August 4, 2024

Sun, 04 Aug 2024 14:33:10 GMT

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Food, Community, and Creation Care | Romans 14:14-17 | Ninth Sunday after Pentecost | July 21, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 21 Jul 2024 14:25:37 GMT

Early Christian theological disputes were often food fights

Romans 14:14-17

Do not by your eating destroy someone for whom Christ died.

When the Apostle Paul began his missionary journeys around the Mediterranean, I don’t think he expected ethical dilemmas about food and eating together to be the most divisive theological issues. Paul was well equipped to debate the finer points of law, his understanding of the cross and resurrection of Jesus, and even Greek philosophy, but churches often devolved into food fights. Likewise, we may not expect moral issues on the menu or in the supermarket. But if you follow famous chefs like Mark Bittman in the New York Times, his maple Dijon Salmon recipe may include how to buy fish that are raised sustainably. Or you have heard about the mission of World Kitchen and Chef Jose Andres to provide fresh food for humanitarian relief, especially after one of their food trucks was bombed by the Israeli Army in Gaza. Food has moral and social implications.

Paul had successfully navigated the first significant split in the early church. He knew that he could not create a diverse and open church if the dietary codes of Leviticus were enforced. It didn’t work to say, “Love your neighbor unless they serve scallops.” The church in Rome put a new twist on the moral implications of what people could eat. The meat from animals sacrificed to Roman gods was sold at the markets at a discount. It’s hard to turn down a bargain on a choice cut of filet mignon. But one of the Deacons was upset because the bull might be sacrificed to the god Jupiter in a celebration in honor of Emperor Nero. He would happily send us to the Coliseum to be sacrificed to the lions. Eating that steak would break the first commandment to have no other gods before the true God.

Paul has argued all over the Mediterranean that no particular food makes you unclean. It is not what you take into your body that makes you immoral, but what matters are the fruits of the spirit that come out of your life. You are free to eat anything, thus free to eat with anyone. If Paul makes an exception on meat sacrificed to idols, he opens the possibility of renewed controversy in the church. But standing against the idolatry of Empire, especially when Rome often persecutes Christians, is a significant value, too. Paul has an elegant solution to this quandary. First, he says that meat sacrificed to idols is clean and can be eaten because everyone knows these are false gods, so they can’t harm you. But before you take the discount, think about your neighbor. Idolatry is offensive to them. Think about Joe’s son, who lost his job because he didn’t bow to Jupiter. Consider not eating meat sacrificed to idols out of respect for others in the community.

I will take you on a brief journey to explore what Paul’s words might mean today. I did not learn to cook for moral reasons. I learned to cook first because I nearly died when my intestine split open after surgery, and eating was part of my healing. Second, I was in love. After surviving for ten days with a feeding tube up my nostril, I was desperate for the taste of food. My first bite from a square of red, jiggly Jello was like the Hallelujah chorus in my mouth. I did not care that it was made of citric acid and pig hooves. I only wanted the joy of eating again. Food has too often been my enemy as I dealt with complications of Crohn’s disease. Pepperoni Pizza was a Trojan Horse designed by the devil to undermine me from within. I learned to cook because I needed to know what was in my food, and I did not want to live on Boost, toast, and rice. I wanted to enjoy eating while being healthy.

Did I mention that I was also in love? I was dating a wonderful woman who graciously let me recuperate at her house while she took care of me. This temporary act of generosity has now lasted 18 years. I felt guilty because I was out on disability and not able to do much helpful until I recovered. Maybe I could lend a hand cooking. I had a cooking repertoire of hamburgers, hot dogs, mac and cheese, and stir-fried chicken. But Jeanne was a vegetarian. More precisely, she is a pescatarian, meaning she eats fish, eggs, and dairy, but not land-based animals. I did not know what I would eat beyond salad, so I dove into Google searches for vegetarian cooking since I had nothing else to do.

Jeanne decided to be a vegetarian after reading about the Cairo Population Summit in 1994. The major takeaway was that the rising meat consumption was damaging the environment and diverting land resources towards feeding cows rather than poorer humans. Here is one clear example. It takes over 4000 gallons of water to produce one kilogram of beef. In contrast, a kilogram of tomatoes takes about 57 gallons of water. Even rice, a water-intensive crop, takes only 660 gallons per kilogram. Over half the water in the Colorado River Basin in the dry West goes to raising cattle. We are eating ourselves out of house and home here on planet earth.

This change was a massive leap for me as an Iowa farm boy, but the case was compelling, so now I only occasionally eat meat. I began to cook because I had received a gift of grace when I was too weak to take care of myself. And I wanted to return the gift of hospitality by making delicious food. What I have learned over time is that every bite of every meal is a gift of grace that comes from the Creator of all living things. With each bite, I take the sun, rain, and soil from places I have never seen. My coffee’s aroma is a whiff of the volcanic soil of Sumatra. Each squeeze of lime emits the hot, humid breezes of the coast of Veracruz, Mexico. If I add it to something with a jalapeno pepper, I can hear the Mariachi band playing in my kitchen. The rich, flat earth of Kansas comes through in my toast, enriched by honey from Barter’s Island bees, who may have buzzed through the clover in my yard or at the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden.

Each bite connects me to the many hands who grow, cook, and transport our food. Food has a story:

My garden is full of tomatoes, garlic and basil. (You would think I was Italian rather than Scotch-Irish!). I know how many weeds were pulled and how many sucker branches were trimmed from the tomatoes. The garlic is planted at the end of baseball’s World Series each year and harvested at the All-Star break. When I thaw pesto in February, I remember the hot summer afternoon when the basil almost doubled in size. There is likely a drop of my sweat mixed in there. I don’t love gardening, but raising some of my food and remembering connections to the earth feels good.

At the Farmer’s Market a few years ago, one booth had many tomatoes selling at discount prices. When I asked why, the farmer said she had to pick everything last night before the hailstorm hit, or she would have lost the entire crop, so everything was priced to move that morning. This story reminds me of the hard work and risks farmers absorb in producing food.

The more local our food, the more we know these stories. But just because we got our food from a display in Hannaford’s, boxed, shrink-wrapped, or the freezer section, doesn’t mean our food has no story. All our food begins with the story of creation and the abundance and life energy from God’s generosity. Give us this day our daily bread reminds us that food is a story of gratitude and a gift from something once alive. Some food stories are sad, like the year when a warm February and March weather caused the peaches to blossom too early, and then the snow killed them, so there were no peaches. Climate change robbed us of our cobbler.

Some food stories are sad because people are exploited and paid little for their labor.

When the state of Alabama passed the strictest immigration laws in the country in 2011, thousands of farm workers left the state. Due to labor shortages, tomatoes rotted in the fields, and farmers lost over $391 million. We are told stories that undocumented immigrants are all sent from prisons, murderers who steal American jobs, and a drain on our social resources. But farmers in Alabama say they can’t find American workers who will work as hard as their Mexican crews. One farmer said he had to hire 20 Americans to replace a crew of four Mexicans. That point is that winter tomato from Hannaford’s has a story, and we are connected to it.

These are complicated stories that don’t fit into our cultural warfare ideologies, which is a great reason to tell them. The Bible is full of food justice stories.

What might the Apostle Paul say about our ethical challenges, how our food is raised, and the issues of the environment and justice? In Romans, he gave both sides something to think about. Our choices at the table reflect our values and our faith. As Paul taught, it’s not about rigid laws but about love and respect for one another. Each meal is an opportunity to honor the Creator, support our community, and care for our planet. Eat with conscience and compassion, mindful of the workers and stories behind our food and grateful for the grace that sustains us.

Food & Faith I: The Divine Gift of Food | Psalm 104:14-15 | Eighth Sunday after Pentecost | July 14, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 14 Jul 2024 16:29:41 GMT

Lessons from Psalm 104 and the Joy of Cooking

You cause the grass to grow for the cattle
and plants for people to cultivate,
to bring forth food from the earth
and wine to gladden the human heart,
oil to make the face shine
and bread to strengthen the human heart.
The trees of the field are watered abundantly,
the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.

Psalm 104:14-16

"Give us this day our daily bread," Jesus taught us to pray. But Jesus was not an ascetic food minimalist, expecting us to survive on bread and water, depriving ourselves of the joy of good food. Eating together and celebrating is core to much of the Gospels. The first miracle in John's Gospel is turning water into wine at the wedding feast at Cana. (My sober 8 ^th grade Sunday School teacher said that is the one thing she did not like about him.). But others didn't want Jesus to eat so much. The Pharisees were upset when he harvested grain to eat on the Sabbath. Jesus attended many banquets, so much so that followers of John the Baptist accused him of being a glutton. Jesus said the Kingdom of heaven is like a great banquet, and we are to be like salt in the food and leaven in the dough.

He forgives Peter after preparing breakfast and appears to two disciples on the road to Emmaus as they break bread for the evening meal. Every Gospel includes feeding 5000 people. And, of course, our theology would be entirely different without the Passover and the Last Supper. (Which I think should be called the First Supper, the new beginning.)

Psalm 104 says, "God brings forth food from the earth and wine to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine, and bread to strengthen the human heart." The Psalm adds that this divine provision extends to watering the earth's plants and feeding the animals. Every living thing thrives due to the generous provision of God. The first story of our faith says we began in a garden, and it is all good. Genesis 2:9 says "Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food."

Food is a grace through which we experience the joy and generosity of God. Like all good things, it can be hoarded and abused, used for power over others, or worshiped as a false god. But food has been recognized since the beginning of civilization as a sacred substance, and eating together is a faithful ritual to participate in the community of the divine.

Perhaps our high priests should be the cooks; with religious orders of gardeners, farmers, bakers, vintners, and sommeliers. Cooking shapes civilization. Making fire to cook things is the energy of life. Archeological evidence shows the use of fire for cooking for over a million years. It is a significant force in our evolutionary development. Cooked food is easier to digest. A body can gain five times the calories from cooked meat or grains than raw food. This extra energy went into brain development, language, cave paintings, philosophy, and making up knock-knock jokes.

Once humans had their calories, they searched for novelty and variety. Eating isn't just for survival; it is a source of pleasure. In the 8 ^th century, before Christ, as prophets like Isaiah denounced the injustice of the Assyrian conquest of Israel, the Assyrians were perfecting baklava. Perhaps part of the conquest was to control the sources of spice routes, salt, and pistachios from northern Israel. The Assyrians would kill for their baklava.

Meanwhile, in Mesoamerica, the Olmecs were cultivating cocoa plants and brewing a hot, frothy, bitter beverage that was the forerunner to hot chocolate. It was a sacred beverage used in religious rituals and medicinal purposes. It would take over 2000 years to evolve into the chocolate lava cake. The point is that cooking and preparing good food relates to spirituality and religious experience.

Irma Rombauer was never known as a good cook. Her husband committed suicide in 1930 as the Great Depression began. Friends urged her to collect recipes and try them to deal with her grief. Her passion for recipes became an obsession, which led to the publication of "The Joy of Cooking," America's most popular cookbook. The book has gone through nine editions as recently as 2019. The original cover art depicted St. Martha of Bethany, the patron saint of cooking, slaying the dragon of kitchen drudgery.

The cookbook pioneered the folksy conversational style that is now so familiar. She shared practical gems like:
"If there is one subject that has sparked disagreement among food writers and home cooks more than any other, it is the best way to boil an egg...you never want to actually boil eggs, but rather, gently simmer them."

The Joy of Cooking prioritized meals that required easy-to-find ingredients and were affordable to middle-class families. It was incredibly inclusive of different cultures and styles at the time, and later editions included food from around the world and dealt with issues like what makes a chicken free-range.

Many of the quotes Rumbauer peppered throughout the book echo the sacred nature of cooking:

· "The kitchen is a sacred space where aroma dances on the air and memories are born."

· "Food, like a loving touch or a glimpse of divine power, has the ability to comfort."

· "Cooking is like painting or writing a song. Just as there are only so many notes or colors, there are only so many flavors—how you combine them sets you apart."

I find reading a good cookbook is a lesson in chemistry and spirituality. Whoever said religion and science don't go together has never cooked. I'm reading a great cookbook emphasizing the four things you must master to be a good cook. The book's name is "Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat" by Samin Nosrat. An extra pinch of salt to something bland enhanced the aromas. If we smell more, we taste more. Fat carries the flavor around and affects textures. Most recipes I know start with slicing a couple of garlic cloves and sizzling them in butter or olive oil. (I won't dirty a knife for just one garlic clove!). Imagine not having butter for bread or a baked potato with no butter and sour crème. Acid balances flavors. A squeeze of lemon on fish or vegetables or a tablespoon of vinegar in a lentil soup changes everything. Finally, we need to use heat properly. Frying things makes them crispy, and slowly roasting vegetables soften them. Imagine eating a raw beet. Cookie dough is OK by itself, but a baked chocolate chip cookie is a miracle.

Nearly every dish you make involves salt, fat, acid and heat. The rest is creative improv on what you like. The same is true of our faith. The most important things about our faith are straightforward. We need these three things, Paul said, faith, hope, and love, and the greatest of these is fat (wait, I think it is love! I love fat, but it is love that counts in faith.). Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God. Love your neighbor as yourself.

Like great food, great religion comes down to good ingredients, practice, and applying the basics: salt, fat, acid, heat, or faith, hope, and love.

Over the past decades, as the church has declined, we have tried almost everything but the basics. When I started ministry, drums and guitars were the key to the future. Then, it was a new hymnal. We made resolutions at General Synod on everything imaginable and formed endless study committees. I once voted on 117 resolutions at one General Synod. The experts said we needed to innovate, re-write the bylaws, build better websites, and get on Twitter. No, not Twitter; now we need to make TikTok videos.

Could it be that what we really need is to sit down and eat together, sharing in faith, hope, and love, and inviting others to join us? New Testament scholar Jon Dominic Crossan, in his 1000-page analysis of the life of Jesus, said that one of the things that made Jesus tick was inviting everyone to eat together. Inviting everyone to eat together as equals, like the 5000 fed, was what Jesus did to break down the barriers between people. Break bread and remember me. I don't think he suggested we had to cut the bread in perfect squares or worry about doing things in the proper order. What Jesus hoped was we would eat together. It's about hospitality, joy and connection. Some of Paul’s writings implied that the first communion services were “love feasts” where people shared a meal.

Irma Rombauer understood this message, noting, "Cooking is an expression of the soul, a gift from one person to another. The greatest pleasure of cooking lies in sharing it with others."

When I was serving as Co-pastor in Northampton, we started a dinner church. We invited people to garden together, and make soup and clean up together. Each meal began in candlelight, with singing and sharing bread and cup. Then we ate together and discussed a topic. It might be a question like “Why should we pray? or “Bring your favorite poem. We had a St. Francis of Assisi night after I had a Sabbatical in Italy, and a Maundy Thursday meal. We discovered that a lot of people who would have never come in through the front door and sit in a pew, would come to dinner; and they wanted to have meaningful and open conversations about faith.

Unfortunately, COVID brought an end to eating together, but many people did learn to cook since they couldn’t go out. Maybe it’s time to recover eating as a sacred tradition. Then maybe we will have some new stories to collect for the book, “The Joy of Church.”The darkest hours of American history, the ones shadowed by political violence, remind us that incitement and hatred must be constantly challenged and never tolerated. The privileges of free and open speech, the glory of wide-open campaign rallies and impassioned politicking, depend on an atmosphere free of fear and intimidation.

The Freedom of Conscience | Galatians 5:1, 13-15, 22-26 | Seventh Sunday after Pentecost | July 7, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 07 Jul 2024 15:34:25 GMT

How the Apostle Paul and James Madison death with factionalism

https://youtu.be/3ilUn3vXQNs

Galatians 5:1, 13-25

For freedom, Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.

These words sound like quotes from the founders of the American Revolution and democracy. "Give me liberty or give me death," as Patrick Henry said. This reading from Galatians coincides with the July 4 weekend, celebrating the Declaration of Independence. I compared two defenders of religious liberty: The Apostle Paul and James Madison. Though separated by centuries, both men dealt with the dangers of factionalism and the challenges of living free. Polarization zaps us every day. Ezra Klein recently coined the phrase “middle finger politics,” when political speech is mostly about diminishing your opponent rather than accomplishing something or the common good. It is an excellent time to remember what freedom and especially religious liberty mean. I will outline the situation each faced and then look at their solutions to the problems of strife and factionalism.

Both men experienced the adverse effects of religious strife. Paul told the Galatians in v. 15, "If you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another." What an apt metaphor. Think of the last major argument you had with someone. When they said something, and you strongly disagreed, it felt like they took a bite from you. You want to snap back at them to get a bite back. That is how you know you aren't in a respectful discussion of differences anymore. We feel diminished because it feels like someone is tearing something precious from us, and we enter fight or flight mode. Ultimately, everyone loses because everyone is diminished, consumed by each other's outrage.

Paul understood factionalism because he had lived it. He held the cloaks as others stoned the disciple Steven to death. After this religious execution, Acts 9:1 says, "Meanwhile, Saul was still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord's disciples." It sounds like the description of a mad bull: "Breathing out murderous threats." As Saul, he could not tolerate any dissent or alternative understandings of the law and scriptures. Rather than discussion and debate, which his great teacher Gamaliel would have counseled, Saul chose violent repression. It took a dramatic encounter with the Risen Christ in a vision to see this error. As Paul, the apostle of Christ, he spent his life on love and inclusion.

The issue in Galatians sounds strange to our ears. Some Jewish followers of Jesus believed that Gentiles needed to follow all the codes of Leviticus. Gentiles might give up shellfish and pork, but circumcision was a bridge too far. Both sides often want to drive the other out of the church. As Richard Rohr says, the history of Christianity is too frequently about who is in and who is out. Nearly every letter Paul wrote is an attempt to bridge the gap of a great cultural divide between Hebrew and Greek thought. He was deeply immersed in both and believed that this new movement of Jesus would be stronger by incorporating each rather than one winning over the other.

James Madison was also profoundly concerned about factionalism, especially over religious dogma. Many colonists had come to America, fleeing religious persecution. Many revolutionary leaders were Scotch-Irish, like the settlers here in Maine. The Scotch Irish suffered religious persecution and were driven out of Scotland. Europe had endured two centuries of brutal warfare, which was about power and domination, but infused with religious strife made it particularly brutal.

Madison was disturbed by the persecution of religious dissenters by the established Anglican Church in Virginia. The state issued licenses to preach only to Anglicans. Baptists preaching in the colony were beaten, imprisoned, and even drowned. Madison wrote a letter to a friend in 1774, where he lamented that the "diabolical Hell" of persecution was raging in the colony. "There are at this [time] . . . not less than 5 or 6 well-meaning men in [jail] for publishing their religious sentiments. . . . Pray for liberty of conscience to revive among us."

Let's see what the Apostle Paul and James Madison did to quell factionalism in their own time. Paul's response to the Galatians has three essential principles.

First, he asserts that everyone has a God-given freedom. Paul believed the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus as Christ frees humanity from every force that diminishes and destroys the human Spirit. We are freed internally from the power of sin, which is a destructive way of living that keeps us from our true selves. Paul departed from religious legalism because he believed it created an impossible burden on the soul. Becoming free creates opportunities for new relationships in a new society. Earlier in Galatians, Paul says in Christ, there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, but all are one. Freedom isn't just internal; it creates opportunities for our life together.

Second, with freedom comes responsibility. Freedom only thrives if we create community. In verse 14, he sets the standard, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” We know this is the great commandment we read in the Gospels, but it comes from the laws of Leviticus. Paul is reminding the legalistic faction in Galatia that the whole purpose of any law must be love. If law leads to something besides love, we are doing it wrong.

Third, true freedom comes from cultivating the virtues or the fruits of the Spirit. Our Vacation Bible School just finished a week on the fruits of the Spirit. They wrote the virtues big chalk letters in our parking lot: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, gentleness, self-control. These are not just virtues for children, they are virtues for grown-ups to live by. Review this list and find your favorite. Each one enhances communal life and calms the spirit of factionalism and strife. Find the one that is especially hard for you. (God knows I need more patience!). Challenge yourself to work this fruit of the Spirit

These virtues come from our daily work of aligning ourselves with God's intentions. When we get overwhelmed by the world and feel powerless, we can always turn to this inward work. Sometimes all we can control is how we show up. I’m not giving up on the idea that character matters. I vote based on character. Ben Franklin agreed, saying,

Only virtuous people are capable of freedom. As nations become corrupt and vicious, they have more need of masters.

James Madison was more skeptical of human possibilities than Paul. Appeals to our better nature, to live by the fruits of the Spirit, would not be enough to secure liberty. In The Federalist Papers Number 10, he wrote,

So strong is this propensity of humankind to fall into mutual animosities that where no substantial occasion presents itself, the most frivolous and fanciful distinctions have been sufficient to kindle their unfriendly passions and excite their most violent conflicts.

Madison believed there needed to be guard rails in the Constitution to prevent our worst instincts of faction, which lead us to eliminate people with whom we disagree. One necessary feature was the separation of powers of the branches of government. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Madison was also influential in supporting the Bill of Rights, which codified the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Madison's foundation for these rights was the freedom of conscience. He believed that every person has the God-given ability and right to practice their beliefs if they do not impinge on the rights of others. He believed religious freedom, to think without coercion, was central to a healthy republic. So, the first amendment central to the Bill of Rights was the Freedom of Speech, which includes not only individual speech but also the freedom of religion, the press, the right to assemble, and to petition the government. A healthy Republic must protect dissenting voices. Madison believed that if you try to repress differing opinions, they will become louder and more radical.

Madison was deeply concerned that factionalism would destroy a republic governed by the people's consent. Likewise, Paul knew that a church that proclaimed the love of Christ for humanity fails if we constantly fight each other. Neither man saw being free as inevitable. You don’t just inherit freedom; it must be a habit.

We are fortunate to be a relatively strong and harmonious church. This condition is not luck. I saw the best of this church conducting two funerals this week. The fruits of kindness and generosity toward each other were on display. I want to leave you with a challenge because living in a state of freedom and harmony can’t be taken for granted.

Several years ago, I led a workshop titled “How to Have Brave and Bold Conversations in Church.” In the beginning, I asked people, “What things can’t you talk about in church?” People answered, “Race, gun control, substance abuse, suicide, climate change, money, sex, abortion.” As the list grew longer, someone said, “It appears we can’t talk about anything meaningful. No wonder we are in trouble. We have chosen bland safety.”

I don’t want us constantly agitated by tackling controversial issues. But bland safety can be as harmful as strife. Avoidance will not protect us from the storms because then the loudest and most destructive voices will win. In a world where people are building walls of hostility against each other, Paul and James Madison challenge us to build bridges. Anyone can build a wall. You pile up rocks and bricks till you can’t see the humanity of someone. Bridges require skillful engineering to withstand the strongest currents that seek to knock them down. Since I live on Barter’s Island, I cross two bridges every day to get anywhere. Our challenge is this. We must measure ourselves not by how many bricks we put on the wall but by how many bridges we are willing to cross.

Powerful Questions | John 5:1-15 | Sixth Sunday after Pentecost | June 30, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 30 Jun 2024 15:54:48 GMT

Grace works through facing big questions

John 15:1-15

In Rabbinical teaching, the questions asked are as important as the answers given. A Rabbi might ask their children at the dinner table, “How many questions did you ask at school today?” Major sections of the Talmud are structured around important questions, and the answers famous rabbis gave. The Pirkei Avot in this format:

"Who is wise?":"One who learns from everyone,"

"Who is strong?": "One who controls his impulses,"

Someone once asked a Rabbi why he often answered a question with another question. The Rabbi replied, “What’s wrong with a question?”

In the four Gospels, Jesus asked 308 questions, he was asked 183 questions, and he directly answered on 8 questions. Instead of having bumper stickers that say, “Jesus is the answer,” it should read, “Jesus is the question!” Jesus asked interesting questions like:

What are you looking for?

Where is your faith?

Why are you afraid?

Do you want to get well?

What do you want me to do for you?

Who do people say that I am?

Who do you say that I am?

My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me?

None of these are “yes” or “no” questions. You won’t find the answers on a Google search or from Chat GPT. You might answer the question differently on Tuesday than on Monday. These queries require reflection and encourage probing for self-knowledge. The word “question” contains the word “quest.”

Question

Quest

The asking takes someone on a search. A quest goes to new place you have not been. If the answer is easy and covers old ground, there is no quest. Jesus does not ask questions for information, but for transformation. Let’s hold onto that perspective as we look at the context to Jesus’ question in our scripture.

A paralyzed man sits by a pool at the Sheep’s gate near the entrance of the Jerusalem Temple, likely used for ritual purifications necessary for someone who is ceremonially unclean. Some ancient manuscripts include the detail that an angel would periodically stir the waters, and the first person to go into the water would be healed. Jesus discovers this man has been sitting beside the pool for 38 years. Since I worked in a shelter for people without homes for eight years, I have dozens of questions. How did he become paralyzed? How does he eat? Does anyone help him? Is this where he sleeps? Does he have a mental health diagnosis? But Jesus is not interested in all these informational questions. He deals with the transformational questions. So, he asks the man, “Do you want to be well?”

Why wouldn’t the man want to be well? He has been sitting there for 38 years. Notice Jesus doesn’t say, “Do you want me to heal you?” This question is consistent with at least four other healing stories. Bartimaeus blindly calls out for Jesus to have mercy on him. Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” Isn’t it obvious that he wants to see? Perhaps Jesus doesn’t want to rush in and fix people. He wants to make sure what people really want and need.

Consider the question, “Do you want to be well?” Does everyone want to be well? If you ask a doctor what their major frustration is, they often say lack of patient follow through. Only 50-60% of people take medications as prescribed to them. Only 30-50% of people follow through on lifestyle changes like diet and exercise. People often drop out of physical therapy too soon. Despite mountains of evidence about what makes us healthier and live longer, most of us struggle to do these things. Do we want to be well?

When I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease in my 30s, I struggled to change my life. I didn’t like the idea of taking medication the rest of my life. There might be side effects. I really liked my diet of regular doses of pastrami and Swiss on rye, and pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. I would stick with the program until I felt well, then I felt cured, and returned to old habits. This attitude prolonged my suffering. I remember preaching on this text and asking myself, “Do I want to be well?” Of course, I want to be well! Doesn’t everyone want to be well? But the still, small voice wouldn’t be silent. If you want to be well, why aren’t you taking more action? Todd, you are a smart guy, so what is holding you back?

These questions turned into a quest. Here is what I discovered. First, acting for change in my life meant accepting and embracing reality. I did not want to accept living with a chronic illness at age 30. My self-image was of a person who still had the school record in the mile run and could log 50 miles a week. Runners learn to push through physical barriers to win the race. When I applied that attitude to balancing work and family life, and living with a chronic illness, it was a disaster. Embracing wellness meant accepting limits, and I did not want to do that. I wanted to be cured, so I acted like I was fine instead of taking action for my health. The paradox is that I got well when I accepted my illness, along with diet, medication and better managing my energy and calendar. I changed my view of wellness and wholeness. It is not a magical cure. I still have Crohn’s Disease. But I am well.

Let’s travel back to Jesus and the paralytic man. Listen to the man’s answer to Jesus:

“I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”

Notice he doesn’t answer the question. He is focused on the reasons he can’t get well. He has no help. Other people are faster. He has just had bad luck for the last 38 years. I wonder why he felt the need to explain his situation. Please understand I’m not blaming a man who is paralyzed from not being well. I assume he didn’t cause his paralysis, and positive thinking was not going to overcome his affliction. I can only imagine how helpless, hopeless, and frustrated he felt. I would not blame him for giving up. He is downtrodden, but he is still hanging out by the healing pool. What made him stay there?

Other people approached Jesus with a great desire to be healed. When Jesus asks Bartimaeus what he wanted, he boldly said, “I want to see.” A woman who was afflicted with a hemorrhage for many years thought to herself, “If I could only touch the hem of Jesus garment, I will be healed.” Those two wanted to be well, and literally reached out and grabbed it.

When Jesus brings healing to the man, he beckons him to act. “Pick up your mat and walk.” Jesus often healed people on request without any requirement, but this man is challenged to act in faith. He could have told Jesus he was insane, because he hadn’t walked for 38 years. He had no muscle tone. How dare Jesus give false hope or perhaps he was teasing. I would have loved more detail of his shaky ascent, like a newborn colt trying to get on its legs. John gets to the point and the man stands and walks away with his mat. He doesn’t shout, or thank Jesus, or even get his name. Once he acted, he didn’t look back.

But the story doesn’t end with “he lived happily ever after.” This newly mobile man faces opposition. Someone says to him, “It is the Sabbath; the law forbids you to carry your mat.” But the guy who healed me, told me to pick up my mat.” What? Someone healed on the Sabbath? Rabbinical law held that if someone was going to die, you were mandated to help them on the Sabbath, but if they had a chronic condition, you should wait till the Sabbath was over.

I wonder if the man thought things over before he picked up his mat on the Sabbath. Did he know he was breaking the rule, however ridiculous it might seem? Let’s assume he knew. He wanted to be well even if he had to face disapproval.

People won’t always applaud us for taking steps to be well. Sometimes when we make a change in our attitudes and behavior, other people feel threatened by it. When I stopped over-functioning in my church, at first everyone agreed that I should work less. But when I cut something, someone was always affected. Pastor, slow down, just don’t stop doing the things that I like. Most journeys of transformation face resistance from people who are comfortable with the way things are.

Questions are one of the most powerful ways God works in our lives. At first, the inquiry is uncomfortable, maybe even insulting. But when we ignore investigating, we might end up waiting 38 years for an angel to stir the pool. Every good question opens us to grace working our lives. Remember the questions Jesus asked,

What are you looking for?

Where is your faith?

Why are you afraid?

What do you want me to do for you?

Do you want to get well?

The Holy Spirit works in these questions. Take a quest and answer them. Pick up your mat, or pick up your question, and walk.

The Dividing Walls of Hostility | Ephesians 2:14-18 | Open & Affirming Sunday | Fifth Sunday after Pentecost | June 23, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 23 Jun 2024 16:00:52 GMT

Invisible walls are the hardest to bring down

Ephesians 2:13-22

Christ has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility.

Some walls are so large and visible you can't miss them. You can see the Great Wall of China from orbit. Walls of razor wire surround prison complexes. If you drive from Seal Harbor to Bar Harbor, Maine, stone and brick walls separate the super wealthy from the visiting tourists. Whether inside or outside these walls, you know where you stand, and you don't have to see people who belong on the other side of the wall. Complete separation is the point. Other walls are invisible attitudes and norms that separate us from each other. These walls are more challenging to navigate because they are real, even if you can't see them.

Paul’s letter the Ephesians addresses the divisions between Jew and Gentile in the early Jesus movement. The author likely based this image on the Soreg Wall that divided the inner courts of the Jerusalem Temple, where Gentiles were not permitted. The wall was just over four feet high, so you could see over it and know who was in and out; you could glimpse the inner court but not be allowed in. At the entrances to the inner court were signs in Greek and Latin warning Gentiles to keep out. One stone inscription found by archeologists said,

No Gentile is to go beyond the balustrade and the plaza of the temple zone. Whoever is caught doing so will have himself to blame for his death, which will follow."

You can look, but don't enter on pain of death!

The Apostle Paul writes to the Ephesians about how the invisible cultural walls between Jew and Gentile Christians can be hostile and contrary to the love of God. According to Acts, Paul spent three years in Ephesus, welcoming everyone into the way of Christ, which was still considered a Jewish faith at that time. Welcoming everyone sounds like a nice and polite thing to do, but this was a radical act fraught with cultural conflict. Should the Gentiles keep kosher and follow the dietary restrictions of Leviticus, or do they have to be circumcised when they convert?

The dividing walls of hostility are the cultural norms, traditions, and social identities that create boundaries between who is in and who is out. We cannot visibly see prejudice or ideology, but someone will let us know if we get on the wrong side of the wall. Excuse me, you are in my pew. Oh, I didn't see the wall, but now I know this isn't where I can sit. Sometimes, it is just the subtle stare-down that makes you feel uncomfortable. The black and Latino students in seminary talked about which stores the clerks would follow them to ensure they wouldn't steal anything. If you are an insider, you don't notice the walls because they seem normal. But if you are an outsider, you don't know where to step, and every interaction feels fraught. You don't feel free to be yourself because you are the problem and the one for whom the walls were designed to control.

I learned to build invisible walls when I was a mime. The summer before my senior year of college, I felt I needed to get out and see more of the world. I quit my job as a radio news reporter and joined a traveling ministry of mimes. I knew nothing about mime. On radio, I had been a voice without a face, and now I would be a face without a voice. The first thing I learned was how to build an invisible wall. You may have seen the classic Marcel Marcou act of the walls closing in until he is scrunched into a tight little box. It takes talent to make people believe in an invisible reality. The trick is to move from a curved hand to a rigid flat hand and to hold that point. From the invisible anchor, you can move other parts of your body to make the wall seem solid and real.

One of our best skits was called "The Wall." My partner and I would start dancing in unison with the precision of a drum major on parade. After a half-minute of marching, she would break into disco (it was 1985!). I would come over, admonish her, and call her back to our parade march. She would rejoin me but soon repeat Saturday Night Fever, and eventually, we would get so mad that we built a wall between us. It was hard to make this wall together because we had to create the illusion of the same-sized stone blocks and hold to the same plane of engagement. If one of us was off, the illusion was broken and stopped working. My partner broke the plane once and I pretended to look at the fallen block in dismay, and I picked it back up to restore the illusion.

Act two of this drama focused on what we did on our own sides of the wall. We would go from being angry and waving good riddance to the other side. Then, we would feel regret and approach the wall for a moment before breaking off again. Gradually, we would make it apparent that we both wanted the wall to come down but were afraid to take the first step for fear of rejection.

The grand climax happened when we each reached over the top, touched hands, and methodically and enthusiastically deconstructed the wall brick by brick. You couldn't just pretend the wall no longer existed; it had to be removed in the same fashion it was built for the reconciliation to be authentic. When we hugged, the crowd around us would cheer, applaud, and even cry. We did this skit for youth groups in church basements, Sunday morning worship, city parks, at Jones Beach in New York, and even Chucky Cheese once. Nearly every time, people would come to us afterward and pour out the hurt and divisions they felt with other people. Parents would come in tears with their children. A gay teenager would share that their parents didn't accept them. A multi-racial youth group used the skit as a springboard to discuss how racism affected their group.

I spent the summer shocked at how much hurt and anger existed behind the invisible walls of normalcy. And I was astonished that simply showing how a wall got created and how it could be torn down opened floodgates. I was ill-prepared to handle all the powerful emotions the skit created. I learned to listen, pray with people, and say, "God is good." This skit played a role in my decision to go to seminary. It gave me a vision of what the Apostle Paul meant: Christ brings down the dividing walls of hostility.

Creating a welcome where there has been hostility is no small challenge. Most churches have signs that say everyone is welcome, but we know this isn't necessarily true. Many churches with welcome signs preach an exclusive Gospel every Sunday. How are LGBTQ+ people supposed to know which churches mean what they say, and which ones don't? The statement this congregation adopted in 2012 acknowledges the pain caused by the church in history:

With sadness, we acknowledge that the Christian church has condemned and mistreated persons based on distinctions such as gender, race, gender identity, gender expression, and sexual orientation. We believe such actions contradict Jesus' call to love one another.

It is a marvelous and strong statement, but you must get through the front door to read it. Given the reputation of the wider church as judgmental and exclusive, many people won’t get that far to know. Being an inclusive and welcoming church requires concrete action, empathy and a willingness to stretch and change. Sometimes people will say, we welcome everyone, but do we have to talk about it?

Mike Fritz said something important to us last week about what it truly means to welcome people. Mike shared with us how painful it was to come home from three tours in Vietnam and be treated like he was a killer. People projected their disagreement with the war on veterans returning home. Mike shared with us how powerful it was to go on the "honor flight" to Washington, DC, and have cheering people meet them at the airport and say, "Welcome home." Welcome home. What made a difference was a specific act of affirmation. The fact that we have Veterans Day and Memorial Day was not sufficient. Mike and many other veterans needed to be specifically and personally seen and welcomed for who he is.

Many people live behind the invisible walls because our culture has shamed them. They might struggle with substance abuse, or depression, recovering from abuse. They might be looked down upon for being a veteran, an immigrant, or they are gay, lesbian or trans. Invisible walls make them feel like they don’t belong. Paul stated it so clearly in Ephesians, that Christ brings down the dividing walls of hostility. We are all made one people by the love of God. Nothing makes me prouder to serve this congregation than the times we say to people, “Welcome home. You belong.”

Anxious Conversations | Luke 10:38-42 | Fourth Sunday after Pentecost | June 16, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 16 Jun 2024 17:21:50 GMT

Sermon #4 on Conversations as Spiritual Practice

Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him. ^[ ^a ^] ³⁹ She had a sister named Mary, who sat at Jesus’s ^[ ^b ^] feet and listened to what he was saying. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted by her many tasks, so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her, then, to help me.” ⁴¹ But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, ⁴² but few things are needed—indeed only one. ^[ ^c ^] Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things. Martha is not the only one. Here are a few one-liners I heard this week:

· I lost my job to Artificial Intelligence.

· What kind of world are my kids and grandkids going to live in?

· I'm afraid about this election.

· I fear I am going to outlive the amount of money I need.

· I heard the church will do another capital campaign, and things will change.

These examples scratch the surface of our anxieties about money, sex, power, health, aging, parenting, and the acceleration of change. No wonder almost one in five people in America have some kind of diagnosed anxiety disorder where anxiety regularly limits life and health. So many of us are operating at a daily baseline of medium to high levels of anxiety, so one more thing puts us in a state of agitation. Anxiety management is crucial to accomplish anything, anywhere, in your family, church, job, or community. Jesus would tell us, "Martha, Martha; Todd, Todd. You are worried and upset about many things.”

Unpacking the conversation between Jesus and Martha remains relevant to our modern problems. Do you identify more with Mary or Martha in this story? Martha symbolizes a faith focused on doing things. When Jesus and the disciples visit, loaves and fish do not miraculously appear to feed everyone. Dinner for twelve requires the skills of a field marshal. Providing hospitality is of great cultural importance, and Jesus is a distinguished guest, so Martha is focusing her formidable household organization skills on the guests' needs.

In contrast, Mary is symbolic of the contemplative side of faith. What a great opportunity to sit at the feet and listen to a renowned teacher with his group of disciples. Hospitality is not just providing dinner; it's paying attention and engaging with the guests in exciting conversations. Have you ever been at a meal and wanted to tell the host, "This is a marvelous meal; just sit with us and enjoy it. We are here to see you!"

The scripture tells us this is Martha's house, so she is likely the older sister, and neither sister has a husband. Martha had to be strong to run a household in a male-dominated culture. Who knows what challenges she faced to provide for her sister? The two sisters also appear in John's Gospel, which adds that Lazarus is their brother. When Lazarus dies, Martha confronts Jesus at the edge of town and says, "Where were you? If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” At Lazarus's resurrection party, Mary anoints Jesus with precious perfume, an extravagant gesture that draws the ire of Judas. Mary seems to be the person who senses the true import of the moment but also upsets everyone who prefers avoidance and the status quo.

Here is the scene. Martha breaks a sweat, checks the bread in the oven, counts the table settings to ensure enough, and worries that she has put too much salt in the stew. "If Mary would only get off her butt and help me, this would not be so hard!" Martha could have gone to Mary and quietly whispered that she needed help in the kitchen. Or she might have been bold enough to point out to Jesus that if he genuinely believed in radical equality, could he spare some male disciples to peel potatoes and wash dishes? But, she is going to focus her anxiety on Mary. Listen to her opening salvo:

"Lord, don't you care that my sister left me to do the work alone? Tell her to help me!"

How much undercurrent, blame, and passive-aggressive martyrdom can you fit into one sentence? Don't you care? That is more attack than question. When someone says, "If you cared or truly loved me, you would do X," you are caught in a dilemma. You might have a good reason not to do X, but now, if you try to explain, you don't love Martha.

The direct approach would have been for Martha to say, “I need help.” Instead, she opts for saying, "My sister has left me to do all the work." Maybe Martha is right. This situation could be a regular family pattern between big and little sisters. But, it could also be Martha's self-imposed agenda, which she frequently pushes on Mary. At this point, you are tempted to drift from the sermon and ruminate over your last family row. You might be more sympathetic to Mary or Martha, and we all have these family grievances. Anxiety makes them much worse.

Martha now brings down the hammer. "Jesus, tell her to help me." If Martha's goal was to get more help, she had several better avenues. Instead of being direct, she orders the person with the most status in the room to compel her sister. Beyond just help, she wants Mary to be embarrassed and humiliated in front of everyone. So, there it is, all the family's dirty laundry out in front of the guests.

In family systems therapy, this is known as triangulation. When two people conflict, they get a third person involved to ease their distress. Occasionally, they want that person to mediate, but both parties usually want the third person to support their side. Emotional triangles are an attempt to gain 2-to-1 leverage in the conflict. If you are the third person in the triangle, beware. One of them will be angry with you; possibly, both will turn on you after hours of shuttle diplomacy. Now, you are holding all their emotional baggage, which was the goal. Let’s find a third person to carry the anxiety we don't want to deal with.

How do you deal with this anxiety in the moment?

Fortunately, Jesus knows better than to say, "Martha, just calm down." That line hasn't calmed anyone down since the beginning of language. He could have organized the disciples in a work party, but that would be giving into Martha's agenda and letting busyness rule the moment.

Martha, Martha. What does it mean when someone says your name twice? I found six other places in the Bible where God says someone's name twice. God calls out "Abraham, Abraham" to stop him from sacrificing his son Isaac. From the burning bush, God says, "Moses, Moses." Christ says, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” Martha is in a very illustrious group. In each case, the person spoken to is in distress. There is something personal and comforting in hearing your name spoken twice. Each person in this circumstance is greatly valued by God and called upon for essential service. So, I think Jesus means this to be intimate and sympathetic. If you hear someone speaking in circles and can't stop talking, just say their name. Joe, can I say something here? It helps with connection.

Notice that Jesus is careful about triangulation and deals with the anxiety first. He addresses Martha's emotional state. "You are worried and upset about many things." Here is an interesting thing about these words. The Greek word for worried refers to the inner feeling of anxiety, while the word for upset is the outward manifestation seen in disturbance and turmoil. “I see your inner stress, and it is causing visible distress among us.” Jesus is acknowledging Martha's feelings. When someone comes at you with intensity, it often helps to simply say, "You sound angry." Or "You seem anxious." Often, the person starts to settle when they feel seen and noticed.

Jesus also says to Martha you are worried about "many things." Maybe it isn't just the work or all about Mary, but many things get to Martha. Martha is a resilient and capable person, trying to practice hospitality. But anxiety gets to her. Maybe she was already simmering when Jesus arrived, feeling behind in her to-do list. She needed to finish her taxes and can't remember her Amazon password. She feels anxious around Peter and has high expectations for herself. A little perfectionism pushes her to the brink. She can handle five big things at once, but not six. She goes to a bad place.

Jesus says Mary has chosen the better place. Tradition assumes the better place is at Jesus' feet, learning like a disciple, which is a radical place for a woman. A contemporary Rabbi of Jesus' day said it was better for the Torah to be burned than read by a woman. Mary's choice upends patriarchal tradition, and Jesus says he will not take her place away from her.

I also want to interpret the better place to be as a state of less anxiety. Mary is not better for choosing learning and contemplation and Martha is not worse because she chose work and hospitality. Both are essential to the spiritual path. But you can't do either one if you are anxious and worried. Learning to deal with anxiety is necessary to create anything.

Here are two takeaways about the spiritual practice of conversations from this scripture. First, when you are in a tense and conflictual situation, the temptation is to focus on the content of what is being discussed. If you don’t diffuse the anxiety first, that won’t work. The conversation will be driven by the most anxious person in the room, like Martha, and they will drive it off the rails. The focus will become their fears, who to blame and resisting change. Address anxiety first, then the content.

Second, the best thing you can do in any challenging situation is manage your own anxiety first. You don’t have to be a professional conflict mediator, just be a non-anxious presence. When Martha turns up the heat, turn down your emotional thermostat. Anxiety is physical, so breathe slowly and deeply. One calm person in the room can change the dynamics. Jesus said Mary chose the better place. When you are less anxious, you can connect with the people around you rather than the drama. That place is the better one.

Can You Argue with God? | Genesis 18:16-33 | Music Sunday | Third Sunday after Pentecost | June 9, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 09 Jun 2024 14:45:26 GMT

Sermon #3 on conversations in the Bible

¹⁶ Then the men set out from there, and they looked toward Sodom, and Abraham went with them to set them on their way. ¹⁷ The Lord said, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, ¹⁸ seeing that Abraham shall become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him? ^[ ^a ^] ¹⁹ No, for I have chosen ^[ ^b ^] him, that he may charge his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice, so that the Lord may bring about for Abraham what he has promised him.” ²⁰ Then the Lord said, “How great is the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah and how very grave their sin! ²¹ I must go down and see whether they have done altogether according to the outcry that has come to me, and if not, I will know.”

²² So the men turned from there and went toward Sodom, while Abraham remained standing before the Lord. ^[ ^c ^] ²³ Then Abraham came near and said, “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked? ²⁴ Suppose there are fifty righteous within the city; will you then sweep away the place and not forgive it for the fifty righteous who are in it? ²⁵ Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the wicked, so that the righteous fare as the wicked! Far be that from you! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” ²⁶ And the Lord said, “If I find at Sodom fifty righteous in the city, I will forgive the whole place for their sake.” ²⁷ Abraham answered, “Let me take it upon myself to speak to my lord, I who am but dust and ashes. ²⁸ Suppose five of the fifty righteous are lacking? Will you destroy the whole city for lack of five?” And he said, “I will not destroy it if I find forty-five there.” ²⁹ Again he spoke to him, “Suppose forty are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of forty I will not do it.” ³⁰ Then he said, “Oh, do not let my lord be angry if I speak. Suppose thirty are found there.” He answered, “I will not do it, if I find thirty there.” ³¹ He said, “Let me take it upon myself to speak to my lord. Suppose twenty are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of twenty I will not destroy it.” ³² Then he said, “Oh, do not let my lord be angry if I speak just once more. Suppose ten are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of ten I will not destroy it.” ³³ And the Lord went his way, when he had finished speaking to Abraham, and Abraham returned to his place. (Genesis 18:16-33)

Whenever you say, "Hear my prayer, O God," you invite a conversation. It may not feel like a two-way discussion because your partner is veiled, mysterious, and on the quiet side. I get a little intimidated talking to a Senator or Tom Hanks, let alone the maker of heaven and earth. I hope God has more important problems than my frustrations, such as stopping the war in Sudan or sorting out Gaza and Israel. On the other hand, maybe God is frustrated with intractable problems and welcomes more mundane concerns. Attempting a conversation with God can feel like starting a new blog online. You write something meaningful, post it, and wait in silence. Is anyone reading it? The analytics say 50 people have clicked on your post, but no one likes it or comments. Does your voice reach anyone? Yet we persevere!

Last week's sermon explored listening with Elijah for the still, small voice of God's Spirit. The story revealed a tenderness of angels caring for Elijah, and God did not speak in the wind, earthquake, or fire but in the sound of silence. In my spiritual journey, I have practiced silence enough to become comfortable letting go of busy thoughts. Occasionally, I sense the awe of a loving presence, a slight whisper of "Yes." But what about my prayers, and bigger questions about suffering and injustice? Does my voice register out there in sacred space, or is prayer just self-talk wishing for a partner? Here is a bigger question. What if I'm angry, not just questioning myself or having doubts, but ready to shake my fist at the maker of heaven and earth in frustration and despair? Will that get some divine attention, and if so, do I want to go there? Can you be honest with God, even when arguing and challenging?

Abraham's dialog with God gave me food for thought this week. Its strikes me that God was the one having an inner dialog and decides to share with Abraham. God is upset by injustice in the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah and wants to take action. But should Abraham know the divine mind? It seems that Abraham is a God’s critical test case to see if there can be some level of trust and communication, a covenant between an eternal and mortal being. God decides if they will work with humanity through Abraham; they must engage him. God opens with:

"The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great, and their sin is so grievous. I will go down and see if what they have done is as bad as the outcry that has reached me. If not, I will know."

The word outcry alerts Abraham that a conversation is already underway. God has heard the outcry, and the Hebrew word za'akah signifies intense distress and a plea for help. God's message to Abraham parallels what is said to Moses at the burning bush. Exodus. 3:7 reads, "I have heard the cry of my people because of the taskmasters of Egypt." God hears.

A common misunderstanding is that the Old Testament God is angry and vengeful, but the text tells us God is paying attention to human suffering and wants to respond and restore justice. God is giving Abraham a glimpse of a divine conundrum. If God is just, evil and injustice must be countered. If God is loving, then some human imperfection must be tolerated. But where do you draw the line? What is a good God to do when a city is unjust?

Verse 22 says Abraham stood before the Lord. But the text note says the oldest versions of the text read, "The Lord remained standing before Abraham." Mortal humans, made from dust, are supposed to stand before the Almighty God, not the other way around. The original text may have been so shocking and unusual that early translators assumed it was wrong. If God truly stood before Abraham, it means God is not afraid to be judged and questioned by a mortal. God invites criticism.

Put yourself in Abraham's shoes. You have just heard from the maker of heaven and earth about the potential destruction of a city. What city would be picked today? Las Vegas? Moscow? Lynchburg, Virginia, or DC? Cross those off your vacation list. Abraham asks what would happen if there were 50 righteous people in the city. 50 is a good number, enough for a decent-sized church in Maine. Surely, one decent church could save even an unjust town.

In verse 25, we get Abraham's theological commentary:

Far be it from you to do such a thing—to kill the righteous with the wicked, treating the righteous and the wicked alike. Far be it from you! Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?"

"Far be it from you" could be translated, "God forbid." The literal meaning is it would be profane. You would be tainted, endangering your divinity with the swing voters. It reads like Abraham is reminding God who God is. God hears and says, I would spare the city.

Abraham may be relieved, but he wants to push back more. "I know I've been bold, and I'm nothing but dust and ashes, but what about 45." What's five fewer? God shrugs and agrees. 45 is fine. Abraham continues to bargain God down six times till they get to ten. Why ten and not five or even one? It takes ten people to form a Minyan for a Jewish religious ceremony, plus we have ten commandments and ten plagues. It’s good round number.

I love Abraham's spirit to argue with God. The story reads like two people haggling over the price of a carpet in a bizarre. It's funny, shocking, and profound all rolled into one.

After all this dialog, God destroys the city in chapter 19, saving only Abraham's nephew, Lot, and his family. Apparently, there were not ten righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah. It's not the historical report that matters, as much as the theological point that justice and mercy are not a simple numbers game. As Bob Dillon put it in Blowing in the Wind, “Yes, and how many deaths will it take 'til he knows, that too many people have died?” You can't just determine the number of people who are killed as “collateral damage” of a bomb and declare it just. You must wrestle deeply with the value of every innocent life. We need an Abraham arguing with the Israeli Knesset and Hamas; how many thousands of innocent lives is your victory worth?

How bad were Sodom and Gomorrah? This scripture has often been used as a "clobber" text. When discussing homosexuality, it is dragged out to make the case that God is against it. Sodom is the origin of the word sodomy. The origin of this belief comes from a strange story that follows in chapter 19. Two angels in disguise are staying with Lot and assessing how evil Sodom is. A crowd gathers outside Lot's home, demanding to see the foreigners Lot is hosting, so they may "know" them. The debate is what the word "know" means here. It often has sexual desire in other references. It's a bizarre story because Lot offers his virgin daughters instead. One of the first books I read in seminary was "Texts of Terror" by Phyllis Tribble. She acknowledges that some biblical texts are violent, patriarchal, and weird. Reader beware!

An interesting picture emerges when we examine where Sodom and Gomorrah are mentioned elsewhere in the Bible. Three Old Testament prophets, Ezekiel, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, refer to the sins of the cities as a failure to pay attention to the poor and needy; they are arrogant, untruthful, and do wicked things, including adultery. The prophets are clear that Sodom and Gomorrah are unjust cities but with no references to homosexuality. If these prophets came to the cities of America today, they would be much more concerned with people experiencing homelessness than who we love and marry.

Jesus mentions Sodom and Gomorrah twice. When giving instructions to the disciples, he says:

And if any place will not welcome or listen to you, leave that place and shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them. Truly, I tell you, it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town.": Mark 6:11

What concerns Jesus is inhospitality and turning away from listening to the truth. These examples illustrate the importance of reading scripture in context. We must weigh several references to the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah as injustice and inhospitality versus one bizarre story where Lot seems willing to sacrifice his daughters to a mob. The Bible is better understood as an ongoing conversation, sometimes an argument, rather than a static truth cherry-picked from one verse.

Which brings us back to the main point of this sermon series. Faith happens in conversation, and sometimes, we must engage in challenging discussions to get to the truth. A heard a great quote this week from philosopher Alasdaire MacIntyre. “Tradition is an ongoing argument, where agreements are made, and renegotiated over time. When God engages Abraham, even inviting criticism, God models our life together as dialog. This story should be no surprise to Congregationalists, since our name implies faith is a discussion. When dialog stops, entropy results. A crucial mission of our church is to model and defend respectful discussion as a way of life.

The Sound of Silence | I Kings 19:1-12 | June 2, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 02 Jun 2024 14:10:34 GMT

Sermon #2 on challenging conversations in the Bible

I Kings 19:1-12 . (click for the full reading)

God said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lordwas not in the earthquake, ¹² and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lordwas not in the fire, and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. vs. 11-12

If you want deeper and more meaningful conversations, you must get comfortable with silence. Sometimes, we must be quiet so the other person can think and let something precious emerge from the conversation. If we anxiously fill every quiet moment with words, there is no space for something profound to surface. Other times, we must remove ourselves from the noise to find a wiser inner voice, the still, small voice of the Spirit speaking to us. Wisdom does not flourish in a cacophony.

Understanding silence is crucial because it comes in many forms and can evoke different feelings. Silence can be both positive and negative. For instance, if the birds stop chirping and the forest goes eerily quiet, it may signal danger. Sometimes, we don't want silence because all the negative voices emerge; regrets, shame, and loneliness are too much to bear, so we fill our space with background noise. You may have received the silent treatment when someone isn't speaking to you. You know they are mad, and the lack of communication feels lonely or ominous. The negative side of silence can be a refusal or inability to risk a relationship or face the truth.

Simon and Garfunkel's classic song "The Sound of Silence" expresses our ambiguous or even fearful relationship to silence.

People talking without speaking. People listening without hearing.

Words can be meaningless if we are avoiding what is real and true. Our silence about abuse or injustice is complicity.

Silence like a cancer grows.

The haunting ending describes the feeling when we don’t listen and pay attention to voices from the margins, our prophetic voices,

But my words, like silent raindrops, fell

And echoed in the wells of silence.

Silence is tricky. If we talk too much, we are just noisy, and our words mean less. If we say too little when our positive words are needed, our silence communicates rejection and fear. We need silence, but the goal must be to strengthen love, not to live in fear.

Many hymns affirm the spiritual power of quietness. I love the spiritual that says,

"Blessed quietness, holy quietness, what assurance in my soul. On the stormy seas, Jesus speaks to me, and the billows cease to roll.

A favorite Advent hymn addresses the courage needed to enter silence so we may know God,

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
and with fear and trembling stand;
Set your minds on things eternal,
for with blessing in his hand
Christ our God to earth descending
Comes our homage to command.

Silence can be challenging, vulnerable, and lonely, but when we pass through to solitude, the quiet becomes healing renewing, and provides us with wisdom.

Let's pause and acknowledge that we first experience silence as negative on the way to the wisdom of solitude. If you have tried to meditate, you understand this dynamic. Our first attempts at a quiet mind are impossible. The first minutes fill with the trivia of a busy mind, things on our to-do list, the annoying or hurtful words said, and unpaid bills. Negativity cycles faster as the voices say, "I'm not very good at this. Why am I doing this? It’s futile." We use many strategies to avoid these voices, so why choose to face them in silence?

But over time, we learn to let go of these negative voices. We acknowledge them and let them go. When I hear all those negative voices in meditation, I treat them like the weather. The weather is what it is. I can't control it. Here comes the dark clouds of negative thoughts, the mists of frustration and confusion, a lightning flash of anger, the distant thunder of anxiousness. I name them, and they pass. My inner skies begin to clear. I've learned to say to every voice, "This too." Here's a thought; there is a thought. They are just weather. Our wiser selves are beyond the weather and emerges as the storms of words quiet.

In our scripture, Elijah heads into the wilderness because he is being silenced. Let me give a brief background on the religious and political turmoil in Israel. King Ahab married Jezebel of Phoenicia, who worshiped the god Baal. They are engaging in a hostile religious takeover of Israel. As with many religious authoritarians, she uses theology to cover for greed and injustice, while using lies, deception and threats to get what she wants.

Jezebel sends a message to Elijah that he is a dead man, so he flees for his life. Elijah is not taking a much-needed silent spiritual retreat in peace and quiet. His voice is cut off, and he is forced into a desolate place to save himself. He rests under a broom tree, a hardy bush that only grows in the wilderness. If you see a broom tree, you are nowhere with plenty of silence. Elijah enters silence, lonely, afraid, and exhausted. He prayed that he might die. "I have had enough, Lord," he said. "Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors."

This despair is what polarization, bullying, and authoritarianism create. Intimidation makes you collapse in on yourself. The "silence like a cancer grows." The result is a deep depression that immobilizes us. This silence is negative, stemming from loneliness, cruelty, and injustice. Your mind will do the bully's dirty work when you fall into it.

Elijah is in the physical wilderness and the spiritual and emotional wilderness of doubt and fear. The hostile wilderness silence is not his friend. But angels now come and occupy the silence with Elijah. All the angels say in verse five is, "Get up and eat." They create hospitality in the wilderness with baked bread and water. The angels are like our Befrienders ministry. They don't say anything beyond what is necessary. They don't come and urge Elijah to do anything beyond eating; they don't judge, give advice, and start telling stories about when they felt hurt and alone or how much they hate Jezebel and Ahab, too. They create hospitality in the silence. In therapy, this is called "holding the space." Sometimes, it is a great comfort to have someone who sits so quietly we can gather ourselves. If someone is distressed, it can be a great gift to be present and hold the space with them.

This act is so essential the angels do it a second time in verse seven. "Get up and eat so you will have strength for the journey." In quietness comes strength for the journey.

Now, we come to the conversation between Elijah and God. Notice God's first words invite Elijah with a question, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" Listen to the distress of Elijah's answer;

"I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too."

Elijah sees everything as catastrophic. His enemies have won, injustice and violence reign, and he is alone. I wonder which news channel he watches. When bad things happen, our tendency is to project out the continued negative consequences. But so far, every prediction that the world will end has been wrong. Elijah is correct about everything but one detail. He is not alone. God is there. Later in the chapter, God assures Elijah that 7000 people have not bowed to Baal. God does not say much in answer to Elijah's distress. God gives Elijah an invitation.

"Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by."

God moves Elijah into a different place. It is a sacred space. Elijah is at Mount Horeb, in Sinai, where Moses spoke with God and received the Ten Commandments. At Horeb Moses asked to see the presence of God, and God agrees to pass by. At the mountaintop, Elijah will gain perspective beyond his inner turmoil. It is a sacred space. That is what silence of solitude can become for us, the holy space where the wisdom comes to us.

At the mountaintop, Elijah experiences the power of nature; wind, an earthquake, and fire. But in each case, it says God is not present in these moments. God is not necessarily in the spectacular. Wisdom doesn't come from lightning bolts. God's presence comes to Elijah in deep stillness. The most known translation from the King James Bible is "the still, small voice." The Hebrew could mean, "gentle whisper, shear silence or thin silence." The sacred emerges in the sound of silence. So much truth communicated with no words. Many of our most important experiences our wordless. A first kiss, a hug, a reassuring presence or a silent nod of affirmation that told us we could do it.

Elijah's story teaches us silence isn’t a void to be feared but a sacred space where the Spirit speaks. Silence is the womb where our inner wisdom flows, where courage emerges, and we find direction and purpose. I find even 15 minutes a day helps set a tone. Negativity dissipates. Priorities for the day emerge. I’m better prepared to hold space for others. In the sounds of silence, the most important conversation happens. The still, small voice shapes us.

Talking with the Opposition | John 3:1-12 | Trinity Sunday | May 26, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 26 May 2024 13:49:51 GMT

Sermon #1 on Challenging Conversations in the Bible

John 3:1-12

Nicodemus Visits Jesus

3 Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. ² He came to Jesus ^[ ^a ^] by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with that person.” ³ Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” ^[ ^b ^]4 Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” ⁵ Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. ⁶ What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. ⁷ Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You ^[ ^c ^] must be born from above.’ ^[ ^d ^] ⁸ The wind ^[ ^e ^] blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” ⁹ Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” ¹⁰ Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

¹¹ “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen, yet you ^[ ^f ^] do not receive our testimony. ¹² If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?

The profound message of this story about Nicodemus is that spiritual transformation happens in conversation. We are not transformed only by intellectual pursuit, by following all the rules, or by being ideologically pure. People are not transformed by magic, even if there is a burning bush. Transformation happens in conversation.

Consider these examples. We wrestle with God like Jacob wrestled with an angel. Like Job, we ask the hard questions about suffering and evil. As Mary encounters angel Gabriel, she questions him, "How can this be?" Like David, we confess where we fall short and ask for the grace to be better. We might laugh like Sarah and Abraham at the outrageous promises of God. We gaze at the burning bush in wonder but quickly say we cannot do what God asks.

My New Year's resolution for 2024 is to have more important and challenging conversations. For five months, I have been doing three things. First, I try to have at least one conversation every week with someone outside my regular work as a pastor. Second, I keep learning logs from all my conversations. Third, I am reading my fourth book on topics like better listening, the art of asking good questions, and how to have difficult conversations. I'm convinced that if we long for connection with the living Spirit of God, we must find a way to have more deep, enriching, and challenging conversations. These conversations include more honest self-talk, learning to be curious about people with different experiences than me, and, most importantly, learning to listen deeply for the Spirit of God. This encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus is the first of five conversations in the Bible that we will explore through the end of June.

It's surprising that Jesus and Nicodemus, a Pharisee, speak to each other. Pharisees believe Jesus is doing it all wrong. He eats with sinners and works on the Sabbath to heal people. Jesus plays fast and loose with the Torah law. By the end of the Gospels, the Pharisees aligned with rival Sadducees and even Romans to deal with the threat they felt from Jesus. Jesus directs his most stinging rebukes at the Pharisees. He pronounces seven woes in Matthew's Gospel, "Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people's bones." For good measure, he adds that they are a brood of vipers. These conversations are not lessons from Jesus in the gentle art of verbal self-defense but reflect a deep polarization of values. Jesus is constantly attacked and is not neutral about the Pharisees. It is a surprise that someone like Nicodemus would come to Jesus with an open mind. He is a Pharisee, but he is Jesus-curious.

Who is Nicodemus, and why is he talking with Jesus? Nicodemus is a Greek name, not Hebrew. How is he on the Sanhedrin, the most influential group of Jews in Jerusalem and a Pharisee, but has a Greek name? Nico means "victory." The feminine is "Nike," the Greek goddess of victory, who had speedy shoes. "Demos" means people. So, Nicodemus means "victory of the people." Why doesn't he have a good Jewish name like Joshua (or Jesus), which means "God delivers?"

My point is that Nicodemus was likely cross-cultural. Perhaps this gave him the curiosity and capacity to reach outside his ideological tribe and talk with Jesus. What motivated Nicodemus to speak with Jesus?

Pharisees lived a highly disciplined life. Nicodemus prayed when he woke, kept kosher at his meals, and could likely recite from memory most of the 693 laws of the Levitical code. He is a student of the Torah who reveres adhering to its commands. As a Pharisee, he was not a fan of the Temple sacrifice system but of scriptural study. In the previous chapter, Nicodemus may have seen Jesus clearing the Temple and setting free the sacrificial animals. He may have thought, here is someone who will be on our side. This Rabbi Jesus knows that Torah is more important than animal sacrifices, and he knows how to make a statement. Politics make strange bedfellows.

This conversation is fraught. Jesus has over 60 interactions with Pharisees in the Gospels, and this is one of only three remotely positive. No wonder Nicodemus is there at night for a clandestine meeting. He understands the fundamental dynamic of polarization. The talk is private because Nicodemus fears his friends, not his enemies. Trying to be a bridge-builder between rival groups can get you in a ton of trouble. It is lonely on the bridge because both sides may reject you. You are in no-man's land.

In the 1998, Dr. Bernie Slepian was murdered in Buffalo for serving at a Planned Parenthood Clinic. The local newspaper brought eight people together for dialog, and I was the pro-choice clergy representative. The fact that I was clergy made me a lightning rod, and I was attacked in the letters to the editor and got a stack of hate mail about how evil I was to condone murdering babies, and the level of Hell I might expect.

But I persisted in my desire to be a bridge-builder. I wanted to have a private dialog with someone who protested at the Planned Parenthood Clinic. I picked someone I thought as a partner because who was sincere and soft-spoken. We had an engaging hour together, sharing our religious backgrounds and how we came to our positions, and we even agreed on a few things. We were encouraged to return to our groups and see if more people wanted to join us. Soon after, he informed me that his group was furious that he was even talking to me. It was participation with evil to have dialog. And when I shared my experience with my Planned Parenthood friends, they had that look of "What were you thinking?"

One person said, "There is no talking to those people." But I had once been one of "those people." I had joined the picketers as a college student in South Dakota. I went to an Evangelical college, and abortion was the big issue, where you proved whether you were a true believer or not. I changed because someone took the time to patiently listen and gently challenge me to see another point of view. For me, to give up on building bridges feels like giving up on my younger self and the possibilities of transformation.

Let’s explore the conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus. Nicodemus opens graciously, noting that Jesus has accomplished much, and he could not have done so without God's help. Jesus's first response throws Nicodemus off track, "Truly, no one can see the Kingdom of God unless they are born from above."

Nicodemus's carefully calibrated legal mind misfires, "How can anyone be born after growing old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?" We might assume Nicodemus is being too literal, thinking Jesus meant an impossible physical rebirth. But Nicodemus doesn't strike me as stupid. I wonder if he is also speaking in metaphor.

Jesus, surely you understand human nature. People aren't just spiritually reborn. The older you get, the harder it is to change. Spiritual growth comes from hard work, reading the Torah daily, and staying pure to all its commands. Faith requires discipline, will, and effort to stick to the precise path of the Torah. That is how we are born from above.

Jesus responds, "Truly Nicodemus, you must come from water and Spirit. The wind blows, and you hear the sound, but you don't know where it comes from or where it is going. That is how you must live in the Spirit."

Here is the challenge Jesus brings. The spiritual life is not an accomplishment but an encounter. It is not what we achieve but what we receive. Obviously, I think studying scripture is vital, but it makes no difference unless I allow its words to bring me into a relationship with God and others. I know people who read the Bible annually but don't change; they don't love better. They are reading the Bible to support their arguments rather than to encounter the love of God. Being born from above, or born again, comes from an encounter with God's Spirit, who creates a new relationship. Every relationship is affected by that experience. Jesus tells Nicodemus, don't just try to win me to your cause. Come find out who I really am, and let's meet God together.

You might think this dialog failed at the end, but Nicodemus shows up twice in John. He defends Jesus at a meeting of the Pharisees, saying that he should get a fair hearing (John 7:50-51). Here is a surprise ending. Nicodemus comes to claim Jesus' body after the crucifixion. He brings all the embalming spices. We don't know if Nicodemus became a follower, born from above, but at least he respected Jesus. The Eastern Orthodox Church claims Nicodemus as the patron saint of curiosity. That may be the most important takeaway from this story. As we encounter differences in conversations, lean into curiosity. I’m not saying you should start with a pro-Palestinian protestor or the first guy in MAGA hat. At least once a day someone says something that bothers you. You feel the reaction run up the back of your neck. Take a breath. Be curious. Maybe you will learn something new. Curiosity is step one. We have four more weeks to explore conversations that transform us.

A Red Letter Day | Ezekiel 37:1-10, Acts 2:1-8 | Pentecost Sunday | Children's Sunday | May 19, 2024

admin@congochurchbbh.org (Heather Bryer-Lorrain) — Sun, 19 May 2024 13:40:40 GMT

Have we heard this passage from Ezekiel so many times that it has lost its horror? It’s a vision of death ~ what most of us might actually call a nightmare. A dry, dry valley spread out all around the dreamer, a desert full of bleached human bones, too many to count. These remains had been given no decent burial. The jackals and vultures, the maggots and beetles, had long ago fattened themselves on the fallen. The dry, hot winds of many seasons had further scoured them. Nothing could be more dead, dead, dead.

Yet a voice comes to Ezekiel, “Mortal, can these bones live?”

Ezekiel, no fool, hedges, “God, you know.” When God questions you, be cautious. You never know quite what God wants your answer to be. You never know quite what God will be asking you to do as a consequence of your answer.

Not that it seems to matter. Paying no attention to Ezekiel’s hesitancy, God continues with the command to prophesy.

To prophesy is to speak the truth. Speak the truth to old, crumbly bones. Speak the truth to death. No hedging. Be detailed. Be brazen. Drum up some chutzpah, Man!

The implication is these bones will live if Ezekiel obeys.

The miracle is that he not only hears the command, he follows through. With that, things become even more terrifying. Instead of being in the midst of thousands of bones, the prophet is surrounded by a vast multitude of lifeless bodies — corpses? ghosts? zombies?

God isn’t done, however. “Prophesy to the breath, you Mortal.”

There’s something tricky going on here. In Hebrew, the word for breath and wind and spirit is the same: Ruach.

So this could equally well be translated, “Prophesy to the wind,” or “Prophesy to the spirit.” All are equally ridiculous: telling breath to enter dead lungs, telling winds to blow, telling spirit to animate flesh. Nevertheless, Ezekiel does as God has commanded. By the word of God, the people breathe, the people live, the people have spirit restored.

By the word of God, I say. But the word has to be believed. The word has to be spoken. Then there is life.

You might note that the bones have no say in what happens to them, just as the Jews had no say in God’s choosing them to be menders of the world. Maybe the bones would have preferred eternal rest. Maybe there are Jews who would prefer that some other people carry the burden of being the chosen ones. Indeed, maybe you would prefer that God leave you to your own devices, too?

But if so, what are you doing here?

Perhaps the three biggest red letter days for the Church are Christmas — when we celebrate Jesus’ birth; Easter — when we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection; and Pentecost — when we celebrate Jesus’ handing over his ministry to us.

What, that’s not what you thought you were signing up for — doing Jesus’ work?

I suspect Ezekiel didn’t sign up for fearsome visions and outlandish prophesying either.

The particular folks gathered together after Jesus ascended probably had no idea what they had signed up for.

The scripture says simply, “When the day of Pentecost had come they were all together in one place.” We don’t know who, exactly, “they” were – those called “disciples,” I suppose, but who else? Jesus’ mother and brothers? other women known to be among Jesus’ followers? The man Luke elsewhere identified as Cleopas? Stephen, who would soon be martyred?

The first chapter of the Book of Acts implies there were about 120 believers, all Jews who would have been accustomed to celebrating Pentecost in a certain way, which probably included a presentation of grain or bread at the Temple. Perhaps these believers had gathered in preparation for the thanksgiving feast that marked the day. There is no indication they were doing or expecting anything out of the ordinary. Maybe they weren’t even especially happy, but had assembled to reminisce about last year’s Pentecost when Jesus was still with them.

Maybe they were still afraid of what might be done to them by the religious or Roman authorities.

So who was more surprised by the sudden coming of the Spirit — by the wind, the fiery breath, the sounds of other languages? The Galileans or the visitors from other lands? Which group was more perplexed by what it all meant?

How did those Spirit-filled believers feel about being abruptly handed Jesus’ ministry?

For that matter, how do you feel? How do you feel about forgiving those who have harmed you? How do you feel about being generous to those who don’t deserve it? How do you feel about loving your enemy? How do you feel about loving yourself? Does it make you want to squirm a bit? Does it make you want to hide?

I’m here to tell you there is no hiding. The bones are rattling. The wind is growing stronger. Flames are leaping from tongue to tongue. The Spirit of God, the Spirit of Jesus, the one and only Holy Spirit has been let loose in the world.

We can forget about what’s comfortable. Forget about who’s right and who’s wrong. The firestorm is growing; we need to share the Spirit’s work with as many people as possible.

We need the successful and the-down-and-out,

sinners and the sinned-against,

natives and immigrants,

temporarily able-bodied and maimed,

liberals and conservatives,

dreamers and toilers,

ENTJ’s and ISFP’s,

straight and LBGTQIs,

doubters and believers,

you and me.

If there is no escaping the Holy Spirit, better that there be lots and lots of us to bear this Love that will not be content until every last bit of creation is aflame with its glory. God help us. Amen.

Why Are You Looking to the Heavens? | Acts 1:1-11 | Ascension Sunday | May 12, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 12 May 2024 17:05:28 GMT

Eclipses, Northern Lights, and the Artwork of the Ascension of Christ

This question seems out of place in a story we call The Ascension. If something extraordinary happens in the clouds, we will look up. We watch when the sunset moves from burned orange to a bloody red plunge over the horizon. All activity stopped this April to watch the total eclipse of the sun. We have flooded our Facebook feeds with marvelous purple Northern Lights.

If you are a headline writer summarizing the meaning of Acts 1:1-11, you would likely lead with something about Jesus ascending into the clouds. Isn't heaven the focal point of action? Imagine, during the eclipse, just after the sun has re-emerged from darkness and full daylight returns, two angels appear and say, "People of New England, why are you looking at the clouds?" It seems incongruous, so what should the disciples think as Jesus is taken up into heaven?

This morning, we will explore how this scripture pushes us to translate heavenly wonder into earthly vision. We are encouraged beyond a heavenly gaze of awe to become empowered by God's Spirit. I will explore how Luke's story moves us from the life and actions of Jesus to the Acts of the Apostles. The emphasis moves to the Holy Spirit guiding and working in us.

I will also use some Ascension paintings to stimulate your thinking. Look at Dosso Dossi's painting of The Ascension from the Renaissance in the 1530s.

Jesus waves like a conquering hero and plants a flag in heaven, just as European explorers like Columbus are doing all over the Americas. Jesus discovers heaven! Note he is wearing a Roman toga, which seems highly unlikely given his death on a Roman cross. In Dossi’s day, people are still debating if the world is flat, and Galileo and the telescope are nearly a century in the future. Heaven is where the power is and faith is all about getting to heaven. As we read Acts, the Dossi Ascension missed the point.

Acts begin after the Risen Christ appears to people for 40 days. Jesus is giving his last instructions, that the disciples wait for the Holy Spirit to come upon them. Naturally, they want to know what that means regarding the plan. "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" they ask. This question is about power and authority. Surely, if Jesus conquered death, now he would conquer Rome and finally set up his Kingdom. They might also wonder what role they will each have in the new Kingdom. Am I going to be Treasury Secretary or Education Secretary? To paraphrase Jesus, he says, "My work in this realm is done. You will wait for the Holy Spirit to come among you, just as John the Baptist promised, and take it from here." Luke says that Jesus is lifted up, and a cloud takes him out of sight.

This scene is a very abrupt leadership transition. The pastor says, "I'm leaving; the Holy Spirit will guide you," then she rides the clouds into the sunset. The disciples would like some kind of ceremony where one gets a crown on their head. Or Jesus touching a sword to each shoulder to signify the torch has been passed. But there is no crown, torch, sword, or even an honorary degree. “Wait, and the Spirit will come upon all of you.” All of us, really? Even Bartholomew because I don't think he's ready for leadership? Luke shows the disciples will be a radically different community than Roman society. It will not run top-down because God's Spirit will empower everyone to carry on the work of Jesus. The rest of the book of Acts will show us how the Spirit works.

The disciples are left stunned, gazing into the empty clouds. Before they can jockey for leadership or figure out new bylaws, two angels in white come and say, "Why are you looking into the clouds? Jesus is gone, and he will come back the same way." Some people take this literally and think Jesus will again come from the clouds, but it can also mean the presence of Christ will show up and surprise us at times when we don't expect it.

Let's look at a second painting by Johan Koerbeck from the mid-15th century.

Jesus looks less triumphal and more like he is saying goodbye. The golden aura encompasses everyone, and Jesus holds a shepherd's staff and makes the sign of peace. What got my attention was the rock below. Jesus has left two clear footprints on the rock of the Mount of Olives. Footprints keep the action on the human plane rather than in heaven. The painting beckons us to follow the path. Walk in the steps of Jesus. Koerbeck is more faithful to Jesus message to wait for the Holy Spirit to guide and empower them. Don't just look to heaven for relief, but watch for the guiding footprints on Earth.

Next is Rembrandt's dramatic painting from the 1630s.

He portrays the Ascension as the light of heaven breaking through the human darkness on Earth. Christ's eyes look to the dove, a symbol of the Holy Spirit; the dove that visited at Jesus's baptism is now coming down from heaven. Rembrandt faithfully captures the meaning of Acts 1. As Jesus ascends, the Holy Spirit descends to enlighten human action on Earth to overcome the darkness. Rembrandt also foreshadows the beginning of the philosophical Enlightenment of the 17 ^th century. He begins this painting just months after Galileo has been found guilty of heresy for suggesting the Earth orbits the sun. Galileo's popularization of the telescope enabled humanity to start exploring the night skies. We discovered that the moon is a rock, Saturn has rings around its circumference, and no cherubs or angels are visible in the heavens. People began to wonder where God was, and the Roman Church quickly shut down scientific exploration of creation. I wonder if Rembrandt's Ascension was saying this is the moment of a new enlightenment. This rise of science and new understanding of the world brings humanity out of darkness, and the Holy Spirit guides the quest. We don't have to fear the pursuit of knowledge.

The last painting to view is from Salvatore Dali's Ascension for the Nuclear Age.

New Paragraph

I Call You Friends | John 15:9-17 | May 5, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 05 May 2024 15:10:31 GMT

Our friendships, human and divine, help create who we are.

J ohn 15:9-17 (click to read scripture)

I have called you friends…John 15:15

Who do you call a friend? On Facebook, I have 754 friends. The list includes people I haven't spoken with for years and a few I don't recognize. Many people on Facebook aren't friendly at all. There aren’t Facebook enemies, but you can "unfriend" people with a simple mouse click. Our use of the term friend is so loose that the meaning is lost. Who should be called a true friend?

Research suggests friendships are declining. People had an average of three friends with whom they could discuss important matters in 1985. By 2004, they were down to two friends. They may not sound like a lot, but in a country of over 300 million people, there are 300 million fewer friendship ties to unite people. A similar 2021 study said half of adults had three or fewer good friends.¹

Since friendship seems so shaky in our times, I wonder if we can call Jesus a friend. I love the song lyrics,

What a friend we have in Jesus
All our sins and griefs to bear
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!

While comforting, these lyrics sound more like having a therapist. Friendship implies a mutuality, a giving and receiving in the relationship. Do you think of Jesus as a friend, or is your song more like the this classic:

Immortal, invisible, God only wise,
In light inaccessible hid from our eyes,

This hymn reflects our tendency to see God as powerful, wise, and transcendent. While it is a positive view of God, it doesn't leave room for a divine friendship.

Sigmund Freud concluded that God as an invisible friend was an illusion, a fairy tale, a neurosis. Over time, we outgrow our invisible childhood friends. Was Freud correct, and this is all a comforting illusion? (It turns out many of Freud's theories are incorrect. It's not all about sex; it is not always your mother's fault; not all boys have an Oedipus Complex, and most women do not have penis envy. So why should we consider Freud an expert on God or the lack of God?

In contrast, Jesus said, "I call you friends." He later said, "Wherever two or three are gathered in my name, I am in the midst of them." We may think of the Old Testament view of God as remote and angry, but Abraham and Moses are called friends of God.

Christian contemplatives throughout the centuries pursued the goal of friendship with God. Thomas Aquinas had a brilliant mind, and still believed that enjoyment of the presence of God was our chief good in life. He wrote:

"Now this fellowship of human with God, which consists in a perfect enjoyment of [Her], is the true happiness and end of human life; and this fellowship is a matter of love or charity."²

If the mystics are correct that we can pursue a friendship with God, how would we do that? Let's start with how we form human friendships. The great commandment says love God with all our heart and loving your neighbor as ourselves. Loving other people is tied together with learning to love God. Human friendships are a gateway to befriending God. Psychologist Jeffrey Hall studied three levels of friendship and how much time it takes to make a friend at each level. ³

Hall says it takes 50 hours of light, shared conversations can turn an acquaintance into a casual friend. We chat with a co-worker, someone at church, or around the neighborhood and get to know them. What would it take to be a casual friend of God? If you went to church every Sunday for a year, you would hit the 50-hour threshold. If you came every other week, it would take two years, and only Christmas and Easter would take 25 years. Maybe you don't want to wait that long. Perhaps you could start a simple prayer life by reading some Psalms, reciting the Lord's Prayer, or other prayers where you can let someone else's words help you find your own.

Once you have a casual friend, Hall says we need 90 more hours to develop a friendship, for 140 total hours. The conversation must move deeper to build a friendship. You take a walk or have a meal together. It's no longer a chance encounter but a planned activity. Gradually, you reveal more of yourself by telling stories. The quality of interaction moves past superficial to develop a friendship.

To deepen our friendship with God, mere attendance at church isn’t enough; active faith is essential. In our John 15 text, Jesus emphasizes that the key command of God is to love one another, as God loves you. We can't love God in a vacuum but in the real world. Jesus says we come into the love of God in how we love in human relationships. We can't learn to be kind, respect people, or feel like we belong by acting alone. We go and act with kindness. Learning to love other people is essential to the path to God. Even monastics need three good friends.

What does it take to move from friendship to a close friendship? Hall says we need an additional 200 contact hours, for 340 hours, to develop a close friendship. We move towards sharing more of our honest thoughts and feelings. We listen to each other and offer support. A close friend gets you and will be there in hard times. It takes courage to develop this level of trust as we take the risks to reveal ourselves. If we tell someone who we really are, will we scare them off? Will they judge us or get angry? Will they try to fix us, or do they think we are too needy? No wonder we tend to have three or fewer close friends. It would take us 1020 hours to develop three close friends, much of it going deeper and enduring trials together.

The same pitfalls are present as we develop a friendship with God. Can we reveal ourselves? Will God tire of us as we fail or put demands upon us that we cannot meet? Or is friendship with God just beyond our reach? We must settle for gratitude and awe of immortal, invisible, God only wise. In summary, three things are needed at each level for a friendship to go deeper: time, quality, and courage.

During Lent, we had a prayer group practicing the Prayer of Examen, a form of prayer refined over 500 years. It's a simple process of looking over your day, noticing what happened, sorting through it, and searching for a divine presence. We start by looking at our successes and failures throughout the day. The instructions for prayer are to invite and imagine God, or Jesus, to be present with you while you pray. So, you might evaluate a problematic conversation that nags at you hours later. While you replay the conversation, you invite God to lovingly view it with you. You tell God what you think and feel about the conversation, and then you listen for a response. (For excellent resources on the Prayer of Examine, check out this link .)

This way of praying challenged me. I know many things about God, and I've studied them my whole life. But do I know the living God, or am I just in love with a concept? Is it really God present with me or the voice of Jesus speaking back to me? My understanding of God has evolved, so how could any thought along the way be trusted as from God, especially if I change my mind?

How would I know if the words I'm experiencing are divine or just what I want to hear? After all, lots of people think God speaks to them, and therefore, they can speak for God, and some of them are scary people. They sound angry, hateful, and judgmental, and that is not how I experience what I read about Jesus in the New Testament. But they sound so certain God speaks directly to them, so how can I trust the still, small voice amid all the other noise?

As with human friendships, it takes time, quality, and courage to explore the doubts. My relationships with my closest friends are constantly evolving and growing. The deeper we go and experience together, the more we discover. Who we are is shaped by the process of making a true friend. Shouldn't my relationship with God have a similar pattern? As I keep trying to relate to God, we have our ups and downs. It takes just as much trust and risk as making a deep friendship.

Here's a closing practical thought. If we struggle to draw closer to God, perhaps the next step is working on our human friendships. We will likely find what we need on our path with God as we deepen these ties. Enjoying and nurturing friendships, human or divine, is the chief path to fulfillment and happiness. Let's embody the love and friendship that Jesus speaks of, building deeper connections that reflect our love for God and each other.

Pew Research Center. (2021). Social relationships in America: Trends in national mood, friendships, and associations.

Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York: Benziger Bros., edition 1947), II-II, q. 23, art. 1.

Hall, J. A. (2018). How many hours does it take to make a friend? Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 36(4), 1278-1296.

Rooted in the Vine | John 15:1-8 | April 28, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 28 Apr 2024 13:33:11 GMT

Scripture for Sunday: John 15:1-8

I am the vine, and you are the are the branches. Abide in me, and I will abide in you.

These words speak to the human desire to be a part of a meaningful community. We want to belong somewhere and matter to the people around us. You might find satisfaction in belonging to Rotary International for their humanitarian work or a church choir. When the Stellar Sea Eagle came to our shores, we got a close-up view of bird watchers. We watched their rituals of imitating the bird calls they knew and comparing telephoto lenses. Remember the sitcom about the Boston bar named "Cheers." The song refrain said, "Sometimes you want to be where everyone knows your name." Belonging somewhere matters, whether you are a veteran, a congregationalist, or a polar plunger taking a winter dip in the ocean.

Jesus offers this rich metaphor of belonging in faith. We are like all the branches that make up a grapevine. Being a part of the vine connects us to the earth's vitality, water, and soil nutrients. A vine grounds us in place and holds steady in a storm. Together, we open our leaves, soak in the sun, and produce chlorophyll for the energy of the whole. We store the abundant energy in grapes that produce fruit for food and the sparkling delight of champagne or a rich Multipuciano wine. Alone, you are just a few leaves that can't survive in solitary confinement, but together, we are part of creation's abundant, generative power.

This scripture comes at an intense crisis point in the Gospel story. It is the last thing Jesus says in the upper room at the Last Supper. In John's Gospel, Jesus washes the disciples' feet to emphasize service to others. Then, he reveals that one of the disciples will betray him. They will all fall away, and Peter will deny him three times. Jesus understands the pressure bearing down on their tight community. Then Judas leaves. Imagine being in the room, feeling the tightness in your stomach, the place where you feel fear that you will be cut off and alone.

Then Jesus speaks his assurance that this small band will survive his betrayal and death. "I am the vine, and you are the branches. Abide in me, and I will abide in you." Jesus uses the word "abide" seven times. In Hebrew culture, seven is God's number for completing the divine action. Creation is seven days. At death, we mourn for seven days. Peter asks if he should forgive up to seven times, and Jesus says 70 times seven. Everything in The Revelation happens in sevens. Abide in me, Jesus says, and I will abide in you, as complete as the seven days of creation. John uses the Greek root word meno, which means stay in place, endure, and hang on. The Message Bible translates this: "Make your home in me, and I will make a home in you."

By remaining in the vine of the Jesus movement, the disciples not only survive but thrive and bear much fruit. We aren't Christians only to abide and be taken care of so we can sit around eating grapes and drinking wine. We bear fruit. Jesus speaks of bearing fruit six times here in eight verses. Leaves aren't on the vine to get a tan; they are energy producers and storage units that give life. Without green plants of all kinds turning sunlight into energy, human life as we know it would not exist on land. The Apostle Paul draws on this metaphor in Galatians, spelling out the fruit of the Christian community;

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³ gentleness, and self-control. (Gal. 5:22-23)

The hardest part of the text for me is the pruning. Just as I was getting comfortable being a part of the vine, abiding in God, and even bearing excellent fruit, then pruning made me cringe. A mark of a successful gardener is pruning appropriately. My neighbor's garden produced much larger, brighter tomatoes. I asked what she did with fertilizer and what kind of tomatoes she grew. She said I needed to prune all the suckers. Any little branch not supporting a flower or growing tomato must go. This advice sounded judgmental. Doesn't every branch produce energy for the whole plant, and the more the merrier? No, if the branch bears no fruit, it is a sucker. All the energy of my tomatoes would create big, bushy green branches but smaller fruit.

It was challenging for me to cut off living, green branches. It made me a little sad to see its work be in vain. I had the same problem with beets and radishes. The directions on the package advise you to plant many tiny seeds and thin them 4-5 inches apart after they appear. I love seeing the little green shoots of radishes spring up so quickly. I wanted them all to have a chance, but then I harvested small radishes and beets stuck together. I learned to prune, and my garden was more fruitful, but still not like my neighbor down the street. Lora had the best tomatoes in the community garden. They were as big as softballs and still delicious. Her vines were stripped so naked of green foliage that they looked indecent and vulnerable. But the fruit was enormous.

So, I learned to prune my fruits and vegetables to be more productive. But I realized that my pruning issues were not just about gardening. Being unable to trim back my to-do list and goals was a chronic problem that limited my accomplishments. Ten years ago, my calendar was packed. I was on three city boards related to housing and homelessness, deeply involved with the UCC Massachusetts Conference, a General Synod delegate, coaching clients, and a full-time pastor. I didn't say "No" to new opportunities because they were all good. Each thing was an opportunity to make a difference.

However, I noticed that I had made little progress on things I truly wanted. I wrote my sermons fast and sloppy and never got around to writing projects I had in mind. My spiritual life was an afterthought. A good friend said, "Todd, you do many things well in ministry, but you don't seem to have joy in them. Where is your joy?" I thought, "Is that even possible?" I thought the nature of being a pastor was to hold together the impossible and strive to be all things to all people, as Paul said in I Corinthians 9:23. If I put my life on a graph, it looked like the figure on the left:

From “The Disciplined Pursuit of Less” by Greg McKeown

I expended energy in multiple directions, making a millimeter of progress in a million directions. I discovered that if I pruned my tasks, I could go further in what was truly important with the same amount of energy (see figure on the right!)

A significant part of the change during COVID was a forced pruning of my busy vineyard, and I realized many things didn't matter. I spent more time in the garden, taking walks, and my spiritual life flourished. As things started to re-open, the old normal felt abnormal. I discovered less is more. When we moved to Maine, I decided I would only serve on two boards, the Community Resource Council and the Maine UCC Personal Committee. These two fit my values and interests, and I have more time to work on sermons and my spiritual life, where I get joy and satisfaction.

But to live differently, I had to learn a powerful word. No! We discover "no" at age two and use it for everything. Saying no is a natural development for defining a self and setting boundaries with the world. As opportunities expand later in life, we forget and start saying "yes" too often. I worried about missed opportunities and what other people expect of me, and my life was filled with busy things, leaving too little room for what made me fully alive. I started saying "no" and expected significant pushback. But most people accepted the change. I could bear it when someone was upset because I got my life back.

If this is a struggle for you, a great book suggestion is "Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less" by Greg McKeown. He taught me to know what is essential to do and then protect my time and energy, letting go of the rest.

Here are Jesus' words again in this light:

He prunes every branch that bears fruit so that it will be even more fruitful.

At the biggest crisis of the Gospels, Jesus says, "I am the vine, and you are the branches. Abide in me, and I will abide in you. We can't abide in God, and God can't abide in us unless there is room in our lives. If you want a deeper faith, reflect this week on what might need pruning to free more energy. Bearing good spiritual fruit needs energy to grow. I know how hard it is to snip off all the little energy suckers, but it leads to a deeper connection with the ground of our being. Prune. Abide. Thrive!

Thanks for reading and being a subscriber. I always appreciate reading what occurs to you while reading in the comments. This week, is there one thing you will prune for the sake of what you really need?

Next Sunday I will be reflecting on John 15:9-17, where Jesus says, “I call you friends.” I always considered “What a friend we have in Jesus” a little too cozy, but reading Diana Butler Bass made me reconsider.

Shepherd of All Creation | Psalm 23, John 10:7-14 | April 21, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 21 Apr 2024 13:07:11 GMT

Thinking about the Earth, Creation Care, and God's Abundance

John 10:7-14

I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.

Jesus drops this one-line mission statement into his Good Shepherd speech. In contrast to religious leaders out for their own benefit, who take advantage of the sheep, Jesus wants the sheep to thrive, even if it costs him dearly. His message is God loves us with life-giving abundance. There is more than enough love for everyone. We don't have to adopt a scarcity mindset and compete for God's favor.

Jesus' message aligns with the familiar and hopeful words from Psalm 23, the Good Shepherd psalm. Green pastures and still waters provide rest, nourishment, and replenishment. Creation shows us tangible evidence of God's abundance. We set aside land trusts, national parks, and the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens because we understand the restorative and healing powers of the earth. Much of the Maine coastal economy operates on people wanting to be near the curative energy of pine trees, salt water, and a good lobster roll.

I came that they might have life and have it abundantly.

The Greek word perisson means lavish abundance or overflowing goodness. "My cup overflows," says the Psalmist. When Jesus fed 5000 people, Mark and Mathew say that everyone ate their fill, and then the disciples picked up the leftovers, and it was a perisson, an exceeding abundance. The story moved from desperate scarcity and hunger to fulfillment and abundance. While we pray for our daily bread, creation theology proclaims the earth's extravagant generosity, the perisson. The Apostle Paul used the word perisson to describe the overflowing grace that comes from the life of Christ. Paul does not say that God provided only so much grace and that those who worked the hardest or were the most obedient would receive it. There is so much grace we cannot contain its lavishness.

I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.

This week, I thought about the abundance built into God's creation in the context of Monday being Earth Day. Earth Day reminds us that a healthy planet is necessary for our well-being, livelihoods, and happiness. The Earth Day message is often "Save the planet." The spotted owl is losing habitat; whales are in trouble; coral reefs are diminishing; plastics are harming fish and fowl. But I think we need to reframe the message. It's not just the environment that needs saving; it is humanity. Earth Day is not about us doing something good for the poor planet. It is not charity directed to Mother Nature. Earth Day needs to be more like Mother's Day. We offer gratitude for the nurturing and support we receive 365 days a year. Creation is not just the storehouse of the things we need. Our life and well-being are interlinked. The planet provides an abundance of oxygen, food, and water, but our actions from a carbon-based economy are disrupting natural cycles that have existed for centuries. Every species is in adapt or die mode.

To illustrate the challenges we face, let's talk about migratory birds. Jeanne and I are on hummingbird watch. In our last home, Jeanne had beautiful flowers blooming all Spring and Summer. I loved to drink my morning coffee and watch hummingbirds dart around from flower to flower, occasionally hovering and looking right at me for a few seconds. We don't have flowering plants in Maine yet, so we hope some feeders will get a pair of hummingbirds to visit our porch. But hummingbirds have bigger problems. As the climate warms, flowers are blossoming sooner. While hanging out in Barbados, they do not exactly know when the cherry blossoms will flower in Washington, DC, or the rhododendrons in Maine. But the timing must be right all the way up the coast week-to-week, or they might starve. Hummingbirds are entirely dependent on flower blooms. They need massive amounts of nectar to feed their vigorous little bodies. They consume half their body weight in nectar and bugs daily, so they will visit 1000 to 2000 flowers daily.

Imagine if you fly to Florida every year and take the same flight. You always have a layover in Philadelphia, but when you get there, your flight is canceled, the snack bars are closed, and you are stuck. Imagine needing to eat half your body weight to survive. Who wants to die at Philadelphia International for lack of a cheesesteak?

The intrepid hummingbird may adapt and find a different migratory route over time, but one bad year can be disastrous to the species. The loss would be more than simply being unable to watch the marvelous acrobats from my porch. Remember, they are pollinating flowers along the way. Who is going to do that work? I don't have time to pollinate flowers, and we would need to import other migrants to do the job. Plus, hummingbirds eat thousands of bugs. Without bird pest control, the mosquitos grow worse, and disease is more prevalent. Bugs will eat all the lettuce in your garden and damage our trees. It turns out our lives are intertwined with the labor of our tiny three-inch friends.

This story is playing out with hundreds of migratory bird species. The Audubon Society recently reported how 150 bird species cope with seasonal change. Most are not keeping up with the earlier Spring and are still migrating close to their traditional times.

Climate shifts aren't just disrupting birds migrating from South America; they are disrupting people's lives too. The World Bank is finding ways to track the impact of climate change on human migration. For example, they ask people in refugee camps why they are moving. In central Africa, 50 percent of the refugees say they have no water. In Central and South America, intense storms have wiped out many jobs. One study estimates that every climate disaster causes one percent of the affected population to migrate. What will happen on our southern border if Mexico City runs out of water next year and many of its 22 million people must leave?

Our debates about immigration are decades behind what is causing the growing problem. While we debate whether to build more walls or improve our ability to legalize more immigrants, the changing climate is disrupting peoples' lives so they can no longer make a living. Would our time, energy, and money be better spent mitigating the problems at the point of origin where climate change is most apparent?

Climate shifts affect us in multiple small ways beyond losing power in a storm. Did you notice the price of chocolate moved up 10 percent last year? Cocoa harvests in West Africa were down for the third straight year. Cocoa is finicky, much like growing grapes for wine. Prolonged drought makes some areas inhospitable for the plant, while intense rainstorms in other regions increase black rot in the bean pods. Ghana and Cote de Ivory, two small countries that produce 60 percent of the world's cocoa, are experiencing a potential collapse in production. We will likely survive the deprivation of delicious chocolate, but we are living with many consequences far beyond more storms and flooding.

This week, I saw a bumper sticker that said, "I support oil fields because my truck doesn't run on unicorns and fairy dust." The words are an important reminder of the hard choices to make in our economy. Who will pay the price for the necessary work? There are also costs to inaction. Forbes notes that economic growth will diminish nearly 20 percent due to storms, droughts, and wildfires. Ignoring the problem is not a free lunch. Speaking of lunch, our food comes from the earth. Unchecked climate change diminishes our food supply, and we can’t eat unicorns and fairy dust either.

Despite all these challenges, the earth is still abundant. I'm hopeful, and I believe we have solutions that can help people thrive through this immense challenge brought on by climate change. But it will require a significant shift in our thinking about the planet we live on. Let me rephrase that. We must learn to live with the earth, not just on it. The world is not simply full of natural resources; it is teeming with various life and species that all must live together.

Here is an option for more conversation. The United Church of Christ has a process where a congregation becomes a Creation Justice Church. Much like the Open and Affirming Process, which leads us to support LGBTQ+ people, Climate Justice Churches explore their role in being good stewards of God's creation. Churches choose their own concrete steps, which could include an energy audit of our facilities and adding solar panels or getting involved in local disaster relief readiness. We might sponsor local education on public policy and form study groups or fill our yards with more pollinating plants for migratory birds.

Can we find a way to bring our faith and hope to this immense human challenge? Christians have something important to contribute morally and spiritually to the solutions. Beyond science and activism, we need our spiritual energies to meet the challenges. We will only change what we truly love. A robust creation spirituality, where we emphasize God's good creation in our worship and lives, could be the catalyst for facing climate change. When Jesus said he came that we might have abundant life, he offered this blessing as a gift. But these words are also a calling to share and protect God’s abundance.

https://www.adirondackcouncil.org/page/blog-139/news/10-facts-about-hummingbirds--and-other-interesting-tidbits-1101.html

https://www.audubon.org/httpswwwaudubonorgmenuconservation/how-climate-change-affects-hummingbirds-feeding-behavior

https://www.audubon.org/news/spring-shifts-earlier-many-migrating-birds-are-struggling-keep

https://www.cnn.com/2024/02/25/climate/mexico-city-water-crisis-climate-intl/index.html

https://www.imf.org/en/News/Articles/2023/12/08/cf-how-climate-shocks-are-linked-to-cross-border-migration-in-latin-america-and-the-caribbean

In Their Joy, Disbelieving and Still Wondering | Luke 24:36-48 | April 14, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 14 Apr 2024 18:08:56 GMT

If the first disciples had questions, why can't we?

The Sunday Scripture: Luke 24:36-48

The first Easter had no good music yet, no trumpets, handbells, or "Hallelujah Chorus." Jesus arose without a soundtrack, no "selfies," no PR firm coordinating YouTube videos showing Jesus smiling with ordinary people. There was no Twitter fake news add placement to give you the Pro-Pilate point of view! There was lots of confusion, skepticism, rumors, and wild speculation, like watching Wolf Blitzer on CNN.

Here is a quick summary of post-Easter reactions displayed by Jesus's disciples.

Mark 16:8: "So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid."

Really inspiring, isn't it? Nice work, disciples. Carpe diem! On several occasions, Jesus's disciples did not recognize him. In Matthew's Gospel, Mary thinks Jesus is the gardener and asks Jesus if he knows where his body was taken. (That's a bad Monday morning. More coffee please!) On the road to Emmaus, two disciples do not recognize Jesus.

"17 And (Jesus) said to them, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood still, looking sad. 18 Then one of them, Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place in these days?"

This story is like the TV show where the CEO dresses in jeans and a hoodie to find out what his workers are doing, an episode of "Undercover Boss.

Since everyone is confused, I don't know why John's Gospel has it in for Thomas, the rationalist who said he would not believe in the resurrection until the autopsy was complete. Jesus says, "Thomas, would you like a stethoscope? You want an EKG or CAT scan. What kind of test do you want?

Here's my favorite line from today's Gospel reading when Jesus appears to the disciples.

" ⁴¹ While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering."

What a great description of the emotional impact. You could use that line to fall in love. "While in my joy I was disbelieving and still wondering…" When the Boston Red Sox came back in the 2004 World Series from three losses and beat the Yankees in Game 7, you could say, "While in their joy, Red Sox fans were disbelieving and still wondering." If we could pass some reasonable gun control laws, or perhaps there will be a turning of the political tide away from division and scapegoating, we might say, "in our joy and disbelieving and still wondering."

If you have trouble with doubt, understanding, or believing the meaning of the resurrection, welcome to the club. What club, you ask? Church! The church is where you can have joy and disbelieving wonder, too! When did we start editing out our very human doubts and confusion and replace it with a misguided and destructive quest for certainty and proof?

In most spheres of life, a level of faith and trust exists without certainty and proof. Look at the global financial situation and all the complex factors during COVID that lead to inflation. Does the Federal Reserve know what will happen next to our economy? Will it be prosperity or hyperinflation? Who knows? Just keep putting money in your 401K and have faith. Despite scientific sophistication in forecasting the weather, we cannot predict with certainty whether you will get 2 inches or 2 feet of snow. It's an educated estimate. Physicists have found it impossible to predict the exact path of an electron. There is a degree of randomness and unpredictability in the very nature of existence.

If you only believe and act upon things with proven certainty, what will you do with absolute confidence? Martin Luther King, Jr. warned activists against "analysis paralysis." At some point, more data will not help. Stop perfecting the plan and take the next step. Just do it. The need for certainty can be stifling. Certainty can become a tool of repression as our fears of the unknown keep us from acting with faith and love. The repressive reflex of certainty creates three problems.

1) The quest for certainty blinds us to reality. Life is full of unknowns and imperfections. You cannot guarantee successful action by knowing all the facts. Our highest thoughts have a margin of error. Our love has a hint of selfishness. If we are too sure, we won't adapt and change, leading to disaster.

2) Certainty separates us from one another when we must always be right. Do you want to be right, or do you want to be married? Certitude leads us to being judgmental. People who think they have the truth strike me as rigid and defensive. They act superior yet come off as immature. A little humility and curiosity sprinkled into faith take us further in our journey.

3) The desire for theological certainty is at the root of religious violence, which has become a major threat to Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. Too often, righteousness tries to destroy what seems wrong before it is even understood. Being uncertain and living by faith, hope, and trust is not a sign of a weak mind; it is realism in an unpredictable world.

So here is my main point. Don't let your doubt get in the way of the joy and disbelieving wonder. Life is a leap of faith; every act takes faith in something. Getting in your car to buy groceries takes faith that a few hundred drivers will act responsibly and not plow into you. Eating dinner puts faith in farmers and agribusiness who have produced your food. Every bite you eat is faith in some beleaguered FDA inspector. But you are going to eat that sushi anyway, aren't you? That is an act of faith!

How do we move beyond the dangers of analysis paralysis and act confidently in the face of the unknowable? Example #1 comes from 12-step AA advice, "Do the right thing, then do the next right thing." Focus on the first step, not the master plan, for the rest of your life. Sometimes, we avoid the first step to change because we know we are afraid of steps 4 or 5 down the road. We don't see how it will all fit together, so we never start. I ask myself: "What is one thing I can do right now to make things even a little bit better?"

If your house is a mess, it is hard to know where to start because you know it might take an entire weekend to get it in shape, so why bother? It helps us to say, "Let's start with keeping the kitchen island clear." If I can have one clear, organized space, there is hope! It's the same with your spiritual house. If you feel far from God, like your spiritual life is just going nowhere, you can get trapped into thinking you need a complete change of heart to spend hours praying, read three books, and join a prayer circle. By the time you think about all that, you are so disheartened that you never take a step. Take one step to God. Don't pull out your phone if you have 3 minutes to wait somewhere. Close your eyes and say the Lord's Prayer, or remind yourself of three things you are grateful for. Get yourself off automatic pilot and talk to your co-pilot. None of it gets solved today. Just do the next right thing.

Here is the second example from my favorite book on writing and creativity, "The Artist's Way." Author Julia Cameron says, "When you commit to writing something, expect to be accompanied." Cameron believes that excellent writing does not simply come from talent and self-discipline. It comes when we open to something greater than ourselves, and the best writing seems to flow through us, almost from another source. Some call it their muse inspiration, or we can call it God or the Holy Spirit. We take a step, however shaky and imperfect it might be. Then we are met. We find out we are not in this alone. Then we take the next step. And in our joy, we are accompanied, and disbelieving and still wondering if it is possible, we move forward.

How do we stand living in the uncertainty of the world? Along with the first disciples and the witness of scripture, we embrace faith in our joy while we are "disbelieving and still wondering." Faith is choosing to live beyond fear, beyond false certainty. Faith is choosing gratitude for what is in front of us. Faith is a path of accepting forgiveness for our imperfections and mistakes because who has it all figured out anyway? It is the hope in things unseen. Faith gives us the desire to love when we don't know what will happen next, the courage to enter the struggle for justice and peace and a trust in the steadfast love of God in whom we live and move and have our being.

Who knows how it will all work out? But we take the next step, staying open to wonder. As you face into a new week, pause and think for a moment what step awaits your action. May you have to courage to live confidently even in the face of uncertainty.

He Is Among Us | Luke 24:13-35 | Guest Minister the Rev. Sandy Daly | April 7, 2024

Sun, 07 Apr 2024 16:23:42 GMT

In the gospel of Luke, the two who went walking that first Easter day left their friends in the upper room and headed for home – the town of Emmaus – 2 or 3 hours away. It was earlier that morning that the news had come that wild, incredible story of Jesus alive, seen in the garden. The disciples and followers of Jesus were bewildered, full of confusing emotions – loss, hope, disillusionment, wonder, fear. What were they to think? What were they to do? So two of them left town - they pulled away - maybe they didn’t know what else to do.

What happens after Easter? After death on a cross and a tomb found empty. Jesus, risen from the dead? What were they to believe? What are we to believe? How are we to live? As evening fell, and they approached their home in Emmaus, they invited this stranger in to break bread with them. And as he gave thanks, they recognized the living Christ!

He had been with them all along!

Do you remember a few years back (quite a few years back!), there was a song that was popular for a while… It asked, “What if God was One of Us?” Would we know him if we met him on a street corner or in the grocery store? Would we know him dressed in blue jeans… would we listen to his words? Too often, we, like the people of Jerusalem, like people throughout history, have our own ideas and expectations of what a Messiah should be of what God should do and we misunderstand or miss completely the wonders of God acting faithfully in our lives.

The psalmist says, “God is faithful! Our help in times of trouble.” And still we doubt our feelings of confusion and abandonment, like the two who went walking, are real. Even so, I believe Jesus comes to us and walks by our side. But perhaps we haven’t noticed, we didn’t see it. How do we recognize this living Christ in our midst?

Roger and I have been participating in the Tuesday morning meditation book group here at church. The author of the book we’re reading, THE WISDOM JESUS by Cynthia Bourgeault,

titles her first chapter: Jesus as Recognition Event. I thought, what a weird title calling Jesus an event a recognition event. It’s pretty dense reading, but after a few times through, it began to sink in. Our recognition of Jesus alive is like an epiphany. In the moment, or on our reflection about a moment’s encounter, we may realize we have been met by the living Christ!

I’d like to share with you a story of an encounter with Jesus in my life. For one year, I trained as a chaplain intern at a hospital in New Bedford, MA. On my first day, I was nervous. I parked in the staff parking lot and entered the building by a door that was totally new to me. I knew the chaplain’s office was on the 6 ^th floor. I found an elevator and once the door had closed, I realized it only went to the 5 ^th floor, but at least it was going up!

I got off on the 5 ^th floor and wandered through the hallways, looking for another elevator. I couldn’t find one, and I was feeling hopelessly lost, panicky, late. How would I ever be able to do this work if I was so stupid that I couldn’t even get to the 6 ^th floor! I was feeling so many negative emotions. I started to doubt that I would know what to say to patients, doubted that this was what God wanted for me. I was feeling very near to tears… to running back out to my car.

Around a corner came an elderly gentleman – very agitated. We nearly collided! He said, “Can you help me find my way?” For a moment, I just stood there. He said, “I’m trying to find my wife… in oncology.” Without thinking, I said, “I don’t know where oncology is, but maybe together we can find it.” My fears vanished as I responded to this man. I felt completely different… forgetting my own troubles. Together, we DID find his wife, and I finally found the 6th floor, but as I walked into the chaplain’s office, somehow, I knew in my heart that this had been a holy encounter… a gift from God. I had met Jesus along the way…and I was changed.

Jesus may come to us in the stranger… in the chance meeting that changes us. Do we have the eyes to see him? Or are we too busy getting to where we are going… too filled with our own questions, dilemmas, and needs to even notice? Would we recognize Jesus in the stranger, the chance encounter, the “other” who joins us for a time seeking our company? We don’t really expect to meet the risen Savior—would we know him if we did?

He may also come to us in the Listener. This one who walked with the two on the road listened compassionately to their deepest feelings - helping them name their fears and sorrows, helping them discover their questions and truths. This is what Jesus does for us when we pray… he listens. Or when a friend or counselor listens deeply… as they listen to our hearts. Do we recognize this as the face of God? Do we choose to see with the eyes of faith?

At a time in my life when I was faced with a most difficult decision, I remember standing at my window praying fiercely for an answer when I felt - more than heard - these words: “Whatever you choose, you are loved. Live your choice with love…” I hadn’t even been raised in the church, but I knew in my heart that I had been met in my time of need… by Jesus. A holy encounter! It was an epiphany… a recognition event…a holy moment. Thinking back, have there been times like this for you?

Jesus may also come to us in a Teacher. Just as He opened the scriptures to the two on the road so, their hearts burned within them, and their faith was renewed. Who has been such a teacher for you? Wise and patient, or passionate and challenging… As we go through our lives, we have many teachers… parents, grandparents… family and friends… teachers at school, in church…

coaches in sports, nurturers in the arts… We have teachers in life who surprise us with lessons that shape us… that change us. Maybe they’re strangers, maybe they’re friends… Can you see in them the face of Jesus? Can you hear his voice in their words? How we view these things is a choice. Do you choose to know this by faith?

And finally, Jesus may come to us in those who seek shelter and food, a friendly gesture, hospitality. The two from Emmaus invited him in, and as they break bread together, they know.

They recognize by faith the living Christ; they know the peace of Christ in their hearts…

All their doubts leave them. Isn’t this the message of Jesus’ ministry – to welcome others, even the stranger… and to love with a generosity full of God’s grace?

Look for the risen Christ. He lives among us… in the face of a stranger, in the listening ear, in an honest prayer, in the wisdom of a teacher, in the hospitality of life openly shared. Look for the risen Christ. With the eyes of faith, you will see… He is among us! Amen!

Prepare to Rise: Look Up | Mark 16:1-8, Acts 10:34-43 | Easter

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 31 Mar 2024 14:20:17 GMT

Called Beyond the Tomb

Acts 10:24-45

“I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every people anyone who fears him and practices righteousness is acceptable to him. Acts 10:34-35

I recently Googled "When do rhododendrons bloom in Maine?" to plan a trip to the Botanical Gardens. Within minutes, my Facebook feed and New York Times banner ads enticed me with gardening supplies. Internet algorithms are now my concierge, guiding me through life transformation. Facebook thinks I would love "Yoga, Grampa," who, at age 70, has washboard abs and great biceps from doing chair yoga 15 minutes a day. An option trader turned $2000 into $1 million in 15 minutes a day and will teach me how. Or a guru who can teach me Consciousness Manifestation to shape my life perfectly. My wallet, body, and consciousness can each be transformed in about 15 minutes daily for $297 each. So, I estimate for $1000 and one hour a day, I could be a vibrant, enlightened, multi-millionaire. By 2025, I will be Batman.

While these offers might not be scams, the siren song is that transforming your life is not that hard. And if you aren't transformed, something is wrong with you. Who doesn't have 15 minutes to change your life? It also puts pressure on this quarter-hour to capture the life-transforming nature of Easter. We may see 6000 ads daily! ¹ . Life-changing promises are made to us so regularly, how can Easter and the resurrection compete?

Overcoming skepticism about the Easter message has been a problem since Day One, and even Jesus' disciples struggled to comprehend this truth. Listen to the last verse of our reading from Mark's Gospel as an angel speaks to the women at the tomb.

⁸ Trembling and bewildered, the women fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.

If the first witnesses who saw the empty tomb were bewildered and afraid, we have some room to be questioning believers rather than certain saints. Understanding the facts won't get us to understand the Easter message, especially in an age where we can't agree on any facts. We can fake everything now, from Princess Kate's family to a President's voice. So, what can we trust? Would you believe a video of the stone being rolled away? How can we trust 2000-year-old witnesses when we can barely trust our eyes and ears?

In Acts 10, we read a short sermon from Peter to the household of Cornelius the Roman centurion. This scripture is the only reading listed every Easter in the lectionary cycle, which seems strange since it happens about six months later. I'm sharing a deep dive into Peter's sermon because it is the most compelling case for Easter I can give.

This story is about two people, Cornelius and Peter, who are searching to know God. Scene one begins with Cornelius, a Roman centurion stationed in the Galilean town of Caesarea. He is known to be God-fearing, regularly prays, and is generous to impoverished people. If you read this text as a first-century Christian, you might say, "Wait a minute! Do you mean to tell me there is a God-fearing Roman, even after the crucifixion? A Centurion is no joke, the bedrock of the Imperial army and enforcer of Roman rule. To which god does he pray? How much did he give to poor people? So many questions, so few answers. All we know is he has a vision from God telling him to send for Peter in Joppa.

In scene two, Peter feels hungry during his noon prayers and falls into a trance. He has a vision of a sheet coming down from heaven, which is filled with all the non-kosher animals he is not supposed to eat, animals listed in Leviticus, like pigs, lobsters, eels, and reptiles. When a voice tells him to kill and eat, he immediately vows he never eats anything unclean or profane. The sheet comes down again, and a voice says, "What God has made clean, you must not call profane." After this happens three times, Peter wakes up. Three times is essential because Peter denied Jesus three times, and he is not doing that again. It's like those dreams where you are doing something that makes no sense. Like my dream where my third-grade transcript is missing, I must return for a redo and be nicer to Ms. Mitchell. Peter could be inclined to forget this weird dream, but these servants with a Roman accent show up and ask him to visit this so-called god-fearing centurion.

In scene three, Peter travels from Joppa, a Jewish town near modern Tel-Aviv, up the coast to Caesarea, recently built by the Romans. The most logical route is to go by sea. Guess who else in the Bible also took a ship from Joppa? The prophet Jonah boarded there for his ill-fated trip to the belly of the whale. Jonah was charged to preach to the Assyrians, the occupying enemy of ancient Israel, and he thought this was a terrible idea. Did Peter wonder, leaving the same port to visit a Centurion occupier, that he was heading to the belly of the beast?

Listen to Peter's first words at Cornelius' house.

You yourselves know that it is improper for a Jew to associate with or to visit an outsider, but God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean. ²⁹ Now, may I ask why you sent for me?"

Peter puts the issue on the table. We are from two different worlds. I'm a fisherman; you are a centurion. We speak other languages and are from different classes; you watch Newsmaximus, and I watch Rachel Maddowitz; in fact, my religion doesn't allow me to eat your food. I can't make a connection, so tell me what you want.

After Cornelius explains his vision, Peter speaks with a summary of the Christian message, beginning:

"I truly understand that God shows no partiality, ³⁵ but in every people anyone who fears him and practices righteousness is acceptable to him."

God shows no partiality. What is partiality? In Greek, the word is "prosōpolēmpsia ." It's really two merged words. Prosopon means "face, or person," and lambano means "to receive." Literally, it means "to receive a face." Think of phrases like "losing face" or "saving face," which are about respect and reputation. We have face-offs or take things at face value. Prosopolempsia means you are giving someone favorable treatment. When you acknowledge their status, you give face.

Everything in Roman society is about your place in the social hierarchy. You must always be calculating everyone's face value to see if you are higher or lower than they are. Every social meeting is a face-off. If you don't measure up, you lose face.

Peter says God shows no partiality. We are not going to face off because God loves us both. At this moment, Peter is not welcome in Roman society, and Cornelius is not welcome in Jewish society. But now Peter is going to baptize Cornelius as a follower of Jesus. Who is the convert in this story? If you say, Cornelius, you are only half correct. Cornelius is the first Gentile convert to follow Jesus; he is later canonized as a saint and has a feast day in October. Isn't Peter also being converted here? He must transcend where he came from to take this step in following Jesus. As Paul would soon write about the new Christian community, "Be transformed by the renewing of your mind." And also, "In Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, but all are one in Christ."

So, let's circle back to the beginning. Why is this story from Acts about Peter and Cornelius in our annual Easter readings? I believe it reminds us that Easter is not just a historical event. It's more than proof of who Jesus is or that God can raise us from death. The resurrected life is to transform us in such a way that we become healers of the brokenness of humanity.

Think about what convinces Cornelius. The story of Jesus must sound very difficult to believe to his Roman ears. Peter's sermon in Acts 10 is average and seldom quoted. A centurion is disciplined and knows you don't transform your life in 15 minutes daily. And the cost of true transformation is priceless.

Peter's character and courage must penetrate Cornelius' breastplate to reach his heart. The man of battle respected the courage of a man of faith. Peter does not see him as the oppressor who crucified his teacher but as another person searching for God. This centurion discovers the power of a risen Christ in a fisherman.

Our Lenten theme was “Preparing to rise.” Now the time is here. “He is Risen” were the first words from Mary Magdalene after seeing Christ. Christ does not simply rise from a tomb into heaven. He rises in a fisherman and a centurion and maybe even the person next to you. Our great hope is he rises in us. Christ is risen so we may do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God. Friends, how will you rise?

Rise well!

(Photo taken at the Easter Sunrise Service at the Maine State Aquarium on McKown Point in Boothbay Harbor, Maine)

Prepare to Rise: Stand Up | John 12:12-16 | Palm Sunday | March 24, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 24 Mar 2024 15:46:09 GMT

Palm Sunday and Holy Week is a struggle for the mind of the crowd

Lectionary Text: John 12:12-19

"Hosanna!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—
the King of Israel!" John 12:13

“The Pharisees took one look and threw up their hands: "It's out of control. The world's in a stampede after him." ( John 12:19. The Message Bible)

Hosanna! It's out of control! These quotes highlight the tension about the crowd welcoming Jesus to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. How do you feel about crowds? You probably don't want to be in a crowded elevator or subway car. Some people would do anything to be in the in-crowd, while others would consider that an insult. Crowds may create an energy burst or fill us with terror and dread, depending on the circumstances.

It can be exhilarating to be swept up in the energy of a crowd. We had season tickets to the Iowa State Cyclones men's basketball games. The atmosphere was electric with the band playing and cheerleaders leaping, and when a shot swished through the net, a collective roar of 14,000 people reverberated in your whole body. Psychologist Dachar Keltner, in his book on Awe, called these experiences "collective effervescence." It is the swooning experience at the early Beatles concerts, the Taylor Swift Eras tour, and Beyonce's Elevation tour. People felt a collective awe at the Lincoln Memorial as Dr. King's inspiring voice spoke a dream of what America could be.

This desire for collective effervescence draws people to Monster Truck Rallies, Trump rallies, and listening to the Hallelujah chorus on Easter morning. A collective effervescence of sports, music, marches, and church helps us feel a part of something greater than ourselves, whether we chant "We're Number One!" or "The people-united-can never be defeated!" or ""Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord."

Palm Sunday in John's Gospel tells us several elements of collective effervescence. First, Jesus comes to town with plenty of hype. News has traveled that he raised Lazarus from the dead in Bethany, so people are eager to get a look at him. It's the week of Passover, so there are already hundreds of pilgrims streaming into town. Jesus carefully plans his entrance on a donkey, turning the moment into a parade. Since most people are on foot, the donkey ride draw attention. The donkey is also linked to the prophetic words of Zachariah 9:9, who said that the true king sent by God to make things right would come this way,

Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you;
triumphant and victorious is he,
humble and riding on a donkey,

If a ruler rides a war horse, they come to enforce obedience. But the one who rides a donkey comes with an offer of peace and reconciliation. When people see Jesus on the donkey, they grab palms and wave them, increasing the festive experience.

All four Gospels also refer to Psalm 118, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord-Blessed is the King of Israel!" These words bring a political element, since they are welcoming a king. The biblical heading for Psalm 118 reads, "A Song of Victory." The Hebrew word "Hosanna" literally means "save us now." It is a plea for help in a time of distress and has an element of honor and praise. Hosanna! We see you, King of Israel, as the one who can save us, so grant us success.

Which is why not everyone in the crowd is experiencing collective effervescence. We know the rest of the story of Holy Week moves from "Hosanna!" to "Crucify him!" When I examined all the references to crowds in the Gospels, I discovered Jesus had to be skilled at crowd control because his ministry drew astonishing numbers. Once the multitude was so large, he had to preach in a boat offshore so people could hear. Often, Jesus takes the disciples to a quiet place to escape the relentlessness hordes of needy people. When they escaped by boat and crossed the Lake of Gennesaret, the crowd ran around the lake and met him on the other side. Twice, angry mobs threatened Jesus. In Nazareth, people were so enraged they almost threw him over a cliff. In John 8, the chief priests tried to defame him and said he had a demon, and people picked up stones to throw, but Jesus hid and slipped away. The multitude could also protect him. I found at least four places in the Gospels where the religious authorities wanted to arrest Jesus, but they were afraid of the crowds.

Crowd control was essential for Jesus and the religious leaders who opposed him. A throng can be erratic and may flip-flop between cheering and jeering. The Greek word for crowd is ochlos, which refers to a large gathering of people who are often disorderly or tumultuous. Negativity and anger can move through a crowd even faster than collective effervescence. We use the phrase "herd mentality" to describe how energy moves through a group and how they influence each other into conformity. My grandparents raised cattle, and if you spooked one of them, they acted in a group. They taught me always to be deliberate around cows because you could be in danger if they stampede. Humans can do that, too, which is why I stop and pray before every sermon.

Today, the human herd moves lightning-fast on social media. You might think you are sending a funny meme to family and friends, but suddenly, you get angry replies from people you never met who are friends of friends. When a Twitter mob attacks your reputation, you have little defense or accountability other than to stir up your mob. An unproven social media post sent a mob to election worker Ruby Freeman's door while she hid and called 911, fearing for her life. Disinformation fuels the flames of a mob. I heard the term recently, "conflict entrepreneurs." These are people who constantly inflame things to get attention and build their brand. There is a lot of money to make, stirring people to outrage to sell your content or merchandise or make a campaign contribution. Outrage sells. A high degree of polarization results from people stoking outrage for their profit.

The technology and speed are new, but crowd control is an old game. Like the Pharisees said in our reading, "This is out of control. The whole world is stampeding after him." So, from Palm Sunday to Maundy Thursday, they work the crowd.

In John's Gospel, there are eight references to religious leaders plotting to kill Jesus. Tension starts as early as John 5 when they are angry about Jesus' healing on the Sabbath, and they begin to persecute him. The preceding chapter to Palm Sunday in John is about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. This leads to the crowd following him and the chief priest want to kill him. How does a religious leader get to the point where you believe you must commit murder to eliminate opposition? They don't say, "We need to hold this guy accountable, take him to court, or hold a hearing at Church and Ministry Committee." But they plot to kill him. Didn't they have ethics classes in seminary? Indeed, they knew the sixth commandment, "Thou shalt not commit murder."

When Jesus gets to Jerusalem, they want to kill Lazarus too! Think of the irony of wanting to kill a guy already raised from the dead! I would think twice before attacking someone who came back from the dead. Shouldn't that be when you pause for a little moral reflection? If I'm at a political rally and I see a group of Neo-Nazis on my side, I would stop and evaluate. Maybe I do have some common interests with Neo-Nazis. I hear Hitler was a vegetarian; I'll give him that. But in general, if I'm contemplating the murder of a guy raised from the dead, or the Neo-Nazis are on my side, or the guy saying love your neighbor is on the other side, it's time to re-evaluate if ethical religion is still my main goal.

After this worship service, we move beyond Hosanna to Holy Week to crucify him. As we hold our palms, we are symbolically a part of the crowd. On Maundy Thursday, we will sing, "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" We re-enact Holy Week and the death and resurrection of Jesus annually because the same forces are battling in our souls. One calls you to love and justice, the other pulls you towards ego, greed, and power through division. No crowd stood for Jesus in the end, and the death had its way for three days. We must face that, had we been there, we would have likely failed as well. So, we can't rush to Easter without deep reflection. The cross is not just about sacrifice or saving us from our sins. It’s also about showing us our sins. This is the kind of injustice of which we are capable, so we can’t fade into the crowd and avoid responsibility for our lives.

Jesus will not rise on Easter to a crowd. He doesn’t appear in the Temple, but a garden. He appears one-to-one and small clusters of those who are open to him. The demand on each of us is to be ready, in our time, to make room in our hearts and in our world for the possibilities of resurrection.

Prepare to Rise: Lift Up | John 12:20-33 | Fifth Sunday in Lent | March 17, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 17 Mar 2024 15:45:41 GMT

The Seed Must Die to Bear Fruit

"Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain, but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24-25

I want my life to progress smoothly, learning and achieving steadily." I would become a little better at something daily, gaining momentum. This forward march would add to a well-lived life of accomplishment, moving from strength to strength. Basically, I would like life to be as predictable and robust as compounding interest. Like the math problem, would we take the job if we made one penny on day one, and the amount doubled every day? If you do the math, you will make $5,368,709.12 on Day 30.

Life seldom works with such predictable success as compounding interest. On Monday, I spent half the day troubleshooting complications, and on Tuesday, I had a meeting in Brunswick; on Wednesday, I accidentally left my laptop at home and had to improvise. I would settle for two steps forward and one step backward. At least that adds up to a step gained daily. But to-do lists don't always give you a sense of whether you are gaining or losing ground. You may remember the Greek tale of Sisyphus, who the gods condemned to roll a massive boulder up a hill each day, then watch it tumble back down again, forcing him to start over for all eternity. This punishment is the worst hell for any productivity manager, forced to work hard in futility. Do you remember what Sisyphus did that was so terrible? He tried to cheat death and be immortal. Sometimes, I wonder if that is exactly what the cult of productivity is trying to do. To achieve perfection in productivity, every minute of the day is a reach for immortality. At times, reaching for productivity causes us to lose our lives rather than gain them.

When Jesus says the grain must fall to the ground and die to grow, he is not only foretelling about his death and resurrection. Jesus shares a metaphor for change and growth. Sometimes, a death is necessary to make room for new life. Jesus was an astute observer of the natural world, teaching many parables about scattering seeds, mustard seeds, and fig trees to make his points. Perhaps he chose a grain like wheat because it was a life staple. Today, grain still provides over 50 percent of all human calories. Bread is the staff of life because wheat packs the most efficient lunch possible, with about 70 percent of the grain being starch, ready to break down for calories. Wheat's survival strategy is all or nothing. Most of its energy goes into producing numerous seeds with lots of energy for growth. The best wheat varieties may produce between 500 and 1000 new seeds for the following year. The wheat stalk gives everything to its seeds for one short growing season. Contrast this with the survival strategy of a tree that will put more energy into a strong trunk and limbs. A tree grows for the long haul, whereas the wheat will lose its life for the species to continue.

What is Jesus trying to tell his disciples? It sounds counter-intuitive. Shouldn't Jesus compound his spiritual interest, preaching, teaching, and growing his movement? Instead of creating a megachurch or a denomination, Jesus says you don't necessarily move forward by producing more and more, but something must die to make room for the new.

Listen to the translation from "The Message" Bible:

"Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you'll have it forever, real and eternal."

Can you think of situations where you had more to gain by letting go? I keep learning this lesson again and again.

I had a fantasy at age 13 of how I wanted life to go. I would be a great basketball player. After being an All-American, I would be drafted into the NBA but forego a year to play for Athletes-in-Action, a team of Christians who shared their faith through basketball. After my NBA career, I would become a Senator, much like Bill Bradley, though I'd pick a nicer state than New Jersey. Unfortunately, I never grew taller after age 14. The dream died hard through failure. In one terrible game, I missed shot after shot, dribbled off my foot, and felt I single-handedly lost the game. After working hard all summer, I fell flat, mainly because I held it too tightly.

I was miserable the next day and said to my mother, how could God let this happen to me? I'm doing this for God's glory (sort of), and I have failed. It's just not fair. My mother did not have great sympathy for this line of thought. There were multiple ways she might have explained life to me. She could have told me that starving children in the third world didn't get to play basketball, that God had better things to do, and that I might get more value from practicing the piano than basketball. Instead, she gave me a book, "Your God is Too Small" by J.B. Phillips.

Philips wrote that often, people lost their faith in God because they believed in a diminished notion of God. I thought if I believed in God and were faithful, God would grant me success. Failure created a crisis. I could think either I had made some moral error or there was no God. Philips says there is a third option: my view of God must die and grow into something more expansive. This situation was the first of many deaths of gods too small on my way to a richer understanding of God. Philips discussed many other gods that didn't measure up. We may see God as much like our parents or justifying our race or nation. Some believe in a god of judgment, constantly looking for wrongdoing like a police officer. Or there is a god far removed from us who made the world but now sits back dispassionately.

In seminary, I wrestled with ways in which certain theologies became God. A major controversy was the gender language we use for God. My entering class of 1986 was the first in history to have more women than men. The faculty stopped using gender-specific language for God. Several people might correct you at once if you said He or Father.

I wasn't against more inclusive gender language; I just never thought of it and fell back into life-long habits. It took several weeks of being corrected for new habits to develop. Honestly, I changed my behavior at first because I didn't want to offend anyone or cause a scene. But over time, I realized that my understanding of God's nature started to shift. My view of God began to balance intellect and relationships. It became less a dominating and distant God to an accompanying and present view of God. I also noticed that my relationships with women have improved, which is good because I really like women. This shift meant letting go of the God I knew, letting a seed fall, crack open, and grow something new.

At my first church, the Senior Pastor was the first woman to hold that position in any church in Rhode Island. Rev. Spenser was wise and seasoned, and I was a 25-year-old, inexperienced Associate, yet people would turn to me because I was the man. Those double standards persist for women clergy 35 years later. So, when you hear me pray, "Our Father, Our Mother," or read a Psalm changing the "he's" to "she's," it's not being woke or ideological. It's but to invite reflection of other possibilities. Part of being a welcoming church will constantly challenge us to have a more expansive view of God.

Jesus' parable about the wheat dying and rising tells us faith isn't just about learning more and accomplishing more. We may have to let go of beliefs and habits to find a richer faith. We notice the pattern of death and resurrection repeatedly when we pay attention.

Getting my way must fall to the ground and die to produce community.
I must stop trying to fix people if I genuinely desire to walk with them in their journey toward transformation.
I often need to let go of being right to deepen relationships.

What examples can you imagine of letting something die for something better to come alive and grow? Pay attention this week and notice what you might need to let go. The profound truth of what Jesus is teaching us here is that we die to many things before our physical death. We die to ego, certainty, control, and many other things. But we get back so much more, like love, community, curiosity, and wholeness. We lose life, but we gain so much more.

Prepare to Rise: Light Up | John 3:14-21 | Fourth Sunday in Lent | March 10, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 10 Mar 2024 15:25:17 GMT

John's gospel is a theology of light and love, not judgment and punishment

If there was just one verse in the Bible, everyone should know by heart, which one would it be? If you grew up as a Bible Belt Baptist like me, John 3:16 was that verse. I could recite it from 4th grade on until it could be said in one breath, like it was one word,

"Godsolovedtheworldthathegavehisonlybegottensonthatwhosoeverbelievesinhimshallnotperishbuthaveeternallife!"

You may have noticed John 3:16 signs in public places, held up behind the football goalposts so people can see it when the extra point is kicked. "It's good! (John 3:16)." Is the idea people would put down their Buffalo hot wings to save their immortal soul?

This verse became so ubiquitous that you could call American Evangelicalism "John 3:16 Christianity." It was the core of Billy Graham's revivals, Campus Crusade, etc. I think the author of John’s Gospel intended this verse to be a summary of Jesus’ theology of love and light. However, the verse got absorbed into a theology of judgement and punishment which was not the intent. This morning, I want to contrast two different views on the work of Christ. The first view believes that God sent Jesus as judge to take punishment for our sins so we can be forgiven. I believe John’s view is Jesus came as the light to lead us to a life-giving relationship with God.

Here is how salvation works in the sacrifice/punishment model. We are sinners, and this upsets God. We deserve punishment, and what is a just God to do? God can't let us off, or some people will do whatever they want. It will be chaos. So, Jesus, the Divine-Human, is sent to take on our punishment so our debt is relieved. The crucifixion sets the score straight (much like the game-winning kick of the ball through the uprights!), and if you believe in Jesus (and this process) and stop sinning, then you will go to heaven. But if you don't stop, read "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" to discover the eternal punishment that awaits you. This theology is known as Substitutionary Atonement, meaning Jesus dies in our place.

The trouble is John’s Gospel does not support this theology. How did "God so loved the world" become a theology of judgment, where God slams down the gavel against us? John never once says Jesus must die in our place to satisfy God’s anger at sin. The Substitutionary Atonement is not the early belief of the church, it is not contained in the Apostles or Nicene Creed. John tells us who Jesus is in multiple ways, he is the Good Shepherd, the bread of life, the living water, the vine from which we are the branches. John is most eloquent when he says Jesus is the light of the world, the light shining in the darkness which the darkness cannot overcome.

The roots of substitutionary death theology come from the 11th century with Anselm of Canterbury. It made sense in context of the feudal order. European lords lived in defensive castles surrounded by village folk who paid homage- in words, deeds, money, and goods. In return, the lords were to protect them from roving bands of vandals and hostile neighboring estates. The Lord of the Manor was the justice system, and if his honor was offended, a moral debt was incurred. The serfs had to pay a fine or take a punishment. Perhaps you have heard the phrase, "I demand satisfaction." The word satisfaction meant honor had been offended, and a debt had been paid.

Anselm saw God as the Sovereign Lord of the feudal universe. If we sin, God's honor is offended, and we have broken the order of the universe. The debt needs to be paid, but we mortals cannot pay it, so either we are stuck in eternal punishment, or someone immortal must come along and take our punishment, so Jesus was seen as taking this role. If you were an 11th-century serf, you might find some relief from this view. Your world was the village you lived in. The earth was flat, and the sun, moon, and stars revolved around us in our English village. This theology worked because it fit their world. When they heard the words, "God so loved the world," the feudal order of things was the world God loved.

But we must hear scripture in a fresh way because this is our world.

Earth with clouds above the African continent

Photo by NASA on Unsplash

Think briefly about what "world" means when we look at this view from orbit. It does not mean God loved only Europeans or only Americans; it does not say that God so loved only Catholics, Protestants, or even only Christians. It doesn't even say God so loved the church or the true believers. God so loved the world. The world God loves does not have all these convenient national boundaries drawn in for us. God gets the Apollo view of the world of oceans, deserts, and rainforests, and some bright lights at night to show that there are humans here.

Here is another way to think of the world. The Greek word for world will probably blow your mind. It is kosmos. God so loved the Cosmos. Not simply our tiny, blue planet, but the sun, moon, stars, the giant Horseshoe nebula, all the galaxies hidden in the Big Dipper, Quasars, Supernovas, black holes, and dark matter. That is God's world.

two stars in the middle of a black sky

Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

The point is- that our view of world is constantly expanding, and it changes everything, including:

· the ways that we have defined reality,

· the theories by which we have sliced and diced how things work,

· the boundaries we have drawn on the map,

· the ways we determine who is on our side,

· who belongs to God and who doesn't,

· the certainties we defend,

· the things we argue and fight about,

· the stuff we stress and worry over,

All these seem insignificant when we define world as cosmos. It has taken us millions of years, to develop our brains and our civilizations to this point so we can finally scratch the surface of what Cosmos is. I think our species has finally made it to Jr. High. We are at the age where God can't tell us anything anymore, but we are still impulsive, self-centered, and worry too much about what everyone thinks about us.

Cosmos has a second meaning; it is not just the vast reaches of the universe but also "the order of things." Greek philosophy loved to contemplate the order of things, from geometry, architecture, statutes of the ideal human form, and the perfect government. Cosmos refers to the way things are ordered at every level: the human body, the family structure, the changing seasons, and the political climate; it is all interconnected. If the Greeks could have discovered the subatomic world, their joy would have been complete. If Plato had known that his chair, a solid object upon which he sits, was really billions of fast-moving subatomic particles crashing into each other at an astonishing rate to appear solid, he would have been in rapture. And we could probably use a little more awe and wonder in our worldview. The Cosmos, from electrons to quasars, is stupendous. No wonder God loves it and calls us to love it as well.

John’s Gospel tells the story of Jesus as God’s love walking among us. The author compels the reader with the invitation to wonder and joy, not the threat of punishment. This Gospel is the favorite of mystics and contemplatives because it compels us to seek a rich relationship with the living God. Follow the light. Abide in the vine. Love one another. My favorite verse in John 10:10, “I can that you might have life and have it abundantly.

John was also realistic about the problems of the world. People often chose darkness over light. This is the great crisis of humanity. The world also has disorder. People reject how things should be, they fail to love, ignore the interconnections and relatedness of living things, and injustice results. John sees a world that is alienated from its creator. He lived in a time of great persecution, as the Roman Emperor Diocletian was persecuting Christians. John's Gospel makes a profound statement about this disorder. God does not simply love the good and reject and judge the bad. God loves the disordered nature of humanity as well, and seeks to reconcile it with love. John 3:17 says, “Christ came not to judge the world by to save it.”

Save it…salvation…Latin:salve…English: salve…that which heals the wound.

John's Gospel is the only one to contain the words of Jesus, as he carries his cross, and he is being jeered and says, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." That is how God reconciles through Jesus. This Jesus does not die on a cross to satisfy God's honor and wrath at sin, but to show God's reconciling love even as humanity does its worst. God loves the Cosmos, even the angry crowds, the unjust rulers, and the imperfect people we all can be. God so loved the world…and still does. That seems about as awesome to me as all the wonders of the cosmos. This is my hope. A light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it.

Prepare to Rise: Raise Up | John 2:13-22 | Third Sunday in Lent | March 3, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 03 Mar 2024 16:14:55 GMT

Jesus cleared the Temple, but promised to raise it.

The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables.He told those who were selling the doves, “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.” The Jews then said to him, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?”

But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.

John 2:13-22

When I'm at a social gathering, and people find out I'm a pastor, they often say, "I don't believe in organized religion." I throw them off by answering. "I don't believe in organized religion either. There are too many meetings, rules, and adherence to traditions we no longer understand. The United Church of Christ was the most disorganized religion I could find. There are no bishops or creeds, and we can talk forever before making decisions. I think you might like it.

Is it really the organized part that causes people to object to religion? They look like people who live well-organized and ordered lives. They must make lists and calendars, stop at red lights, and not try to sneak 20 items into the 12 or fewer grocery lines. Most of these folks don't look like anarchists. So, what is the real issue?

When I scratch below the surface and listen, these are the answers I hear.

I went through a divorce, and my church shunned me and said I should stay with my spouse.
I was a Deacon in the church, but controversy over a church building campaign became so toxic I left.
My son said he was gay, and my pastor said he could pray it away.
I tried to find a church but sat alone, and no one greeted me.
Covering up all the clergy who sexually assaulted people was the last straw.

This small sample of comments points to the numerous stories of pain and rejection from people driven out of church. No one has said to me, I don't believe in organized religion because Jesus was just wrong. It's ridiculous to love your neighbor. Jesus does not have an image problem; but the church does. When any institution becomes about self-preservation and protecting its turf in the status quo, the original purpose and vitality are lost. The phrase organized religion is code for being dogmatic, judgmental, and morally hypocritical.

In today’s text, Jesus has some issues with organized religion too. Something about Jesus wielding a whip is deeply unsettling. There is a reason the "He Gets Us" campaign didn't go for this image below. Sure, he washes feet, but sometimes we tick off Jesus.

In the first three Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, they point to corruption and greed as the problem. Each uses the phrase, "My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you make it a den of robbers." This phrase is a direct quote from Jeremiah 7:11. Jeremiah's issue was that people were acting unjustly, oppressing and ignoring poor people, living immoral lives, and then coming into the Temple and pretending to be moral exemplars. They were using religion to look good rather than trying to live faithfully. In Jeremiah's lifetime, the Temple was destroyed in 587 BCE. When Jesus quotes Jeremiah, he warns about the most severe crisis in Jewish history.

John's Gospel has some distinctive features to this story. This Gospel is the last written around 110 CE. The Second Temple from Jesus’ day was destroyed in 70 CE. John's audience was the first generation that never saw the Temple. They had no idea of its true grandeur, that it was larger than Gillette Stadium in Foxboro and a wonder of the ancient world. This generation is done with the Temple, charting a course without institutional trappings. Two great temples destroyed is enough. Now the church will be a living organism among the disciples, the living body of Christ.

John adds three things to the story to make his point. First, notice that we are in chapter two. The other three Gospels place the cleansing of the Temple near the end, at Holy Week on Palm Sunday. John puts the story during Passover, at a prior year. Taking a whip to the sellers is his first act of ministry, announcing who he is.

The second detail is that only John mentions a whip. In the other Gospels, Jesus turns over the tables. A whip is more violent and aggressive. It is associated with discipline and even oppression, the tool of the Egyptian taskmasters who enslaved them in the time of Moses. I'm glad Christian iconography has not emphasized whips. Imagine wearing lashes on a necklace. That might attract a particular crowd. Maybe John added the whip for shock value. Think of the irony of whipping Jewish people at the Passover, which celebrates the liberation from slavery in Egypt. Passover is about breaking the power of the lash and chains, and Jesus should be using a scourge against the oppressive rule of the Roman Empire, the new Egypt. Is the message, don't you dare celebrate liberation on Passover while you practice oppression of the poor right here in the Temple?

I'm most fascinated by the ending. The religious leaders ask for a sign of Jesus' authority to do this prophetic act. He says, "Destroy this temple, and I will raise it in three days." Jesus does not say he is going to destroy the Temple. Others will desecrate the Temple, but Jesus is not the destroyer; he will be the builder. The disciples later figure out he is speaking in metaphor and referring to his death and resurrection, but at the moment, everyone is stuck on the literal Temple. How can anyone tear down something we have been building for 46 years? The stones of this building are the most permanent thing they can imagine. Won't they stand till the end of the world? They can't imagine anything would destroy this Temple, not a flood, earthquake, or invasion.

But by John's Gospel, no one remembers what it looked like. Our grandest institutions are impermanent. Think of our grief at the fire at Notre Dame in Paris. None of the churches founded by the Apostle Paul still exist. You can't visit the original churches of Corinth, Galatia or Ephesus.

How do we hear this today in our situation? Much like the Christian community John is writing to, I think we live in an era of the post-collapse of the Temple. We don't have one great Temple like Jerusalem, nor can we point to one catastrophic moment, but to a generation of decline. But remember, Jesus overturned tables in the Temple in 33 CE, and it didn't fall till 70 CE. The institutional weakness was already apparent.

Here is a metaphor to contemplate. COVID has functioned like Jesus running through the Temple with a whip. We were driven out of our churches, and our faith in God had to survive without the visible and communal attachments of going to church. This outbreak was the death blow for thousands of churches in America, as we lose about 5000 churches a year since COVID. Any organizational and spiritual weakness was exposed and multiplied. The cracks in organized religion were exposed. Millions of people decided never to come back for whatever reason.

So those of us who have survived the destruction of the Temple feel the diminishment.

Since we are human, we are going through all the grief processes that Kubler-Ross researched. We are probably past the denial cycle, believing everything will return to normal. There is plenty of blame and fault finding. It's secular humanists, it's the Fundamentalists, the pastors, or a failure to innovate. The truth is every kind of church is suffering the blow in some way. Anger is in the mix. Why doesn't everyone just come back? Depression follows when we feel out of control and have a deep sense of loss of what once was.

I'm wondering what acceptance looks like. Acceptance isn't giving up. It is finally reckoning with reality and deciding to live in changed circumstances. Kubler Ross's research partner, David Kessler, recently wrote a marvelous book on a necessary sixth part of the grief cycle-finding meaning. Perhaps that is what we are moving towards now. We are looking back at our story, searching for meaning, and we mull the words of Jesus, "Destroy this Temple, and after three days, I will raise it." We are living somewhere in this cycle of death and resurrection. Death and resurrection aren't simple historical events that happen at a fixed time. Paul wrote in Romans 6 that we die to the old self, which was living in bondage, and we are raised with Christ to a new self, to be part of his living body.

"In three days, I will raise it." We might argue it will take a church three years or three decades. But what I hear Jesus saying is that the Temple is not merely a wonder made of human hands. It is the gift of the grace of God. The church is not just brick and mortar, but is created by the power of the Holy Spirit. We don't have to spend years in hard labor building the next Temple. Faith is a state of being as God draws near to us and is available as we open our lives to the living Christ.

Jesus saying, “Destroy this Temple, after three days I will raise it,” gives me great hope. It means our future is not determined just by trends, demographics and cultural shifts. Beyond our organized religion we live anticipating resurrection and the promise of new life. Together we live as the living, mystical body of Christ.

Prepare to Rise: Take Up | Mark 8:1-38 | Second Sunday in Lent | February 25, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 25 Feb 2024 15:23:11 GMT

Thoughts on St. Peter Not Liking the Cross or Foot-Washing

Mark 8:27-38 . “If any wish to come ^[ ^b ^] after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. ³⁵ For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, ^[ ^c ^] will save it. ³⁶ For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?

Just because we might get the correct answer to a question doesn't mean we truly understand. We don't understand something until we try to live what we say. For example, Jesus asks his disciples, "Who do you say that I am?" It sounds like a simple question, but one look at my bookshelf will tell you it's not easy. Here are some of the titles from the Jesus section:

· The Meaning of Jesus

· The Jesus I Never Knew

· Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time

· Freeing Jesus

· Stealing Jesus

· Jesus, A Revolutionary Biography

· Jesus, CEO

· Zealot, The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth

· Jesus the King

I still have my first New Testament theology book from college, "Jesus Through Many Eyes," which made a point that has never left me. Early Christians had enough diverse opinions about Jesus to authorize four official biographies within the first century (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and we later discovered the lost Gospel of Thomas).

Peter is in good company, struggling to understand who Jesus is, when he says, "You are the Messiah." This answer is just the beginning of Peter's problems. Wait till he goes to seminary. Saying Jesus is the Messiah is such an explosive issue Jesus immediately orders them sternly to tell no one. (Two weeks ago, Barclay asked in church why Jesus asked the disciples to keep silent about who he was. We can guess at an answer from verse 31. Jesus is going to go through great suffering and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, probably the Baptists, Methodists, Episcopalians, Congregationalists, and Catholics too. They all will shout "Crucify him" in the end. No one wants the hullaballoo to overshadow the message. Being a pastor involves controversy, but being a Messiah is nothing but dispute.

Peter should not be surprised that Jesus is controversial. By the second chapter of Mark, Jesus has four controversies as soon as he has gathered disciples.

1. Mark 2:1-12: Jesus forgives and heals a paralyzed man, which prompts opposition from the scribes who question Jesus' authority to forgive sins.

2. Mark 2:13-17: Jesus calls Matthew the tax collector to be one of His disciples and eats with tax collectors and sinners. The Pharisees challenge Jesus about associating with sinners.

3. Mark 2:18-22: Jesus faces opposition when questioned about fasting.

4. Mark 2:23-28: Jesus' disciples harvest grain to eat on the Sabbath, leading to a confrontation with the Pharisees regarding Sabbath observance.

These examples are just from Mark 2. By Mark 8, Jesus has been in 13 controversies. I can see why Jesus became a supply preacher rather than a settled pastor. He can't stay out of trouble. After reading the 13 controversies, the common element is Jesus acting with love for someone suffering or an outsider. The conflict was with religious leaders who wanted to maintain their power and control and have their dogma and rules followed.

Peter must have understood that Jesus would provoke conflict with other religious leaders. What Peter did not accept was that Jesus might lose the power struggle on the cross. That isn't what Messiahs do. The Messiah wins and takes back the nation for God. Peter wants Jesus to conform to his idea of the Messiah. We understand the pressure to toe the ideological line. If Jesus said, pick up your sword and follow me, Peter would likely do it. Jesus later tells Peter to put down his sword after Peter chopped the ear off the High Priest's slave at Jesus' arrest. We could say that Jesus and Peter were at "cross" purposes.

Peter is savvy enough to rebuke Jesus on the side. I would love to have the transcript of that conversation. What is the proper etiquette for correcting the Messiah? Today, Peter might tell Jesus, "This is terrible branding. We need to be confident and seen as winning the battle. We are making peoples' lives better. A good rule of thumb is never to let your brand be associated with a means of public execution. Instead, we could unfurl a banner at the coliseum in Rome between gladiatorial battles. We could say, "He Gets Us." For a moment, Peter thinks Jesus will go for it, but then it's "Get behind me, Satan. Take up your cross and follow me. Lose your life to save it." I've seen dozens of Christian billboards; none of these phrases make the cut.

I've been thinking about the Super Bowl foot-washing commercial because it illustrates some challenges we face trying to understand and communicate who Jesus is. If you have not seen the commercial, take a moment and watch below. It's based on John's Gospel (John 13:1-11), where there is no Last Supper, but Jesus washes the disciples' feet. While watching, notice who is washing and who is receiving.

You might think that a simple message would not be controversial. "Jesus does not hate. He washes feet. He gets us." The website for "He Gets Us" says, "How did the story of a man who taught and practiced unconditional love become associated with hatred and oppression for so many people?" The constant theme of the group's ads is that Jesus knows and loves you.

The criticism was fierce across the theological and ideological spectrum. The fact that it is getting hit so hard from all sides makes me want to keep an open mind. Here's a sampling of opinion. A self-identified Fundamentalist said the ad was heretical:

"Putting out an ad that invites narcissistic, prideful, unrepentant sinners to come and get their feet washed is bad."

Another said the ad is woke and leftist, noting that it almost always has a traditionally conservative figure washing the feet of a figure associated with liberalism. The blonde woman washes the immigrant's feet, the oil worker washes the climate activist's feet, and the priest appears to be washing a gay man's feet.

Criticism has been just as negative from liberal Christians. One major criticism was the ad cost, at $7 million for 30 seconds, and $100 million for the overall campaign. I agree partly with that critique, but for perspective, Coca-Cola spends $4 billion a year on advertising, and big oil companies spend $3.6 billion just to promote their climate change agenda. If we are concerned about children going to bed hungry, there are bigger targets than a Christian group trying to create a message about Jesus for the Superbowl.

The more complicated issue is where the money comes from and what is "He Gets Us" true agenda is. The only known donor, the founder of Hobby Lobby, has contributed millions to anti-abortion and anti-gay groups. Hobby Lobby recently lost a case in Illinois for not allowing a trans woman employee to use the women's bathroom at work. Americans United for Separation of Church and State goes so far as to call the ads "a front for Christian nationalism."

I don't think that is a fair criticism, even though I would like the group to be more transparent about who they are and their financing. I spent far too much time searching the "He Gets Us" website, which says "probably the most common questions" received are about our stance on the LGBTQ+ community. "So let us be clear in our opinion. Jesus loves gay people, and Jesus loves trans people … No matter who you are, YOU are invited to explore the story of Jesus and consider what it means for your life."

Back to the question Jesus asked his disciples, "Who do you say that I am?" The "He Gets Us" group chose, out of all the possible symbols, episodes, and parables of Jesus' life, washing the disciples' feet at the Last Supper. It fascinates me how much outrage this created. Imagine being labeled as both woke liberal heretics and a cover for right-wing extremism in only 60 seconds. The commercial provokes almost as much controversy as Jesus himself. What is it about foot-washing?

Remember that Peter did not want Jesus to wash his feet. He resisted the radical role of servanthood in Jesus's message right to the cock's crow before the cross. Peter didn't want Jesus washing his feet because he wanted a Christ on a pedestal, not a cross. He also knew that if Jesus did something, he would be called to follow. He didn't want to wash Bartholomew's feet or Judas' feet. But Jesus did it. Peter would later wash in the waters of baptism Roman soldiers, Gentiles, and a wide variety of "unacceptable" people. Maybe he did get the foot-washing message.

What would happen if we assembled all the critics of the Super Bowl ad into a room for a debate, and the rules were that they had to wash each other's feet first, then they could debate? Would this humble, vulnerable contact change anything? I imagine some people would rather pick up their cross than wash the feet of someone they despise and disagree with. Maybe we do have to lose our lives, and some of our opinions and prejudices, to save it.

I welcome your thoughts.

Here are some of my sources for the sermon:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/15/opinion/he-gets-us-super-bowl-christianity.html

https://hegetsus.com/en

https://www.queerty.com/one-millions-moms-is-furious-over-those-super-bowl-ads-celebrating-jesus-says-they-werent-anti-gay-enough-20240214

Prepare to Rise: Come Up | Mark 1:9-15 | First Sunday in Lent | February 18, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 18 Feb 2024 15:16:10 GMT

Lent Begins with a Vision of Belovedness

Mark 1:9-15 . Click to read the text of the day.

"Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove." Mark 1:10

When I learned to swim at the Boone County Y, the test to pass to advance from being a "minnow" to being a "fish" was to swim the width of the pool twice underwater without a breath. Then, we were tested to see how far we could swim underwater. I loved the competition because, for some reason, I was good at holding my breath. I remember skimming along the bottom of the pool, chlorine stinging my eyes as I watched other kids give up and go to the surface. There is a moment when the body craves oxygen; you must will your mouth to stay shut as the pressure in your lungs builds to a panic to resurface. Most kids would give up at that point and scramble upwards. That's when you must relax and tell yourself it will be OK. I taught myself in the bathtub to count backward from 30 when I hit that panic threshold. That timeframe usually wiped out the competition, and I could emerge gasping for life-giving oxygen.

I don't think I learned to hold my breath because I wanted to win. I like being tested and overcoming my fear. Maybe even conquering the fear of death. Someday, I will breathe no more, and it will be the end of me. But floating six feet underwater at the YMCA, I learned less fear of that moment.

I wonder if this is the motivation for people who take a plunge into the icy Maine waters in the winter. Jeanne and I scouted the Maine coast when I was job searching in February of 2021. We saw a young woman wrapped in a blanket while walking the Portland promenade on a snowy day. She dropped the blanket, walked out into the ocean in a bikini, and slowly submerged herself to the neck. My first thought was to call 911 and think about how I might rescue her. Who in their right mind does that? But she came out, wrapped up in the towel again, and later, I heard her explaining to a friend that she did this ocean dip twice a week for 30 seconds. Now that I live in Maine, I know it is a thing. People tell me they feel invigorated and alive when they come up. Perhaps there is something about regularly facing near death that allows us to cherish life. We live in this duality of fragile mortality and a powerful will to live. Little moments of death and resurrection are all around us as we are baptized into life.

When I read the story of Jesus' baptism, he has a vision the moment he comes up out of the water. I don't know how long John the Baptist held his cousin underwater before letting them up. I know Pastor Roy, who baptized me at the First Baptist Church of Boone, Iowa, was kind, but I thought he kept me down a little longer than necessary. If you are symbolically experiencing death and re-birth, I think five seconds is the minimum for a baptism. Mark tells us that Jesus saw the heavens torn open at his emergence. Perhaps Mark is echoing the language of Isaiah 64, where the prophet calls upon God to intervene and be made known,

"Oh that you would tear open the heavens and come down, that the mountains might quake at your presence—" Isaiah 64:1

In most Mesopotamian cultures, they believed that the sky was a dome with a physical barrier that separated the earth from heaven. So, the image is of a rending, a cosmic tearing apart of the boundary between the realms of divine and human so God can draw near us. At the end of Mark, the author revisits this tearing open theme at the moment of Jesus death, writing, “Then the veil of the Temple was torn in two from top to bottom.” (Mark 15:38). In both baptism and death, God tears the barriers that separate divine and human.

Remember from v. 15 that Jesus preached, "The Kingdom of Heaven has drawn near." Jesus is preaching what he experienced as he emerged from baptism into another dimension of reality where God is present. This vision has two parts. First, the Spirit descends on Jesus like a dove. Christianity has long associated doves with the Holy Spirit based on this scripture, but it was also a common symbol of love, beauty, peace, and divine guidance. The dove was associated with the Greek goddess Aphrodite and the Roman goddess Venus, the goddesses of love and passion. Mark's Greek audience would have easily noted this symbolism as a divine blessing coming upon Jesus. His Jewish audience would notice that the Spirit came upon Jesus like the great prophets. This dove doesn't just do a flyover of Jesus; it comes upon him, more like an indwelling.

Next, the voice of God says to Jesus, "You are my Son, the Beloved; ^[ ^a ^] with you I am well pleased." We heard these words last week, repeated to Peter at the Transfiguration. "This is my agapetos," in Greek, the one who is deeply loved and cherished by God. Paul writes in his letters that we, too, are agapetos. (Eph. 1:6, Col. 3:12). We become God's beloved when we are in Christ. I'm struck by what this vision does not say. Jesus is not God's defender, judge, or warrior. He is the beloved one on whom the Spirit descends like a dove.

This intimacy does not mean Jesus is getting an easy ride. The same Spirit now drives the beloved into the wilderness for testing and temptation. There is no time for the GQ photoshoot of the world's most interesting and beloved man. His next step is not to get money for a Superbowl commercial. He must be tested. He doesn't simply have to swim underwater holding his breath but face himself in the wilderness. There is no more demanding test than facing ourselves, our motives, and our shortcomings. We must shine a light in the shadowy places in our hearts full of fungus and decay upon which alienation and evil feed. The longer we wait, the less pleasant the clean-up.

Mark's Gospel shows us the spiritual map of the 40 days of Lent in just six little verses. We move from baptism to wilderness to proclaiming the good news of God drawing near. I want to emphasize the order of events in the scripture. It is not wilderness, followed by baptism, then preaching. That would imply that we must first face ourselves and work through all our temptations and shortcomings, and then we would be worthy to be baptized and sent out on a mission of good news. If we had to be worthy, have our act together, and be inwardly congruent to be baptized, how many of us would remain unbaptized? Even Jesus must be baptized before he faces his fears and flaws in the wilderness. The Spirit descends upon him and tells him he is beloved, so he is sustained by divine love during his trials.

The symbols of baptism inform our faith journey. First, it is a re-enactment of death and resurrection. We go under the water, where we cannot breathe, where death is a reality. Then, we are pulled above the surface, gasping into new life. We die with Christ, and we rise with him. We re-enact the journey so we know what to expect. Baptism also mirrors the emotional and psychological journey. Someone guides us and has an unconditional positive regard for us. They take us on a journey below the surface of our consciousness and into the shadows, to the places we hide from ourselves, where our fear and shame lie. When we name these things and face them, they lose power over us. The false self, the lies it told us about who we are, die when forced to the surface. We are then raised to a new state of being,

I began using a prayer form called "Examen" this week in preparation for a Wednesday prayer group. I noticed the same threefold movement as in this scripture. The first movement of the Examen is like baptism, focusing on gratitude, the presence of the Holy Spirit with us to guide us, and being aware of God's love accompanying us in prayer. Knowing that we are rooted in God's unconditional love is the first step in seeking transformation. The second movement is to enter the wilderness, go through our day, and identify where we fell short. What words did we say that were out of line? Where did we fail to take action? The third movement of Examen is to be open to divine forgiveness and commitment to the next steps. What must we do to repair what is damaged? What action of love or justice do we need to take?

The goal of the Examen is to pay close attention to how we are living and seek the guidance of God's Spirit in our daily lives. Fortunately, we don't have to fast for 40 days in the wilderness. The Examen is limited to 15 minutes daily. The point isn't to navel gaze at all our inadequacies but to realign ourselves daily to God's possibilities in our lives.

Our 40 days of Lent have begun. You are beloved. May God grant us the courage to see what is below the surface of our lives. Take this Lenten journey in hope as we prepare to rise.

If you are interested in praying the Examen, here are some great resources on how to pray this simple but challenging prayer from Ignatian Resources. Leave me a quick note about what practices help you with spiritual soul searching. Wednesday, the next post in my series on Conversations as Spiritual Practice will go up. Next Sunday, the topic is Jesus asking his disciples who do they think he is. I may tackle the foot washing commercial from the Super Bowl. Till then, see you in the comments! Here are those questions again:

What practice helps you in the process of soul searching? How do you maintain compassion for yourself as you face your shadows?

The Cloud of Unknowing | Mark 9:2-9 | Transfiguration Sunday | February 11, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 11 Feb 2024 15:54:26 GMT

Transfiguration reflections and learning to stop talking

Mark 9:2-9

The story of Transfiguration

If you need perspective, climb a mountain. History’s greatest spiritual epiphanies happen at altitude. Moses met God and received the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai. The first revelations of the Quran came to Mohammad at Mount Hira near Mecca. Greek gods lived on Mount Olympus. When Jesus takes his three disciples up a mountain, it is a plotline etched into the human soul. If you want to draw close to God, climb a mountain.

The peaks can open us to spiritual experience. You journey away from human civilization with fewer people, noises, and distractions. The view is wonderful and beautiful, like watching the sunset from Cadillac Mountain near Acadia. Perspective comes from looking down at the world and seeing how small it is. I liked climbing Mt. Tom and looking down at the City of Northampton. It looked like a little village tucked in the trees. My great stone church, with its spire stretching to the high point of the downtown, barely registered as a significant landmark. Busy human civilization was swallowed up by the tree canopy that stretched from horizon to horizon. I felt like my human problems shrank. The soul is more receptive to the divine when the ego is shown its place.

If Peter had a smartphone on the mountain top, he probably would have set it on panorama mode and scanned all around his sightline so he could later show it to Judas and Bartholomew, and all the other shmucks on Instagram. #SoBlessed. But could the iPhone capture a divine revelation of Elijah and Moses talking with Jesus? Could it do justice to the glowing brightness of Jesus' robe? What setting would best capture this moment? Portrait or Time-Lapse? Time and space lapse? Maybe the iPhone 30 will have a spiritual vision filter, or by then, we will all wear goggles and just see what we want to see. "Alexa, give me a spiritual vision of the Almighty God."

I speculate that a camera would not capture the Transfiguration, the burning bush, or the angel Gabriel speaking to Mary. These spiritual epiphanies of divine and human encounter are moments more profound than the eye can see. As an analogy, you cannot see when someone falls in love. You might notice the symptoms or a behavior change. You can usually tell when people love each other by their closeness and actions, but you only witness the results of an invisible encounter that creates the mystery of love. No one has seen love, but its power is real and transformative.

Peter has climbed the mountain with Jesus, finds himself at a threshold, and experiences a moment of seeing Jesus as who he really is. Just six days ago, Peter said, "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God." Now comes the image of what Messiah means. The vision is full of the symbols of past dreams from the Old Testament. There is Moses, the chief lawgiver, and Elijah, the greatest of the prophets, who spoke with God face to face. The bright robe is straight from Daniel 9, describing the judge of the nations. The cloud that descends is like the one that covered Mt. Sinai while Moses talked with God. This vision has all the archetypes of an appearance of God, and Peter is likely aware of this. But that does not mean he comprehends what is happening.

I like preaching about Peter because he is the disciple who shows his thoughts and emotions and dares to open his mouth first. He is often completely off base and becomes an object lesson of humility turning into faith. Peter is not the student who raises his hand and always has the correct answer. He is the one who dares to answer first when everyone else is afraid to speak. Jesus does not choose Peter to be a leader of the disciples because of his orthodoxy, but likely because he is willing to explore and take risks to grow and understand. He is not a "yes man." Who says, "Just tell me how high to jump, Jesus."

Let's explore Peter's response. In the middle of this numinous moment of divine revelation, Peter says,

"Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us set up three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." ⁶ He did not know what to say, for they were terrified.

Not knowing what to say doesn't stop Peter from talking. We all know people who go through life like a play-by-play announcer. They narrate everything around them, interpreting things for us as if we can't figure things out. As a radio announcer for college football games, I learned never to have dead air. It is challenging because action only happens one minute out of five in football. You must think of topics or just say, "They are in the huddle, and they are still talking. Now they are coming out, there is a handoff, and everyone is knocked to the ground. Time for a huddle again."

Peter must talk to know what he is thinking. I'm surprised he wasn't narrating communion to Bartholomew at the Last Supper. "See, Jesus broke the bread, it's a symbol of the bread of life, like the Lord's Prayer, give us this day our daily bread, and see, he's giving it to us. He's creating a moment, so pay attention. Write it down, "my body broken for you."

I wonder why people like Peter talk so much. It can be a way of controlling the situation. The first one to talk shapes the narrative and sets the tone. If you can hold the floor and suck up all the time, your view will prevail. Have you ever been in a conversation that felt like a Senate filibuster, where someone talks so that nothing can happen?

Peter can't take even a moment to pause in the awe of a transcendent moment of epiphany. He wants to shape what he doesn't yet understand. He says it is good to be here, yet he doesn't know why. It is like taking a selfie in front of a Botticelli rather than pondering the birth of Venus. I don't understand why he wants to put up three tents. Does he think Moses and Elijah are going to stick around? Maybe they need takeout, too, a couple more falafels. Perhaps he is trying to be a decisive leader or prove competent, the go-to guy. Moses, those tablets look heavy; let me carry one.

The text notes that he didn't know what to say because they were terrified. We often think that if God appears to us, we will suddenly be flooded by inner peace. Indeed, many spiritual experiences are full of wonder where we lose ourselves in love and beauty. We might call this a unitive spiritual experience. But so often, the presence of God causes fear and trembling. Moses is disoriented at the burning bush. Isaiah is petrified at the throne of God. In Luke's Gospel (5:8), Peter's response to the call of Jesus was to say, "Go away from me, for I am a sinful man."

Why would fear be the first response to a holy moment? Would you be afraid if Moses and Elijah showed up while you were walking the dog? I resisted the call to ministry for at least seven years. When I felt the call in high school, I tried to do everything else but go to seminary. Even when I went to seminary, I wanted to be a scholar, not a pastor. I was afraid. I didn't have enough experience to know everything that should have caused fear. I was just scared of the responsibility; people might criticize me. After all, look at what people did to Jesus. It took me a few years to process, pray, and prepare to accept the call.

I am intrigued by the ending of this story because Peter doesn't get called out. A cloud descends on the mountain and overshadows everything. Peter is overshadowed. Think of the experience of flying above the clouds, but you must descend through the clouds to get to your destination. You can't see anything out the window. You don't know how close the ground is or if another plane is approaching. You can only wait and trust that you will find your way, but you don't have control in the cloud.

One of the most important spiritual classics from the 14 ^th century is the book, "The Cloud of Unknowing." The premise of the book is that God is beyond all rational thought. God's true nature is incomprehensible to us. Therefore, the spiritual path requires us to let go to suspend all our judgments, dogma, brilliant thoughts, inadequacies, and fear. It is like entering a cloud and not being able to see. We must stay there and wait until God draws near. The voice comes to Peter and us in the cloud, "This is my beloved. Listen to him." The voice doesn't say conquer in my name or save the world for Jesus, but listen to the beloved.

Wednesday, Lent begins, and we are called into the cloud of unknowing. As Psalm 46 says, it is a time to "Be still and know that I am God."

What Will You Do with Us, Jesus? | Mark 1:21-28 | February 4, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 04 Feb 2024 15:37:14 GMT

Sometimes a strange visitor's question gets to the point

This sermon deals with a scripture that seems strange to us, unless you make a habit of casting out demons or unclean spirits. Exorcism aside, this passage gets to a challenging modern issue, labeling people as clean or unclean, inside or outside our circle of care. I did a deep dive on what made people clean or unclean in first century Judaism. The point is not to look back and shake our heads, but look at ourselves and how we label people.

Mark 1:21-28 (click to read the text)

Our story begins with Jesus as a guest preacher on the Sabbath in Capernaum. The congregation loves Jesus' teaching because he speaks as one with authority. Authority can come from the position you hold. If you chair a church committee or are the game warden, the authority to do certain things goes with the job, no matter who has it.

Authority can come from expertise. You have a Master's degree or a knowledge base or wisdom and experience that lend authority to your actions. Authority can also come from character. What you say and do are aligned, and people trust you. Deep authenticity, the sense that you are genuine, truly believe in something, and have respect for your audience, also lends authority. The scribes had a clear role, and they had a knowledge base. Unlike most people, they could read and write. Jesus does not have a position or degree, but people recognize an authority that comes from character, authenticity, respect, and compassion that goes beyond having a given role.

In the New Testament, the Greek word for authority, exousia, is most often used to describe authority rooted in God. It's not about a theological degree, more than an ordination, but beyond these qualities, a living relationship with God and the ability to connect with people. You can't measure this authority; some people have a certain "It," a charisma, a gift of the spirit.

If you wonder if Jesus had this "It," read ahead. In the middle of Jesus' teaching, a man starts shouting. This happened to me several times while preaching because I served two communities where they closed large mental hospitals. In Northampton, we had dozens of people panhandling in the business district. People slept on our church front steps and doorways. My Sunday morning routine was to wake everyone up, see if they were OK, and move them off the steps. I would invite them to church. Most were quiet, and some snored. Occasionally, someone would be off their meds and shout during the joys and concerns about people who wronged them or the end of the world.

To be a church of extravagant welcome meant ministering with dignity to everyone who shows up and deal with problematic behavior, or else, fewer people would show up for ministry. I can treat the person with dignity, or de-escalate a tense situation, or get people food and warm clothes and counseling about their medications, but I could not cast out the demon that afflicted them. I am not an exorcist? Cross that off your pastoral care needs. So, what do we learn from this scripture?

A critical translation note: while some versions say the person had a demon, others say he was a man with an unclean spirit. How are those two things different? A demon is a malevolent supernatural being who possesses a human to bring about evil intentions. Most Christians believed in demons until recent times. Martin Luther threw his ink well at a demon he felt was afflicting him in the room. Administering communion was thought to protect people from demons. A priest's chief role and power was to protect their flock from demons that could cause them harm, make them sick, or do immoral things. People were afraid of demons. Now, we are more likely to consult the DSM 5, the mental health diagnostic manual, and turn to psychiatrists and pharmacologists for help. (I used to have all my client's mental health diagnoses. When I returned to being a pastor, I missed not knowing everyone's diagnosis. It would be so helpful.).

The more accurate translation in Mark is probably "unclean spirit." Unclean is not the same as evil. In first-century Judaism, everything was in a category of clean and unclean. Food could be clean or unclean. Beef and goat were fine, but not pork or shellfish (which eliminates most Cajun food and our beloved lobsters here in Maine). Many Jews keep kosher, and some of these laws may have been to protect public health. Keeping kosher, which means keeping clean or pure, is not just about food. Lots of things in Leviticus made you unclean, including a skin rash, menstruating, contact with a dead body, and contact with anything unclean.

Jeanne and I watched "Steisl" on Netflix, a window inside Orthodox Judaism in Jerusalem. I was surprised to see that certain cell phones were kosher. A flip phone for just phone calls was kosher; an iPhone that connected to the internet and a world of temptation and pornography was not kosher. I admit, they do have a point. Staying clean and pure is not just obedience to the law, eating healthy foods, or staying morally pure; it is also being ritually pure to participate in worship at the Temple. Remember the story of the Good Samaritan, when the Levite walks by the man lying beaten beside the road? He walks by because if the man was dead, he would become ritually unclean and could not go into the Temple until he went through ritual purification. The parable raises the issue of whether ritual purity is more important than helping someone in need. (I see nothing wrong with keeping kosher, dietary laws, wearing a headscarf or a wide variety of religious customs. Culture is important. The issue is when these things become more important than loving your neighbor.)

I came across an article in Biblical Archeology discussing why staying pure was essential in first-century Judaism. Israel was dominated by Roman colonial power, so the culture was constantly under threat from outside influences. Rome not only controlled their politics and taxed them, but they were seen as idol worshipers who believed in many gods instead of the one God; they were sexual libertines. People feared losing their country, culture, and religion to the colonial power. One way they could fight back was to stay pure and keep all the codes of the Old Testament. The Pharisees were obsessive about avoiding uncleanliness and impurity, almost like what we might call patriotism. Gentiles were not just different; they were dangerous and destroying their way of life. Staying pure was to save the soul of the nation and religion.

We can see a similar cultural phenomenon in America where people create purity tests to decide who is clean and unclean, who is with us, and who is against. We are not far removed from having separate water fountains for white people. Some political issues are purity tests. Are you for or against abortion, homosexuality, or immigration? There is nothing wrong with having clear opinions on these issues. I often wish we could talk more deeply about these things from a spiritual and theological viewpoint. But the purity test gets in the way and prevents listening. When we create these litmus tests, we are operating with the Pharisee world view, dividing the world into clean and unclean, and focusing on staying pure over being in relationship.

So imagine the synagogue in Capernaum now that you know what unclean means. Everyone there could be contaminated by this man with an unclean spirit. We don't know how he was impure. It might have been a mental health condition or a skin disease. But he is in the Synagogue. Where were the ushers that day?

I'm struck by what the man says to Jesus. "What do you have to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God." The man sounds like he is in control of his wits. He knows he is seen as unclean, and his question is important. Are you going to destroy those of us who are unclean? The man also knows who Jesus is, the Holy One of God. He understands who Jesus is better than most and sees Jesus as pure and clean. Will Jesus start a crusade against the unclean? I don’t know what to make of the scene of a man convulsing as his unclean spirit seems to leave his body. But the outcome is clear. He is cleansed and restored to community.

The first act of Jesus’ ministry in Mark’s Gospel is to deal with the cleanliness codes right in the Synagogue. Staying pure to all the laws and codes will not save you if you keep labeling all your neighbors you disagree with as unclean.

By the time Mark was written in 70 AD, the early church had already figured this out. They welcomed Gentiles and worked through the challenges of keeping kosher, circumcision, and other codes. Peter and Paul have pushed early Christians to adopt love as the central code, not keeping pure and avoiding people who aren't like you. Without breaking down the walls between clean and unclean, there would be no Christianity.

Paul wrote, “In Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, slave nor free, but all are one in Christ.” How did this Pharisee so fixed on clean and unclean get to this conclusion? What strikes me about the book of Acts, the story of the early church, is that instead of getting all the Gentiles, the outsiders, to conform, early Christians removed the internal barriers and blinders from themselves so they could welcome others. They allowed the Holy Spirit to work in them, to be more open-hearted.

The poet Rumi said, “Don’t seek love, rather seek to remove the barriers that keep you from loving.”

When Jesus Rocks the Boat | Mark 1: 14-20 | January 28, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 28 Jan 2024 16:56:20 GMT

Sermons on this scripture often focus on the beginning energy in Jesus' ministry. His first four disciples are called out of their fishing boats. They respond immediately to the message, leading us to believe that Jesus' message and character were energizing and compelling. The author tells us they left "at once" and "without delay." The most common phrase in Mark's Gospel is "and immediately," which occurs 33 times. (which does not sound at all like how the church works. Shouldn't they form a committee first?)

The story about Jesus calling his first disciples is inspiring, but what happened to Zebedee? What did he think as his two sons left the boat and left him with all the work of the family business?

One reaction might be anger. James and John were leaving the family business. The dream of Zebedee & Sons, Premium Fish Distributors, was put on ice. Did it break Zebedee's heart to watch James and John leave? Did he feel betrayed, perhaps judged that his sons would not follow in his footsteps?

Or was Zebedee more worried? What kind of life do you have following someone who thinks they are the messiah? How will they make a living, have a wife and children, and what kind of trouble will they find? Following a potential messiah usually ends badly. Perhaps your child has said they will be a YouTube Influencer or Chief Happiness Officer at META, and you have no idea what they mean. Announcing you feel called to ministry and leaving to seminary, often leads to the question, "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Zebedee might have been proud of his sons. He knew they had a sense of adventure. John's Gospel gives them the name "sons of thunder," so it is unsurprising when they follow a charismatic leader. Maybe Zebedee always wanted to be a rabbi and never could afford the time. He could be proud his sons might do something besides fish for the rest of their lives, so he sends them off with his blessing and maybe a little worry, too.

Mark shows little interest as a storyteller to fill in the gaps of motives, feelings, or the character of the people in the story. He wants us to see Jesus' character so we hear and respond to his invitation. But when the story is stripped down to only the action, it allows us to enter any character's shoes (or sandals) and find ourselves in the story. Maybe we cannot contemplate James and John beginning a new adventure to boldly go where no fisherman has gone before. Sometimes, we sit in the boat with Zebedee, wondering if we miss the action.

It's easy to assume that Zebedee didn't like the situation. Most don't want the people we love to leave or move beyond us. As much as we admire people who make significant changes in their lives, we may be uncomfortable if they are close friends or family members. If they change, the relationship changes. It can be hard to let someone move forward.

For example, Paul, a therapist friend, told me he was ostracized when he wrote his first book. He thought the therapists at his clinic would celebrate the publication with him, but instead, people responded more like, "Who made you the expert?" or "So you are a bigshot therapist now." The head clinician became aloof and critical. Paul developed chronic back pain, and after a series of tests, no one could find any problems. He concluded it was stress due to the unsupportive work environment. The back pain disappeared within days when he left the clinic to start a private practice.

Too often, when someone wants to take a risk and do something new, it's the close people who react negatively. Someone wants to get sober, and the crowd at the Trick Pony who throw darts on Friday night don't accept you anymore without a beer in hand. You get excited about a journey to wholeness, decide to lose weight, go back to school, or explore your faith more deeply, and are shocked when you get a negative reaction. You have a new and innovative idea at work that would create value, and you are met with all the reasons it won't work. Some people find the new idea threatening to what they are already doing. When Steve Jobs developed the iPhone as the core Apple product, the desktop computer division hated him and resisted the change. It may be the most transformative invention in history, but left desktop people with diminished status and uncertainty.

The true friend is the one who sticks with us when we make the change and celebrates every step forward. They don't flood us with negativity but tell us we can do it. Our children tell us they want to be an AI Prompt engineer, and we say, be the best one you can be, whatever it is. I don't understand it, but I bless it.

Was Zebedee that kind of father? Did he send them with a blessing to follow their exploits from afar? It takes a big heart and a large soul to let people change, especially when it has implications for us. The very thing that prompts James and John to leave their boats rocks the boat for someone still in it. The first verse of today's scripture tells us Jesus' core message, "The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.

At first, hearing this sounded so positive and hopeful. The time is right. It's happening now. The Kingdom of God, the Beloved Community, is coming near us. Who wouldn't get excited about this message? God has come near, so repent and believe the good news. That troublesome word repent reminds us that the good news Jesus brings is not all warm fuzzies. If we need God's Kingdom drawing near, it means the Kingdom we are in has a problem. The good news is Jesus shows us a new way, but it means we will need to shift course. You can't just sit in the boat, the choir loft, pew number 37 on the left, or from the pulpit with theology I learned 35 years ago in seminary, and continue as before. The times they are a changing, as Bob Dylan sang:

Then you better start swimmin', or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'

Dylan wrote those words in the Fall of 1963, and one of his first live performances was the night that JFK was shot and killed in Dallas. This timing was part of what put Dylan's words on the map. I'm struck that the first words we hear about Jesus in Mark's Gospel are prefaced by the words, "Now after John was arrested" and soon after John was beheaded. In this disturbance, Jesus is saying, "God is drawing near." In the brokenness and confusion, receive the good news coming to you. For the times they are a-changin'.

Since COVID, we have all faced Zebedee's dilemma. In a crisis, we focus on safety. Let's keep everyone together and don't rock the boat. Deep in our DNA, we desire to establish stability during uncertainty, not seek a new adventure. We are still grieving that the church is so different after COVID and that people didn't rush back once the vaccine came. So when Jesus comes by and says, "The Kingdom of heaven has drawn near. Leave your boat, and I will make you fishers of men," It's natural to feel like we have gone through so much change already. We just want to mend our nets, patch our boats, and keep hauling our lobster traps-at least until climate change sends all our clawed friends to Nova Scotia.

So when Jesus draws near, we are caught in a dilemma. The good news is God's spirit is moving among us. The challenge is we must let go of some familiar things to receive it. I feel this dilemma as pastor because I'm called to offer you comfort, peace, and stability through illness, death, and struggles. And I'm called to be a change agent that directs you to a new future in a changing world. Sometimes, that job description competes with itself. To be clear, I'm happy here. Every week, I learn more to appreciate about this congregation and your spirit of generosity and kindness. But we also must lean into the changes around us and experiment with what will help us thrive in the future. I suggest that Zebedee can be a role model for us. He loved everything about his boat but let his sons try something new because he saw God drawing near in Jesus. Anne Lamott has just the right words to sum things up:

“God loves you just the way you are… and loves you too much to let you stay there.”

A Voice in the Night | I Samuel 3:1-10 | January 21, 2024

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 21 Jan 2024 15:43:41 GMT

The surprising power of prophetic listening

Were the most important things in your life resulting from a great plan? Did it involve checklists, deadlines, and clearly defined targets? Or did it feel more like something chose you? On your road to one journey, you were sidetracked into something that became more important. You were in the right place at the right time. It was fate, love at first sight. You didn’t know what else to do, so you followed the path before you. Somehow, something, someone-God, randomness, serendipity, or the Holy Spirit opened the door, and you walked through it.

I am a planner and a strategist at heart, yet most of my life has unfolded through a series of chance opportunities – people I met or fell in love with, doors I knocked on were closed, and others opened right beside me, and I went through them. A biographer could see it as random or the work of the Holy Spirit, depending on the worldview. Is it chaos, serendipity, or providence? I made choices all along the way, but I still ponder how often life chooses us first.

Samuel, the main character in today’s text, has his future shaped from birth. His mother, Hannah, had been barren and rejected but was then blessed with a son. In gratitude, she dedicates Samuel to God. As a young boy he lives in the Temple and serves Eli, the elderly chief priest. We could think that young Samuel is set for life in service to God in the Temple, but he has no choice. Think of his childhood. Did anyone play “hide-and-go-seek” with him? Did he ever play baseball? Where would he get his first kiss?

The text tells us, “The word of the Lord was rare in those days. Visions were not widespread.” Why would that be? Doesn’t God speak in all times and places, calling people to follow the divine vision of the future? Well, only if someone is listening.

The passage also says Eli’s eyes were dim. His lack of sight was not only from old age. What Eli could not see was the corruption of his two sons. They used their influence for wealth and personal retribution, so no one had confidence in the priesthood. I Samuel says that Eli’s sons would take the meat to be sacrificed to God, and they would eat it for themselves. While strange to our ears, when people don’t respect the rituals and customs of their work, they likely disrespect the purposes behind the ceremony, too. Eli’s sons treated their ministry as belonging to them rather than God, and they enriched themselves.

Trust is essential for any institution. When public service becomes a path to wealth, when elected officials become millionaires in office or promote their golf courses and hotels, and when clergy bless it all, the Word of the Lord becomes rare in those days.

Interestingly, young Samuel is called to be the trusted prophet. God doesn’t call someone rising in the priesthood or a great rabbinical scholar. Samuel hasn’t proven himself. He is just a youth. Does this mean everyone else has capitulated, and God is moving to the next generation? When Samuel hears a voice in the night, he has no context of divine speech, so he assumes Eli, the chief priest, woke him. Twice, Samuel goes to Eli, and twice Eli says it isn’t him, so go back to bed. Neither Samuel nor Eli identifies this voice as a prompt from the divine Spirit. Samuel thinks it is the human voice of Eli, and Eli can’t hear a darn thing. What should the voice of God be like? Should they have expected thunder rumbling in the night, or would it be more comforting, like Morgan Freeman, who is often cast as the voice of God? We don’t expect God in the quiet promptings underneath our inner clutter and fears.

Samuel had to learn how to listen. If there is no listening environment for important speech, challenging questions are discouraged, and honest wrestling is treated like unwelcome dissent, then a community stops talking about what really matters.

Eli is not a total failure. His one act for good is to tell Samuel that this is God trying to speak to him. Next time you hear the voice say, “Speak for your servant is listening.” Eli finally spoke one sentence that matters, which still resonates centuries later. Samuel learns to listen to the divine Spirit, becoming the first great prophet of Israel. He will anoint Israel’s first king, Saul. He is the one to challenge King David regarding Bathsheba. Samuel is the first in the line of prophets, stretching from Elijah and Elisha, Jeremiah, and Isaiah, to Harriet Beecher Stowe and Martin Luther King, Jr. When society enriches the powerful against the weak, God responds by whispering to prophets.

I’m ahead of the story because Samuel is only a boy. God asks him nothing but to pay attention and watch what happens. “I am about to do something that will make peoples’ ears tingle.” What makes your ears tingle? If you Google tingling in the ear, you will get articles on tinnitus, acoustic shock, or Meniere’s Disease. Tingling ears are a warning sign. Do you expect good or bad news? The Hebrew word in the text occurs eleven times in the Hebrew Bible, mainly in Jeremiah and Ezekiel, and disaster usually follows.

God pronounces judgment on the house of Eli and his sons, and they will be dealt with. What a burden for young Samuel. He has to carry knowledge of things that will take years to happen. God is telling him where things lie and to watch, listen, and be ready. God is awakening him to terrible reality, and the prophetic word comes years later.

What strikes me most in this text is that the primary qualification of a prophet is to listen. We associate prophetic people with being great orators or writers. They had something to say, but Samuel wasn’t old enough to have anything to say. He had not found his voice; maybe his voice had not even changed. God needs prophetic listeners. In the UCC, we’ve had the slogan for years, “God is still speaking.” But we don’t offer classes on listening.

We remember Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. for his outstanding courage and eloquence in his speeches and sermons. But in biographies about MLK, his close associates and friends said he was a great listener. The Southern Christian Leadership Conference was a simmering pot of passionate leaders who often disagreed and competed. MLK listened to all of them and was influenced by diverse ideas and voices. Robert Franklin, Jr., who later became a professor at Morehouse University, said that MLK didn’t simply get the word of God on high and then tell his advisors what to do. He wasn’t just Moses,

“He’s more like Socrates. He’s sitting there. He’s asking questions. He’s interrogating. He’s thinking it through. He’s in prayer. He was constantly processing things.” “ Moral Leadership: Integrity, Courage, Imagination .” By Robert Franklin Jr.

Dr. King’s famous speech, “I Have a Dream,” was influenced by his spirit of listening. There was one crucial exchange that the cameras didn’t catch.

King had planned to cap his speech by exhorting people “to go back to our communities as members of the international association for the advancement of creative dissatisfaction.” Yet he hesitated when he got to that line in the speech because it just didn’t feel right.

And then he heard a voice from behind him. It was the great gospel singer Mahalia Jackson, who was sitting nearby.

“Tell them about the dream, Martin! Tell them about the dream,” she shouted. https://www.cnn.com/2020/01/20/us/martin-luther-king-jr-listener-blake/index.html

What happened next was a total ad-lib at one of the greatest moments of the civil rights movement, as King said, “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed - we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.” He used the phrase eight times in a row with words like “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

If Mahalia Jackson had not said a word that day, Martin would have given a darn good speech on the advancement of creative dissatisfaction. But because he listened, “I have a dream” became the resounding words. Imagine, at such a pivotal moment, he listened and shifted in front of 25,000 people.

I wonder if this is part of our problem today; amid all our emails, podcasts, texting, tweets, Snap Chat, Instagram, and TikTok, we are so busy looking for friends, followers, and re-tweets that we aren’t listening to each other. Maybe we have forgotten how. And the word of the Lord becomes rare. Rare, perhaps, but not impossible. God is still speaking, but are we ready to hear the voice calling our name in the night that will make our ears tingle?

Everyday Epiphanies | Guest Minister, the Rev. Sandy Daly | Isaiah 60:1-6; Matthew 2:1-12 | January 14, 2024

admin@congochurchbbh.org (Heather Bryer-Lorrain) — Sun, 14 Jan 2024 16:21:15 GMT

Today is Epiphany Sunday. It is the beginning of the Season of Epiphany which lasts until the first Sunday of Lent. An epiphany - a sudden insight into the truth or meaning of something – is often initiated by some simple or commonplace experience… followed by a sudden revelation. In the life of Jesus, we celebrate three epiphanies: his birth and the adoration of the magi; Jesus’ baptism; and his first miracle (at the wedding in Cana). Each helps us understand who he is and the nature of God’s love.

Throughout the Advent and Christmas season we have been encouraged to consider the gift of “presence”…to be present to one another… and to recognize the gift of God’s presence as we receive it and as we offer it. To consider the precious gift of presence as together we explored the themes of Advent. Keep awake! Be present! Watch for signs of HOPE… be the sign of hope to someone else. Persevere in the quest for PEACE… peace in our hearts, in our relationships, in our world. Notice the stardust of JOY revealed in the everyday gifts present in our lives… gifts of nature, friendship, even simple tasks. For even in the darkest of times, there are pinpoints of light, of joy. These gifts of God’s grace, God’s presence, God’s LOVE… we carry these gifts of Christmas with us - God with us – in that still, small voice of God, a holy presence… always and ever there.

Perhaps that was what the magi were seeking, a sign of assurance and a presence of hope in a world dark with injustice and violence, a world we recognize even today. So, they studied their charts and followed an especially bright star. Following that light took them on a journey to new horizons, a quest into the unknown.

For the wise men, this journey began with a tiny little point of light in the sky, a twinkling in the night sky. A tiny point of light which was in fact, far larger and far more awesome than they could imagine. Sometimes an epiphany comes as a seemingly tiny point of light, a barely noticeable sign, and yet reveals that which is more than we could possibly imagine. The wise one - the wise person - must watch for the signs… those tiny points of light.

The first thing the wise men did in order to see that star was to look up. Others were too focused on their laws and their politics, to even notice the sign of the new King’s birth. The wise men took the time to look up . . . and wonder…and they saw a star in the east – a sign that would lead them, guide them on their journey.

We, too, must be willing to “look up” and wonder. We must be willing to look beyond our jobs and our obligations, the things that fill our hours and our days, and all the pressing cares of the world. We must be willing to clear our minds from time to time of all those things, and lift our sights higher - to the deeper matters of our spiritual life - to find signs of God’s presence and leading. Otherwise, like sheep in a field, we may find ourselves eating from clump to clump never lifting our heads, never noticing the amazing sacred landscape all around us, never checking that we are moving in the direction of “our star”.

Look up - or to put it another way - take time… to observe the expanse of the sky, to see the awesome wonders and signs we can see only with the eyes of faith. For the wise men showed us they were not just wise, they were visionary. Once they had lifted up their eyes and seen the star, they were willing to have faith – to seek its meaning and follow this vision wherever it would lead them. They were willing to leave behind their familiar surroundings, and travel to a distant land, seeking the one who was born king of the Jews. And so they went on their journey, taking weeks, months, perhaps longer …to reach a destination that was unknown to them.

We, too, if we are wise, must be willing to follow our stars – God’s signs as we perceive them – to where they may lead us. We must be willing to pick ourselves up and leave behind old, familiar attitudes and patterns of thinking and feeling, opening our minds to new insights from surprising places. Epiphanies will be revealed if we are willing to travel to distant new “lands” where we may discover new possibilities, live with new energy and vision. We may find ourselves required, at times, to relinquish our own agenda… to let go in faith – and allow ourselves to be transformed, changed, made new. This is a matter of openness …of trust. It is a matter of faith.

Many years ago, I received a postcard in the mail saying “Is God keeping you up at night wondering what to do with your life?” It was from Andover Newton Theological School. I had just become an empty-nester, wondering what to do with my life. (Signs and wonders!) When I considered seminary, something I never imagined, I exclaimed to Roger, “But what if I change?” and he replied, “What if you DON’T! Aren’t we always changing!” And my journey began into a strange and exciting “landscape” the opened my mind and my life to the wonders of faith. I am forever changed by that little postcard and the everyday epiphanies that followed in that journey of faith!

Epiphany is a Greek word meaning “to show” or “make known”. An epiphany is often surprising and full of meaning… “showing” us something new and unexpected. The kings “made known” or recognized this child as the long-awaited one making an appearance in an unexpected way, the Messiah born in a stable.

The Bible tells us the wise men presented three gifts, but that’s not the important part of the story. Legend gives us their names — Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar — but, that’s not the important part of the story, either. There are various possible scientific explanations for the Bethlehem star: a nova, a confluence of stars, or Venus at its most brilliant. But the star itself is not the important part of the story. The most important part of the story was that these “wise” men saw the star, and saw it as a sign, as something that pointed beyond itself to the holy…for these men believed there was more to the world, and to their lives, than can be seen with their eyes.

People of faith believe in more. Indeed, what people of faith see on the surface merely points to a deeper and more lasting reality. We must look up… or beyond… to see this. These men were searching for a truth, a sign of hope…looking for answers beyond the obvious. This willingness to seek, to learn, to look, or to search, is at the heart of wisdom. The magi also took risks. There was the risk of inquiry – looking to what the deeper meaning might be. Who knew what they might learn? Who knew how they might be changed? That risk is there for us as well.

And there was the risk of the journey. Who knew what might happen on the way? …or where the journey might take them? This has certainly been true of my journey, and I’m sure of yours as well! As Dr. Suess so aptly put, “Oh, The Places You’ll Go!”

The story of the wise men has captured the imagination of centuries of Christians. It is a story of wonder and curiosity; a story of adventure and hope. It is a story of courage and faith. What can we learn from the wise men… that we too might have wisdom? Look up and take notice of the signs around you. Trust that there is meaning and value in these signs. Have faith that your journey will find its true destination, and the gifts you bring will be more than enough.

Amen

Being Present with Assurance | December 31, 2023 | First Sunday After Christmas

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 31 Dec 2023 15:07:45 GMT

Christmas day is past. It was a full season, as usual. We have had the Festival Lights at the Botanical Gardens, the Boat Parade, and the Church Christmas Fair. I attended two big holiday parties, presided over four Advent services, a Blue Christmas service for grieving people, and a pageant, "Lessons and Carols," on Christmas Eve, followed by entertaining our family, who filled every bed we had. And now it is done. The morning after, I packed the CRV with all the leftover boxes, trash, bottles, and debris of the season and took it to the Boothbay Transfer Station. I ate more than necessary, even though one of the kid's visiting dogs devoured all the chocolate chip cookies off the kitchen counter.

The day after Christmas is my father-in-law's birthday. For 93 years, his birthday is always in the shadow of the baby Jesus. This is the first time he has been with us on his birthday, and we did our best to make the day special. I made him eggs and coffee, and his grandkids wished him Happy Birthday, but they all had to set off to get back to work tomorrow. But there is no way to compete with all the Christmas hype, lights, and gifts. His birthday is still the day after. On top of that, he was born a twin, so he has always shared his birthday with the baby Jesus and his sister.

Technically, it is still only the sixth day of the 12 days of Christmas, but the world has moved on. But as our reading from Luke's Gospel reminds us, Christmas does not end at the manger, with all the shepherds, angels, and cattle. Parents know that birth is not the end of the process but the beginning of the joy and slog of raising children.

Luke 2 is eight days after the manger scene, and Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to be circumcised at the Temple in Jerusalem. Being devout, they offer the proper sacrifice of two turtle doves. Mary and Joseph want to do everything right with this child of Angel Gabriel's promise.

The central character in this scene is Simeon, an older man, maybe in his nineties, like my father-in-law. He shuffles his aching joints to the Temple and stands in the corner, waiting for something. Simeon believes he will see the Messiah before he dies, so he is vigilant. We don't know how many days Simeon came on his quest. Perhaps there were many babies brought to the Temple that day.

Simeon senses the moment has come. Was it something in the way the mother protectively held the infant? Or did Simeon feel an inward flutter of the heart? What does he think as he holds the Christ child? We might be shocked if some old man came out of the crowd and asked to hold our newborn, but people love to hold babies. They say things like, "What a beautiful baby! Look at his little fingers and toes. I've heard people say, "I could just eat you up," which is a bit terrifying—time to pass the baby to someone else.

My question is, who should be blessing the baby Jesus, this Messiah? They are at the Temple in Jerusalem, one of the grandest religious sites in the world. Isn't there a priest around to bless Jesus? We have already had angels appear to Mary and the shepherds. In Matthew's Gospel, Joseph has a dream, and three magi follow a star to Jesus. But this vital scene of prophetic blessing has no priest, angels, or voice from heaven, just Simeon. All we are told is he was devout. He was looking for the healing of his people and listened to the Holy Spirit. Has he served on several church committees over his long years, maybe as the Senior Deacon? His only qualification to bless Jesus seems to be his deep faith that God will heal Israel.

Simeon is not long-winded:

My eyes have seen your salvation,
Which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people, Israel."

This blessing could stir up both hope and controversy. Anyone within hearing would be happy with this baby being the glory of the people of Israel, but a light of revelation to the Gentiles? The Greek word here is "ethne." Here is a light to the various ethnicities. This sentiment is not unheard of in Judaism, as Isaiah 42 says that Israel is to be a light to the nations. Simeon's blessing makes the expansion of God's hopes to all people central to the work of Jesus. The Christ child is not just the hope of the Israel First crowd but to share God's light with everyone.

This scene allows Mary and Joseph to be amazed momentarily, but then Simeon presses on with an unexpected turn.

"This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel and to be a sign that will be opposed ³⁵ so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul, too."

Being a light to the nations isn't always easy or popular. Light shining in the darkness brings clarity and truth, which is not what everyone wants. Some prefer comfortable illusions instead. They want their actions hidden in the dark. Simeon delivers a final warning to Mary, saying that a sword shall pierce her soul. I've baptized many babies and seen the delighted parents beaming through it all. I can't imagine saying to them, "Someday, your heart will be broken." But it happens. Jeanne had a quote on her refrigerator,

"Deciding to have a child — it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." — Elizabeth Stone

Our story concludes with one more scene, with an 84-year-old woman prophetess named Anna, also praising the baby Jesus and offering a blessing. By the time this is over, I imagine Mary and Joseph looking around the Temple wondering, "Anyone else want to crash the party and bless our baby? The little drummer boy, the ghost of Christmas past, Wendy Lou Who?

I think the point of this story is more profound than announcing Jesus is truly a remarkable baby through whom God will do great things. I'm intrigued with Simeon and Anna taking on this task of blessing. They had no official capacity, just the inward faith to know the necessity of blessing.

What if we were always ready to give a blessing? Our theme from Advent has been the gift of being present. Imagine being present for the opportunities to bless. We often hang our banner out front that says, "Be a blessing." Being present and open to God isn't just hanging around for a blessing. A mature faith notices who needs a blessing.

We can be quick to criticize and slow to bless. We are trained to look for what is wrong and correct it. We take pride in catching an error and calling it to someone's attention. But what if we looked to bless the efforts of others? When air travel was rare, people often clapped when the airplane landed and thanked the pilot on the way out. Now, people are often on their phones and on to the next thing. How often do we stop and thank someone for doing their work?

Jeanne has been in a writing group for years that uses the Amherst feedback method. The rule is that feedback looks for what works. What inspired you, what turn of phrase resonated, and how did the narrator capture the moment? There is no correcting of grammar or pointing out awkward phrases. When Jeanne explains the group, people often say, don't you get to be a better writer from a critical eye pointing out your mistakes? Jeanne's answer is you have just given birth to something. It's fresh and tender. Creativity needs nurturing. Criticism can come later but in an environment of trust. Positive feedback spurs more energy and confidence. Criticism smothers the baby. It's like looking at the world with a focus on original sin rather than an original blessing. We get the whole world backward when we put criticism over blessing.

I'm not saying everyone should get a trophy just for showing up. A true blessing must be honest and authentic. But if we stop to look, we will notice how many people are trying their best with little support.

At the end of the new clergy group I facilitate, I always bless them. I tell them they are wonderful, compassionate, and courageous pastors. I remind them to have each other's backs and support each other and to take the time to heal from the grief, and the wounds received whenever you deal with humans. I know they are not perfect, and I know how much important work can never be shared because of confidentiality.

What we bless rises. This truth is why we have a benediction at the end of every service. We bless you on your way because it is tough out there. Friends, be the blessing.

Lead with love. Pray often. Be joyful. Have courage. Encourage others. And bless!

Hail Mary, Full of Grace | Luke 1:26-38 | Christmas Eve Candlelight Service of Lessons and Carols

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 24 Dec 2023 19:50:44 GMT

The mystical calling of a teenage girl beckons us to carry the light

When we are too close to a story, we overlook the human, emotional details. We have just heard the story of a teenage girl making her life's most momentous decision, a choice that will change the world. Suspend all you think you know about Mary and allow her to be a young woman who encounters the angelic voice of Gabriel. When we think about angels, we imagine wings and halos, but how many encounters have you had with winged humans? It would be more like a close encounter of the third kind.

"Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you." ²⁹ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Luke 1:28-29

The greeting might have confused Mary because it was a Greek figure of speech, and she spoke Aramaic. Who says Gabriel was fluent in multiple languages? If Mary was Spanish, Gabriel might have said, "Hola Maria," If she was French, "Je vous salue Marie." In Latin, "Ave Maria." In the King James version, the text reads, "Hail Mary, full of grace."

You know what Hail Mary means, especially if you are a football fan. A Hail Mary is the desperate last-chance pass thrown into the endzone to see if you get lucky. Older New Englanders remember Doug Flutie, Boston College quarterback. He was 5'10" shorter than the towel boy but had a huge heart. Scrambling with no time left and down by four points to number one Miami. It was David versus Goliath. Flutie threw the ball with every ounce of strength. The pass arched 50 yards, went through the hands of several people at the goal line, and landed in Gerald Phelan's lap for a touchdown. Everyone lost their minds with joy. I think the Pope made Doug Flutie a saint because of the miraculous pass.

This angelic greeting perplexed Mary and became the second most important Christian prayer in the Middle Ages. The most common Roman Catholic prayer asking for God's help begins, "Hail Mary, full of grace." The prayer was central to the best World War II movie scene ever. In "A Bridge Too Far," Robert Redford had to lead a battalion four hundred yards in wooden boats under withering German artillery fire. It takes four minutes in the movie for the 82 ^nd Airborne to paddle to the other side while explosions create waterspouts all around the vulnerable flotilla. In the entire scene, Redford is paddling with the butt of his rifle, saying, "Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, full of grace."

When I watched the clip on YouTube, I counted Redford repeating 23 times, "Hail Mary, full of grace." I realized I had been holding my breath, trying to comprehend the courage and the insanity of what must be done in war. I'm not telling you this story because I think repeating the proper prayer over and over will get you out of a jam. (Redford is saved by his good looks, blue eyes, and square jaw. He is too pretty to blow up.). I don't think throwing a football and saying "Hail Mary" will make somebody catch it on the other end. But this dramatic scene might help us understand the emotional intensity of Mary's encounter with Gabriel and the enormity of her response.

Mary is a teenager encountering an angel. Various English translations say she is troubled or perplexed. Those words are too mild if we compare them with other uses of the Greek word "diatarraso" in the Bible. When Herod discovers a new king has been born, he is "diatarraso." When Jesus faces his arrest in John 12:27, he says his soul is "diatarrso." The same word describes how the disciples feel when they think they have seen a ghost walking on the water. Mary is just a teenager asked to take on a mission to be the mother of the Messiah. Troubled barely grazes the emotion more like distressed or disturbed.

We need to look at Renaissance art to identify with Mary. When you enter the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy, the first room contains Martini's Annunciation. Mary pulls back from Gabriel and looks over her right shoulder with an epic stare-down.

Bottecilli has Mary giving Gabriel a hand in the face. My favorite Annunciation painting is by Fra Angelico, the Franciscan painter. Climbing the stairs to the Friar's cloister at San Marco Cathedral, you see this enormous ten-foot-wide masterpiece. Notice both Gabriel and Mary have their arms crossed protectively over their stomachs. The artist has captured the moment she hears the news of giving birth to the Messiah. She looks like she might throw up. Gabriel mirrors her body language, meets her where she is, and says "Be not afraid."

I gained a new appreciation of Mary standing before this painting for a few long moments. If you were a Franciscan brother in the 15 ^th century, you would pass this painting daily every time you went to your cell. It is there as a constant reminder that to receive the presence of God, to hear the call to live into your best self, and to act honestly with love and justice may put us in a tender and vulnerable position. We may wonder, am I good enough? Am I worthy? Am I just an imposter doing my best at life but falling short? We see Mary embodying the challenge, arms crossed over her womb, and Gabriel reassuring her.

The icon says to all who enter that you are bearers of grace, bearers of love and light, bearers of Christ to one another. Hail Mary, full of grace. Are you ready to hear the words, "Hail John, full of grace. Hail Jeanne, full of grace. Hail Bob, full of grace. Hail Barbara, full of grace.

She answers, "Let it be with me according to your word." Let it be. Let it be. Hail all of you, full of grace. Let it be.

Being Present with Joy | Third Sunday of Advent | December 17, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 17 Dec 2023 17:52:38 GMT

Joy can coexist with complexity and challenges

Today, I must preach on a mystery that I know little about and will never experience- the joy of being pregnant. I saw a woman recently nearing her delivery day. Her hands caressed her belly as she spoke, and she seemed to sparkle with delight. She had that glow which might be from a happiness, or increased blood circulation and hormone levels. Even hair grows thicker during pregnancy as the body is supercharging with new life. I could see a joy that was contagious to other people in the room.

I can share that joy, but it is also complicated. I have an adopted son, a foster son, and two stepchildren. They all bring me joy even though I have not played a biologically creative role in their lives. I didn't experience the day of their birth. They don't have my eyes or nose, just some of my annoying habits. I adopted James at one-month-old, which is close to birth, and I'm the only father he has known. Michael was already six years old when he came to my house as a foster child, and Christina and Patrick were teenagers when I came into their house. They all three had a dad, which makes me their backup; pull the handle in case of emergency, Dad.

I'm content in my dad roles. I easily relate to Joseph, the adoptive father of Jesus, in the Christmas pageant, and would take any of my kids to Egypt if they needed safety. The complicating emotion is I know all the things that can go wrong. I think about everything that needs to go right in a pregnancy. From the outside, pregnancy looks hard of women. Some pregnancies don’t go to term, with 10 to 20 percent of women experiencing miscarriages. It helps if love remains between mother and father, though single moms raise 40 percent of children. Some of the best moms I know are single, but it's hard.

I have become a father amid someone else's tragedy. Someone abandoned his pregnant girlfriend, or child protective services got involved, or after a divorce. Fatherhood isn't just a biological thing. For me, being a Dad means entering a situation as it is, accepting ambiguity and uncertainty, and doing my best to heal what is broken. Being present with joy does not mean ignoring the complex emotions and pitfalls around birth and parenting. It means discovering joy despite it all.

Theologian Henri Nouwen put it this way: while happiness usually depends on circumstances, joy runs deeper. "Joy is the experience of knowing that you are unconditionally loved and that nothing — sickness, failure, emotional distress, oppression, war, or even death — can take that love away." Thus, joy and sorrow can not only coexist; joy can even be found amid sorrowful circumstances. Mary's situation was complicated and vulnerable, but her effervescent song of joy flows from a wellspring deeper than the surface of things.

Let's look at the complexity of the joy that comes through the text in Luke. Our story begins after the Angel Gabriel visits Mary to tell her she has been chosen to give birth to the Messiah. Who would you tell first if you were pregnant for the first time? Notice Mary goes immediately to visit her relative Elizabeth. I wonder why she didn't go to her mother. Nor does she tell her fiancé, Joseph. Mary needs someone wise to help her sort out her unusual circumstances. Elizabeth is a logical choice because the angel tells Mary that Elizabeth is also pregnant. Everyone thought Elizabeth was too old and was likely barren.

So, Mary seeks counsel from someone likely to be sympathetic. If angels deliver shocking news, wouldn't you check it out to ensure you aren't crazy? Build an ark. Confront Pharoah to let my people go. You will give birth to the Messiah. This knowledge is a lot to carry. Most people in the Bible want a second opinion after a divine visitation.

Today, we would give Mary the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI), which helps to diagnose mental health disorders like schizophrenia or anxiety. One of the 567 true or false statements to answer is "God sometimes speaks to me." When I took this test upon entering seminary, I laughed out loud when I came to this, because God's call was why we were all in the room. Yet if I say "true," I might get a diagnosis. Several people were staring at me, so I continued the test. Two minutes later, someone else laughed. A minute later, two people laughed. While some people looked around perplexed, one person said “Sssshhh!” She laughed two minutes later, and most of the room laughed at her. The test supervisor looked like she thought it was a madhouse, and we had to explain to her that God spoke to all of us. I think that bothered her even more than the laughing.

Mary decides not to tell her mother or her fiancé. How will Elizabeth react to her news? When Mary walked in the door, Elizabeth's baby, who would be John the Baptist, leaped in her womb. Mary says hello, and Elizabeth says, "Blessed are you among woman, and blessed is the fruit of your womb." Well, good morning to you, too, Elizabeth. She understands without a word from Mary. Call it intuition or a spiritual gift, she confirms what Mary has experienced. There is excitement in the room that two pregnant women experience the multilayered miracles of body and divine Spirit. They have a pact.

Unfortunately, this scene doesn't make it into most Christmas pageants. It would tell young women that wise elders are around to guide them, even in complicated families. Luke's Gospel brings women's experience front and center. Joseph has little role to play, whereas Matthew's Gospel is about Joseph and his dreams, and Mary never speaks. Whoever wrote the song "Mary Did You Know?" must have only read Matthew's Gospel. If you read Luke and the Magnificat, it's clear Mary knows exactly what is going on. I wonder if Luke, being a physician, had a little more experience with women and knew how to include that in the Gospels.

My soul Magnifies the Lord,

For this, my son will go to the Ivy League,

(Well, maybe not Harvard, Penn or MIT these days. Dartmouth?)

My dear one, aspire to dwell in the grandest abode,

Let your home be a palace of luxury.

Your name will be synonymous with wealth and abundance;

And your wealth shall be counted with many zeros,

Heed, my progeny, the call of the luxury car.

And may valet parking be your birthright.

Mary magnifies upside down action of God to move world toward justice through her son.

He has shown strength with his arm;
He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. ⁵² She has brought down the powerful from their thrones
and lifted up the lowly; ⁵³ She has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty.

The Magnificat echoes throughout Jesus's ministry in Luke's Gospel. His first sermon says, "God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. When he said it is harder for a camel through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter heaven-sounds like the Magnificat. Jesus saw with different eyes, noticing the poor widow giving her last coin, Blind Bartimaeus shouting for mercy, showing mercy on a woman caught in adultery. Is this perspective from Mary? Mary did more than change his diapers and nursed him from her breast. She was also his teacher, and she likely taught him the values of the Magnificat. Wasn't God working through her, guiding his whole life? Maybe God chose someone like Mary because she wasn't docile, and she didn't teach her son Jesus to go along to get along or curry favor with the rich and powerful.

Do you know who understands the power of the Magnificat? The rich and powerful get it. During British colonial rule of India, the Magnificat was banned. The British East India Company prohibited the recitation during evensong in Advent in Anglican churches. On the final day of British rule over India, as English flags were lowered in unison, Gandhi asked that the Magnificat be recited at each site as the flags came down.

This third Sunday of Advent, we are called to be present with joy. Mary's story celebrates joys large and small. There is the tender joy of new life, a baby's leap in the womb, a wise elder to guide, and a safe haven. But there is also the joy that the world can truly be better than it is. There is joy when all are fed, all are made whole, and all are welcome. Mary carried this joy pregnant on a donkey, to birth in a manger, flight to Egypt, and beyond. This joy is ours to carry, too. If we are present to notice joy, it is right here and right now.

Being Present with Peace | Second Sunday of Advent | December 10, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 10 Dec 2023 17:48:16 GMT

Do you want to hear the good news first or the bad news? It upsets me when people ask this question. I assume someone is sugar-coating the bad news to let me down easily. Don't get me excited and then deflate me. Just give me the bad news first, then pull me back from the brink. I don't want my doctor to start with, "The good news is your insurance will cover the surgery cost." Just tell me what you need to remove from my body.

The truth is I'm tired of bad news, especially when delivered with a shrug. I think all news outlets should have a bad news gauge. Today's news is 75 percent bad, down from 85 percent yesterday. Is the news ever half good? I don't think so. I want transparency in labeling so I can decide if I'm up to the news today. If Dunkin Donuts must tell me that a large Peppermint Mocha Swirl Frozen Coffee with Cream is 1170 calories, CNN should tell me they will deliver 95 percent bad news for 30 minutes. Aren't both equally harmful to my well-being? (Imagine a coffee drink more calories than a Big Mac with fries. How does that happen? If you have a donut with it, your insurance rates go up!)

I need to hear some good news. But if the news was too good, would we stop paying attention? Why would you watch good news when you could just go fishing instead? Good news is boring. Everyone is getting along, the stock market is up, the world is at peace, and new research says eating chocolate is the best thing to lose weight. Why don't we have news channels dedicated to good news? There is no market for it because we would just live our carefree existence. If every sermon were titled "Sunshine on my shoulder," you would tune out. We survived as a species in part because our nervous system is finely tuned to detect dangerous threats. Those who were good at sensing danger survived. We watch the news because our millions of years old brain stem has kept us alive. The problem is bad news is now sold as a commodity, packaged to keep us listening. Our ancient survival mechanisms can trap us in anxiety and despair.

Survival needs a healthy tension between bad news and good news. We need to know what can kill us while having a worldview that says things can get better, your life matters, and you have some degree of control over your fate. A bad news meter could help us have a better information diet. Everyone needs calories; we just don't need 1200 in our morning coffee. We need enough bad news to face reality but the hope that we will get through it all. I'll call it the good-bad-o-meter.

Liberation theologian Gustavo Gutierrez said this in more eloquent theological terms, saying, "The prophetic task is to denounce the sources of injustice while announcing God's hope for a better future." Pointing out what is wrong doesn't finish the job. Anyone can be a critic. The fulfillment is to announce what is possible.

Mark's Gospel gets this right. Listen to the first line. "The beginning of the good news ^[ ^a ^] of Jesus Christ." What a great first line! It's right with Dickens' beginning "A Tale of Two Cities": "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." (See, the good-bad-o-meter.).

We immediately know the point of Mark's writing: Good News! The King James Bible reads, "the beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ." The old English word was "Godspell," which is literally "good speil," a great story you will love to hear. The Greek word Mark used was "evangelion." It's the root of the theological term evangelism. So, Mark says here is my story about the good news, the Godspell, the evangelism, the extraordinary announcement of Jesus Christ.

Let's look at where Mark wants to start the story.

As it is written in the prophets, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.

³ The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.

Mark likes to mix his prophets. Line one is Micah and line two is from Isaiah 40, the Old Testament lectionary companion reading for today. The beginning of the Godspell of Jesus Christ has some backstory from Isaiah. There are hundreds of relevant verses from the Old Testament, so why did Mark pick this one to highlight?

Chapter 40 is at a fulcrum of change in the book of Isaiah. The historical prophet Isaiah writes over the years 740-700 BCE. The prophet focuses on the Assyrian Empire's threat and pleads with Israel to be steadfast with God and do justice. The only real protection from threat is to walk in the way of God's goodness. (Isaiah has a good-bad-o-meter. Here is the danger, and you can get through it.)

Chapter 40 is written by a second Isaiah. It is set 200 years later (540-500 BCE) after the Babylonians destroyed Jerusalem and the author is in exile. The main themes are that judgment is over, suffering is coming to an end, and a new beginning is coming. We get much of our Advent hymns from Isaiah 40. Our opening hymn said,

"Comfort, comfort ye my people, Speak ye peace, thus saith our God;" (Isaiah 40:1-2.) Other hymns with lyrics influenced by chapter 40 include "O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel" (verses 3-5.)

Mark is grounding his good news announcement about Jesus Christ in an ancient story. God is all about new beginnings. It's helpful to hear the full quote from Isaiah.

Prepare ye the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

⁴ Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain:

God is creating the road home from exile. The good news is that it is a divinely initiated construction project. Most construction projects are a mess before they deliver on hope. You must live with the mess from kitchen renovations to road construction projects to get to the hope. To get anywhere south on Route 1 from Boothbay Harbor, you must go through the Station 46 bridge project between Woolwich and Bath. Every time I drive by, I wonder what they are doing. Workers have been raising valleys, then lowering the hill again, making the crooked straight and the straight crooked and back again for a couple of years. I wondered if this was one of these pork barrel political projects.

Upon investigation, I learned this complex three-year project will be completed by 2025. According to the Maine DOT website, the new structure replaces one that has "deteriorated to the point that the end of its useful life is near."¹ That is DOT speak for “this bridge could collapse any day now.” It was time for a new bridge, a new beginning. But it won't happen overnight. It requires raising Route 1 by five feet to deal with potential flooding. Because of poor soil quality, the road had to settle for 12 months; then, more soil was put on top. There are tidal flows of the river to consider. The overhaul of a bridge is slow, patient work.

Creating a new beginning in life is also challenging. Isaiah proclaimed God's work to return people from exile. Mark writes that 500 years later, humanity is still under construction. We read the Bible 2000 years later and wonder how long this overhaul will take. How long will the "construction ahead" signs slow us down? How much will it cost? Will we ever make the straight highway to the way, the truth, and the life?

We seem doomed to perpetually living in a human construction zone. But maybe there is good news in this. God isn't finished with us. The good news of Christ among us is that God is willing to live with us with all the din, dust, delays, and detours along life's road.

Mark tells us that John the Baptist is the messiah's spokesperson to prepare the way. John is not a smooth-talking, sugar-coating, blue-sky PR guy. The main word we associate with him is "repent." Repent is such a loaded word. It has become a judgmental and shaming word. You are no good, so you better change. Repent simply means to turn around and get on the right path. John simply looks at the bridge and says this has deteriorated to the point where it’s useful life has nearly ended. We must hear the truth of the bad news to act for the good.

The good news is new beginnings are possible. The highway leading to peace is under construction. Inner peace, peace with our neighbor, world peace is under construction. It’s likely to be dusty, dirty, and inconvenient till completed. It may take longer than you expect. So why not start today? You can begin by making the path straight for the good news to reach your heart.

https://www.pressherald.com/2022/02/10/woolwich-bridge-replacement-project-underway

Being Present with Hope | First Sunday of Advent | Hanging the Greens | December 3, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 03 Dec 2023 18:26:59 GMT

Keep awake! Be alert! Big things are coming, cosmic shifting events. But honestly, I feel too wakeful, almost hyper-alert. I tire from being watchful.

Sometimes, staying awake is hard, even with the best intentions. My college Ancient History class began at 8:00 AM on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The five of us rarely all stayed awake till the end. Professor Tingley was fascinating because he had lived through history. He was at least 60. But you had to pay attention because he had no variation in the pitch or tone of his voice. He delivered his gems in an unassuming monotone.

I often sat near the heat pipes to take out the Arctic chill of walking across the South Dakota campus. You can imagine the combination of 8 AM, listening to the monotone dissertation comparing Sumerian and Hebrew creation myths, and the cozy warmth as the heat finally kicked in. I fought to keep my eyelids peeled and my pencil moving on the paper, but one morning, I succumbed and drifted off. My left arm must have dropped to my side, floating to the hot pipes. A burning pain woke me, my head whipped up, and I shouted what is often said when you are hurt or stunned. Professor Tingley calmly looked up and said, “Welcome back to class, Mr. Weir.” The angry burn stayed on my hand for a week, reminding me of my shame. But I never drifted off again and aced both semesters of Ancient History.

Regarding my spiritual life, I want to be awake, alert to what is happening, and aware of the signs of the times. But there is so much to keep track of who is in the hospital, who is having surgery, what committees are doing, what sermons are coming, and what the cultural and political shifts of our times are. Where might the Holy Spirit squeeze in a moment or two?

Jesus said,

But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened,
And the moon will not give its light, ²⁵ and the stars will be falling from heaven,
And the powers in the heavens will be shaken.

²⁶ “Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. (Mark 13: 24-26)

That sounds like a total eclipse, with a meteor shower and a tearing open of the space and time continuum. While remarkable, Jesus is not saying something new here. Mark is sliding in a little of Joel, a phrase from Daniel, and an image from Isaiah. At the end of the age, God will act and set everything right.

So how long, O Lord? After all, it is the year 2023. That is 65 generations of disciples since Jesus. What are we to watch for? What is the hope we need to keep alive? Can we use a secret decoder ring at the end of the Book of Revelation to calculate the date?

Baptist preacher William Miller used Daniel 8:14 to calculate the end date and came up with sometime in the year following March 21, 1843. Some of his followers sold all they had and waited on a hill. When March 21, 1844, came and went, he recalculated to October 22, 1844, which became known as the Great Disappointment. (As if the world not ending is a disappointment!)

Pew Research polling found that 4 in 10 Americans think we live in the end times. Personally, I’m bad at predictions, especially about the future (to quote Yogi Berra.). But I understand why people feel pessimistic. There is much that causes us to worry.

Rev. Nadia Bolz Weber wrote an essay titled, “If you can’t take it anymore, there is a reason.” ¹ She compared the human psyche to a fuse box in her old apartment building. The building was wired for a time when you just had a refrigerator, toaster, and a few lamps, not a microwave, electric hairdryer, and a smartphone. If you try to do too many things at once, a fuse will blow, and everything will halt. While that is annoying, it is a safety mechanism to keep us from burning down the house.

The human psyche spent a few million years being shaped to contend with the trials of village life. We moved in packs of 80 to 120 people. That’s what most of us can handle. We are emotionally wired to deal with the average attendance of a church, just barely. But now the tragedy, death, and destruction pour in from everywhere. We can only take in a few crises at once without blowing a fuse. Bolz-Webber’s advice is to ask yourself three questions:

What is mine to do, and what is not mine to do?

What is mine to say and what is not to say?

What is mine to care about, and what is more than I can take it?

Bolz-Webber concludes, “I’m not saying we should put our heads in the sand; I’m saying that if your circuits are overwhelmed, there’s a reason, and the reason isn’t because you are heartless, it’s because there is not a human heart on this planet that can bear all of what is happening right now.”

What does Jesus want from us when he says to keep awake, alert, and ready for his arrival?

I like this brief parable about the fig tree, where Jesus says,

²⁸ “Now learn this lesson from the fig tree: As soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near.” Mark 13:28

We must pay attention and look for the signs to be hopeful and see what God is doing. You won’t find hope doom-scrolling through the news. We will likely need to get away from the noise and off the beaten path to see where the green shoots are. We must be present to notice hope and wait for the right time. You know that fig tree is supposed to bloom in late Spring, but is that April 20, May 14, or June 1? If you want to be present for the exact day, you may have to show up for several weeks.

Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection shares a story of green shoots in his spiritual memoir, “The Practice of the Presence of God.” Lawrence Herman lived through the 30 Years War between 1618 and 1648. It was one of the most destructive European conflicts, with more than 4 million people killed. We think our times are uniquely partisan, but we can’t touch the ferocity of 17th-century Europe. Lawrence grew up poor and enlisted in the army for six years. He was captured in battle spent time as a prisoner of war, and a wounded leg gave him a lifelong limp.

A moment of spiritual insight sustained him through these difficult times. On a shivering winter morning, Lawrence observed a tree standing leafless in the snow. I can imagine that tree as a metaphor for the cold-hearted battles of the day. It suddenly occurred to him that the tree would soon spring back to life, and he saw the coming flowers and fruit in his mind. At that moment, he sensed God’s presence pouring into him. He felt great love surrounding him and a faith that God worked towards the fruitfulness of all things. Later, he said that moment converted his heart and never left him. I love this spiritual metaphor since it is Hanging the Greens Sunday to remind us to watch for God’s presence.

After the war, Lawrence joined the Carmelite Brothers in Paris and became the steward of the kitchens. He developed a simple and transforming spiritual practice where he tried to keep his attention on the presence of God no matter what he was doing. He might be purchasing supplies, scrubbing the pots and pans, or walking to another village, and we work to bring his focus on God being present in the moment. In my experience of Buddhist mindful meditation, it’s a similar practice of calling our thoughts back to the center, the great love of God that flows in all things.

Our brains are constantly busy with thoughts. Let’s try an experiment. For one minute of silence, see how much of the time you can simply focus on your breathing. If you find yourself thinking, simply let it go and return to your breath. But count how many times you think while trying to simply breathe.

One minute is done. How much did you think? I’m curious what you thought. There are things you need to do. Go to the grocery store after lunch. Turn in your pledge. How many of your thoughts were judgmental? I’m not doing this right. Can’t I control my thoughts for one minute? What is wrong with me? Don’t worry; you are simply human.

To see the signs of the first green shoots of hope requires us to find a quiet center. As we begin Advent, I invite you to call to mind the Practice of the Presence of God whenever you can. You could set aside a time or just stop whenever you can. Simply do this. Think “God is right here, right now.” I hope these moments reveal a green shoot of hope or two, a moment of hanging the greens in your heart.

Did You Notice? | Matthew 25:31-46 | Reign of Christ Sunday | November 26, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 26 Nov 2023 16:45:28 GMT

Jesus' parable calls me to notice the Christ within

Matthew’s Gospel loves pyrotechnics to make a point. The author saves the best fireworks for the grand finale:

"Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels."

Pyrotechnics are great on July 4, or a Pink Floyd concert, monster truck rally, or Texas barbeque. But we should use them sparingly in our religious observations. Shooting flames aren’t the best enhancement of our view of God. The fire of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost works, but otherwise just stick to candlelight and campfires. A little flame goes a long way. Christianity has overdone hellfire. In the early Renaissance, an Italian town was nowhere unless your cathedral had a scary "Last Judgement" scene. The Duomo in Florence is full of dramatic, leaping flames and devils. It's like going to church in a massive, haunted house. If that was your place of worship, you might think Jesus talked about fiery hells as his central message. But John's Gospel and the letters of Paul never use the symbol of flames and Hell. Even Augustine, who first wrote about original sin, said that we should not be Christian because we fear the flames of Hell but because the love of God draws us in.

Once again, it's Matthew's Gospel that favors the pyrotechnics. It makes me wonder about his background. The Gospel was written about ten years after the destruction of Jerusalem, and I wonder what Matthew saw of the death, devastation, and flames. Most of the Renaissance frescoes of the Last Judgement were painted in the aftermath of the Black Plague, which killed off over 1/3 of Europe’s population. We need to take a trauma-informed view of our religious symbols. How much is this imagery of Hell was influenced by living through earthly death and destruction?

The main point of the sheep and goats parable is in alignment with the wisdom tradition of the Old Testament. If you live well and do the right thing, we will all prosper together. If you live only for yourself and harm others, it's going to get ugly. Psalm 1:3-4 says,

(The righteous) are like trees
planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its season,
and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper.

⁴ The wicked are not so
but are like chaff that the wind drives away.

This message is straightforward: be righteous, not wicked. Be a sheep and not a goat.

Jesus original audience would have recognized the Old Testament imagery of God being the good shepherd. In Psalm 23, the shepherd feeds the sheep in green pastures, waters them from the still waters, protects them from enemies, and even in the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil. The parable is deeply influenced by the prophetic voice of Ezekiel 34, which denounces the leaders of Israel for being poor shepherds:

Woe, you shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves!... ³ You eat the fat; you clothe yourselves with the wool…but you do not feed the sheep. ⁴ You have not strengthened the weak; you have not healed the sick; you have not bound up the injured; you have not brought back the strays; …but with force and harshness, you have ruled them.

God will act as a good shepherd:

¹² As shepherds sort out their flocks when they are among scattered sheep, ^[ ^a ^] so I will sort out my sheep.

¹⁵ I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. ¹⁶ I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strays, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.

You can see how Jesus's parable of the sheep and goats builds from the words of Ezekiel.

The sheep and goats parable makes its point by repetition. It tells us the list of the five things we are supposed to do and repeats the list four times. First, Jesus tells the sheep you fed me when I was hungry, gave me water when I was thirsty, clothed me, welcomed me as a stranger, visited me when I was sick or in prison. The sheep repeat the list, then Jesus gives the goats the same list, and the goats repeat it. By the end we all have it memorized, which may be the point. When I wrote news copy as a radio journalist, my editors would have said I don't have to repeat the list all four times. But maybe we do. People need to hear things seven times to act.

Imagine you are one of the good sheep who have found yourself in the green pasture; Jesus says you are inheriting the Kingdom because you have fed, watered, clothed, welcomed, and visited him. That's nice, but being such a good person, you must be honest and say, "Excuse me, Jesus, I don't want to butt in line here, but I don't remember doing any of this for you?" You're honest, right? If you see a $20 bill on the ground, you ask the person in front of you if they dropped it. You tell that friendly grocery store clerk they gave you too much change. So, you are not going to steal someone else's heavenly reward. That would be cheating!

Jesus says, "When you served the least, that was me. You saw me in the breadline."

Over on the other pasture, the one scorched by drought and climate change, the goat hears that he didn't feed, cloth, welcome, and visit Jesus. "Wait a minute! I never saw you before. I would have fed you, but I didn't realize you looked so Palestinian. I thought you were more like a blond-haired surfer dude. If I had known it was you, the check would have been in the mail. And Jesus said, "When you did not serve the least, you did not serve me."

The inability to see Jesus in another person feels essential to this parable's meaning. Another way of saying this is, "You did not see the inherent worth and dignity of someone vulnerable and in need."

Writer Aldous Huxley said, "The purpose of propaganda is to make one set of people forget that another set of people are human." In every war, the enemy is made into a wild beast, an infidel, or someone nefarious. Nazi’s labeled Jews as vermin and parasites. During the Rwandan genocide, Hutus justified slaughtering Tutsis, calling them cockroaches. We saw the Soviets as godless Communists and they saw us as rapacious capitalists and warmongers, so we could point nuclear missiles at each other. If you can label people as inherently villainous and threatening, you can kill them in the name of God.

Stigmatizing the vulnerable is becoming common political rhetoric. I understand if you have tuned out the mean-spiritedness of our politics. I take in the news at a dose that doesn't overwhelm me. But pay attention to the intensified dehumanizing rhetoric. In recent rallies, the ex-president called immigrants vermin who will dilute our bloodlines. He wants to jail political opponents and casually implies a general should be executed for disagreeing with him. "I am your vengeance,” he proclaimed. He needs to read Deuteronomy 32:35, "Vengeance is mine, says the Lord," meaning only God has this authority. (In truth, I don't trust a god who demands vengeance either.).

Tolerating powerful disagreements and dissent makes America great. Tolerating labels that dehumanize others makes us weak. The energy of America draws on the best of our diversity.

In calling out Trump's behavior, I don't want to stigmatize people who support him. We have family who agree with him. While I strongly disagree, I challenge myself to do so respectfully. I could be right, but I still get my attitude wrong. The hardest thing Jesus said was, "Love your enemies."

The good sheep in the parable did the right thing but did not realize they did it to Jesus. Is this a caution not only to do the right thing but also to recognize another person's inherent worth and dignity? You can feed hungry people but still fail to offer dignity. When I worked in a homeless shelter, someone called and offered to make a Thanksgiving meal. I told them we had more than enough planned, but we needed volunteers 365 days a year. The person was angry at me because they wanted to make a Thanksgiving meal to teach their children how lucky they were, and they didn't have time during the rest of the year.

In Matthew, this is Jesus' last teaching before his arrest. Make your service personal. Serve others like it is me because it is me. If we take Genesis 1 seriously, we believe that everyone contains some of the image and likeness of God. So, we look for that spark of divinity in everyone. If you look at someone as worthy of love, you will treat them well. If you look at them trying to decide if they are sheep or goats, if they are in or out, you might miss Christ standing hungry before you.

Enter the Joy | Matthew 25:14-30 | Thanksgiving Sunday | November 19, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 19 Nov 2023 19:25:01 GMT

The parable of the talents is 2/3 awesome and 1/3 perplexing and even offensive. This perplexity is not from a mistake or flaw in the parable but the goal. You likely missed the point if you read a parable and think it is straightforward and easy to understand. It's tempting to edit a phrase or two to make it more palatable, but that's cheating! If you feel frustrated or even a little angry, Congratulations! You are starting on the path to wisdom.

In Matthew's Gospel, Jesus tells this parable near the end of his ministry. It's Wednesday evening of Holy Week. Jesus is with the inner circle of disciples the night before his arrest. All three parables in chapter 25 have an urgent imperative to live fully in the moment. Last week, the scripture said wisdom is being prepared with enough oil to sustain your light. This week, the parable of the talents urges the reader to use the opportunity and resources given to you boldly. Next week, the sheep and the goats parable emphasizes the command to help your neighbor. If they are thirsty, give them a cup of cold water; or hungry, give them something to eat. We can call Matthew 25 the "Carpe diem parables." Seize the moment, Jesus says. Gather your oil to keep your lamp burning, use your financial resources well, and do good for others right now. It is the time. The next evening, he is arrested and executed.

The first key point in the parable of the talents is the large sum the master entrusts to his servants. A talent weighs at 75 pounds of gold or silver. The price of gold currently hovers just under $2000 an ounce. Multiply times 16 ounces times 75 pounds, and today, a talent of gold would be $2.4 million. Whatever the purchasing power in Jesus' day, the master placed enormous trust as he bets on the skill of these three servants. The one he deems the most outstanding ability manages five talents, $12 million! Even the one talent servant manages a sum nearly as large as our church endowment. This master has great faith in these servants, just as Jesus has in each of the disciples. Peter might be the five-talent guy, but Jesus believes in Bartholomew too.

Imagine if the Board of Trustees came to the annual meeting in January and said, "We have great news! We doubled the endowment this year!" You might answer, well done, good and faithful servants. Enter the joy of the whole church!" Now, we can fund more ministry, give more to people in need, install solar panels, eliminate the flying squirrels in the attic, and still feel flush with cash. But you also might wonder how this was accomplished. Did these two servants invest in a caravan of Frankincense, a discount supplier of balm from Gilead. Or were they trafficking in stolen antiquities from the Pharoah’s crypt (Cryptocurrencies?) Warren Buffet is an investing legend because he compounds money at over 20 percent a year. Even Buffet takes four years to double your money. If you have done any investing, you know doubling your capital in a year requires taking risks and a degree of luck. I don't know what Jesus understood about investing, but the parable acknowledges this is an extraordinary outcome. The two servants were savvy and bold.

We would all like to be the disciples to whom Jesus says, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter the joy of your master." That phrase grabbed my attention in my meditations. What does it mean to enter the joy? Joy (xara in Greek) shows up often in the New Testament.

The angels announce the birth of Jesus to the shepherd, saying, "I bring you good news of great joy!"
Luke 15:7: "Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance."
John 15:11: "These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full."

Joy is a fruit of discipleship. As we follow the way of Jesus, we find joy along the path. And God finds joy in us. God's joy is an essential part of this story, too. God doesn't just tally the marks in a ledger for and against you., tracking to see if you do enough to get into heaven. God takes joy when you thrive and bear fruit for others. Do you ever think that God looks at you and feels great joy?

Eugene Peterson has an interesting translation of this verse in the Message Bible: "Good work! You did your job well. From now on, be my partner." I disagree with Peterson leaving out the word joy because the Greek "xara" is right there. However, he captures that "entering the joy" implies entering into a new relationship, even a partnership with God. The master in the parable doesn't just praise the servants but says they will now be trusted with more. The master also doesn't take the profits but allows the servants to keep them. These first two episodes emphasize the trust in the servants, the joy at their success, and the offer of a deeper partnership.

But now we come to the troubling turn that in the parable. What about this third servant who buried the talent he was given in the ground? The trusting and joyful master takes a U-turn towards being the angry, rejecting tyrant, saying, "You wicked and lazy servant!" A small part of me expects to encounter this angry God every time I fall short. Is this parable telling us that God will judge us for our failures?

Matthew's Gospel is the most judgmental of the four gospels. Matthew uses this phrase of being thrown out into outer darkness, weeping, and gnashing of teeth to end six different stories. In contrast, Luke uses the phrase once, and no other book of the Bible ever uses these words. There is no weeping and gnashing of teeth in the Old Testament. Every time I read this phrase in Matthew, it annoys me. It is likely the favorite Gospel of the hellfire and brimstone preachers, who I think are in error about the message of Christ. The generous thing I can say about Matthew's Gospel is that he gives the reader a lot of tough love. Sometimes, we need tough love, and Matthew challenges us to be mindful of the consequences of both sin and indifference. Be hot or cold, not lukewarm. Matthew wants disciples all in. But we need the tender balance of John's Gospel, which puts a loving God at the center of things.

Matthew does turn tender when a person admits their failing. It's the hypocrite and the lukewarm disciple that stirs his teeth gnashing. Perhaps this is what troubles Matthew about this third servant with one talent. This servant justifies his behavior by blaming the master, saying, "I knew you are a hard man…I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground." Imagine your financial advisor says in your annual report, "I know how you are. You expect a lot and get angry if things don't go your way, so I buried your money in the ground so I wouldn't lose it." Wouldn't you be tempted to cast them into darkness and hope for some weeping and gnashing of teeth? You would fire them. Why? Because they did not try, and they blamed you for their lack of effort.

Here is a different translation of what the master says to the servant from Eugene Peterson's Message translation, which brings out this element of risk-taking:

"The master was furious. 'That's a terrible way to live! It's criminal to live cautiously like that! If you knew I was after the best, why did you do less than the least? The least you could have done would have been to invest the sum with the bankers, where at least I would have gotten a little interest.

^28-30 "'Take the thousand and give it to the one who risked the most. And get rid of this "play-it-safe" who won't go out on a limb. Throw him out into utter darkness.'

I would like there to be one more servant in this parable. In Bible Study Monday, one person imagined a fourth servant who took the money and used his best judgment, but due to market conditions, or a black swan event, he lost money that year. What would the master say to that servant? Does God only reward success? Or does God look at our effort and what we learn in the process?

In Matthew's parable, it sounds like the greatest failure is not to try. Playing it safe does not make us good disciples. You can actually be too careful. Avoiding bad behavior isn't the goal of Jesus. We sometimes need to be bold and take a risk to love. So let me leave you with this question. What would you do right now if you were bold?

Check Your Oil | Matthew 25:1-13 | Remembrance Sunday | November 12, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 12 Nov 2023 13:59:06 GMT

The wisdom to not let the world snuff out your sacred flame

It's important to check your oil. I was working outside on a recent warm day and realized I needed to check the propane tank. I tapped the barrel and heard a hollow echo, and had a sinking feeling. The gauge was close to zero, and it was a Friday afternoon, so I couldn't get a delivery till Monday. I worried that weekend that our guests might run out of propane in the middle of a shower, but everything worked out. I have never had a propane tank; we had natural gas piped in, so I never had to think about anything but paying the bill.

Reading this parable about the bridesmaids and lamp oil brought home how convenient modernity is. When we need light, we flip a switch. Hot water comes automatically from the tap. Modern life makes so many menial tasks easy that we forget how hard life was before electricity. No plumber or electrician could come and bail you out. If you weren't prepared, you were cold, left in the dark, and you might even die.

Ten bridesmaids wait for the groom so the party may begin. Five women were wise, and five were foolish. The Greek word translated as "foolish" is "morai." That's right; they were morons. Webster's Collegiate Dictionary says, "A very stupid person. A dated word, now offensive." Moron -as in, "What kind of moron doesn't bring water on a hike, or sunscreen to the beach, oil for a lamp, or votes for…" Well, you get the picture.

Let's probe a little deeper. The five bridesmaids without oil are not foolish because of a lack of intellect or wrong beliefs; they are unprepared. Unpreparedness strikes me closer to home for my anxieties. I tend to be a list maker and try to be well-prepared. It also irks me when I have prepared with hard work and others show up without thought and expect things to work out. It's the dreaded group project where you get a group grade. I'm stuck deciding whether to bail the group out or hold them accountable. I don't like either option.

I hate being unprepared. That keeps me awake at night. Do you have a dream about an impending biology test, and you haven't read the book? Sometimes, being unprepared is from lack of energy. I am more likely overwhelmed than careless when not ready. What is the life situation for the foolish five? Did they have burdens others don't have to carry? Are they caring for sick or aging relatives? When experiencing the pandemic, we know the burdens of making life work. Many people have unmanageable responsibilities. We need a lot of grace sometimes, as our oil burns low.

Christian Century magazine recently had an article wondering, "Wouldn't it be great if the five wise bridesmaids shared their oil, and everyone got to go to the feast together? That would have been a real, inclusive party. After all, doesn't Jesus tell us if we have two coats, give one to your neighbor who has none? When urged to help someone poor, we aren't supposed to decide whether they are worthy. God calls us to give. And what about the time you were foolish, and you received grace? Don't be too quick to judge the other as foolish.

That sounds compelling, but I must point out that the wise bridesmaids did not share their oil, and they were invited into the feast while the foolish five had the door slammed in their faces. Is this pointing us towards tough love and letting others live with the consequences of their actions? Nothing in this parable says the wise five were greedy or selfish. Even the "morons" didn't argue and ran off to go buy oil. (Where do they go in the middle of the night to buy oil before Seven-Eleven?). The foolish bridesmaids are not poor or without the ability to get fuel. They just weren't prepared. You can't salvage some situations. If you are on an expedition up Mt. Everest, you can't just take a person along who is not prepared. If they only brought tennis shoes for the journey, you can’t take them along. It is unsafe for the whole group. Sometimes, you miss out.

There is a tension in this parable that doesn't lend to either/or thinking. We live in this paradox. Sometimes, we must set boundaries and tell people, "You didn't bring enough oil, and I can't bail you out." Other times, we offer grace and even sacrifice for the other person, regardless of their mistakes. Take some of my oil; God will get us all through. Isn't that the miracle of Hannukah? How do we sort this out? The question I ask myself is, what am I protecting? Am I protecting myself, my ego, comfort, or power? Then, share more. Or am I defending the community's integrity, my values, and or the negative consequences of irresponsible actions? Then, I need to set boundaries and call people to be accountable.

A lamp and oil symbolize having a good relationship with God and being diligent and faithful. At the center of the first tabernacle in Exodus was a Menorah. The priests were responsible for keeping the seven lamps burning with a continual supply of pure olive oil. This light symbolized the constant presence of God, which must be perpetually tended. God doesn't just show up and shine in the darkness when we suddenly pray because we suddenly realized we were in trouble. Humanity has a role to play as keepers of the light. God asks us to participate in the light of wisdom and truth.

While it was a priestly duty to keep the menorah perpetually aflame, Jesus talked about the need for all of us to be keepers of our lamps and light. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven." (Matt. 5:16). While we all need community to support each other in faithfulness, we all must take responsibility for our faith and relationship with God. I can help someone struggling with their faith, but I cannot give them faith. I can set an example, but I can't have faith for someone else. Everyone must check their oil. We are back at the paradox of faith. We are called into community to share and support each other. Also, we each have a responsibility to nurture our inner flame through prayer, reflection, and other spiritual practices that help us seek the wisdom of Christ.

We must keep our light shining so we can see and act in the moments of darkness. The world needs the light you have to offer. An important story to me in grade school was about a teenager named Kate Shelley, who lived near my hometown of Boone, Iowa, in the 19 ^th century. Kate had a hard life after immigrating with her family from Ireland. Her Father died when she was young, and her mother worked at the railway depot to help make ends meet. The most important moment in her life occurred when she was 17. A strong thunderstorm struck central Iowa, and the Des Moines River overflowed its banks. The Chicago Northwestern Railroad sent out a work train to ensure the train tracks were passable, but a section of the bridge was washed out, and the train plunged into the river.

Kate heard the crash, and she knew the train schedule. A passenger train from Omaha would reach the bridge in an hour, and there was no way to alert anyone that the bridge was out. Kate took her lantern out into the storm, found two survivors of the wreaked crew, and then made her way across the precariously damaged bridge. After crossing the bridge, Kate still had a mile to go through the storm to the train station. Legend has it that the lantern went out at some point, and she had to crawl and feel the rails to make it the last mile. But she arrived in time and delivered the message that the bridge was out before passing out from exhaustion.

Kate's heroism saved the lives of 200 passengers. A new bridge was constructed in 1901 across the Des Moines River. This bridge was crucial for trade across the country, and to keep it above the periodic floods, it was the longest and tallest double-track railroad bridge in the world at that time. It was named the Kate Shelley Bridge, and I often made the three-mile trip from Boone to see it. It was a modern wonder of the world, right there near my little Podunk town. Later, the town bought a steam engine, and I took a ride across the grand river valley. The story of Kate Shelley has always inspired me to remember the need to keep a lamp ready for the storm. You never know when you might be called to do the most essential thing in your life.

Check your oil. Keep your sacred flame burning.

The Promise is Bigger Than Us | Deuteronomy 34:1-12 | Stewardship Sunday | November 5, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 05 Nov 2023 16:58:13 GMT

A good obituary has a line that jumps off the page and helps you understand the meaning of a person's lifespan. Here are some of the best lines I found online:

Singer Lou Reed's (Take a Walk on the Wild Side) obit said, "Lou was a prince and a fighter, and I know his songs of the pain and beauty in the world will fill many people with the incredible joy he felt for life."

"We were blessed to learn many valuable lessons from Pink Mulaney during her 85 years: Never throw away old pantyhose. Use the old ones to tie gutters, child-proof cabinets, or hang Christmas ornaments."

Jeanne recently composed an obituary for her mother. She summarized Anne's irrepressible nature in pushing back against convention and pursuing justice with a line from her High School yearbook, "Turns any dull moment into an uproar."

Deuteronomy 34:12 is the final word of the Pentateuch, the original five biblical books. It ends the story of Moses with this line:

No one has ever shown the mighty power or performed the awesome deeds that Moses did in the sight of Israel.

These words leave no doubt that Moses was the greatest-of-all-time, the GOAT. He delivered a generation from slavery to freedom and established the foundational laws for society. We still teach the Ten Commandments today. When Jesus was born over 1300 years later, he taught in a climate where every moral decision begins with the law of Moses. Some factions of Judaism end their scripture with this line as if all light and truth have already been uttered.

This ending about Moses' mighty deeds would fit on Moses's tombstone. Except Moses doesn't have a tombstone. No one knows where he is buried. The scripture suggests God personally laid Moses to rest. Let that sink in. Moses does not have a fanfare memorial service nor a giant Pyramid for his tomb, such as the Hebrew slaves built for the Pharaohs of Egypt. He is not buried in a Holy City or a Cathedral where pilgrims can come and pray. Moses's final place of rest is a mystery known only to God. Of course, Jesus has no tomb, either. Rome tried to put him in one, and we know how that turned out.

Moses does not complete his dream. He dies with only a distant glimpse of the Promised Land from Mt. Nebo, but he doesn't cross into it, even though he asked God for permission. God tells Moses four times he is not to enter the Promised Land. Deuteronomy leaves the reasons vague, but in the Book of Numbers, God punished Moses for being disobedient. When the people were thirsty, and Moses struck the rock at Meribah, he struck twice and did so in anger, so God denied him entry into the Promised Land. That doesn't seem fair for the man who performed the mightiest deeds of all time. But who said life was fair?

Why have these later books of the Bible, Numbers and Deuteronomy, made this point that Moses couldn't enter the Promised Land despite his greatness? The subtle message is that God's story with humanity is much bigger than even Moses'. We may look back at the great stories of faith for inspiration and wisdom, but we must live fully in the present. The story is bigger than any of us, any church, or any generation because God is still speaking. Stories have chapters, and then you turn the page and start a new chapter. The Exodus story of freedom from slavery and living in the wilderness is over. The next chapter is unknown and needs new leadership and ways of being in a new land.

I identify with Moses only getting a glimpse of what is next because I know ministry is always transitional. I hope to serve at least ten years here, but that’s a very short time in the life of this congregation. I will walk with you from one place to the next, but I think the Promised Land will be beyond me. Like Moses, my work is to prepare and equip you to live in a new land and reality. Most of us in this sanctuary will not make it to that place because of our age. But as a wise proverb says,

"A society grows great when the old plant trees in whose shade they shall never sit."

Last Saturday we did some brainstorming about the spiritual trees we might plant. The group gathered was surprisingly optimistic even as they acknowledged that the post-COVID church is smaller and older than before. This congregation has hope. You trust in leadership. You can talk to each other without rancor or blame. You are learning to be more welcoming on different levels. And because of your generosity, you have financial resources to take advantage of opportunities.

This congregation is like an excellent lobster boat. You have all the resources and skills to catch lobsters, but that might not be enough to succeed. Forces greater than us are at play as climate change is forcing lobsters to colder waters. The southern part of the Gulf of Maine is less hospitable to lobsters. A 2018 study found that in the next 30 years, the gulf's lobster population could fall to 40-62%. But that research is five years old. Our gulf is now the fastest-warming part of the ocean. The warm waters are lowering the survival rate of lobster eggs, and the number of young lobsters is down 40 percent over the last three years. Some lobstermen will still survive going into deeper waters. Others are looking into farming seaweed , oysters, or other aquiculture, but many will drop out and do something else. A way of life is changing for many people. Being the best lobsterman will not save them.

This dynamic is also true of the church. Being the best church of the boomer generation won't save us. Doubling down on what has been successful may not get us where we want to go. In the 20 ^th century, most churches followed the model of finding a good preacher, building a Sunday School, inviting friends, and volunteering in the local community. This model led to the most remarkable church attendance in history after World War II. But it was already breaking down at the turn of the century, leading to 25 years of decline. Fewer people are interested in a church model with classic hymns, organ music, sitting in pews, and being on a committee. You have been good at this, but like the lobstermen, we are chasing fewer lobsters.

To understand the tectonic shift that is taking place, here is a comparison of surveys about the values that have defined the nation's character. Over the past 25 years:

· Those who ranked religion as very important dropped from 62% to 39%.

· Patriotism as very important dropped from 70% to 38%.

· Having children as very important dropped from 59% to 30%.

· Community involvement, as very important, went from 47% to 27%.

· Meanwhile, interestingly – and perhaps unsurprisingly – the perception of money as "very important" rose from 31% to 43%.

· More striking, tolerance for others, deemed very important by 80% of Americans just four years ago, is now deemed very important by only 58%.

People have lost trust in most institutions, including Congress, the government, public schools, the military, parenting, and Scouts. We are politically polarized and worried that the planet itself is collapsing. No wonder many people feel alienated, anxious, angry, and lonely. Meaning itself is fragmented, and we don't know where we belong.

Last year, many of you read "Canoeing the Mountains," which stated that this is a time of adaptive change, not technical change. Technical changes focus on tangibles like hiring more staff, improving technology, better marketing, fundraising, getting a new hymnal, or adding drums and guitars. We can ask an expert, and they will tell us the best practice. (We have done technical change well. As I said, we run a successful lobster boat. But what happens in 10 years?).

Adaptive change requires new learning, awareness, and creativity. What these times need from us is new research and experimentation in how to be spiritual and follow God's call in a new environment. That sounds daunting, but isn't it worth it? One of the best lines at the end of our brainstorming was, "What new adventure is God calling us to live?"

Here is a promising statistic. Gallup has surveyed the percentage of people who believe in God since 1944. Until 2011, that number has been over 90 percent. We are down to 81 percent , but given the collapse of trust in everything else, that sounds remarkably high. Think about this: only one-third of people attend a religious service, but 81 percent have some belief in God. The adaptive challenge for us is to stop thinking about what is wrong with them or what is wrong with us. As with climate change, the nature of reality is shifting, and our way of life will be altered. It's bigger than us.

But the God that 81 percent of us still believe in offers a promise that is bigger than us. The past is still a resource to us. Like Moses, we may only glimpse the future promise, but this gives us the hope. Faith will continue even as all things change. What Ron Heifitz is telling us about the need for adaptive change that requires learning and new awareness would not surprise the Apostle Paul, who said in Romans, “Be transformed by the renewing of your minds.” So what’s your next adventure?

Fear No Evil | Reflections on Psalm 46 after Lewiston, Maine mass shooting | October 29, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 29 Oct 2023 16:31:57 GMT

Therefore, we will not fear.

The Bible tells us 97 times to not live in fear.

Our Christmas pageants begin with the angel Gabriel telling Mary not to be afraid. Later, angels tell shepherds not to fear, for they bring good news of great joy.
In Luke's Gospel, Jesus says do not fear, for God knows the number of hairs upon your head. God will care for you.
At the Last Supper in John's Gospel, Jesus says to his disciples before his arrest, "Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid."
Our favorite reading at funerals, Psalm 23, says, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for though art with me."
Timothy 1:7 - "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and of a sound mind."

Living with courage and compassion in the face of violence, death, and danger is central to the Christian faith. After the Boston Marathon bombing, a reporter asked me in an interview, "I hope this is not insulting to ask, but does this kind of attack shake your faith?" I was not insulted by the question, but I was puzzled.

People seem to think that our faith will fall apart every time there is an earthquake, a madman on a shooting spree, or some evil befalls us. Where is your God now, they ask. How can you still believe in a loving God if this happens? My new answer is this. You should read our scriptures sometime. We follow Jesus, who did not flinch at evil, who died a torturous death at the hands of a corrupt religious establishment and empire, and we believe that was not the end of him. We gather monthly to eat his body and drink his blood symbolically because we trust he is raised in us so we can defeat evil in the world. Our faith has survived the empires of Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Greece, Rome, Germany, and Japan, and we will probably survive terrorists and the American Empire as well. We are not here just for the stained glass and the organ music. We are here because God is still speaking.

Psalm 46 is my go-to Psalm in times of tragedy because it has accompanied me through many hard times. The day after I was ordained, a family from my church was murdered. At least I learned ministry would be hard, and Paul was right when he said we would face the principalities and powers of darkness. Be not afraid should be part of the ordination vows. At the funeral, the Rhode Island Conference Minister, Rev. Dr. Daehler Hayes, began his remarks by reciting Psalm 46, eyes closed. I was mesmerized by the power of the Psalm to speak to a crisis from across the centuries.

God is our refuge and strength,
An ever-present help in trouble. ² Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
And the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, ³ though its waters roar and foam
And the mountains quake with their surging.

This Psalm inspired Martin Luther to write "A Might Fortress is Our God" when his life was threatened for challenging the Pope. On 9/11, we read this Psalm at my church in Poughkeepsie, NY, as we waited for the commuter train to come home with our loved ones. These words have been my constant companion, helping me act with hope in the face of fear.

But I'm beginning to wonder if fear is not our problem. I'm not afraid of gun violence. I'm almost as likely to die in an auto accident as to be shot. I will point out that we have decreased the number of auto deaths annually since 1999 despite having more cars and driving more miles. Meanwhile, gun death has risen from 30,000 annually to 40,000 annually. ¹ We have shown that we can make the world a safer place to drive, but not from gun violence. I wonder why?

We discussed the Lewiston shooting at a clergy meeting on Thursday. A friend of mine said several years ago, her church, in the wake of the Newtown, Connecticut massacre, started lighting candles after each mass shooting and saying the names of victims out loud in the time of prayer. After a few weeks, it became clear that the church budget could not afford all the candles, and they would do nothing else by reading the names every week. Remember Newtown, the shooting at the Sandy Hook school, where 20 children and six teachers were killed in the largest school shooting. That 2012 massacre was supposed to wake us up and change things.

I have done so many candlelight vigils. I served a church in Poughkeepsie, NY, for 12 years. When I arrived in 1992, the city had a higher murder rate than the Bronx. I heard gunshots at night from my house. People were so afraid to come downtown to my church in the daylight, so we organized a Good Friday prayer walk where we substituted stations of the cross for stations of the city. For many church people, it was the first time they had walked the city streets where I walked to work every day.

I have gone to so many vigils since then. I'm not afraid, but I sure am weary. Thursday is my day to finish my sermon. I had half of a decent sermon done this week going into Thursday. As it became apparent that I needed to shift focus, I began to shut down. Going numb is not a good place to be when writing a sermon, but it is my emotional reaction. I have accompanied people through so many traumas that it takes a little time to get myself fortified to do it again.

Fear is not my problem as much as a tired, indifferent numbness. We get used to the way things are and accept it. What if we replaced the word fear with indifference in our scriptures?

Be not indifferent.
Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will not be indifferent, for thou art with me.
God knows the number of hairs on your head, so be not indifferent.
Though the waters roar and foam, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, I will not be indifferent, for God is with me.

I often hear that we aren't supposed to talk about solutions after so many deaths from a shooting. It's too soon. Give people time to grieve. Don't exploit the moment by talking politics. So, when can we talk about gun violence? This year, there have been 560 mass shootings in America where four or more people are killed. 559 other communities besides ours have gone through the grief and loss we are now experiencing. We are averaging two mass killings per day. So when can we talk?

You may think the sermon is getting political, so I will discuss prayer first. People ask me to pray for people, especially for the victims of violence. I'm not very good at praying about something and then doing nothing. If I pray for the victims in Gaza, Israel, or Lewistown, don't ask me to stop there because I take prayer seriously. If I pray for hungry people, I don't merely hope they are fed. I urge you to bring food to the community fridge, and we have a food pantry downstairs. I believe prayer changes my heart and leads me to action. So be careful with your prayer requests! You might change me! To ask me to pray for victims but to be silent about the politics of gun violence is not fair. And it is not how prayer works.

You have heard it said guns are not the problem; people are the problem. As the new Speaker of the House said, "It's not guns; the human heart is the problem." We understand the problem of the sinful human heart. That is why it is hard to buy Sudafed. We regulate the dangers of the human heart. We have fishing licenses, so we don't overfish; mandatory training and insurance to drive a car. To adopt a puppy, you must prove you will be a decent pet owner. Every right comes with a responsibility.

Jesus told Peter, "Those who live by the sword die by the sword." He did not intend that to be a motivational saying. Jesus told Peter to put down his sword. He was cautioning Peter that we cannot put our ultimate trust in possessing a weapon of violence. It is time to put down the AR-15. Living by an assault rifle does not make us free or safe.

Hear again the words of Psalm 46, "God breaks the bow and shatters the spear and burns the shields with fire." It does not say that God only fights evil by changing human hearts. God destroys the armaments of war. (And God can take on new military technology too.). Afterward comes the call to be still and know God. We can also reflect on Isaiah 2, "They will beat their swords and shields into plowshares and pruning hooks. And they shall study war no more." It is essential to a peaceful society to reduce the implements of war. At the height of the Cold War, under the threat of nuclear annihilation, the US and Soviet Union negotiated a Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty, the SALT talks. When 40,000 people die from gun violence annually, equal to the number of soldiers killed in Vietnam, it is time for a Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty in America. If enemies can make treaties, isn’t it possible for citizens to reason together and find a way forward.

By all means, send your prayers to Lewiston. Prayers can heal the human heart. Pray too, for our elected leaders to finally make the changes in gun laws most Americans want. After you pray, buy a stamp, and write to your legislators. They can still have a change of heart. Rep. Jared Golden here in Maine is from Lewiston, and he came out against assault weapons this week.

Be not afraid. Be not indifferent. Be resilient. Be hopeful.

1. https://everytownresearch.org/graph/gun-death-vs-motor-vehicle-accident-deaths-since-1999/

I Really Want to See You Lord | Exodus 33:12-23 | October 22, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 22 Oct 2023 16:19:44 GMT

Moses says to God, "Let me see your glory." There was a moment when you sought a greater awareness of God's reality. You faced a difficult decision and needed wisdom. Feeling discouraged, you desired a hopeful sign. Amid grief or loneliness, you longed for a sense of meaning. After failure, you wanted the relief of forgiveness. You wondered if there is a loving heart to the universe or is God far off in cold, dark space?

"I really want to see you, Lord," to quote George Harrison's song, "My Sweet Lord." (George was my favorite Beatle. He had a quiet spiritual side in songs like "Here Comes the Sun" and "All Things Must Pass."). He wrote these lyrics in 1970 while experimenting with Gospel music and Hare Krishna chants. By alternating "Hallelujahs" with Krishna chants, he wanted to show the oneness among spiritual traditions. This synthesis didn't age well since the Hari Krishnas had rampant sex scandals and racketeering charges. But now, doesn't everyone have racketeering and sex scandals? "My Sweet Lord" was the number-one song in America for the four weeks leading up to Christmas in 1970. That was the year of the Kent State student shooting. In the Spring, students from 900 schools walked out in protest of the Vietnam War. Racial tensions led to fires and shootings in Daytona Beach, Florida. The troubles deepened in Northern Ireland as car bombings became a tactic. As Harrison topped the charts, a powerful cyclone killed 300,000 people in Bangladesh. When "My Sweet Lord" was number one, the United States and the Soviet Union conducted two nuclear tests each in Nevada and Siberia. Workers went on strike in the Gdansk shipyard in Poland, and soldiers killed 26 workers in two separate incidents. Unemployment rose to 5.8 percent. No wonder Harrison sang, "I really want to see you, Lord."

Moses had reasons for his desire to see God. After a long spiritual retreat, he carried two clay tablets with the Ten Commandments freshly dried. He heard a riot; a companion thought it was a battle, but people were celebrating around the Golden Calf. Moses was so angry he smashed the tablets, ground them into dust, and dissolved them in water. Golden-Calf-Gate led to a violent split, and 2,000 people were killed in the fighting. At the beginning of chapter 33, God tells Moses it is time for the people to leave Sinai and go to the Promised Land, but God will not go with them. Verse 5 reads,

"Say to the Israelites, 'You are a stiff-necked people; if for a single moment I should go up among you, I would consume you. So now take off your ornaments, and I will decide what to do to you.'

Moses goes into a tent to mediate for the people as they wait in a vigil for the outcome. Moses reminds God (as if God needs reminding) that divine intention brought these people out of Egypt. Moses says to God, "You say you know my name, and I have found favor with you. If so, show me your ways, and if I have found favor, consider this nation to be your people." God answers, "My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest."

Moses wanted to make sure because God sounded finished with Israel. "Don't send us anywhere if you aren't coming." God answers again, "I will also do this thing that you have asked, for you have found favor in my sight, and I know you by name."

I would think it is enough to know I have found favor with God. Imagine the experience of being known and blessed by God. When Jesus was baptized, God said, "You are my beloved Son, and in you I am well pleased." If that is enough for the Messiah, what more could Moses want? Is he pushing it when he says, "Lord, show me your glory?" Does Moses have any idea what he is asking?

What is glory? The first meaning in English is renown and honor. Glory can also mean magnificence or great beauty. The Hebrew word from this scripture, kavod, can refer to God's radiant and magnificent presence or the positive attributes of God's character. Many of the references to glory include metaphors from creation.

Psalm 19:1: "The heavens declare the glory (kavod) of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork."

Ezekiel 1:28: "Like the appearance of the bow that is in the cloud on the day of rain, so was the appearance of the brightness all around. Such was the appearance of the likeness of the glory (kavod) of the Lord."

Moses wants to see the complete divine wonder, God's full living presence and radiance. He wants a vision of everything.

Remember, Moses had many conversations with God, starting with the burning bush. Chat GPT estimates that Exodus contains 275 to 300 verses of divine conversation. Moses and God talk about strategies to deal with Pharoah, leadership guidance, and their frustrations with how stiff-necked people can be. They talk about rituals, laws, and sacred objects. Moses asks for signs that God is with him and receives assurance. He argues with God and defends the people; other times, he wants to give up, and God gives Moses a pep talk. Some experiences are mystical and mysterious, and other times, they chat about whatever is happening at the moment. Moses is no stranger to divine conversation. But now he wants something more. "Show me your glory. I really, really want to see you, Lord."

Something in Moses's request implies all these experiences are incomplete. He has reached the point that all mystics discover. No matter how many visions of wonder they see, there is always part of the divine out of reach. It's like the lyrics of U2, "I have climbed the highest mountain, and I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

We mortals have difficulty holding on to wonder and mystery. We are leaky buckets for containing the glory of God. One moment, we are swept up in a glorious sunset, and the beauty makes us feel we are a part of everything. But soon, we feel cranky and out of sync. After a moment of prayer, we felt an assurance of God's grace and acceptance, but in an hour, we reverted to our self-doubt and felt inadequate. After a choir anthem, we felt love for the whole world, and it just takes one bad driver to curse another human being. Moses had seen the burning bush, watched his hand become leprose, and then healed in a moment; God continually arrived at just the right moment with a word of hope. Yet Moses still longed for the complete divine radiant intimacy. Show me your glory. I understand the request, leaky bucket that I am.

God responds, "I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name." God doesn't offer glory but goodness. Think of the end of Psalm 23, "Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me." God will proclaim the divine name, which God does not give at the burning bush. Moses asked for God's name, and God said, "I am." God's response is generous, even if incomplete, but there is a reason.

But," God said, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live." It is for Moses's own good to not see all. Then God says, "When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. ²³ Then I will remove my hand, and you will see my back, but my face must not be seen." Moses gets a peak at God's backside. It's like a movie scene where the star is wrapped in a towel, and they drop it for a second while entering the shower, and there is a tantalizing moment when you see their backside. That is all you get!

Paul writes in I Corinthians that our partial glimpses of God are enough to give us faith, hope, and love. He wrote,

¹² For now, we see only a reflection, as in a mirror, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. I Cor. 13:12

In the KJV, the translation says we see through a glass darkly." To understand Paul's metaphor, it's essential to know that glass mirrors were not yet invented. Mirrors were made of polished brass, gold, or silver. The viewer only got a distorted, wavy view of their face. And the face seen in the mirror is our face. That face contains the image of God, but we only see reflections. Paul cautions that we never truly see God with clarity. Therefore, all talk about God must be humble. All theology or declaring of God's will is but a distorted reflection. But we are not left with radical doubt. God's goodness still passes by. This presence is enough to help us grow in faith, hope, and love.

Sacred Cow | Exodus 33:12-23 | October 15, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 15 Oct 2023 14:43:35 GMT

Why would anyone want to worship a cow? As an Iowa native, I have a fondness for cows. I like the placid nature of cows and their gentleness. Maybe we could see cows as the contemplatives of the animal kingdom. I have seen a Golden Calf. At the Iowa State Fair, a sculptor is chosen annually to make a butter cow out of 600 pounds of butter. (That is enough for 19,200 slices of toast!). We would attach few qualities of the bovine to the divine, but I can't imagine seeing God as a cow. Cows are sacred in India, the favorite animal of Lord Krisha, and a symbol of milk and abundance. But cows take so much land and resources they are becoming a hazard. Cows don't strike me as great symbols of the sacred; only farm subsidies are sacrosanct.

So, it seems odd that the Israelites in the wilderness, whom God had delivered, crossed the Red Sea, and ate manna and quail, would make a calf out of gold to be their God. Moses has been gone for days, and I guess a congregation can do strange things when a pastor is away. In verses 2-6, under Aaron's woeful leadership, the community tries to create a golden god that is tangible to them. There are several conflicting interpretations of Aaron's actions and intentions. Some scholars, focusing on Aaron's proclamation of a festival for Yahweh, declare that he thought this golden calf a harmless help, a crowd-pleasing gesture to help them feel more secure.

It is difficult to give Aaron the benefit of the doubt, however. Calling for a "Festival to Yahweh" might have been a nice gesture -- Was Aaron really surprised when, after all the sacrifices were offered and the people's bellies were filled, the people "rose up to revel?" --the NRSV's discreet way of saying a wild, sexual, cultic orgy broke out. Imagine Moses's surprise when he returned from communing with God on the mountaintop. Welcome home, Moses!

This behavior is what many of the Canaanite religions, who worshiped cows, did regularly. Now I think I can understand their attraction to a cow god. I can't imagine a cow god calling people to the rigorous ethical standards of the 10 Commandments. This is why the Bible is so strict on worshiping handmade idols. Anything we can make will never command the awe and respect to challenge us to live courageous moral lives. When we are in control of the image of God, we can then make God into anything we want. We can limit God to a symbol of what we want to do. There's an old saying that God created humanity and then we returned the favor.

Japanese theologian Kosuke Koyama wrote after WWII that the God in Exodus radically differs from the gods of imperial Japan and Nazi Germany. He writes, "The gods rubber-stamped whatever the Japanese militarist government wanted to do. May we send our imperial army to China? The gods responded quickly, "Yes." May we annex Korea to Japan? The gods replied immediately, "Go ahead!" For the 50 years preceding 1945, Japan was quite a religious nation!

Kayama said it should give us pause that some of the greatest theologians in the world in the 1930s lived in Germany, yet most did not see what was happening around them and either supported the Nazi regime or were silent. They allowed Swastikas into their sanctuary.

We may think it is pretty stupid to worship a cow and even more foolish to worship an authoritarian government, but it is a temptation for all of us to serve something less than the living God.

In the Forward of the book "Escape From Freedom," Erich Fromm writes something that challenges all of us to the core. He said, "Humanity worships power, money, the nation; while paying lip service to the teachings of the great spiritual leaders, those of the Buddha, the prophets, Jesus and Mohammad, and has transformed those teachings into a jungle of superstition and idol worship. (Escape from Freedom, Forward II)

Fromm implies that religion can never get out of its own way. We are doomed to keep making God in the image we want. Even if God is real and filled with love and wisdom, we can never overcome our desire to control God for our purposes. I hope Fromm is wrong, but I concede he is often correct. Any of us are vulnerable to putting other things in the place of God. We have all had our moments of dancing around the Golden Calf, making God in our image.

I am distraught that the place we call the Holy Land is the most conflicted and deadly place on earth. The three great Abrahamic religions that have nurtured civilization are killing each other, trying to control this tiny strip of land. I acknowledge that complex economic, geopolitical, cultural, and even climate change issues drive this conflagration. It isn't just about religion. At the same time, this barbarism is happening at our sacred fulcrum. Religion is often making it worse, not better. It's easy to blame the religious extremists. Orthodox Jews are relentlessly gobbling up the West Bank and gaining power in the Israeli government to deny Palestinian rights. Radical Islam inflames Hamas and Hezbollah to inhuman acts of terror. The United States' support for Israel is encouraged by apocalyptic Christian groups who don't necessarily care about Israelis but about Israel as the site of biblical end-times prophecies. The situation makes my head hurt, and my heart ache. I have given up trying to decide who has the moral high ground. Bombs have blown up the high ground.

I was up at 5:00 AM reading the Sunday editorials, and I am disheartened. Much of the commentary is putting a fig leaf on a great humanitarian disaster that will soon occur in Gaza. There is some hand-wringing about laws of war and protecting civilians. But where is the line between justified use of violence in self-defense and vengeance? If no one knows, it is sure to be crossed.

I looked at the NY Times and Washington Post articles, and not one religious leader is included in the commentary. All our denominations have statements on this war, most carefully nuanced to respect the humanity of people on all sides and to create movement towards a durable peace. The mostly unified voice of our Middle East offices of Christian denominations is that leadership on all sides has failed to produce peace, and this coming humanitarian disaster will only increase the cycle of violence. Many of the statements point to the lessons of our war on terror, noting how little we accomplished invading Afghanistan and Iraq.

These statements are not a part of the news. News media want a straightforward narrative of good and evil so we know which side to cheer. Religious leaders are saying that all sides are caught in an immoral cycle of violence that won't end without repentance and change. That message doesn't resonate.

To quote John Lennon, "Some people say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." Other nations embroiled in centuries of violence have chosen the way of peace. Today, the United States, Germany, and Japan are allies. I spent a sabbatical in Northern Ireland in 2002, studying peacemaking and visiting with peace groups helping overcome the troubles. Peace did not start at the top with the leadership. Peace started in the neighborhoods of Belfast with people sick and tired of violence.

I visited a convent where I heard this story. One day, a nun heard a knock at the door and was surprised to find a small group of Catholic and Protestant mothers. They were sick and tired of their sons fighting and being beaten up every day after school. The tension point was a door in the wall that separated the two neighborhoods. The children had to pass through this door to get to their school, leading to the fights. What could we do? A small group of nuns bought a house next to the doorway, took residence, and became a bridge for peace, a place of dialog. The first voices to condemn violence and affirm common humanity came from this slow patient work. Mothers protecting their children were the real heroes when political leaders finally caught up to them.

There won't be a solution to violence while we allow hatred to flourish. If the mindset is that people who are on the other side are not my tribe; they are the evil ones, and we are good, then the killing will go on and on. We must all begin to see the world has become small enough that we are all in this together. And finding our common humanity is what all our three great religions should be experts at doing. We should know if we follow Moses, Mohammad, or Jesus. If we can't figure out how to work for peace and reduce hatred, I can see why people wonder what is helpful in religion. We might as well be worshiping a golden calf made by the finest human craftsmen. We know there is a better way to love God with all our heart, mind, and strength and our neighbor as ourselves.

Rev. Eileen Sypher | Everything That Lives is Holy | Job 12:7-10; Matthew 22:34-40 | October 8, 2023

Sun, 08 Oct 2023 14:47:33 GMT

Everything that lives is holy, says the great mystical poet William Blake.

Every living thing is holy, every person, every tree, every animal, every iceberg. Look and see how wondrous all of God’s creation is! Look and see, look into eyes human and animal, and tree bark and oceans and take care of it all. Love it all. That is our job on this earth. For so long we thought God’s command in Genesis to have dominion meant to dominate, to use everything as we will it. We thought we were the creatures closest to God. We may be, but not as high up as we often think. And so, in our arrogance, our failure to understand dominion as caring for, we have done a very bad job of caring for all creation.

In Matthew, as in the other gospels, as in the Hebrew Bible, Jesus commands us to “love God and love your neighbor as yourself.” This is the greatest commandment. Who is our neighbor? We often stop at people, and even exclude many of them. But all of creation, and not just people, are our neighbors. We all dwell together. The kernel of this commandment is two-fold. First, love God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul. Second, love your neighbor as yourself. The first part invites the vertical and invisible. Look up to the heavens and love God. But then Jesus sets our eyes on the horizontal, where God also lives, where we live now, in our neighbor world, and in our selves. Love all with all your heart, all your mind, all your soul, God, neighbor, creatures, self.

We know a lot of people don’t love their human neighbors, whether near or far. People have become abstractions, labeled as one religion or another, one political party or another, one color or another, one sexuality or another and too often humiliated for it. But if we can look at just one at a time, look into one set of eyes at a time, our neighbor becomes precious as God’s own and we begin to undo the poison around us.

But it is hard to love one another, even our partners sometimes. George Eliot’s monumental 19 ^th c novel, Middlemarch, shows us a lot about how hard it is sometimes to love even those nearest to us, in this case one’s life partner.

One of the couples at the center of Middlemarch is Dorothea and Casuabon. The young Dorothea as a woman living in England in the middle of the nineteenth century cannot go to the university. Desperate to learn, she is drawn to the elderly scholar Casuabon because she thinks he has a vast mind and can teach her. She has a project for him. He on the other hand (whose mind, it turns out, is not a vast ocean, but a “shallow basin”) has other ideas. He is drawn to Dorothea because he thinks she can admire him and be his secretary, as he works, fruitlessly, to complete what he thinks will be the book of all books. He has a competing project for her. For her to become learned is the last thing he wants. Each enters the marriage expecting to get something from the other.

Rather than just criticizing the self-important Casuabon though, Eliot turns the tables and criticizes the naïve Dorothea for her way of seeing him—or not seeing him. Eliot’s narrator says,

We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder to feed our supreme selves…Dorothea did not conceive that he had an equivalent center of self, whence the lights and shadows must always fall with a certain difference.

An equivalent center of self. (Hands—one self here, one there, equal) Do we see each other this way, even at home, as having equivalent centers of self to our own? The other as not there just for me, or me not there just for another. The other as capable of suffering as much and loving as much and dreaming as big as I do? This is such a foreign way of thinking about others not only at home but in our world isn’t it?

We are anguished by the lack of respect we show to each other, not only to strangers, but to friends and family. This is only getting worse as we enter yet another painful political season in our country, when even families will be divided. Love your neighbor, says Jesus. Though you may disagree strongly, respect the other’s center of self. How hard this is in our times!

Consider Jesus. Pilate chose to send him to death. Jesus did not hate him. Peter betrayed Jesus. Jesus continued to love him, gave him another chance and Peter, in the last chapter of John, lived up to his promise. I love you Lord, he says, and I promise to obey your command to feed your sheep.

But we have more neighbors than the human ones. All of God’s creation is neighbor to us, all of it, animals, birds, seas, trees, and on and on. We show them as much disrespect as we show each other. We do not see God’s hand in them. We do not love them with our whole hearts. We have projects for them too, rather than respecting their own centers of themselves.

Animals. This afternoon we will bless all animals. Let us hold all of them in our love and respect. You will bring your cats and dogs and hamsters and on and on. But what about blessing all animals, the ones we don’t bring? There was a time when people thought animals were things, incapable of feeling pain or thinking. We have known for some time now about the pain animals feel, but recent research suggests that animals also have their own languages and make decisions. Even mice! Animals mourn, play, love, develop social systems. They have consciousness. We can’t understand them yet, although another recent article suggested AI can talk to whales. Imagine! This research should revolutionize our society’s treatment of all animals! This can’t happen too soon.

We grieve the extinction of birds and other animals. We celebrate the wild animals left. But what about chickens? Pigs? Cows? Lambs? I know you know what is going on with a lot of our farm animals. They are not living and dying well as they were on small family farms. We know about factory farms controlled by big-agra and turn away, weeping and overwhelmed at the suffering there to the dear animals. These big farms are also killing the earth, draining aquifers, and killing those who work in them and their families who bear the brunt, sometimes children work in these places. For the sake of animals and the environment, I look for the time when we can stop them and mass produce different food. One Christian organization, Creature Kind, has developed a six-week course to help Christians explore how we can act with compassion. I sometimes think we all love our pets so much because we want so to save even just one, that one horseshoe crab that we can turn over on the beach—you know that story, someone sees a beach full of overturned horseshoe crabs and goes to turn one over to save it. The other person says, why bother? And the one saving says, well it means a lot to that one. Having lost my beloved little dog a few months ago, I have been on an AKC discussion site. The grieving over pets is enormous, enormous, and often hidden. Let us grieve for them all. We all know how much love we really do have for animals. Love for God’s creation. We can change things for them!!! We as Christians are called to speak truth in the face of power!

Jesus loved animals too. The friendly beasts adored him at his birth. He says God sees every sparrow. He compares God to a mother hen brooding over her chicks. He chooses a donkey to ride into Jerusalem, a humble, beautiful animal, who will never be the same to us after the movie Eo. And, of course, he calls us his sheep, the sheep of his fold. He is a lamb, God’s lamb.

And then our dear earth. We all know what is going on here too and turn away often, feeling helpless. More Love for the earth came home to me in a telephone call I had with my husband a few weeks ago. He was in Greenland, photographing icebergs with a small group. His photos are gracing this worship. One day he said to me, in a hushed voice, I have never felt quite like this, felt both such awe at their beauty and such despair as I witnessed beads of water, signs of their too rapid melting. Right before his eyes, an epi-glacier, towering above him, the size of the highest tall building you can imagine, split open and part of it sank into the water. This always has happened, but not as it does now, with alarming frequency. Our sea levels will surely rise here.

We do not live simply, I don’t. Jesus did. He had no home, no possessions that he cared about. His footprint was so light on the earth yet so deep in our hearts.

Go out this day and love the holiness in every living thing, the people on the path, the trees beginning to turn, the many shapes and colors of pumpkins, the birds leaving who haven’t already left, the salt spray, the lengthening light in this most beautiful place. Look in your pets’ beloved eyes, bless them. Love God in all with all your heart.

Poem By Gerard Manley Hopkins, “Pied Beauty”

Glory be to God for dappled things

For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow;

For rose moles all in a stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh firecoal chestnut falls; finches’ wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow and plough;

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers forth whose beauty is past change;

Praise Him.

Gushing Waters | Exodus 17:1-17 | World Communion Sunday | October 1, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 01 Oct 2023 15:39:41 GMT

"You are to strike the rock. Water will gush out of it, and the people will drink." Ex. 17:6

As we follow the exodus story through the wilderness, the plot is similar every week. There is an immense physical and environmental challenge to survival. They must cross the Red Sea before Pharoah's chariots attack. They are hungry, and the wilderness doesn't have enough food. Now, they are thirsty, and the land is dry. In the face of each challenge, God is generous and delivers what people need: physical safety, food, and water.

You would think everyone would get the message that God is going to be with them every step of the way, but each challenge unleashes all their fears anew. It sounds like Moses and God are getting impatient with this cycle, as Moses names this place twice: Massah and Meribah, Testing-Place, and Quarreling. He could have called it Gushing Water, Rock Creek, or the Sinai Springs but chose to focus on the peoples' quarreling.

Is that fair? After all, water is a precious human need. We die in three days from thirst or faster in a hot climate that makes us sweat. I'm sympathetic when the people go to Moses and say, "Give us water to drink." Moses sounds dismissive, saying, "Why pester me, and why are you testing God?" Telling people their concerns aren't important is never a good leadership response, even if you think it's true. People want to feel heard. Moses goes a step further, claiming they are really challenging God.

From Moses' point of view, this tension has been building. He has delivered what people need, sometimes in epic proportions, and wants to be trusted. The next complaint is more intense, "Why did you take us from Egypt and drag us out here with our children and animals to die of thirst?" It's one thing to tell someone we disagree with their decisions or that they made a mistake. It is another level to accuse them of attempting mass murder. And this is the second time. When Moses tells God the people might stone him to death, he is accurately sizing up the situation.

Doesn't Moses understand the people are thirsty? I think he understands the problem because he is a person of the Sinai. He knows how precious water is. Moses found his wife by protecting water rights. Seven women were trying to water their father's flock when a group of shepherds drove them off. Moses defended the women, drove off the shepherds, and watered the flock for these damsels in distress. He then marries Zipporah, the daughter of Jethro, which gives him a strong alliance in the wilderness of Sinai. Moses understood the importance of access to water.

The problem here is not the people complaining about the lack of water. Many scriptures tell us that God hears our complaints. Lamenting what is wrong is a form of prayer. The Psalms are full of laments in times of loss, war, or injustice. "Here my cry, O God, and deliver me." It is human to lament and ask for help. But it becomes problematic when lament crosses the line to blame and accusation. When the people tell Moses that he brought them out in the wilderness to kill them with hunger and thirst, they cross a line. When you go after someone's character, a relationship breaks. Instead of solidarity, mutual work, and problem-solving to find water, the conversation turns ugly. "You are trying to destroy us. You're deranged. You are a traitor. In the past, people were executed for this." If blame goes this far, community is nearly impossible. If we allow this kind of rhetoric from our leaders, it's impossible to have a democracy.

So, Moses names the place Massah and Meriba, testing and quarreling, not gushing water. Moses makes a crucial leadership decision. He is naming the behavior to attempt to stop the negative cycle. If we trust God, we will find solutions. We all lose if we demonize each other and blame rather than act.

Notice God's response is to direct Moses to the water. Go to Mount Horeb. Horeb is the place where Moses saw the burning bush. The location is about more than water; it reconnects Moses to divine revelation and promise. Water is a physical need but also a scripture metaphor for God's grace. Isaiah says God's grace is like streams in the desert that will make it blossom. Jesus tells the Samaritan woman at the well, "I am the living water, and those who drink it will never thirst again."

Let's put this in the context of the global water crisis due to drought and climate change. Much of the world is in the same conundrum as Israel in the Sinai wilderness. The NY Times is one of the few news outlets covering the water problems, documenting how people leave their homes in rural areas throughout the Middle East. Reporters created a database of aquifers in the United States and found that 40 percent of wells are at record lows. The crisis is acute in places where our food is grown. https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/29/climate/groundwater-aquifer-overuse-investigation-takeaways.html?searchResultPosition=7

Fortunately, the Times covers hopeful stories, too. We can do more than lament or bury our heads in the sand.

After Anand Malligavad tumbled into a lake, he thought he might die, not from drowning but from the stench.

Like hundreds of other lakes in the southern Indian city of Bengaluru, the one Mr. Malligavad suddenly found himself in was a receptacle for sewage, plastic debris, and construction waste. His unplanned dip happened in 2017 when Mr. Malligavad, a mechanical engineer, was strolling with friends near his office.

Walking back home, he smelled so bad that a guard refused him entry into his residential enclave. The next day, Mr. Malligavad made an unlikely pitch to his company: He would restore the 36-acre lake if it funded the project. https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/22/world/asia/bengaluru-india-lake-reclamation.html?smid=em-share

After being turned down since he did not know water management, he studied ancient water management techniques for four months. The Chola dynasty created an elaborate system of lakes 1,500 years ago that successfully gave more than a million people water for irrigation. The region once had 1850 human-made lakes, but now only 465 are left, and only ten percent are clean enough for drinking water. Urbanization covered lakes for apartment buildings and parking lots, and the remaining lakes were clogged with plastics and waste. The area has grown from 4 million people to 13 million since the 1990s, and they are short 172 million gallons of water each day. India has 18 percent of the world's population and only 4 percent of the water resources.

Fortified with new knowledge, Mr. Malligavad won a $100,000 corporate social responsibility grant to test his project. He had no idea if these ancient ideas would work, but there was little to lose. After digging for 43 days, he had to wait for the monsoons to fill the lake. He visited the lake six months later and rowed out to the middle. The water was clear and fresh, ducks were swimming, and migratory birds had come back. He had created a little oasis amid Bangalore's sprawling metropolis.

Since this first success, Mr. Malligavad has restored 35 lakes in Bengaluru with a combined surface area of about 800 acres and a water-holding capacity of about 106 million gallons. Thanks in part to his efforts, the groundwater level in the region over that time has also increased by about eight feet. In a spinoff effect, silt dredged from the lakes was used to cover a landfill, and 600 trees were planted to create a new forest in an area that is a dead zone. Now, Malligavad is in demand around India to help preserve water. He has a goal to restore 100,000 lakes before he dies.

The challenge is still daunting. While the Times was interviewing Malligavad at a proposed restoration site, a group of men came with clubs and attacked the party. Real estate developers and companies that dump pollution won't easily give up land for lakes. The attackers told him to stop. or they would kill him. "If you kill me, you will not get a glass of drinking water in a few years," Mr. Malligavad told the attackers. Soon, the crowd dispersed.

This story illustrates that environmental destruction is not inevitable. We have the know-how; we often lack the will and the values to do what is right. We, too, must move beyond Massah and Meriba and Washington, DC's testing and quarreling. Strike the rock, not each other. Faith calls us to overcome the blamers and join the problem solvers. Stay tuned for the story of the Golden Calf when I preach in two weeks.

What Is This Stuff? | Exodus 16:2-15 | September 24, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 24 Sep 2023 15:22:08 GMT

Exodus 16:2-15

The Exodus story moves from one disaster to the next. At the burning bush, God said, “I have heard the cry of my people, and I will save them.” Now, the freed people are in the wilderness, wondering how to get their next meal. Some rescue! Apparently, the mighty deliverance of God is not a straightforward reversal of fortune, where all we must do is pray and wait. There is an enormous gap between the Red Sea and the Promised Land, a wilderness to cross that will take a generation to accomplish.

Listen to how upset the Israelites are:

“If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt when we sat by the pots of meat and ate our fill of bread, for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”

Better to be oppressed with a full belly than set free to starve. Tyranny in Egypt looks pretty good right now. My guess is their view of the past is full of nostalgia. Did they really eat their fill and have big pots of meat as enslaved people? When confronting the uncertainty of the next meal, we amplify the past. We often long for a perceived golden era, like the 1950s, where we felt more united, except you couldn’t vote in the South if you were black, a woman couldn’t have a checkbook, forget being an out gay person. The 1950s was the golden area for churches too. I know because every church I have served has used it as a measuring stick. We forget all the downsides of the past when the present is uncertain.

We might expect Moses to push back against the complaints. “So you want to go back to Egypt? Did you forget the whip and lash, the hard labor that ground your joints to dust? You are free now. How about some gratitude? We are past the Red Sea, and there is no going back, so suck it up.”

But notice God’s response. “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you.” God shows extravagant generosity to calm peoples’ fears. Food is a basic need for survival, and not having it can make us desperate. Most of us have not been so hungry that we would do anything for a meal. God doesn’t just deliver one meal. There is a plan for daily gathering of bread, even enough so they don’t have to work on the Sabbath.

We noticed at Bible study that it says four times, “God has heard your complaint.” God hears. The drama begins at the burning bush when God tells Moses, “I have heard my peoples’ cry, I have seen their oppression, and I have felt their pain.” God is unlike Pharoah, who hardens his heart whenever they ask for something better. This God named “I Am” is a present God who is connected and compassionate.

Believing in this kind of God is hard if you haven’t felt heard your whole life. God probably has more important things to do than listen to me. God has universe-sized problems. Black holes are swallowing galaxies. Countries are sitting on nuclear warheads, and forests are burning. Why would God care if I’m hungry, sad, or afraid? We can go too far into thinking we are the center of the universe and God is deeply interested in whether we find a parking spot. But the witness of scripture is God hears and cares for human beings. As David says in the Psalms, “Lord, you have searched me and known me. Where can I go from your presence that you are not there?” Jesus says, “Seek and you will find, ask and it will be given, knock and the door will open.”

How can anyone believe this possible when we have few examples of people listening to us? How many of you feel genuinely heard and understood? Studies keep finding we are chronically lonely. Who has time to listen when we have so many places to talk: Facebook, Twitter (sorry, X), TikTok, Snapchat? We learn to read, write, and speak, but listening is not treated as an essential life skill. But listening is one of the great gifts we can offer someone, so much more valuable than all our advice. Imagine a God who hears, where change happens because of divine listening.

God not only hears but delivers bread. The Israelites wake up one morning to find a flaky substance left by the morning dew. They look at it and say, “What is this stuff?” Moses and Aaron say, “This is the bread from heaven God has given you.” Perhaps they hoped for a multigrain loaf, French baguette, or even a pita round. This stuff isn’t like any bread they had eaten. So they called it manna, which means “what is this.”

Manna is likely a natural phenomenon on the Sinai Peninsula. The fruit of the Tamarisk tree secrets a resin that congeals and flakes in the cool morning air but then disintegrates as it warms. This resin can be harvested, rolled into balls, and even baked. But you must devour it before it spoils and attracts ants. The command to gather enough each day and don’t attempt to hoard it fits this description. Remember that Moses had been a shepherd out in the wilderness and knew how to survive in the environment. He was showing them the resources that existed in this strange new place. People had to learn to live off the land, catching quail as they were blown in by the sea breezes and harvesting manna in the morning. The wilderness can sustain life if you know where to look.

Manna saved the day, but it wasn’t the banquet people expected. I wonder if the word started as a complaint. “Let’s go gather whatever that stuff is.” But manna became a metaphor for discovering God’s provision where you didn’t expect it. Initially, people couldn’t believe they had to eat this stuff, which didn’t resemble food as they knew it. But they learned to survive and claim this unusual resource as a gift from God. A new life was possible, but it wouldn’t be sustained like their past life in slavery. The wilderness generation had a new economy.

What might be our manna today? What looks strange and unlikely at first sight but is actually a resource for faith? God provides, but we can hardly recognize the grace. Post-Covid, the church is going through a time in the wilderness. People’s habits and attitudes about church have changed. A top summer story is numerous articles about the de-churching of America and the Great Resignation of pastors. There is no crossing the Nile again and going back to the way things used to be. We will have to find new ways to thrive in this changed world. Here are a few things I came up with to think about:

First, since manna was naturally occurring, it was God’s gift through creation. My central preaching theme since summer is including more creation-oriented spirituality in our worship and prayer life. Finding God’s presence in creation can help us renew our divine connection and be a bridge to people who aren’t familiar with the church or not keen on sitting in the pews. Connecting to nature is a gift post-Covid when being outside was safer. A creation-based spirituality may be an effective evangelism tool based on wonder more than doctrine.

Next, I think our model of faith is too pastor-driven, too dependent on looking for the Moses who will lead us to the promised land. As much as I love preaching, it may not be the best vehicle to lead us to the future. We need to talk more and have great, sacred conversations where we learn from each other. You learned much with Peter Ilgenfritz as interim as you talked about where you were. We had interesting conversations as we constructed our new mission statement. What should our next sacred conversation be? What would be a brave and bold conversation to lead us through the wilderness?

Finally, we must consider manna as something we find outside the church. We must search off the beaten path to see where God’s spirit might be stirring. One of the most powerful services we have had this year was the service of remembrance on overdose awareness day, the 716 Candles service. The initiative came from outside the church, yet people saw we had something that no other group could offer: a sacred space to hold grief and search for healing. We will always be relevant if we can figure out where we can touch the world’s pain with compassion. We can create a space where people can be imperfect, even broken, where they find room to heal after crossing the Nile and the spiritual food they need to move forward.

In summary, here’s how we might find manna. A creation-based spirituality, more profound and sacred conversations, and seeing the pain we can help heal. Like the Israelites, we have survived the great plague. Covid was a great disrupter of how the community functions. But we crossed the Red Sea and have life ahead of us. When God shows us the way, we might say, “What is this stuff?” Letting go of the way we have done things is hard. But it beats starving. So let’s work together to find the manna we need.

Parting the Waters | Exodus 14:19-31 | New Member Sunday | September 17, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 17 Sep 2023 14:22:19 GMT

The parting of the Red Sea is one of the best dramas ever written about freedom and liberation. It even includes the essential crowd-pleasing chariot chase scene rivaling any James Bond movie. It has channeled the creative energies of cinema more than any other historical event.

Cecil B. DeMille developed innovative special effects in the original 1920 film "The 10 Commandments." Using double-exposure filming, he first shot hundreds of people walking in a line down a California beach. The film was imposed on the second shot of a close-up of two Jell-O molds with a gap between them. Someone poured water over the Jell-O from both sides to create the effect of water flooding over the people. To show the Red Sea parting, he just ran the film backward.

In the second version of the Ten Commandments, in 1956, DeMille used multiple exposures with the Israelites in one shot, a separate filming of a big storm, a video of water flowing into a special design trench in the Hollywood studio, plus a sideways shot of rushing water to build standing wall of water. Many film critics say it was the greatest of all time special effects before computer-generated imagery. The 2014 movie, "Exodus: Gods and Kings," with Christian Bale as Moses, was a digitalized wonder with multiple tornados, lightning, and crashing seas. (None of these features are in the original 1300 BC version written on papyrus.)

The parting of the Red Sea has also inspired a search for various natural causes of the phenomenon. Biblical scholars have long believed the accurate translation of the Red Sea is "the sea of reeds," which could be in the lake area of the Nile Delta near Tanis. This area would be shallower, which could be affected by winds and tides, creating the parting of waters described in Exodus. In 2014, Carl Drews, a National Center for Atmospheric Sciences researcher, wrote a scientific paper based on computer modeling of how the Reed Sea could part. Drews read Exodus 14:21, which says, "Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and the Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided." His computer model estimates that winds up to 60 mph in the specified area could create a land bridge of 3 kilometers by 4 kilometers for four hours. https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2014/12/08/no-really-there-is-a-scientific-explanation-for-the-parting-of-the-red-sea-in-exodus/

I noticed Drews did not account for the tide. Passover is dated by the full moon, which causes the most dramatic shift in tidal levels. So, a supermoon and strong winds could have created an effect like Popham Beach here in Maine. On my first trip to Popham, I enjoyed looking at Fox Island in the distance offshore but was surprised at low tide to see we could walk across the exposed land bridge. If you have ever noticed how quickly the tide rushes across the sand bar and shuts down the corridor, you can imagine how the effect of winds and the moon could have saved the Israelites and swamped the Egyptian chariots.

Let's ask an essential theological question about all this speculation - so what? From a faithful perspective, what is at stake in understanding how the sea of reeds parted? As it happens, Drews is both a scientist and a Christian and believes in God, evolution, and the scientific method. His scientific research generated significant controversy. Christians who interpret the Bible literally were angered regarding the search for natural causes, eliminated miracles, and took God out of the picture. Here is an example:

Scientists, hear me, the Bible doesn't need your explanations. Try curing the common cold and leave the Bible to people who understand it. Bloody gits. Naturalistic explanations have been around since the Enlightenment. And do you know what they prove? Nothing. People of faith don't need them, and people without faith don't need them either. Apologetics as an enterprise is a vapid and pointless exercise in futility, and- quite frankly, God doesn't need you to defend Him, you arrogant prat.

https://zwingliusredivivus.wordpress.com/2010/09/21/another-naturalistic-explanation-for-a-theological-claim/

Aside from being sharp-tongued and disrespectful, this point of view has caused needless conflict with science from Galileo to Copernicus to Darwin. This antipathy to science has made faith unpalatable to many in the modern world. Fighting science has accelerated secularization Because it makes faith look like superstition to many people. I want to explore three reasons why more dialog between science and biblical studies is essential.

First, the opening line of the Apostles Creed says, "I believe in God…creator of heaven and earth." I think we need to spend as much time understanding creation as we do the death and resurrection of Christ. The world spoke of the glory of God before Jesus walked among us. I love the poetry of Genesis 1 and the wonders of scientific explorations of the universe's origins. The creative energy behind the Big Bang is a part of what I name God.

I've read more nature and science books since moving to Maine than in my previous lifetime, which adds richness to my faith. We find the essence of who God is within the world around us. Just as you pass on much of who you are to your children, there is divine DNA in every living thing. All matter contains the energy that originates in God. As Paul said in Acts, "In God we live and move and have our being." In Romans 8:22, Paul says, "We know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until the present time." In this Exodus passage, when the author talks about parting the waters of the sea, it's referring to the first day of creation, where God parts the waters from the dry land. God continues to work in creation.

These Biblical passages lead me to believe God is within creation, moving it towards divine goodness. When we separate ourselves from nature, we lose something essential to God. We are losing a source of wisdom and connection to the sacred. Theodore Roosevelt understood this and created thousands of acres of national parks. The wide-open spaces of the West healed his grief at the death of his wife and daughter. He believed we needed to preserve wilderness areas for the good of our souls. When we don't see God within creation, people tend to exploit it and use it in unsustainable ways, causing our current climate crisis. A creation spirituality like Genesis and Paul and the many nature parables of Jesus points us towards finding God in new and fresh ways and a new vision of how we relate to our planet in this time of climate change.

You might be wondering, but Pastor Todd, don't you believe in miracles? I've always wondered why people insist that miracles are supernatural events outside of the laws of science. Why would God go to so much trouble creating a complex and marvelous world and act outside creation to accomplish divine purpose? By insisting on the supernatural cause of all events in the Bible, I am concerned that we are pushing God out of nature and placing God far too separate from our lives and world.

Albert Einstein said, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." I see the sunset before the storm on Friday as a miracle. The miracles I love include the wonder of a full moon, the love I give and receive, leaves changing colors, the fall of the Berlin Wall, MLK and the Civil Rights act, birth, what happened on Easter morning, coffee, wine, and consciousness itself. If God is the source of all good things, it's all a miracle. It's a miracle if we can explain it by science, and it is a miracle if we can't.

In this Exodus story, we read of more divine actions than any other part of the Bible. We have burning bushes, a staff that turns into a snake, plagues, seas parting, a pillar fire, water from a rock, and so on. You know what surprises me at the end of the story? These events do not inspire the Israelites to have faith and believe more fervently in God. They experience all these things, and then Moses goes up the mountain for a couple of weeks, and they melt down their gold to make an Egyptian calf god. Apparently, a faith based on miracles alone is only as good as the next miracle.

This leads to my third point: faith comes from a relationship of trust with God. Moses walks with God from the burning bush to the Jordan River. Sometimes, he argues with God, has a vision of awe, acts courageously, and gives into despair. But he keeps returning to this relationship, and God works through Moses. God does nothing unilaterally in Exodus. Moses and the people must participate in God's action.

Just imagine if the parting of the Red Sea happened as Carl Dawes imagines. The wind is howling like it was this weekend, and dry land emerges as the waters shift. Are you walking out into the unknown, not knowing when the water will close up again? But you look at Moses holding his staff, urging you on. Are you going to trust him? Divine intervention or not, it is a tough sell. Walking with God is seldom as clear-cut in the moment, as it is in hindsight.

We all have our Red Sea moments when life pressures us on all sides. It is the divine relationship that carries us through and helps us act. The miracle we often need is God shows us a way, where we thought there was no way.

Why Is This Night Different from All Other Nights? | Rally Day | Exodus 12:1-14 | September 10, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 10 Sep 2023 14:40:17 GMT

The prayers for the Jewish Passover meal begin with this question, asked by the youngest person present, “Why is this night different from all other nights?” It implies that this religious ritual is unique, not just another Sabbath or feast day, but it has a particular resonance, even after 3300 or so Passovers in history. Passover calls the guests to participate in the change that God is bringing. Expecting something genuinely different than the status quo is hard to come by. Think of all the phrases that all mean nothing changes:

· Business as usual.

· Nothing new under the sun.

· Déjà vu.

· Stuck in a rut.

· Like a broken record.

· Same old, same old.

· It is what it is.

· Ground Hog Day.

Our language offers a rich variety of ways to accept the inevitability of fate and failure. But Passover is meant to be unlike any other time, where we hope for an inflection point of things becoming different.

· We experience Jamais vu, something we have never seen before.

· A broken record can also mean a new feat of excellence.

· Instead of being stuck in a rut, we blaze a new trail.

· Behold, says God, I am making all things new.

· This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad.

Today’s lectionary, Exodus 14, has jumped 11 chapters from Moses at the burning bush. Moses confronted Pharoah, and he was not only rejected, but things also got worse for the Israelites. Pharoah punished them by forcing them to make bricks without straw, increasing their workload—business as usual. Passover comes after nine plagues, with infestations of frogs, lice, and flies, then boils, hail, and locusts. The Nile turns the color of blood, basically a summer in Florida. After each plague, Pharoah hardens his heart and will not relent to end enslavement. What will it take for Egypt to realize that injustice and inhumanity are causing instability? But how would the Egyptians look at us as we keep calling climate change a hoax and think we have achieved a post-racial society of equality?

Passover is the last terrible plague where first-born Egyptians are struck dead in the night. It all sounds horrific, but remember Moses is the only male his age who survived the genocide by Pharoah of all Hebrew male children. The ten plagues may make God seem like a vengeful and angry God, but the Egyptian suffering still may be less than the inhumanity of slavery. Plus, they have a way out, repent, and do justice. But they can’t imagine a different world where they run an economy without slavery. They may hate operating it, but it is what it is.

Our text focuses on what the Israelites must do. The author pauses the suspenseful story to insert instructions on liturgy for all future Passovers. It prescribes a feast to remember the suffering and liberation, eating bitter herbs of Haroset, dipping vegetables in salt water to remember the tears, eating unleavened bread because there was no time to bake bread since the people had to be ready to move. They would take unleavened bread, which could last seven days while on the move, crossing the Red Sea and out of Egypt. The author wants to show that this moment in history is so critical that it deserves re-enacting every year so people don’t forget where they came from, who God is, and the goodness God wants for humanity. We lose touch with energy and wisdom when we forget our origins. In forgetting, we can become complacent, arrogant, or disheartened. Remembering revitalizes us.

What better way to remember than having a sacred meal, with the rituals to tell the story again? I thought of this while entertaining old friends I’ve known since the 1990s. We did many things last weekend, kayaking and walking through the Botanical Gardens, but the best part was dinner. We talked deep into the night as the wine bottle slowly emptied and told all the old stories we knew together. We remembered all we had come through, where we stand today, and what we value. When they left, we all felt renewed and grounded. This grounding is what the Passover can do or what communion does in our context. We tell the old, old story of how we overcame adversity. Life is not the same old, same old.

Passover is the inflection point where slavery ends, and a new life begins. But this new reality comes with new challenges. God does not teleport people from Egypt to the Promised Land. The Egyptians don’t suddenly become friends and create a just and equal society for the Israelites. The people must get up, take what they can carry, and leave the rest behind. We know they have much ahead of them, crossing the Red Sea and forty years of being nomads in the wilderness. But it all starts with the first steps and leaving behind a life that is not working.

Many of you have made a transition in the past. You had to leave home, a marriage, a job, or even a church that was stifling your soul. We can get so accustomed to a bad situation that it is hard to believe another life is possible. Leaving is a leap into the unknown. I will never forget the day I decided to move out as my first marriage ended. I could only afford a crappy, one-bedroom, fourth-floor walkup in a bad neighborhood. I met the landlord on an oppressively hot day. As I handed him the cash security deposit, I began to weep. The landlord looked like a guy from central casting who would play a slum lord. He looked at me crying, gave me a sweaty hug, patted my back, and said, “There, there.” It was the low point of my life to that moment. I could not imagine a greater embarrassment than the feeling of failing everyone: my wife and family and my church.

With twenty years of hindsight, I can see that was the inflection point. I tried hard to pretend my life was working when it was not. Nothing good in my life now would exist without that first step. A decisive moment does not always feel like liberation. It can feel like shame and failure. Our text does not tell us what the Israelites felt at Passover. But the ritual begins with a somber tone of remembered suffering. It does not sound like they left Egypt rejoicing. They knew they were stepping into an uncertain future with hardship ahead. They carried the grief of loss into their new life. In the wilderness, they longed for the certainty of the past, even if it had been a hard life. Their grief did not disappear when they fled, but over time, they learned resilience and built a new life.

Greif is a sticky thing. Even as life gets better, it does not leave us. People talk about grief like it will shrink and eventually pass, but that isn’t how it works. I saw a meme this week that crystallized what I had not put in words before.

Greif does not lose its power by shrinking. Greif may never lose its energy or content, but the feelings change as our soul grows. Over time, we produce a new sense of self, almost like growing a new skin. We develop a larger emotional body and a wise soul with more capacity. The circle of our awareness and understanding grows larger.

I think this graphic illustrates that if we want something new to happen, we must grow our souls. It takes more than deciding to do something different. I have decided dozens of things that never happened. We might want to write a book, start a new business, learn to paint, look for a new relationship, get training, or start school. But it always requires leaving something behind. The hardest part of a new beginning is letting go of our old selves and welcoming what we might become before we know what it is.

I think this is a significant element of the whole Exodus story. Change requires letting go of the past to move into the new, and this will reshape our souls in ways we don’t know till we get there. No wonder the same old, same old, has so much power over us.

When God works in our lives, it doesn’t suddenly transform our situation like a lightning bolt. We don’t wake up to find a miracle has made our lives what we always wanted. The miracle is God makes a way where we thought there was no way. We find an open door we expected to be locked. But we still must walk through the door into the uncertain, frightening and possibly wondrous future.

Exodus is a story of moral courage. From the burning bush, to Passover, to next week’s scripture on getting though the Red Sea, this gives us a landscape of the spiritual journey. God makes a way where we thought there was no way.

Tending the Fire | Exodus 3:1-15 | Holy Communion | September 3, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 03 Sep 2023 14:32:45 GMT

Photo by Frankie Lopez on Unsplash .

Exodus 3:1-15 The Burning Bush speaks to Moses

How do we attend to the divine fires of God's great purposes for our lives?

We often use the phrase "fire in the belly" to convey ambition or a powerful drive to accomplish something. We all have a little inner fire since we burn calories to convert energy to live. Our bodies are warm while alive and grow cold when we stop metabolizing. The flame goes out. Fire is the energy of life. Archeological evidence shows humans have used fire for cooking for over a million years. It is a significant force in our evolutionary development. Cooked food is easier to digest, so a body can gain five times the calories from cooked meat or grains than raw food. This extra energy could go into brain development, language, cave paintings, philosophy, and making up knock-knock jokes.

The use of fire made us as a species. The Greek myth of Prometheus stealing the fire from the gods as a gift for humans captures this ancient truth. No wonder fire plays a vital role in religious ceremonies, from candles to bonfires to the Pentecost flames of the Holy Spirit.

What strikes me about the story of the burning bush is that Moses does not seem to have a fire in the belly. He is not searching for a greater purpose or asking for God's guidance. He is tending his father-in-law's flock out in nowhere, hiding out after killing a slave taskmaster in Egypt. The author gives us no indication of Moses' ambitions or desires for anything but to live his life.

But Moses is curious when he sees this bush burning. He goes out of his way to see. As The Message translation says in verse three:

Moses said, "What's going on here? I can't believe this! Amazing! Why doesn't the bush burn up?"

Curiosity is a valuable spiritual trait, maybe more important than ambition. Curiosity is a desire to learn, explore, and understand something new. Curiosity requires openness and receptivity. Incurious people get stuck in what they already know and are not interested in newness or change. So what if the bush is burning? I have sheep to move. Moses's spiritual journey begins in curiosity. What is going on here? I prefer a curious mind over a certain thinker and a church for believers, questioners, and questioning believers over the church with all the answers. If you have all the answers, you might miss the burning bush and God's voice.

Curiosity leads to wonder but also into a state of confusion while getting your mind around things. After a voice comes from the burning bush, God must reorient Moses. "Take off your shoes, for you are standing on holy ground." What do shoes have to do with holy ground? Shoes protect the feet from injury. If a shepherd steps on a rock or thorn, it's a long way to a hospital. Removing your shoes leaves your feet a little vulnerable and unprotected. Let's talk about your feet. Do you like your feet? Who do you let touch your feet? You must love someone to touch their feet. Jesus's last ministry in John's Gospel was to wash the disciples' feet. That is holy ground. Taking your shoes off removes the barrier between human skin and earth. Take off your shoes! God is grounding Moses in a different reality, sacred earth. It is an excellent spiritual practice to remove your shoes and feel the grass and the dirt between your toes.

Usually, you introduce yourself before asking someone to remove their shoes. But God can do things in God's way, and now says, "I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob." Moses hides his face, afraid to look. He has moved from curiosity to fear. Hiding your face feels more like shame. After Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, they hid from God for the first time, ashamed of who they were. What caused this response for Moses? Was it the murder? Had divine justice caught up with him? Was he embarrassed to be herding sheep after his education in Egypt's royal court?

So much emotion is in that gesture of hiding his face. Not everyone in the Bible is afraid of being seen by God. Hagar is rescued from death and says, 'I have seen God, and God has seen me." Jacob wrestles with an angel and says, "I have seen God face to face." David says in the Psalms 139

O Lord, you have searched me and known me. ² You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You discern my thoughts from far away.

Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Test me and know my thoughts.

Shame has knocked the curiosity out of Moses. That is how shame works, removing us from new possibilities, insight, and change.

God forges ahead with the divine purpose of this meeting and reveals a deep passion for the Hebrew enslaved people. Notice how personal and empathetic God's concern is. This is not just a philosophical longing for justice, but God says, "I have observed their misery. I have heard their cry. I know their suffering." God sees, hears, and feels. This is a relational God who loves and wants good things for people. God intends freedom from slavery and a new start in a promised land.

Moses might be perking up and getting a little more hopeful. Now God is talking his language. Moses may not want God to see him, but he wants God to see the oppression caused by the Egyptians. This encounter may turn out better than he thought. The plan sounds great till verse 10:

"Now go; I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt." I can relate to how Moses responds, "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?" Who am I to do this great thing? Does this sound familiar? Who am I to preach? Who am I to speak up and say what I think? Who am I to make a difference on climate change? Who am I to offer comfort to the dying, food to so many hungry, hope to the downhearted? Who am I to interrupt someone making racist comments or sexist or disparaging remarks? Who am I to even speak up for myself and what I need or want? How many times a month do we ask this question, an inner voice so subtle we don't notice how persistent it is? If this becomes our default question, we will never do anything because it implies that much of life is just too big for us to make a difference.

Let's identify with Moses at this decision point. He is not yet the great leader honored in scripture who is played by Charlton Heston. He is just a human being with doubts about the enormity of what he is asked to do. It is powerful to know that before Moses defeated Pharoah, he had to conquer himself. He had to get past his fears and limited thinking. This first step is what we all face when we have something hard before us. We must get over ourselves.

Moses may have been the perfect person for the job. He knew both cultures, was born a Hebrew, and was educated as an Egyptian. He loved people on both sides of the divide but could not stand cruelty and injustice. God needed someone who heard the same cries of despair and could also speak the oppressor's language. Not only was Moses the right person, but perhaps doing this liberating work was his heart's desire. But none of these factors make the job easy.

The truth is anything worth doing is daunting when we begin. Resistance is part of the process. Every creative work, every personal change, and every attempt to do something good for the world starts with resistance. Who am I to do this? The challenge is to decide whether it is a bad idea or if we are afraid of failure. Even what we genuinely want to do will require overcoming homeostasis of how things are.

So, how did Moses do it? Was it his great strength of will or determination? In the next verse, God says, "I will be with you." We most need someone to walk beside us and believe in us. God with you is a compelling partner. When Moses is discouraged, it is because he feels so alone. Later, God brings Aaron alongside Moses and other leaders like Jethro, so he isn't alone.

When we face change, an essential question before acting is, "Who can help you with this?" It is a coaching question I ask frequently. People are often surprised because they hadn't considered anyone helping. The bigger picture in our text is that God walks with us. So whatever big thing you may be facing, step one to action is the great prayer, "Help!" Cry help, and you are crying hope. You just never know who might show up.

The spark that lights your soul is never far away. It is always within, and leaps when it recognizes the divine fire. Follow your soul’s curiosity. Let the “who am I” voices fade and focus on tending the fire. It is supposed to be bigger than you, and others will want to join you and spread the flame.

It' Bigger Than Us | Job 38-40 | August 27, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 27 Aug 2023 14:28:19 GMT

Your first thoughts about the book of Job are not likely about the vastness of the universe and the wonders of God's creation. You are more likely to ask why. Why is there human suffering? Why is life unfair when good people suffer, and bad people prosper? For 37 chapters, Job struggles to understand how he could lose everything; family, health, and wealth; when he has been so good. Doesn't God protect us if we are good? Job has three friends who come to offer comfort, but they conclude Job must have done something to upset God, some sin he is repressing, or he would not have this misfortune. Everything happens for a reason, Job, so it must be on you.

Job finally has a meltdown after 37 chapters and directly challenges God. Are you really good, God, because this is unfair. God finally speaks and delivers a 1477-word sermon, which would take me 13 to 14 minutes to preach. It is God's longest discourse in the Bible, yet we seldom read it. Here are a few selected lines of God's response:

"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?

Who laid its cornerstone ⁷ when the morning stars sang together

Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth?

Do you know when the mountain goats give birth?

"Is it by your wisdom that the hawk soars
And spreads its wings toward the south?

After 7 minutes of this poetic summation, God takes a breath, and Job can only say, "See, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth." And God launches into part two of this sermon on the vast creation.

I confess to having conflicting thoughts about God's response to Job. First, I feel moved by awe and wonder at the splendor of creation. This theology is the same as Genesis 1. The earth is good, and we are blessed to go and be fruitful. But part of me feels like the question of suffering is not answered. I'd like God to say in 25 words or less the answer to the mystery of suffering. Does everything happen for a reason? Is it all random? Does fairness get worked out in the afterlife? Is this the best universe possible? If you want these answers, the book of Proverbs tells you the righteous will prosper, and the wicked will suffer, so trust in God. But the Book of Job is not that simple. Job suffering is real and remains, but the world is awesome anyway.

These questions are timely for the summer of 2023 as we experience God's awesome creation delivering disaster. Fires in the Canadian Boreal forests have burned an area the size of New York state. We saw the heartbreak of Maui, Montpelier, Vermont flooded, villages in Iraq turned to dust, and fish dying in the Gulf of Mexico as waters became the temperature of a hot tub. One might answer we brought much of this on ourselves by ignoring the climate impact of our cars and heating our homes. But natural disasters have always happened; just ask people near Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE. What are the implications of a theology of creation amid climate-related suffering?

The opening of God's speech says the voice came from a whirlwind. In the Old Testament, a whirlwind is often symbolic of God's power. When God acts through a whirlwind, it is often to challenge injustice and crush the oppressor. Unlike whirlwinds of God's action, Job's whirlwind is not destructive. It demonstrates strength but does not knock Job around or threaten him. God is answering Job with an experience of awe.

We have been reading the book "Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder" in our book group. The author, Dachar Keltner, says awe quiets the default self, often caught in a small view of the world and our lives. Aldous Huxley called this self "the interfering neurotic who, in waking hours, tries to run the show." When this default self is in charge, we are anxious, searching for someone to blame, often ending in self-judgment. Awe puts us in a different state. When this anxious default self is challenged, a better self can emerge. Ironically, when we shrink the self, we feel more connected and a part of greater things than ourselves. Is God responding to Job’s suffering with awe?

The awe of God's whirlwind reminds me of life in Iowa's tornado alley. On June 12, 1976, an F5 tornado, the most severe with winds nearing 200 MPH, touched down near the little town of Jordan, Iowa. (Jordan had 20 houses, a school, a church and several bars.). I was watching as the warning sirens blared, and had already seen six smaller funnel clouds in different directions. The Jordan twister descended from the angry sky like one of the plagues from Moses and the Ten Commandments. When the twister touched the ground, it threw dirt, trees, telephone poles, cows, tractors-everything-hundreds of feet into the air. I later learned it was a mile wide at the base and contained two funnel clouds joined together, each rotating in a different direction. It was like a giant rototiller plowing the earth. I watched it move toward the tallest thing in the county, the grain elevator, about the size of a 10-story building. The tornado engulfed it and left behind an empty horizon. When I later saw the damage, I found a fence post where husks of straw driven into it like nails.

For about 25 minutes, an eternity, it moved toward my home, and there was nothing to do but watch and stay close to the cellar door. I prayed for friends who were in its path, and fortunately, it missed us, and then it lifted back into the sky and disappeared.

We went out to help those struck by the storm. There was no moral pattern to the destruction. An entire house was destroyed except one corner. The only thing left was a fragile teacup collection undisturbed on the wall. Kindhearted, hard-working people lost their homes, and selfish, arrogant, nasty people were sparred. Why did this happen? Surely, we were not greater sinners than people in the next county. It happened because a warm and cold air mass came together over our flat fields and caused the largest recorded funnel cloud in history. We were just in the way. Then I wondered, why did God make the world such a dangerous place? Why make a world with tornadoes, earthquakes, and floods? Perhaps God had to make creation much more powerful than human beings, or we would think we were masters of the universe. Despite the destruction around me, I also felt the power and presence of God. I get the same feeling when I watch ocean waves crest and fall against rocks, see a tree uprooted by the wind, or watch thunder and lightning turn night into day at a second's notice.

This destructive tornado also created the most powerful experience of what a church community can be. Minutes after the tornado lifted, hundreds of us rushed to the disaster area around Jordan. When we arrived at the home of people we knew, church members were already there with staple guns and plastic covering the shattered windows from the wind and the rain. Some were cleaning up the house, and I was sent with a group to rescue a terrified herd of cattle stampeding through the fields. Our youth group spent a week picking up debris in the fields to be replanted. It was one of the best experiences of community in my life.

I later came across a book by Rebecca Solnit titled, "A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities That Arise in Disaster." Solnit writes about five disasters in-depth, such as the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco, the Mexico City earthquake of 1985, and Hurricane Katrina. She was fascinated by the stories of compassion, bravery, and community action that were far more powerful than reports of looting or selfishness. Solnit said, "Our response to disaster gives us nothing less than a glimpse of who else we ourselves may be and what else our society could become."

This thought gives me hope as we face the growing climate change disasters. We may soon all find ourselves in Job's situation, surrounded by tragedy. I hope we will not be like Job's poor comforters who looked for blame and treated suffering as a philosophical problem. I pray that nature's incredible destructive power will wake us up and help us see that life is bigger than any of us. We face a common threat. A storm or fire doesn't care how you vote, the color of your skin, or if you are LGBTQ. All are united in suffering. Could this common threat become a unifying force helping us rebalance our lives with creation? Could it humble us and help us think in new ways? God answered Job's suffering by turning him toward a new relationship with nature, which may also be an answer for us.

Photo by Nikolas Noonan on Unsplash

Cultivating Sabbath | Leviticus 25:1-7 | August 20, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 20 Aug 2023 14:23:08 GMT

At the heart of the universe is a giant pause button. Life needs moments to stop, rest and wait. Seeds fall into the Earth and wait for Spring to germinate. Trees drop leaves in Autumn and don't do the work of photosynthesis. A caterpillar must hang in a cocoon for three weeks to undergo metamorphosis. Mammals spend months in the womb before birth into the world. Creation and creativity need a pause. The creation story in Genesis does not end with creating the land, sea, animals, and finally, humans. The ending is a day of rest, as the creator of the universe stops to rejuvenate. Sabbath is a divine mandate; a weekly day of rest is enshrined in the Ten Commandments, right there with Don't murder, steal, or lie. The day's text from Leviticus 25 says that even land must rest. Land squeezed for every ounce of productivity will become used up and lifeless.

What comes to mind when you hear the word "Sabbath?" You might answer Sabbath is a day set aside for holy purposes. Many of you grew up when there were blue laws; stores didn't open on Sundays. Maine was the last New England state to end blue laws for department stores by popular referendum in 1990. Informally, you weren't supposed to play cards or do anything frivolous. It was a time to go to church, be with family, and Mom didn't cook dinner. Now 30 percent of Americans work on weekends. We may lament these changes as part of the downfall of society, but it sure is convenient to run into Hannaford's after church on Sunday. I suppose if you are only going to break one of the ten commandments, not observing Sabbath is better than lying or murder. To go backward would require taking on the NFL, Little League sports, the Chamber of Commerce, Walmart, you name it.

The truth is we don't know how to stop. Pausing and resting are a part of all creative processes. I don't think we believe this is true. Our default American attitude is to work longer and harder. Workers are constantly measured by what they produce. We can track UPS delivery trucks by GPS and computerize work to maximize efficiency. You can get an app on your phone to help convert your to-do lists into hourly task lists of maximum efficiency. I tried it out and soon felt anxious and inadequate. There was no room in the program for someone stopping in who was feeling sad or to get to the hospital in an emergency. There is no algorithm for how long I should spend on a hospital visit to maximize my caring time. I just led a four-day retreat for clergy, and our most powerful session was on the topic of not feeling like enough. There is never an end to the demand for more and our internalized expectations. Sabbath becomes a luxury.

I wonder if it relates to our misunderstanding of God giving humans dominion over the Earth.

Believing that dominion means dominance is at the heart of our crisis, both our time and environmental crises. After creating human beings in the divine image, God says, "Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over the cattle and all the wild animals of the earth." We have translated this to mean that we can take what we want from the Earth because we are more important and superior. We call the trees, minerals, plants, and animals "natural resources" as if they exist, waiting to be taken and in endless supply. Dominion makes us believe we are in charge of the Earth, and the goal is to maximize all these resources for human needs and profit.

I hoped to find that the Hebrew word for dominion was poorly translated and that stewardship is a viable alternative. But the Hebrew word "radah" means ruling, having dominion, or exercising authority over something. I looked at all the other places where "radah" is used in the Bible, which almost always refers to a king's authority. We can't blame "dominion" on the translators. So far, no principal modern Biblical translations use the word stewardship instead of dominion. The best I could find was from The Message by Eugene Peterson:

God blessed them:
"Prosper! Reproduce! Fill Earth! Take charge!
Be responsible for fish in the sea and birds in the air,
For every living thing that moves on the face of Earth."

Being responsible is a step up from dominion and closer to the Hebrew understanding of the duties of a king. Kings are not given absolute dominion but must be accountable for the well-being of the people. My favorite Old Testament theologian, Walter Brueggemann, says the Old Testament is a debate between two schools of thought, the Royal tradition that emphasizes the greatness of kings like David and Solomon and the prophetic tradition, which challenges greed and excess power and demands responsibility.

I think the most robust case against excessive dominion, a "take-what-we-want mindset," is this idea of land Sabbath in Leviticus 25. The setting for this text is Moses listening to God on Mt. Sinai. Sinai is where Moses receives the Ten Commandments, the foundations for being a just people. Leviticus is the early law book, and here is an early argument for sustainable farming dating as long ago as 1000 BCE :

'When you enter the land I will give you, the land itself must observe a sabbath to the Lord. ³ For six years, sow your fields, and for six years, prune your vineyards and gather their crops. ⁴ But in the seventh year, the land is to have a year of sabbath rest, a sabbath to the Lord.

Caring for our soil, land, and forests is not new. Neither is the overuse and destruction of nature. Jared Diamond wrote in the 2005 book "Collapse: How Societies Chose to Fail or Succeed," that many ancient societies disappeared due to the ecological overload of their food systems. We can see how this could influence Biblical history if we do some historical correlation.

The first great civilization was in the fertile crescent of Mesopotamia in modern-day Syria and Iraq. The peak of the Sumerian civilization was around 2100 BCE, but signs of decline were evident around 2000 BCE. One of the critical factors in the collapse of Mesopotamian civilizations was soil salinization due to irrigation practices. As cultures developed advanced agricultural techniques, they relied heavily on irrigation to support their growing populations. However, the water used in irrigation contained salts; over time, these salts accumulated in the soil. This salinization gradually reduced soil fertility, making it less suitable for crops. Add in a few years of drought, and people either starved or moved away, leading to the diminishment of Sumeria, and the great city of Ur slowly disappeared from the Earth.

This history corresponds to the life of Abraham and Sarah, whom biblical scholars date to around 1900 BCE. God calls Abraham and Sarah to leave the city of Ur in Sumeria, and go to the more fruitful land of Canaan and start anew. Think about the implications of this story. The biblical story of three great religions begins with Abraham, a climate refugee who must leave a declining city due to ecological destruction. No wonder Moses sets out an environmental Sabbath for the land in Leviticus. The people's health depends upon the care of the land from where we get our food. Even 1000 years before Christ, people understood we had an inter-relationship with the land. If we ignore the balance and care of the ecosystem, it will crumble. Even land needs a Sabbath.

If we look around the world today, most of our political crises are rooted in climate change, as land can no longer support people. Countries most affected by drought include Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Sudan, and Guatemala. The crisis on our southern border is initiated by climate change, created by desperate people where the land no longer supports them. No measure of walls, military power, or immigration policies will insulate us from the most potent force of instability. We notice the wildfires, the floods, and the 110-degree heat waves. But the quiet disaster is that thousands of people are leaving their homes because they have no water to sustain life and nowhere to go. We are a world of Abraham and Sarahs looking for a home.

I know it is simplistic to say the answer is restoring Sabbath, realizing that land and people need rest to be fruitful. But I do believe Sabbath is a practice that can teach us a more sustainable way to live. To honor the Sabbath means we recognize our limits. On a personal level, we only have so much time and energy. On a global plane, we only have so much water and arable land. All life exists in precarious balance. To honor the Sabbath means we commit to choices that sustain life, for ourselves and for all living things.

Great and Powerful Things Happening: Reflections from Star Island on the Tides | Genesis 1:25-27; 3:16 | August 13, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 13 Aug 2023 14:19:29 GMT

Greetings! I have been on Star Island leading a retreat for some awesome clergy. I’m posting my evening chapel reflections from the week below. If you have not been to Star, look at the possibilities next year for our next Soul Works retreat. Carrying lanterns to Vespers is one of the most moving worship experiences I have had.

There are great and mighty things happening all around us.

I was taught to preach with the Bible in one hand and the New York Times in the other. This process means studying the prophets Jeremiah and Amos alongside Jamelle Bouie and Charles Blow. Hear together the first evangelist of the resurrection, Mary Magdalen, while also hearing Rebecca Solnit resurrect hope amid disaster and defeat. Honor Rachel weeping for her children and Rachel Maddow weeping for democracy. Read Doubting Thomas Friedman once again.

But I was never taught to listen to the Earth speaking, to exegete the wind, sun, and rain. Instead, I have stood with Elisha at the mouth of the cave, not hearing God in the storm or the earthquake. But perhaps it was those sacred earthly forces that brought Elisha to silence so he could hear the still, small voice.

The planet doesn't often get a voice in the news unless it burns us, drowns us, or blows our houses with a great view into oblivion. We certainly hear when 90 wildfires devastate the paradise of Maui, leaving over 90 people dead, but scientific breakthroughs in understanding our universe are left to less read scientific journals. If it bleeds, it leads; otherwise, our Earth is beautiful or deadly, but its wisdom is not valued.

That was true for me, at least not until I moved to an island on the coast of Maine.

Now I know great and mighty things are happening around us, and I'm not referring to indictments. My new home looks down into a cove of the Sheepscot River, which goes down to the near mud twice a day and then fills again. When I first moved in, the low tide at my house was at around noon, and I thought, "So we will always have low tide at lunchtime." Clearly, I had much to learn. Since I grew up in Iowa, I am mesmerized by the dance moon and water.

In Boothbay Harbor, the tide currently varies about 8 ½ feet from high to low. The last high tide was minutes ago at 10:16 AM, and low tide will be at just after 4 PM, in case you need to calculate a kayak trip or a dip in the ocean.

The moon is waning down to about 5 percent, near a new moon arriving on Tuesday.

Our tide variation of nine feet isn't much compared to the Bay of Fundy, which rises to 76 feet twice a day. Fishermen must leave with the tide each day from the bay at a different time, getting up at 3 AM Monday, 4 AM Tuesday, and 5 AM Wednesday; otherwise, their boats get stuck in the mud. The Mediterranean only varies in inches, so we all have a different sense of the tides. Tides happen in the boundaries between land and sea, and it is the space in these tidal pools that life first formed in the tumult.

Humans have been fascinated by the mysteries of the tides since forever. From early on, everyone could see the moon was connected, so it became the deity of the night, with its regular cycles. Great minds pondered the issue. Some people thought it was the lungs of the living Earth rising and falling. Leonardo Da Vinci hypothesized that the tides were from a breathing giant sea monster and tried to calculate how large this creature would be to create the waves.

Right or wrong, people understood great and mighty things were happening around them.

You may have heard that Isaac Newton discovered gravity when an apple fell on his head, but he proved gravity through the tides, inventing calculus during a pandemic, with time on his hands to do the math. He said that the tides are the gravitational influences of the moon daily circling the Earth. People thought he was nuts. How could an invisible force have such power over us?

The speed of the tidal currents on the surface of the open ocean measure about 1 to 2 knots per hour, but out in the great Pacific Ocean, the underlying wave moving around the Earth travels at 400 to 500 knots.

The continual crashing of waves upon our beaches can erode tons of sandbars and, with the patience of millions of years, can polish and smash granite. If you even turn your back on the waves at high tide, you may have knocked to your knees and tumbled over like a pebble in the surf. Small wonder, at the full moon, the emergency rooms are busier. People working in psychiatric units will tell you that mood shifts with the moon are real. After all, we are two-thirds water, and all that gravity is making us slosh around a little on the inside. If the moon were larger and had a more powerful gravitational force in our field, we would all sway as we stand like a good African American church choir. White people would finally have rhythm. If the moon had its way, our locomotion would be more out of control; we would slam into the room's walls like a ship in the storm, crashing into each other like a perpetual giant mosh pit.

But the gravity of the planet protects us. Mother Earth gently cradles us in her arms, so we hardly notice we are rocketing through space and the moon is trying to drag our liquidity around the planet once daily. Instead, you can gently sit your butt in the pew, in great relative comfort, with the wiggles mostly from sermons that go too long for from such short-term beings like ordained humans.

You are being gently held every minute of every day, including right now. How could you not also be loved? Great and mighty things are happening.

My favorite place to watch the tide and meditate is at a bridge between Hodgson Island and the mainland, where an old fishing boat, the Sarah Bee, is sunk in the channel. I heard it is a sad story of a bankrupt fisherman who knocked the hole in the bottom of the boat so it could not be repossessed. Whatever the tragedy, the ship is stuck in the mud where I pass to and from work. For me, the boat has become a marker. I think of the tragic parts of my life where I leaked, took on water, and got stuck in the mud for everyone to see right out in the channel. I let the wreck take on all my mistakes, failures, and missed opportunities. I need somewhere to put them.

She is gradually wearing away piece by piece, and salt and water almost visibly melt her down. In the winter, the out railing on one side collapsed. Some day she will be gone. The tide will have her.

But the Sarah Bee has also become a spiritual marker. With the tide, all things change. At low tide, I can see all the boat, and at high tide, the water comes up to the windows of the main cabin, and I just see the roof. I know what to expect by looking at the boat and what time we should kayak to do the second half of paddling with the tide. She is more accurate than my Tides app. Through her, the tides speak to me. All things change and wear away. Granite rock, sandy beaches, sunken boats, and all my mistakes too. Until then, the tides will lift me twice daily and tell me to rest twice too.

Through the Earth and the tides, great and mighty things are happening. Listen and connect with the wisdom of God’s creation. Take a walk, watch the tide, tend a plant. Patiently listen for God’s whispers, and the vitality of creation will enlighten you.

Guest Preacher Rev. Kenneth Bradsell | Learning to Lean |Matthew 14:1-21 | August 6, 2023

Sun, 06 Aug 2023 18:02:51 GMT

I bet that most of you have heard today’s story of Jesus’ feeding the 5000 more than a few times in your church going lives. You have heard more than one or two ministers or a church-school teacher speculate on how 5 loaves of bread and two fish managed a miraculous expansion to feed all those people with left overs for another day. If you had your hearts set on that part of the story let me say upfront that you will get some of it. We’re going to start at the beginning where Matthew started. Matthew was intentional in his telling the story of Jesus’ life and ministry.

We can’t probe the depth of the story without entering it through the context Matthew offers us in the previous verses: Jesus was rejected by those he looked up to in his home town and walked away for the last time, and is immediately confronted by the news of the death of John the Baptist. Matthew places today’s story in the context of a rough spot, or worse in Jesus’ ministry.

If you are able, take a deep breath and pause. Take yourselves to a time in your life when you felt abandoned by those whom you’d come to respect and love; family, mentors, friends. If that doesn’t work for you try this: a memory of a time when you learn that someone with whom you were close, a parent, a spouse, a child perhaps, a dear friend has died. Maybe you were present for their last breath. Maybe not. Maybe you had time to be ready. Maybe it was sudden and unexpected. Maybe you were not present and were told of the death by your closest friends. Maybe you learned from another family member in the midst of your day. Without warning the ground shifted beneath your feet. Jesus in a few short verses has been rejected at home and loses the one family member with whom he seems to be close.

Now, think fresh about the first sentence of today’s lesson, what Matthew says: “When Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”

When my wife died this past December, I sat in my living room looking around trying to grasp hold of the emptiness in me and the silence all around me. If it had not been December a lonely kayak paddle across Lewis Cove in solitude may have made sense. Tough stuff. And we’ve all been there in one way or another or certainly will be. It’s full stop. The way things were is not how things will be. Indeed, the ground has shifted beneath our feet.

John’s disciples come to Jesus after they had buried John the Baptist and told him of his cousin’s horrid and violent death at the hands of Rome’s client ruler, Herod. Jesus grieves. Jesus needs alone time. These past two weeks pastor Todd has been helping us wrestle with the creation story. If you were with us last week you may recall Todd helping us think about all the ways we are created in the image of God as Genesis One tells us. “I think, therefore I am.”. We create…sometimes for good, sometimes not. How about: we are in God’s image in the manner of our emotional lives, in the ways we feel compassion or hurt…how we are able to reconsider and change our minds for the good…in the ways we find joy…and the ways we can descend into sorrow or grief. Jesus is described by our faith as the one who is for us the perfect image, the God/Man, the one faithful ones aspire to be like. Here, Jesus grieves. Jesus goes off alone in his deepest sorrow leaving behind his closest friends and the crowds who seek his touch. Remember Jesus in the garden in Gethsemane before his arrest and crucifixion? He prayed that the hour might pass, “if it is possible please let the cup pass,” then deeper in attentiveness to his call and mission says, “yet not what I want but what you want” but in deep emotional pain. His humanity pours forth in other texts that seem to have gotten past the “Jesus always acted perfectly” editors. Recall the story of the Syrophoneician woman in Mark’s Gospel. A woman pleads and begs on her knees in tears for Jesus to heal her daughter who was possessed of an unclean spirit. Jesus response is harsh. It’s dismissive: “Let the children be fed first (as in the children of Israel) for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs,” as in the Syrophonecian or Samaritan children, or fast forward to our day, the Palestinian children. She confronts Jesus still on her knees, “even dogs get to eat the crumbs from the master’s table.” It’s as if Jesus opens his eyes and instantly recognizes he’s been a cultural captive who has missed a beat in the mission of compassion and healing. He changes his mind and his response and tells her to go, her daughter is well, the demon vanquished. Jesus grieves. Jesus prays to God to relieve him of the burden he is carrying. Jesus changes his mind. The one to be the image of perfection for us starts looking very familiar, perhaps a lot like us. We’d all be more perfect humans if we were humble enough now and then to change our minds.

With John’s violent death at the hands of an uncaring empire focused on keeping the rabble under control there is a rending of the fabric of Jesus’ deep and abiding relationship with his cousin. Remember the birth narratives in Luke’s Gospel. Jesus and John once danced together in their respective mother’s wombs. Later, John blest and emersed Jesus in the river Jordan and witnessed his cousin’s early ministry. Were they still close in their respective ministries. It seems so. Previously, John had sent his disciples to ask Jesus if he was, the One or should they await another.” They seem to have taken different paths to sound the alarms against their own religious leaders and the Roman occupiers of the land. We do know John’s death cut deep into the fabric of Jesus being, and just maybe that is all part of the being in God’s image…the capacity to feel pain deep for another human or a multitude of other humans.

I suspect in that short row across the lake Jesus pondered afresh the immensity of the task before him…how could his solitary acts of compassion, his curing and healing, how could the humble offerings of one, or one with a few disciples begin a transformation of the human heart and soul? Had God made the task to birth a new way for humanity overwhelming and impossible?

The text takes us to the feeding of the 5000 without any clues regarding Jesus’ personal row to the other shore. Reading the Gospels is often akin to reading “Cliff Notes.” There is often far more going on between the lines if we stop and wonder about what we are being told. How does the Lord of life get back to the call in his soul?…and more importantly, how do any of us recover from our times of broken hearts and souls and broken spirits that are part of being human? How do we regain focus and purpose and trust to move forward again?

How do we come out the other side? I have a clue. You knew I wouldn’t have wandered down this path if I didn’t.

Leave Jesus aside for a couple of minutes while I tell you a story, a true story. I have a friend, more properly had a friend. We’ve lost contact over the past decade or so. She once shared a story from her life that may point to understanding the gap in the Gospel record of how Jesus, while rowing across to the other shore moved from the pain of grief, the questioning of his own calling to face and engage a vast crowd that we are told numbered, not 5000 but likely 10 or 15000 because the text tells us at the end that the 5000 was only the estimate of the men present (a way of counting that was the cultural norm for that day, and, sadly still is for much of the world). My friend’s story may also give us a clue to how that massive throng of humanity on a deserted hillside ate their fill.

My friend had been raised in an abusive family and escaped into an equally or worse difficult and abusive marriage. It had taken her most of a decade before she felt sufficiently healed to enter and find trust in another relationship. So, here she was mountain climbing 8000 feet up in the Rockies with her new husband on, you get it, their honeymoon. They had just pledged to share their lives, and to trust…you know the line, “for better or worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health.” She didn’t imagine the “worse” part would come soon. They were both experienced climbers. But, as sometimes happens with the best climbers she found herself emotionally and physically frozen on a ledge. She couldn’t look up or sideways. She was staring only at the rock inches in front of her face. Her new spouse was less than a foot away on another ledge urging her to just take a small step with her right foot. She couldn’t move it. He said, “hold on with your left hand. Keep your feet planted on the ledge. Put out your right hand and lean toward my fingers. Slowly she amassed enough courage and trust and did what he was urging and leaned just enough. His fingers found hers, then her hand and a grasp of her arm that broke the spell that held her frozen. She stepped toward the next ledge. She then said to me, “I learned that day a lesson that will stay with me until I die. Learn to lean into those who love you. Learn in your heart and soul that leaning into another or others is trusting and the only way to build relationships and likely the only way to heal the planet.”

I hope you didn’t hear what I didn’t say. This was not a “guy saves his girl story.” They were both experienced climbers. It could easily have gone either way because it does to the most experienced climbers which is why most don’t climb alone. It’s a story about learning to trust again and how to move from the ledge where life has landed us

Back to the Gospel text while I try to connect some dots. Jesus stepped off a boat and faced a crowd hungry for, what? Vengeance over the death of John the Baptist which certainly would have roused their rage. Hungry for one to tell them what to do and how to be? Because they were leaderless and needed direction. Hungry for compassion in their poverty because, they were the poorest of the poor and the disregarded even by their own religious leaders. Hungry for cures for the sicknesses that plagued them and their wives and the children among them? Hungry for food? Yes, all of those things…steeped in a world that offered no cause for hope. And the Lord was moved from his loss…moved to lean hard into their need, to lean hard into his calling and mission again, to offer compassion, and cures, and healing and then hear the cries for food.

But there’s more isn’t there. And this part points at us. The disciples of Jesus were having none of it. It was late in the day and it was time to disperse the rabble. “Send them away to get their own food. We don’t have enough even for ourselves.” Jesus says to them, “No, you feed them.” No one knows what or how it happened. Did Jesus just wave his hands around and miraculously two fish and five loaves was more than enough for 10 or 15000 souls. Or, was there a greater miracle at work, Maybe they leaned too, leaned into each other. Maybe they shared what they had carried and all were fed.

Poet Amanda Gorman has book I keep by my bedside titled, “Call Us What We Carry. She writes, “Like a page, we are only legible when opened to one another. for what is a book If not foremost a body , waiting and wanting – yearning to be whole…”

Jesus turns our most humble offerings into more than we could have dreamed. Jesus calls on his disciples to dream bigger than they could imagine possible. Jesus didn’t say “Give me those fish and that bread and watch what I can do. I will feed them.” He invites his followers to change their ideas about their own power and the resources available to them to transform lives and heal the world. Think on this, “if we believe our baskets contain only enough for us…if we believe our resources are too limited to do anything for the other, when, in fact we have two fish and a few loaves, then Jesus has nothing with which to feed the hungry.

And this, Jesus didn’t feed how ever many it really was. Jesus gave the food to the disciples and told them, “you feed the people.” From this perspective Jesus’ alternative world is a deserted place where he serves the weak, asks his followers to give people what they need on the basis of compassion, and feeds more than any can imagine. This story is like a mustard seed that grows ,and like yeast that leavens. Serving the weak and feeding the hungry on the basis of need and compassion show the way things are when God rules our hearts and souls.

So,here we are. We are guests at the banquet of the Lord’s Table, we’ll take a bit of bread and, perhaps ½ ounce of juice. We are invited to receive it to remind us to embrace in our hearts afresh the call of the one who dares us to dream, to share not just from our abundance but from what we believe to be not enough. Come. Come to the table. Lean into each other in this community of faith, welcome, compassion and healing. What we have before us are gifts of God for the people of God.

Amen.

Be Awe-some: Part II | Image and Likeness | Genesis 1 | July 30 , 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 30 Jul 2023 16:23:21 GMT

God created humans in the divine image and likeness.

Depending on your viewpoint, this idea is the greatest force for human dignity and equality or the source of patriarchy, domination, and environmental destruction. Maybe both sides have worthwhile points. On the positive side, being created in God's image is the seed of human rights to protect human dignity and flourishing. As the Declaration of Independence reads,

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.

We have debated the meaning of these words for 247 years since we know that the word "men" did not include everyone. These rights were not for women, or black, brown, and indigenous men, only white male property owners. I heard an excellent segment on NPR's "All Things Considered" this July 4 with two historians. Jill Lepore, a noted Harvard historian who couldn't be admitted as a woman in 1776, said,

(At Harvard) Before the Revolution, you entered a classroom or commons to have your meal in the order of your father's social rank and wealth. Those men all lived in a highly-ranked culture. And the Declaration of Equality is throwing that away or challenging that in a revolutionary manner.

Host Steve Inskeep asked Annette Gordon Read, an authority on Jefferson, "When did people not included in the promise of equality begin using the Declaration of Independence to argue for equality?"

"Right away," she answered. "Right away. People filed freedom suits based on that….They immediately saw those words as important."

By 1791, people were quoting Jefferson's words back to him. Benjamin Banneker, the Black naturalist, and writer, sent a letter asking why, after clearly seeing the injustice of slavery, Jefferson continued "detaining by fraud and violence so numerous a part of my brethren under groaning captivity and cruel oppression." https://www.npr.org/2023/07/04/1185922767/examining-a-line-from-the-declaration-of-independence-all-men-are-created-equal

It should not surprise us that the church has nearly the same argument about the language of Genesis 1 as the nation has about our founding documents. The authors of our founding documents saw new possibilities but were trapped in their unequal culture. The Constitution had to be amended numerous times to make the notion of equality clear to include everyone, and still we fight about it. This is why we modify our gender language when talking about God, why I pray, “Our Father, Our Mother.” If we always use male language, then God is male in our minds and men are more important. Either we believe that everyone is created in God's image and and we demonstrate this in action, or we think some people are made in God's image, and some are not.

The historical context of Genesis 1 is fascinating. The text was written in the sixth century BCE from exile in Babylon. Genesis 1 introduces us to the biblical storyline. God creates a purposeful world, and it is all good. Humans have a vital role in making this reality possible. The rest of the Bible is a commentary on how to keep the world good.

The author of Genesis is not naïve about evil and injustice. Perhaps he saw the siege of Jerusalem firsthand. Who knows what violence and death the writer had seen? In the face of adversity, the writer poetically says, this world is good. In contrast, here is a line from the Babylonian creation myth from the Enuma Elish, written centuries before.

Blood I will mass and cause bones to be.

I will establish a savage; man shall be his name.

Verily, savage man I will create.

He shall be charged with the service of the gods

That they might be at ease!

Lawrence Boadt, “Reading the Old Testament,” page 116

Genesis borrows the structure of the days of creation from the Enuma Elish but gives it a different theology. Instead of being created as savages to serve the gods, we are made in the image of God and given agency and purpose for the goodness of the creation. Humanity is blessed from the beginning to go and be fruitful and multiply. The poetry of Genesis is a direct critique of the Babylonian conquerors. Even in exile, the author believes in a God who made all creation for goodness. Taking this text and arguing that one nation, race, or gender should rule over another is a complete distortion of the author's point. We are one, all of us carrying the divine spark.

What exactly is this image of God within us? Let's explore several options about the qualities of the divine that may reside in the human soul. Many philosophers see reason and rationality as the image of God within. "I think therefore I am," Descartes reasoned. Augustine followed the thinking of Aristotle:

"Man's excellence consists in the fact that God made him to His own image by giving him an intellectual soul, which raises him above the beasts of the field." - Augustine of Hippo, "City of God."

Human reason sounds like a good answer when we listen to a brilliant mind like Neil DeGrasse Tyson or a Jeopardy champion. But when we hear crazy conspiracy theories, like QAnon and intentional disinformation, to divide us, we wonder if we have lost all capacity to reason. Is it reasonable to believe in UFOs? Maybe, but why do highly advanced aliens, who can build spaceships that can transverse the light years of the galaxies, then come to Earth and crash? Even humans can land on the moon (unless you think that happened in a studio in Hollywood.) Reason is only as good as the information we have. Leonardo Da Vinci was brilliant, yet believed the ocean tides came from the breathing of a great sea monster, so he set out to calculate how large the creature would be to create the waves.

Other great thinkers believe our moral and ethical capacity is the image of God. God looked upon creation and said, "It is good." Creation bends towards justice.

"To be made in God's image is to be oriented toward the realization of the righteousness and justice that characterizes God's rule." - Stanley J. Grenz, "Created for Community: Connecting Christian Belief with Christian Living."

Many scriptures contain laws and statutes, like the Ten Commandments, to shape our moral capacity. Love your neighbor. Welcome, the stranger. Help those who are poor. Speak the truth. The image of God in us is like the internal compass of conscience to guide us toward the good. I like this answer better than reason, yet morals and ethics can be abused. We often repress what we don't like to hear to hold onto our sense of virtue. We believe in what makes us feel good. When we rewrite history to say that enslaved people gained useful skills to be used later in life, like a vocational training program, we are engaging in self-deception about the ongoing implication of racism in our nation. The image of God within may be a moral compass, but we don't always like where it points us.

I'm surprised more philosophers don't consider creativity to be the image of God. After all, this is the story of creation, and God is bringing new things into being. We often feel most alive when we write a poem or story, paint, build a new kitchen cabinet, or procreate. Our creativity can also go astray as we use our capacity to make a nuclear warhead, bio-weapons, or the Hostess Twinkie.

The flaw in all these answers leads many theologians to describe the image of God is a relational capacity to love. It is not our intellect, morality, creativity, or will that make us like God, but cultivating loving relationships. God created us as communal beings, and we are our most authentic selves when we see our interconnectedness with the whole of life, God, other humans, and nature. Numerous scriptures make this point. Paul said,

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. ² And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

A primary tenant of the New Testament is that Christ is the image of the living God, and all that he taught comes back to love. "This is my commandment that you love one another." The Great Commandment is, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself." To love well, we need reason, ethics, and creativity; but love makes all these qualities work.

My final thought is that the image of God within us is not a static quality but a living energy that changes over time. The image of God is a divine spark that can light a great fire or struggle to ignite if we are not receptive. Quaker spiritual practice emphasizes sitting in silence to find the inner light. We are all flame keepers of part of the living God within us.

Or we could see this divine image as a seed that grows into a living plant that will thrive if we continually cultivate it. The image shrinks and flounders without sunlight but flourishes with regular spiritual practice.

In the beginning, God created us and saw us as good. Because this inner seed is divine, it is never destroyed and can revive years later when the conditions are favorable. It is tenacious with life and will flourish if you give it your attention.

Be Awe-some: Part I | God Saw That It Was Good | Genesis 1 | July 23, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 23 Jul 2023 16:16:00 GMT

God saw that it was good. Each day of creation in Genesis has a poetic rhythm. God speaks an intention for what will happen next. "Let there be light…Let the earth put forth vegetation…Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures." After each declaration, the narrator tells us, "It was so." At the end of each day, God stops to evaluate what has been created and decides it is good. I wonder what God noticed to think this world is good. Was it a sunset over the waters or a full moon? A koala bear or a lobster? What was so good? The Hebrew word for "good" is "tov," meaning beautiful, beneficial, harmonious, or moral goodness. The daily repetition of "God saw it was good" says creation is beautiful, intentional, and purposeful. Genesis does not see the universe as a random accident; cold, empty space; or a threatening environment all red in tooth and claw, not a dog-eat-dog world. Creation is where chaos is moved to goodness, beauty breaks forth, and God's purposes are made so.

But what about black flies? During Bible study, we wondered what the purpose of biting flies could be since they do not feel beautiful, good, or purposeful. These questions are partly funny but serious too. Is creation truly good or not? So, I researched black flies to find their potential purpose. Flies help the ecosystem. As larvae, black flies filter-feed on organic matter and algae, contributing to the decomposition and recycling of nutrients back into water. Mature flies are part of the food web for swallows, warblers, ducks, and trout. Studying flies has led to advances in aerodynamic wing designs. The field of biomimetics draws inspiration from flies to develop miniature robots. The compound eyes of flies seeing through multiple lenses have influenced motion detection equipment. When female flies bite you, they collect extra protein and calcium from your blood to strengthen their larvae. Remember, they are just trying to be good moms. Indeed, we can all sacrifice a little blood and itching discomfort for advancing science and a snack for warblers.

We could do the same exercise for scorpions, wolves, mosquitoes, and rattlesnakes and probably find ways each species fits into the goodness of God's creation. All life belongs and contributes to the good, when in balance

I noticed something new reading Genesis 1 several times this week. Listen to these lines and note what God declares. "Let the earth put forth vegetation…Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures." Think about the word "let." It can be an imperative mood, where you make a request or a suggestion. For example, "Let's go for a walk" or "Let us pray." Obedience is not required in these statements. If God says, "Let my people go," that sounds more commanding. But let the earth and sea bring forth living creatures grants some agency to the created thing. The text does not say on the fourth day, God set made of the taxonomy of plants, gave the maple trees big leaves, and decided there would be 380,000 species of plants, 260,000 of which would bare seeds. We don't read that God determined the ocean needed both sharks and dolphins, but says, "Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures." Land and sea receive an imperative to thrive with life. God supplies purpose, energy, and direction, but life forces have some agency to experiment. God says, "Go forth and multiply," not just to humans but all living things. We have a divine imperative to thrive. I'm careful not to try to make the Bible into science, but Genesis 1 sounds compatible with Darwin and the "Origen of Species."

Discoveries about creation reshape how we understand God. Unfortunately, the church has reacted to new science with anger and resistance rather than wonder and curiosity. Theologians thought science was displacing God rather than wondering if perhaps it was our view of God that needed to change. The more I learn about nature and the cosmos, the more real God becomes to me, not vice versa.

The main reason I am doing this sermon series is to pull our spirituality closer to creation. Living here in Midcoast Maine is reshaping my spirituality as I learn to sail and watch high and low tides come and go, or take my own garbage to the dump. I'm reading as many books about nature as I am about theology. Some theologians think that is a good thing. Augustine of Hippo said, "The world is a great book, of which they who never stir from home read only a page." Modern theologians like John Philip Newell, who led the Iona Community of Scotland for many years, invite us to find God in nature. He shares this gem from 9th-century Celtic scholar John Scotus Eruigena:

"There are two books through which God is speaking. The first is the small book, physically little, the book of scripture. The second is the big book, the living text of the universe, which includes the great luminaries of the heavens, the sun, moon, and stars; the earth, sea, and sky, the creatures of all these realms; and the multiplicity of life-forms that grow from the ground. We need to read both books. If we read only the little book (of the Bible), we will miss the vastness and wildness of the utterance, everything vibrating with the sound of the divine. If we read only the big book (of nature), we are in danger of missing the intimacy of the voice, for the book of scripture calls us to faithfulness in relationship, including faithfulness to strangers, widows, orphans and the poorest among us."

(Sacred Earth, Sacred Soul by John Phillip Newell. p. 88)

I learned in preaching class that we were to hold the Bible in one hand and the New York Times in the other, as Karl Barth said. But now I realize that nature doesn't often make the newspaper unless it burns down our house or drowns Montpelier, Vermont. It is so hot in Texas that a woman baked a loaf of bread in her mailbox. Even as the world bakes, burns and floods, we still know more about who is ahead in the poll for the 2024 presidential race than about the dynamics of our ecosystem. Creation is fighting to be heard, and we are still tone-deaf.

Our relationship with nature needs to change if we want to survive. We have treated the earth like our storehouse, a big department store where we can shop at a bargain. We have seen our trees as lumber and forgotten they are the lungs of the earth that give us oxygen. We grow our crops and lawns with little understanding of how fertilizers and chemicals affect the rest of the food chain. We build houses in the dumbest places, like flood zones, because we like the view. Now, insurance companies have had enough and are abandoning Florida and California.

Even some of our good intentions need to be reassessed. I wholeheartedly support new green technologies, but better gadgets alone won’t solve the problem. If your marriage is in trouble, you aren't going to solve it by getting a better car or a better toothpaste. Upgrading your Wi-Fi or getting an air fryer might make you both slightly happier for a little while. But we all know that relationships require better understanding, communication, and appreciation. My point is that we need a better relationship with nature. Stopping pollution or dumping carbon into the air is a good start, but the greater change is understanding our relatedness and interdependence with all living things. This work is spiritual

Folk singer Pete Seeger understood this connection. The Hudson River was a polluted industrial river. You couldn't eat the fish; no one wanted to be near it. Seeger knew there was not enough political will to force the investment to clean the river. He needed people to interact with the river in a new way. So, he built the Clearwater, a sailing sloop that became an education ship. Seeger traveled the river with his banjo, stopped in towns, and gave out free pumpkins and concerts. He offered educational tours to every fifth-grade class on the riverbanks. Kids would crew the ship, learn about sailing, and take water samples to see what made the river so disgusting. Over time, Seeger built a movement to clean the Hudson because people now had a relationship to the river. New York has come a long way from seeing the river as a convenient place to dump waste to a place of beauty and joy.

Here in midcoast Maine, I think we have a similar opportunity. Thousands visit our shores to sail, kayak, and experience natural beauty. How can we move beyond seeing Maine's beauty as "Vacationland" to a place where people renew a connection with nature that informs life back in the cities and suburbs? We already have the beauty, and great organizations like Bigelow Labs and the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. How might we bring the spiritual equivalent of the Botanical Gardens to the life of the church? How can the church's mission become like a pilgrimage where people come and imagine a new way of life through a deeper connection with creation? My hope for this sermon series, Be Awe-some, is to explore and brainstorm. How can our sense of awe about where we live create more profound faith? And how can a more eco-spirituality make God more present and real in peoples' lives? How can the “little book” of scripture” and the “big book” of nature inform our spiritual work? Join me next week when we talk about what it means that we are made in the image and likeness of God. I will draw attention to that tricky word “dominion” over the earth and make the case it should read “stewardship.”

Mission Statement III: Cultivating Faith, Justice, and Joy | Luke 13:6-9, I Corinthians 3:6-9 | July 16, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 16 Jul 2023 18:25:20 GMT

Here is a quick summary of this series on our new church mission statement:

1. "Rooted in God's unconditional love" affirms that all we do begins God's love for us and all of creation. We return God's love through loving other people.

2. "We welcome everyone to grow with us" highlights an extravagant welcome, not just to join us, but to be a part of a growing, transforming community. When we love the stranger, we may be entertaining angels unaware. This welcome may sometimes stretch our comfort zones, but that is essential to growth.

3. Today we focus on "cultivating faith, justice, and joy." These qualities are the harvest we strive to produce.

"Cultivare" in Latin means to prepare the ground for planting. The word also refers to nurturing, fostering, or developing something, whether it be plants, skills, relationships, or ideas. (or faith, justice, and joy!) It implies a deliberate effort to promote growth, improvement, or refinement. Our mission statement evolved into organic images; we are rooted, growing, and cultivating. (that makes sense for a church only six minutes from the largest botanical garden in the Northeastern United States!)

Cultivate is not often used in the Bible, but producing food is often a metaphor for God's work. Jesus called us to bear fruit and told many agricultural parables. God is like the farmer sowing seeds, which lands on all kinds of ground. Some soil is rocky or full of weeds, or the birds eat it. But the seeds in the good soil produce a hundred-fold. But not all seeds grow; they may need some help. Jesus also tells parables about mustard seeds, wheat, and tears, the laborers in a vineyard; Jesus is the vine, and we are the branches. Jesus saw the similarities between cultivating plants to growing souls.

In the Old Testament, the people of Israel are frequently compared to a vineyard or a fig tree. When people do the right thing and live justly, the vineyard is healthy, but injustice destroys the vineyard for everyone. Micah 4:4 describes a hopeful future, "But they shall sit every person under their vine and under their fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid." Grapes and figs are a sign of well-being and a healthy society.

Today's parable from Luke 13 starts with a fig tree. After three years of waiting, the man who planted the tree is frustrated that no fruit has come his way. As an amateur, haphazard gardener, I wonder how long fig trees take to bear fruit. Is the owner being reasonable? According to my Google search, figs produce fruit between two and six years after planting. Numerous factors influence the maturity date. Figs need lots of sunlight and struggle during cold, rainy years. If you planted basil this year, you felt the owner's pain. Too much water can cause root rot. Improper pruning can affect the tree's hormone levels, damaging the flowering process. Fruit trees are not radishes that sprout in days and are ready to eat in a few weeks. I don't like to eat radishes, but I plant them because their growth rate to harvest is so satisfying.

The landscaper in the parable understands the dynamics of cultivation and encourages the owner to be patient another year with the fig tree. The impatient owner demands productivity, saying, "Don't waste the soil on an unproductive tree. Cut it down and plant a new tree!" even though it's not the proper time yet. Impatience is a cultural epidemic. The attitude says, "What have you done for me lately? Fix this problem quickly. We think faster is better. Instant became a thing in my childhood. It was exciting to have instant oatmeal with little pieces of desiccated apple or raisins. You could have an instant breakfast by pouring milk into a strawberry-flavored powder. Dinner was easier with instant potatoes. Suddenly half the pantry was instant. Guess how many instant things I have in my cupboards right now? None! It doesn't taste good or provide proper nutrition. Do you know what the most popular thing to do at home was during COVID? People learned to bake bread. Suddenly millions of people had a sourdough starter in the refrigerator during COVID. When we had time, we rediscovered the wonder of doing things that take time.

Fig trees (faith, justice, and joy) require a long-term commitment. Jeanne and I often rode our bikes to pick apples at our favorite orchard, the Park Hill Orchard, in Easthampton, Massachusetts. It's well-known not just for cider donuts and heirloom apples but also for being a sculpture park. A giant, red picture frame stands in the center, where we have posed many family photos with the landscape in the background. A piano hangs in a tree. It may be the world's only pick-your-own-sculptor park where human and divine creativity intermingle.

We met the owner, a tall man with a Mennonite-style beard. He told us about his passion for apples like a sommelier would describe fine wines. The farmer gave us a tour and described pruning techniques he developed for mature trees over 50 years old. He shared his love for tart heirloom Red Astrachan and Golden Delicious apples and frowned at the popular honey crisps, which have a satisfying crunch, but all the flavor of a gas station fruit pie with a multi-year shelf life. Park Hill boasts 45 varieties of apples, and he knows when each will be ripe and whether it is better for eating, pie or cider.

Jeanne asked how long he had owned the land. He bought the neglected orchard nine years ago. After nine years of dedication and investing more than $2 million this year, he hoped to finally turn a profit. It bustles with families, lovers, and photographers toting bushels of apples. It is an astonishing success, but it has taken nine years to be profitable. What would you be willing to invest nine years to make something its absolute best?

Jesus uses this parable about the fig tree to demonstrate the enduring grace of God. God is the persistent gardener who wants to exhaust every possibility to help us be fruitful. If we desire to cultivate faith, justice, and joy, we must have patient engagement and a long-term view. None of these qualities can be manufactured on a timetable. Faith is a relationship of trust where we learn to walk with God over time. You can't just memorize a creed. We cultivate faith through seasons of challenges. Justice, a state where fairness and equality prevail, is always a work in progress. Our best efforts are imperfect and yet we hope for the future and plant again. Joy is a gift. You cannot decide to be joyful and make yourself enter this state of wonder. You can cultivate it, perhaps through a regular practice of gratitude. But joy is a moment of ripeness discovered, like finding a raspberry hidden under a leaf.

Patience is necessary for faith, justice, and joy because the results are out of our hands. Tomatoes never ripen on my timetable. They usually ripen while I'm on vacation. Growth has its own process and time. You can do everything the right way, and nothing happens. One year I planted watermelons, all I got were small, softball-sized ones. I decided not to plant them next year because they take up so much space. But the next year, one volunteer watermelon came up anyway in the middle of my beets, and this vine produced my best watermelon ever. Cultivation is a co-creative process. We can prepare the way, increase the odds, nurture health, pull the weeds, add water and fertilizer, but we must trust the process. We are only collaborators with the sun, soil, and rain. The DNA code of the seeds does the rest.

Paul acknowledges this in I Corinthians 3. The church was dividing into factions, and some said Paul's way is the only way, and others said Apollos, who took over from Paul, is the only way. Paul says, "I planted, Apollos watered the seed, but it is God that gives the growth." Paul understood that the fruits of the Spirit of God are a co-creative process. We work in the garden, we learn to pay attention to each plants' needs for the right soil conditions, sunlight and water. A good gardener increases the odds, but the harvest is a living grace from the source of life, the living God.

If we desire to cultivate faith, justice and joy, then we must train to be master gardeners to help these qualities thrive in the world. I looked up what it takes to be designated a master gardener and I was surprised by the answer. The obvious answer is you have to have knowledge. Master gardeners get 60 hours of training in things like how plants thrive in their climate zone, what pests and diseases are prevalent and so on. But that is only half the process. Master gardeners must commitment to being a community resource and volunteer to help others become better gardeners. You only become a master gardener by giving your knowledge away. I loved this sentence I discovered on the Gardening Channel, "Gardeners do this because they are experienced, gardening enthusiasts and love all aspects of growing plants, flowers and vegetables." Master gardeners are amateurs, which means that do this out of amore, out of love.

This brings us full circle with our mission statement, rooted in God's love, we welcome everyone to grow with us, working towards becoming master gardeners, for the love of flourishing faith, justice and joy.

Mission Statement Part II: We Welcome Everyone to Grow With Us | Hebrews 13:2 | July 2, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 02 Jul 2023 14:54:51 GMT

"We welcome everyone to grow with us."

This phrase is in the middle of our mission statement. If something is in the middle, we call it the heart of the matter. When you order a sandwich, it is the middle that counts. You might like wheat or rye bread, a croissant or bagel, but you are motivated by the middle; the hamburger, bacon, and egg, or ham and cheese. Without the filling, you just have toast. At the heart of our mission is to welcome everyone to grow with us. We want to be a community that is open and inclusive. Through the diverse gifts of our people, we strive to be a thriving and healthy example of the body of Christ.

Welcoming and growing may sound easy, but few churches succeed. Almost every church has a sign out front that says, "Everyone welcome," but experience tells us otherwise. Churches send nonverbal messages of judgment if you are divorced, gay, or ask too many questions. I went to a Northern Ireland church that insisted women wear hats in worship. You are welcome here if you share our social class, our ethnic identity, our politics, or our agreement to never talk about politics. A hundred years ago, H. Richard Niebuhr published "The Social Sources of Denominationalism, " saying, "Ten o'clock on Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America." Most churches look like specific ethnic, class, and lifestyle enclaves.

Churches become like restaurants that serve one thing. They specialize in hamburgers, pizza, or fish and chips and keep churning them out. We are a taco stand. If you don't like tacos, go to the taco church down the street. Megachurches are like a Greek diners with a menu that takes an hour to read. This menu has something for everyone, but none of it is great food. The Moussaka and the meatloaf taste the same. If our church were a restaurant, what would we serve? More on that at the end. How do we defy the odds of being a genuinely welcoming and growing church, and what does that mean?

The Bible tends to use the word "hospitality" rather than welcome. From the Latin root "hospes," we get hospitality, hospital, and Hospice care. In a tourist town like Boothbay Harbor, hospitality is an industry. The most important phrase in hospitality is "the customer is always right." Your profit and tips come from pleasing the customer, even if they are obnoxious and demanding. We want to treat everyone who enters our doors like they matter, but we quickly learn everyone in the church can't be right. With the polarization today, businesses like Disney and Target find they can't please all their customers because of ideological differences. So, hospitality is more than simply pleasing everyone. Think more deeply about what welcome and hospitality means in a church context.

The concept of welcome and hospitality is rich throughout the scriptures. Leviticus urges everyone to treat the stranger well, like a neighbor. Jesus said the mark of a disciple is the one who gave me water when I was thirsty, food when I was hungry, and welcomed me when I was a stranger. Jesus taught that hospitality is proactive. The Good Samaritan doesn't just ask if the man injured beside the road is OK. He tends his wounds, takes him to an inn, and pays for his lodging while he recovers. Many stories of Jesus' ministry revolve around eating together. Everyone is invited to the great banquet, even the poor, blind, and lame. Jesus got in trouble for eating with sinners. Showing great hospitality doesn't always win friends and influence people.

As a focus scripture, I chose Hebrews 13:2, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." I love the Greek text which uses the word "philoxenia." I have mentioned "philos" several times lately, which means "the love of friendship." "Xenos" means "stranger." Xenophobia is the fear of a stranger. Philoxenia is to love the stranger as a friend. This definition pushes us deeper than being polite or friendly at coffee hour. Friendship implies trust and relationship. Friendships endure. So philoxenia would mean we are willing to invite a stranger into the friendship circle. We would need to be willing to take a risk and invest ourselves in this stranger till they become one of us. The best practices in welcoming new members affirm this idea. People stay with a church if they make at least three friends in the first six months. Showing hospitality to strangers is an invitation to the community.

The second half of Hebrews 13:2 says, "You may entertain angels unaware." Something happens to us in the interchange. Hospitality isn't only for the guest or stranger; it will shape us too. What happens when you entertain an angel? Angels in the Bible are often messengers of God. They give insight into the future, offer a blessing, or tell us who we are. An angel visits Mary, who would become the mother of Jesus, "Be not afraid, Mary, for I bring you good news of great joy." Angels can change and disrupt our lives.

Jacob wrestled with an angel hoping for a blessing and a connection with God. So, the text isn't telling us to show hospitality, and then we will be rewarded. Instead, show hospitality, and you might discover something important. The stranger might just be the messenger from God we need.

Jeanne and I were early adopters of Air BNB in 2015. In those days, people stayed down the hall and shared our bathroom. I learned a great deal from our guests. I spent an hour listening to a social worker who trained people to help with hoarding disorders. Many guests were prospective Smith students and their moms, and we helped ease their anxiety about leaving home. We had guests from China, Dagestan, and South Korea. We go to the same Airbnb in Acadia every visit because we like our host and enjoy catching up. Our host in Dublin sent us on the most remarkable journey to see things that weren't in the tourist brochures. All these experiences have become part of our story. Our guests turned out to be angels; sometimes, we were angels for them. Opening our home opened our hearts in ways we did not expect.

Becoming a welcoming church is discovering where the angel is in each new person. Every person who joins a church changes the community in some way with their story and gifts. New people bring new experiences, skills, and insights. And questions too! New people ask why we do certain things. We often scratch our heads and don't know the answer; we have just always done it that way. New people often bring new ideas and energy. Sometimes we think they are angels, but sometimes we feel this diversity is a threat. Churches are unconsciously looking for more people just like themselves. I read dozens of church profiles in a search process, and the vast majority say, "Help us reach younger families with kids. And respect our longstanding traditions." Congregations don't see the inherent conflict between these two statements. You cannot simultaneously grow and stay the same.

This conflict became clear in my first church in Poughkeepsie. After seven years, we had added 75 new members, and attendance had moved from 85 to 115. A new generation wanted the church to be more kid-friendly, updated hymnals with modern language, and more emphasis on community action. People who were long-term members were feeling displaced. They no longer knew everyone in the church, and new people did not know to defer to them. One member stood up at the annual meeting, visibly upset, and said she felt the church was being run by a secret cabal behind the scenes. This woman wasn't a firebrand or troublemaker. She was frustrated with the amount of change, and I felt it was necessary to respond gently.

I had all the Deacons and Trustees stand and asked everyone to count how many leaders they knew. When I asked how many know less than 50 percent of the leadership, quite a few hands went up. The tone in the room shifted with some space for reflection. The disconnect many people felt was real. But it was not a hostile takeover of the church by a cabal. It was the growing pains of becoming a welcoming church. Once the congregation recognized this reality, they could shift to working on a deeper community rather than arguing over policies. All kinds of growth face resistance and growing pains, even the things we truly want, just as getting in shape will make your muscles sore.

Let's return to my earlier question- what kind of a restaurant should the church be? The answer is something we know how to do. The church is a potluck supper. Everyone brings something they like and shares it. You don't know how it will turn out, but you trust it will all work. Sometimes you discover something new and wonderful, like a Mexican mole chili recipe you need to get. But you don't have to like everything, but you have to appreciate the effort behind a lime and pineapple jello salad. I have never been to a potluck where there wasn't enough for everyone, even a stranger who turned out to be an angel. What if we applied potluck principles to all parts of church life? How would we change and grow? Everyone brings what they have, we all try something new, and there will be enough. Church vitality is seldom the result of new programs and strategic plans. Maybe churches should start to track recipes shared as the new vitality metric. When you share a recipe, you know a stranger has become a friend.

Open & Affirming Sunday | Where the Welcome Meets the Road | Acts 8:28-40 | June 25, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 25 Jun 2023 16:10:27 GMT

As a not-quite Baby Boomer born in 1964, I have seen astounding changes in gender roles, identity, and sexuality. I have gone from being traditional to cutting edge to bewildered to trying to stay curious to see where it all goes. I went to a college where we had to sign in to visit the women’s dorm, and we were to abstain from alcohol and non-biblical sexual practices. (It didn’t occur to me that made polygamy an option.). My seminary was at the forefront of pushing for acceptance of LGBTQ people in the church, and my congregation in Northampton was one-third lesbian and a few trans folks mixed in. A clergy group I facilitate is all LBGTQ identified except for one other straight woman.

I want to emphasize from this story that it has not been a straight and easy line from an Evangelical college in South Dakota to being in an Open and Affirming church and denomination today. The issues keep shifting, and I am still learning. Bewilderment at all this change is not just held by straight white guys like me. A lesbian colleague said that when she meets younger LGBTQ people, she feels like the most traditional and conservative person in the room. “We fought so hard to be accepted, to change the understanding of women, our societal role, and our right to be married. I didn’t see how big the trans and nonbinary movement would be, and I struggle to keep up. I don’t know what I will do when I’m asked to officiate at a wedding for a Throuple, but I bet it is coming. (Throuple is a romantic relationship among three people.)

My hope this morning isn’t to try answering all the questions or tell you what you need to believe to be a real Christian. My goal is to orient our hearts towards the God of compassion so we can think with a heart filled with love. What guidance can our ancient scriptures and wisdom give us? The Bible is full of competing narratives. The same God who creates Adam and Eve for each other doesn’t seem to mind polygamy. Jesus challenged divorce laws to be more strict but also released a woman caught in adultery who was about to be stoned. Paul wasn’t sure anybody should be married. Centuries later, the church decided all clergy had to be celibate. Cultural norms have always shaped sexuality and gender roles, and identity in the church.

You might ask me why we must talk about this in church, especially when it may be controversial, even in an Open and Affirming Church. I read an article in the NY Times a few weeks ago about Dwayne Wade, retired basketball All-Star for the Miami Heat. Wade has a transgender daughter and is moving out of state because anti-trans laws in Florida have created a hostile environment, and he does not feel his daughter is safe. The article describes the outflow of trans families from Florida as a human rights migration. For perspective, more than 100,000 trans-identified people in Florida, and as many as half are considering moving. Nationwide, an estimated 1.6 million people identify as trans.

Today's Biblical text from Acts of the Apostles gives us some interesting perspectives. Here we have the story of Philip, who hitches a ride with a man on the road to Egypt. Generally, we like stories about conversions, especially when someone comes over to our team. We can read this passage and think, “Isn’t it amazing that Phillip was guided by the Holy Spirit, and a powerful man from exotic Ethiopia, a man who oversaw the Queen’s treasury no less, quickly saw how great Jesus is and was baptized. Kudos to Phillip for bringing such an influential person into the fold.”

Here is the interesting subplot. This convert is a eunuch. In ancient times, a eunuch was both trusted and feared. Without family ties or interest in court liaisons, they could hold important jobs for a monarch, such as managing the king’s harem, food taster, or the manager of the Queen’s vast treasury.

This eunuch went to Jerusalem to worship, but there was a problem. In Leviticus and Deuteronomy, eunuchs are excluded from Temple worship. Leviticus 21:17-20 says, “No one of your offspring throughout the generations who has a blemish shall offer the food of his God. No one with a blemish shall draw near, one who is blind or lame, one who has a mutilated face or a limb too long, or one who has a broken foot or hand, or a hunchback or a dwarf, or a man with a blemish in his eyes, or an itching disease or scabs, or a man with crushed testicles.” To make food offerings to God, you needed to look like a male supermodel. Just to emphasize the point, in Deuteronomy 23:1“No one whose testicles are crushed, or whose penis is cut off shall be admitted into the Assembly of the Lord.”

There are some things in the Bible I’d rather not know or wonder what’s the point. The point of many early religious practices is that God is the magisterial, awesome, holy sovereign, much more magnificent than any earthly monarch, so to enter God’s temple one needed to be as pure, perfect, and holy as a mere human could be. Many religions have this fixation on trying to be perfect to be acceptable to a Holy God. The problem is this greatly narrows who is in and who is left out.

This Ethiopian eunuch goes to Jerusalem during Passover. Was he allowed to enter the Temple? Despite the important job of running a treasury, he was outside the range of acceptable people. As he rides the long, dusty way home, he is reading scripture, trying to come to terms with this, possibly feeling confused and humiliated. Listen to what he was reading from the prophet Isaiah:

Like sheep he was led to slaughter, like a lamb silent before his shearer, so he does not open his mouth. In his humiliation, justice had denied him. (Isaiah 53:7-8)

This is depressing stuff. When Philip comes aboard to explain the text, the eunuch asks, “Is the prophet speaking of his own experience, or the experience of someone else?” We could possibly see why the eunuch would seize on this passage, since it mirrors his recent experience.

Philip begins to talk about Jesus, who went through the ultimate experience of brutal humiliation of being stripped and crucified, yet he was righteous. Whatever Philip said had a strong impact. As the caravan passes some water, the man says, “What is to prevent me from being baptized right here?” Philip listened to the spiritual hunger in the man’s voice. A man who thought he was completely rejected from faith and God, now saw possibility for his life. Let’s give Philip a great deal of credit. He did not form a committee or launch a study process. He did stop because the disciples did not yet have a eunuch baptism policy. The eunuch was baptized and welcomed into the Jesus movement.

Why was Philip so bold? The early believers knew that Jesus continually stood with the marginalized and the outcasts of society. Maybe it doesn’t occur to Philip that he should not baptize someone. If Philip was really on his theological toes, he should have turned the eunuch’s scroll from Isaiah 53, just a few pages to Isaiah 56. This is an obscure verse to us, but would have been profound to a eunuch:

Do not let the eunuch say, “I am just a dry tree.” For thus says the Lord:

To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who chose the things that please me and hold fast to my covenant-these I will bring to my Holy Mountain and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my alter; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all people. Thus says the Lord God, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, I will gather others to them….” Isaiah 56:3

Isaiah is loosening the purity codes written in Leviticus and Deuteronomy, five centuries before Jesus, to say that inclusion is more important the purity. Here is the point: if anyone is trying to do the will of God, God welcomes them.

When we say every Sunday, “No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here,” we are not just trying to have a good marketing strategy and be friendlier than everyone else. It is an ethical imperative, a stand for justice, and a call to deep compassion when people are excluded and marginalized. It is what it means to follow Jesus. Acts of the Apostles says the Holy Spirit guided Philip to take this road and to be open to this man, and I wonder what will happen with us if we walk this road and be open to the Holy Spirit as well. Where will God take us? Who will God ask us to welcome? What is your part to play in this work of the Spirit?

Guest Preacher Eugenie O'Connell, Minister of Music | The Invisible Thread | Psalm 98 | Music Sunday | June 18, 2023

Sun, 18 Jun 2023 17:12:57 GMT

Once upon a time way back in the late spring of 2010 when I was preparing for Choir Sunday, I found an article in one of my choral journals that clearly addressed some of the difficulties facing church musicians. I gave a copy to Reverend Sarah so that she could use it for her sermon on Choir Sunday. She immediately suggested that I should give the sermon that day. I knew that I couldn’t take on “How Lovely is Thy Dwelling Place” from the Brahms Requiem as well as preach a sermon. Sarah explained that it would not be a problem, I could do it the next year. I managed to get out of preaching that sermon again the next year but alas, eventually the very clever Sarah asked again, in March, I said “oh, July is sooooo... far away, no problem.” But here is the dilemma, I still haven't been able to find the article that I know is just perfect for this message. However, I’m always preaching the same message - it has two parts and it's my pleasure to share an edited version of that sermon with you today. Thank you to Pastors Todd and Ginger for allowing me this opportunity.

The first part is that music is our invisible connection to God and secondly, everyone can and should be encouraged to make music.

Karl Paulnack when serving as Head of the Music Department at Boston Conservatory gave a much quoted speech to the parents of the incoming Freshman Class. During the course of that speech he discussed the ancient Greeks and how they believed that music was the study of relationships between invisible, internal, hidden objects. He said, “Music has a way of finding the big, invisible moving pieces inside our hearts and souls and helping us figure out the position of things inside us”. I say that’s God working within us.

In his psalms (songs) David repeatedly states the importance

of singing,

of playing instruments,

of making a joyful noise,

of having all creatures

make a joyful noise to God.

David understood that music is the invisible thread between God and his creatures.

Every week my head is filled with fragments of music from the previous worship service. I don’t choose them and I can’t stop them playing over and over in my head but they force me to consider the text or context more carefully. It is the invisible thread to God working within me.

Charged with choosing music for worship, I am convinced that the music should coordinate with the message that will be preached but quite often this needs to happen long before a message has been selected. Sometimes, I just need to get out of the way and let God send the plan. Many of you have often heard me say that I don’t choose the music, God does. You’ve also heard me say that I sometimes wish that he would send the message a little sooner so that there could be more practice time.

One recent afternoon before I began working on this message, while I was supposed to be practicing for the upcoming church service, I was interrupted by suddenly knowing exactly what the hymns for today’s service would be. There’s that mystical, invisible thread to God and it’s there for all of us. What we need to do is allow it to happen and use it.

This is both a joy and a challenge for what moves one creature doesn’t always work for another. When you hear the birds, do you stop to listen to the deep throated singing of the thrush? Do you enjoy the jubilation of the seagulls, the osprey, and the crows as much?

The same thing happens with human music. Do you get excited or moved by

*Gregorian Chant

*Medieval organum

*Gospel

*Jazz

*the Mormon Tabernacle Choir

*the organ music of JS Bach played on one of the great Silbermann organs?

People don’t look alike, don’t speak the same language, don’t hold the same beliefs and certainly aren’t moved by the same kinds of music.

Fortunately, in our church we are able to use many different styles of music, sometimes written for sacred purposes and sometimes not. Even when not written for the specific purpose of enhancing our connection to God - it might. A few years ago I played “Chattanooga Choo Choo” during the offertory. There isn’t anything remotely religious in that piece and it took me quite a while to convince myself that it would be alright to use it. It was a gift to one of our much loved members celebrating over 60 years of marriage in June. Her husband said that was the only piece from their wedding that she would remember. During the same service we heard a beautiful performance of the Malotte “Lord’s Prayer”, a piece that I have always found truly moving. Not so for all the members of this congregation. Some of you really dig the jazz service coming up in a few weeks - while others find it dreadful. How many of you heard something beautiful or moving during the Prelude? How many were thinking "I can't stand all this ringy dingy stuff."

Thank you for your acceptance of these varied musical moments that we share each week.

Nancy Duncan preached a very moving sermon here once where she spoke of “extravagant hospitality” and said “it is a sacred hospitality that changes the giver and the receiver.” I think that when we try to acomodate the musical needs of each person we are engaging in “extravagant hospitality”.

But it takes patience, courage, and a lot of cooperation.

I sent out a link on Wednesday to “The Atheist Song”. According to its composer Steve Martin it is the only song in the Atheist Hymnal. As we listened, some of us might have felt a little smug that we have a multitude of great religious music.

But our music is not for entertainment or amusement - it’s part of who we are.

Our music is not a luxury - it’s a necessity.

It’s one of our many invisible connections with God. It’s how we make sense of God moving within us.

My grandmother loved music. She whistled, she sang, she bounced babies, and she watched Lawrence Welk religiously every Saturday night but she would never sing in church. When we talked about it one day she explained that someone had told her once in church that she shouldn’t sing.

How many of you sitting here today have been told at some point in your lives that you can’t sing or you shouldn’t?

I am convinced that God wants each of us to sing, to dance, to ring bells, and to make a joyful noise.

God wants us to open the path for that invisible thread to work inside us and if we enjoy the process- God will not be unhappy.

And since you now know that I consider you all musicians in our worship let us share a prayer for musicians and liturgists inspired by Paul Inwood.

Grant unto us, O Lord, nerves of steel

that we may dare to sing a new song - and teach others to sing it too.

Grant unto us, O Lord, iron hands

that we might grasp the nettle of new music.

Yet, grant unto us, O Lord, velvet fingers

that we may touch tenderly the sensibilities of Your people.

Grant unto us, O Lord, feet light as feathers

that we may tread softly on the eggshells placed in our path.

Yet, grant unto us, O Lord, firm footsteps

that we might follow where You would have us go.

Grant unto us, O Lord, occasional failing memory

that we may forget the harsh criticisms of our taste in music.

Yet, grant unto us, O Lord, memory clear as crystal

that we may remember the joy - and comfort -

that our words and music bring.

Grant unto us, O Lord, the tongues of angels

that we may create harmony of discord.

Grant unto us, O Lord, shoulders of Teflon

that the mud that shall be cast shall not stick.

And above all else, dear Lord, grant unto us space and time in our busy-ness

that our souls may touch your soul - and we may learn to sing the songs that our

souls shall sing for ever.

Amen

Guest Preacher Rev. Virginia Rickeman | Gate of Heaven | Genesis 28:10-22; Matthew 9: 9-13 | June 11, 2023

Sun, 11 Jun 2023 15:16:59 GMT

Jacob was between a rock and a hard place. Having skillfully and despicably maneuvered his brother out of the birthright and blessing that belonged to the older Esau, Jacob’s cleverness had finally failed him. All he could do was flee and trust that his mother would find some way to keep Esau from following and killing him – Esau, the bigger, stronger man, the skilled hunter, who had a temper as fiery as his red hair. But unlike Jacob, and unbeknownst to Jacob, Esau had some respect for their father, Isaac, and decided to wait until after the old man died, before pursuing his brother. So Jacob ran.

When darkness arrived, he was exhausted. Pillowing his head on a stone, he fell into a deep sleep in which he had an extraordinary dream. Upon waking, he recognized that God was in this place where he had slept – and he hadn’t even known it. At exactly this point of limbo — landless, rootless and with no real prospects for the future — God met Jacob at a place of no special significance and transformed it into the house of God, the gate of heaven. His dream of a stairway did not give Jacob access to heaven; rather, God spoke to Jacob where he was, denoting God's immanent presence rather than a faraway removed God calling from a distance.

To this point in the Bible’s account of Jacob – whose name means “the one who trips up” or “trickster”– there is no mention of Jacob paying any attention to God or to the covenant God had made with his father Isaac and his grandfather Abraham. Undoubtably, Jacob had observed Isaac offering prayers and sacrifices, but God wasn’t “real” to him, in the way that food and water, love and anger, stones and stars are real. Nothing beyond Jacob had yet laid hold of him and claimed his life. Not until this dream of a stairway or ladder with God’s messengers going up and down, did Jacob experience the presence of God – and it filled him with fear and awe.

Jacob didn’t pray to God, asking to be kept safe. He didn’t have any idea that he could. It was God who first approached Jacob and made unqualified promises of protection and blessing; land, descendants and prosperity. God came to Jacob when he was most vulnerable, when he knew he was alone and lost, when he was most aware that there was nothing he could do or offer in exchange for the gift of his life. Nor did God call Jacob to account for the ways in which he had manipulated, used and betrayed the people closest to him. The encounter was all grace, all promise, all reflecting the nature of God, not Jacob’s fitness or worthiness.

Who and what Jacob was – his flaws, his personality disorders, his weaknesses, his fears, doubts, worries, self-centeredness – God knew it all. God knew. And of all the characters God could have chosen, God still chose Jacob. Today’s story attests to the ability of a divine reality to break into a world of fear, terror, and loneliness. In this text, Jacob’s dream, which he dreamed somewhere in the middle of nowhere, offers a different way of looking at the world. When the dreamer sees a world that is infused with the divine presence, it transforms both the dreamer and the world around him.

Holy ground – the gate to heaven – may be anywhere. There is no way we can know where or when God will reveal God’s self. We human beings often seem to think it will be on mountains – whether Mount Sinai or Mount Olympus. Or in a grove of ancient trees – oaks or redwoods, say. Or in a building dedicated to worshiping God – a temple or a church. There will be at least a shrine or a circle of stones or something to indicate that here is a place where God once put in an appearance and might again.

In scripture, though, God is most often encountered in the middle of nowhere. It’s in the literal and/or figurative wildernesses of life that God tends to break into human awareness. I think that’s because when we feel lost, alone, at the end of our resources, that’s when we are most likely to be our true selves – without rationalizations or illusions, without pretense or defense.

Frequently, it’s only in hindsight that we recognize that “God is in this place – and I did not know it.” Sometimes, it’s only looking back that we realize God walked with us through the valley of the shadow of death. On the other side of grief or terror or depression we may come to understand that we survived because God was there, even though we did not know it.

But occasionally, it’s right there in the middle of the all-gone-wrongness of things that it hits us, God is in this place – and I didn’t know it.

For me one of those times was when my husband and I were divorcing. Although we speak of divorce as if it were a single moment in time, it’s not like that at all. There is a long time – months, maybe years – that can be compared to the grinding of tectonic plates, building an awful tension before the final rupture. And then, of course, there is the slow work of putting things in order after any earthquake. Well, I knew the earthquake was coming – indeed, I had helped to precipitate it. And I both wanted and didn’t want the break. In the middle of the realization of how wrong it all was, in the middle of the dining room – who knows what I was doing? – God suddenly brought me up short. No words, no vision, just the simple understanding that I was God’s beloved, that God had not and would not desert me.

Why then? Why when all my worst traits and fears were so in evidence? When I knew most clearly that grace was completely undeserved? That’s just when God found me available, I guess.

Unlike Jacob, I didn’t immediately erect a stone or create a shrine. That dining room and everything it contained is long gone from my life. What I have is the memory and now the putting into words of my experience. My shrine is this testimony, this story, unremarkable though it is. But putting words together takes time. If, like Jacob, we need a more immediate, more tangible mark of an encounter with God, a stone will do. Any old stone.

On your way out of church, on the side of the road, in your own yard, pick up a stone today — whatever catches your eye. Over the course of this week, perhaps you will pause – or be forced to pause by circumstances beyond your control – and realize “God is in this place, too – and I didn’t know it.” If so, a rock could come in handy as a marker, a reminder that God is apt to find us anywhere.

The place may be your vehicle – when you are stopped in a long line due to road repair.

The place may be your garden that, far from the paradise of your imaginings, is playing host to beetles and slugs, a woodchuck and powdery mildew.

The place may be your bedroom, when something – moonlight through the window or the cat or your aging body has awakened you in the wee hours and you can’t fall back to sleep.

It may be your place of work, when the umpteenth interruption prevents you from accomplishing what you had intended this day and the stress is leaving you exhausted.

Or, just perhaps, God may find you in a place of beauty – some place that has always managed to restore your soul, or a place that you have visited many times and only now does it hit you how extraordinary it is, or a place that you come upon for the first time, whose loveliness makes you catch your breath. You feel immensely grateful, while knowing there was nothing you did to deserve such a blessing.

The apostle Matthew did nothing to deserve the honor of having Jesus as a guest at his table. Matthew, a Jew, a Son of the Covenant, had, like Jacob, betrayed his family when he turned to collecting taxes for the enemy occupiers. If you think of yourself as a good, patriotic, spiritual person, wouldn’t you wonder what in heaven’s name Jesus was doing, enjoying the hospitality of a traitor? Why did Jesus choose Matthew of all people? Why not one of the law-abiding, respectable, honorable Pharisees?

How does Jesus answer that? “Law-abiding, respectable, honorable folks have no need of me,” he says. “It’s the law-breaking, unrespectable, dishonorable ones who need healing.”

Now we’re caught, just like Jacob, between a rock and a hard place. Either we hold on to the image of ourselves as decent, upright, virtuous, and having it all together — and thereby forgo grace — because why would we need it?

OR we admit to that piece of ourselves that is unwell, shameful, dishonorable — and thereby open ourselves to the possibility of amazing grace. There’s a catch, of course. If we acknowledge our need for grace, we are joining the company of other needy, unrespectable, immoral people whom Jesus came to heal. That is, we can hold ourselves aloof and forfeit Jesus’ presence in our lives, or risk reputation and honor by partying with all the other low-lifes Jesus calls friends. But hey! We can be a whole congregation of partying low-lifes and have a rousing good time together!

Easier said than done, though, isn’t it? We have buried shame so deeply; who wants to risk exposure?

Steven Garnaas-Holmes, on his blog, Unfolding Light, put it like this:

There are two religions in the world:
the religion of being right
and the religion of being loving.
They are incompatible.
Get it right and you may hurt someone.
Love, and you may break a rule.
We are always practicing one
or the other every moment,
always choosing.
This is Jesus' faith in a nutshell:
not religious orthodoxy but loving behavior.
Not being right but being loving.
I know this, and believe it deeply.
Yet Jesus' words stick:
“Go and learn.”
I'm not there yet.
I'm still right, and proud of it.
Still learning, still learning.

Just so. Nevertheless, God can find us anywhere, at any moment, to sneak grace into our hearts and entice us toward new life. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Rooted in God's Unconditional Love | Ephesians 3:17-18 | June 4, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 04 Jun 2023 14:29:14 GMT

A noise awakened me in the night. I was a teenager on an Iowa farm. The sound was likely a squeal from a spooked pig, but I knew I would not sleep unless I checked to see what was happening. I was grumpy. Was there a dog bothering them? Did a piglet get out? I was greeted at the back door by a cloud of fog drifting down and filtering the moonlight. I felt drawn to walk into the pasture and be in the mist. The urge was as strong as a voice speaking, so I went. The fog drifted in clouds floating around me, through me, and carrying me in wonder. For a moment, I was outside myself, or not even myself, lost in wonder. The fog and the night filled me we a sense of well-being. It felt like love, like a consciousness saying, "Welcome. You belong!" I had not earned this love. I hadn't sought it; I stumbled into its arms and was held briefly.

Since that time, I experienced failure and success, joy and loss, hope and despair. Occasionally, I have felt the same welcome. It is a love that has never let me go, even as I drift and forget. The phrase "unconditional love" is one way to describe the experience. It is more than what any human can offer. It is given not as a reward or obligation but simply as a gift.

Being rooted in God's unconditional love is more than a belief. Paul says in Ephesians,

So that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, ¹⁸ may have power, together with all the Lord's holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.

I preached a sermon on Jesus a few weeks ago, asking Peter if he loved him. Jesus asked in Greek, "Do you agape me?" Agape is altruistic, self-giving love, seeking nothing in return. Agape is desiring and acting for the good of another life. It may be related to the love of friendship or lovers' passion, but the word describes a unique aspect of love. The closest phrase to agape in English may be "unconditional love."

Psychologists began speaking about unconditional love in the mid-20 ^th century. Carl Rogers revolutionized psychotherapy with the idea that demonstrating an unconditional positive regard for the client is a pre-condition for healing and growth. A social psychologist and philosopher, Erich Fromm, wrote "The Art of Loving" (1956), exploring unconditional love as a transformative force. He suggests unconditional love requires genuine care, respect, and understanding for the other person without expecting anything in return. Fromm emphasizes the dynamic nature of unconditional love, stating:

"Love is an activity, not a passive affect; it is a 'standing in,' not a 'falling for.' In the most general way, the active character of love can be described by stating that love is primarily giving, not receiving." (Fromm, E. The Art of Loving, p. 6)

Therefore, unconditional love requires character development, self-awareness, and the ability to overcome our limitations. Embodying unconditional love is a lifelong process of personal growth. By starting our Mission Statement with "Being rooted in God's unconditional love," we commit to being a community that fills us with this capacity.

We need to talk about what unconditional love is not. Love does not give up our personal boundaries or force us into continued harmful situations. Love does not mean putting up with abuse. Just as you would not let a child run into a busy street because you respect their autonomy, nor do you want to enable any destructive behavior. You can respectfully tell someone no. It can be an act of love to say where we stand and what our boundaries are. Tough love is not incompatible with unconditional love. That idea probably deserves an entire sermon. Our goal here is to remember as we navigate these challenging situations, we are rooted in God's unconditional love for us.

The strength to love, especially when people are frustrating, indifferent, or even hostile to love, takes more than what we can offer alone. We need the deep roots of God's love to hold us firmly, nourish us and heal us to persevere. Christian mystics understood this long before psychology came along.

Meister Eckhart said, "If someone were to ask me what God is, I would say that God is a lover. And so, God has given all creatures a little seed of love, and this is all they need." (Meister Eckhart, Sermon 16). This quote illustrates the fundamental nature of Christian spirituality. We love because God first loves us. God loves us before we can even care for ourselves when we might be baptized as infants. We don't achieve love; we receive it from the Divine Spirit

We take in a lot through our minds in church, listening to scripture readings, sermons, and prayers. Faith is also formed in the heart and even in all five senses of the body. Through guided meditation, I want to invite you into a mind, body, and heart experience of being rooted in love. This meditation will characterize the three things that roots do for a tree. First, roots draw water and nutrients to nurture the tree's life. Second, roots provide the strength and stability to stand in a storm. Third, like a tree producing oxygen as a gift back to the world, love helps us participate in the life cycle and God's work in the world.

Imagine your favorite tree. Allow a picture of its shape and branches to become more apparent in your mind. Your tree may have broad leaves like maple or evergreen pine needles. It's your tree, so it can have pink spring blossoms or fall fruit hanging from its branches. Let those feelings of wonder, comfort, and even love sink into your heart.

First, we will focus on the underground strength of your tree's roots. Push both feet into the floor and be in touch with the ground. Spread your toes and imagine each one as a separate root pushing down into the earth, connecting you deeper below the surface. Hold your hands palms up in your lap. Spread your fingers as branches. Pause on each toe as a root and get in touch with your system below the surface. Sense the cool earth on your roots and the feeling of rich soil as you dig in with all your toe roots. Imagine as much of you being underground as above ground.

Roots bring energy and nutrients into the tree. Feel your roots drawing energy upward into your body. Imagine each root sipping from the earth like a small straw as the energy moves up your legs and torso and out to your arms. You can even raise your arms a bit as much as comfortable to feel them like limbs drawing energy upwards. If you are feeling energized your arms can go past your shoulders and over your head, or you can leave them a waist level. Take a moment and draw the energy of love up from the roots of your toes and all the way out to your arms and fingertips, like branches and leaves.

Roots also give a tree stability. Remember, half of you is underground. Sense how your roots are holding you in place. Imagine the wind picking up around you, and it blows you left to right, causing your torso trunk to rock gently. The wind blows a little harder and rocks you further over. As the wind increases, feel your trunk stabilizing you below. The wind is pushing hard enough to lean you over, but your roots have you. Even as your torso and arms sway, you are firm in your place. You are so deeply connected down into the ground that the earth holds you in love through any storm.

Now that you have nutrients from the soil and a taproot of stability, you are firmly rooted in love. You have love to give. You have taken in water and earth, and now you are sending out life-giving oxygen to the whole living world. Being rooted in love is a cycle of receiving and giving. Because of your roots, you have love to share. Send out your oxygen so everything can breathe and live more fully. Spend a moment receiving loving energy from your roots and sending it out around you. As you send love out, the people around you are doing the same thing. Take in this love with a deep breath, and return it with a long, slow exhale. Try a few cycles of giving and receiving love through these long breaths.

To draw to a close, hear Paul's words from Ephesians again,

Breath of Life | John 20:19-23 | May 28, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 28 May 2023 14:15:51 GMT

"When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit."

The obvious hymn choice for this text is "Breath on me, breath of God," which I have avoided since we discovered that breathing on each other spreads a deadly virus. It didn't feel right to sing about even God breathing on us, while watching online church in isolation. It feels strange if you imagine how this scene would be acted on stage. And why would Jesus breathe on his disciples anyway?

There is deep biblical symbolism about breath and spiritual life. Genesis 2:7 says,

"Then the LORD God formed the human of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the human became a living creature."

Every breath you take is a gift of life from the living God. Psalms 150:6 advises, "Let everything that has breath praise the LORD." In John, the very recently Risen Christ, rendered breathless on the cross, is breathing out the breath of life to his disciples, reminding them of the divine source of their living animation. In both Greek and Hebrew, the word for breath can also mean spirit or soul. So, Christ comes to the disciples, breaths out, and says receive the Holy Breath, the Holy Spirit, the Divine Breath that is the source of life.

I wonder if Christ gave one long-flowing breath across the room. (I long whhhh.). Or was it more like a series of short chops (huh, huh, huh.)? When I think of breathing, I think of yoga class. How you breathe is essential in lots of spiritual practices. I've been practicing "Yoga with Adrienne" on YouTube most mornings for the last three months. It seems the purpose of yoga is to put me into ever more complicated body positions and remind me not to forget to breathe. It's one thing to sit still and focus on long deep breaths. But soon, I'm upside down in the V-shape called downward dog. Just as I get used to breathing, Adrienne asks me to lift my left leg in the air to three-legged dog. Then bring my back leg through to my nose, and yes, I'm still supposed to breathe. Next, I must breathe in a tree pose while standing on one leg. Before I get too comfortable, I must lift my hands over my head, stay balanced on my leg and still remember to breathe! Yoga should be translated into English to "Breathing lessons in awkward positions."

But there is wisdom in this. If I can breathe in a three-legged dog or tree pose with eagle arms, maybe I can breathe through the awkward times in life. It reminds me to breathe in a meeting when someone says something unhelpful or even toxic. Breathe when waiting for medical test results or listening to a news anchor lose their mind with the latest breaking news. Breathe through a necessary difficult conversation or when the words aren't coming for the sermon. Just breathe. When we feel like we can't handle what is before us, we say, "I can't breathe." Breathing connects us back to the moment and the source of life which moves in our being. God did not finish breathing life into us with one creature formed in the dust. Christ draws the disciples back to the source of life as he breathes on them and says, "Receive the Holy Spirit."

In John's Gospel, this is the Pentecost moment where the promise of the Holy Spirit is fulfilled. This Spirit is something Jesus promises to his disciples at the Last Supper in John. On his last night, after washing the disciples' feet, he tells them four times that a helper will come to them after his death to comfort and instruct them. John 14:26 illustrates this:

But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father/Creator will send in my name, will teach you everything and remind you of all that I have said to you.

To describe the work of the Holy Spirit, John borrows the Greek word "paraclete" and gives it a theological meaning. Paraclete can mean an advocate, a helper, or a comforter. The prefix "para" means to come alongside. Think of words like paralegal, paramedic, paragraph, or parasite. In Greek, a paraclete could be a legal advocate, a person who comforts you in grief, or a teacher who mentors you. In each role, someone comes alongside to give you strength, courage, or the wisdom you need to overcome a challenge. These advocates don't do things for you but help you so you are not facing things alone. When Christ meets with the disciples after his resurrection and breaths out to them, he is fulfilling this promise of an intimate connection, an advocate and helper who will be present in life's challenges.

Early Christians used the word Paraclete frequently to describe the work of the Holy Spirit.

St. Cyril of Alexandria (376-444): Cyril, in his Commentary on the Gospel of John, emphasizes the Paraclete's transformative work in believers' lives. He said, "The Holy Spirit is the cause of our being conformed to God and our becoming sharers in the divine nature." I love the phrase "sharers in divine nature," which reminds me of Paul saying, "In God, we live and move and have our being."

John Calvin, the early Protestant Reformer in Geneva, wrote about the Paraclete as taking the role as our teacher. He believed that when we read scripture, the Holy Spirit illuminates the words so we may better understand and apply them. Calvin said we might read the words of the Bible, "which would otherwise only may only strike the ear as an empty sound. Instead, the Holy Spirit helps the word penetrate the mind, is sealed in the heart, and obtains full authority of the conscience." (Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 3, Chapter 1, Section 4).

Martin Luther emphasized that the Paraclete doesn't just give us wisdom and perspective but also prods our conscience as we reflect. This thought was spiritually revolutionary when Luther wrote. Before Luther, wrestling with your conscience required you to go to a priest, confess, and receive penance. But what if you had an important decision and a priest could not be found? Or you didn't trust your priest's guidance? Luther believed the Holy Spirit was available to everyone simply by praying and listening inward. Imagine the cultural shift of encouraging everyone to find their relationship with the Holy Spirit.

This practice of inviting the Holy Spirit to illuminate our minds while reflecting on scripture is essential to understanding our Congregational roots. We do not have creeds that tell you what you must believe to join the church. We do not have cardinals or bishops who command our obedience. We have a community of this congregation, in covenant with the broader church. This community works best when we regularly reflect on the meaning of our scriptures, inviting the Holy Spirit to illuminate us. That is a great freedom and responsibility. If we fail to take the time to study and reflect and pray together, we will become unmoored.

Being a Congregationalist means we have named ourselves after a process. We are not called by our founders like Calvinists or Lutherans; we are process people. We depend upon the Holy Spirit to guide and challenge us. A member of our Bible Study group, Donald Duncan, shared with me something he wrote a few years ago about our church and the Holy Spirit.

In recent years, this church has embarked on many projects. Not the least of which was our vote on Open and Affirming and the Capital Campaign that raised over a million dollars to improve the church building. Both projects had opposition within the Church, but both were carried out successfully. Currently, we can take pride in those who stepped forward in response to the Covid-19 pandemic.

I ascribe these successes to the Holy Spirit which, mysteriously and miraculously, provides us with the necessary courage, imagination, and motivation to change good ideas into firm reality. (Donald Duncan)

What I love about Don's words is that the Holy Spirit's work doesn't always look miraculous or spectacular. It happens in the work of the community, and at the time, it can be messy, even controversial. We must trust the process. In hindsight, we often look back and see that the Spirit was present. The work of the Spirit is like tending a garden. You may not feel the Spirit moving while weeding between the rows, but you certainly notice it when harvesting your peas or green beans.

Relying on the Holy Spirit may be the antidote to a world run by algorithms. ChatGPT and AI are marvels. I love asking ChatGPT questions; it is almost like having a research assistant. But it is only a tool. We shouldn't outsource the good life, a moral life, or our love life to a chatbot. For centuries we have had something better, a life-giving connection to our Creator through the still-speaking voice of the Holy Spirit. We have always had the aid of a comforter and advocate, one who comes alongside us and transforms our lives as we daily seek the Spirit. What do we do to receive these wonders? Ask, seek, knock, wait, and it will be given to you.

Resurrection IV: All Things New | Revelation 21:1-7 | May 21, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 21 May 2023 13:17:48 GMT

"I saw a new heaven and a new earth," the writer of Revelation says. "God will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' ^[ ^b ^] or mourning, crying, or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

I invite you to imagine a conversation at a Deacons meeting in about 85 to 90 CE in a church in Asia Minor (now modern Turkey.). This church is part of the target audience of the Book of Revelation. Rome emerged from civil war, having four emperors in four years. Now Emperor Diocletian is persecuting Christians.

Deacon One says, "What is the world coming to? I don't want to hear one more word because the news is so terrible. Last week at the Colosseum, they threw eight Christians into the arena, and lions tore them to pieces. And the crowd cheered the whole time. Rome worships death and violence."

Deacon Two says, "I blame Nero. He is the one who destroyed the Republic. He always scapegoated other people for his failures and then played the victim. Remember, he is the one who burned Rome and blamed Christians for the destruction. But people love the bread and circuses and gladiatorial combat, which distracts from their real problems."

Deacon Three says, "Hold on, I don't think we should blame the Roman Empire. My father was proud to serve in the 5 ^th Legion in Gaul. Emperor Domitian is a reformer, and we should give him time. The Christians in Rome must learn to keep their heads down and practice their faith quietly." He is interrupted by Deacon One, "But they are asking people to renounce their faith in Christ and swear to the gods of Rome. We must stay faithful."

"But is that what Jesus would ask of us? Even Peter renounced Jesus three times when faced with a threat to his life. Sometimes you must say what you must in public but cross your fingers behind your back. Jesus would understand."

"But Jesus died on a cross. Doesn't that mean something? We are supposed to follow his example." The Senior Deacon says, "It's getting late. We need to figure out the communion schedule. And we still have this new book, "The Revelation," to discuss. Did everyone get a chance to read it before the meeting?"

Has it ever been easy to be a Christian? Just being a human is an act of faith and hope. It is easy to fall into the mindset of "everything is awful." I feel caught between wanting to be well-informed and wishing I didn't know too much. Which town in America will have a mass shooting this week? 874 unique book titles were banned in the United States in 2023. As we approach Memorial Day, I wonder why there seem to be more neo-Nazi marches. Didn't we defeat Fascism in World War II? It's the stuff below the headlines that really scare me. Will there be food shortages as the Colorado River and reservoirs dry up? Soon we may have more mass migrations from our water-stricken West than we currently have at the Southern border (which are also related to climate change in Latin America.). Let’s stop there.

Early Christians have much to teach us about faith and hope. How did people hear these words of The Revelation that God is creating a new heaven and earth? Christians of Jewish background would notice these words echo Isaiah 65, where the prophet promised God's new heaven and earth to Jews living in exile in the Babylonian Empire. The author of Revelation frequently refers to Babylon as a code for Rome. If Rome were directly criticized, this book would likely have been destroyed. That is why Revelation is so coded we struggle to unravel it now. The point is that God's promise is still relevant; those in Babylonian exile returned to a New Jerusalem, only to lose it again in the generation after Christ. The ancient hope endures for God's creative work amid suffering.

How the new heaven and earth arrives is different than how we view historical change. The tendency is to think history will end in either human disaster or progress. Vision one is life will deteriorate because of human evil until we destroy ourselves, and God will rescue the faithful. Vision two is a belief that through science and reason, human goodness will triumph, and we will progress towards a final golden age of utopia. But in the Revelation, we neither destroy the old Jerusalem nor build the new one ourselves. The New Jerusalem descends from heaven into human history, and God dwells among us.

Think of all the times Jesus says, "The Kingdom of Heaven has drawn near:

· Luke 10:9: "Heal the sick in it and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.'"

· Matthew 10:7: "And proclaim as you go, saying, 'The kingdom of heaven is at hand.'"

But Jesus, it has been a very long time. Life is painful, and the world is unjust. Where is God in this? How far away is this New Jerusalem coming down among us?

Luke 17:20-21 reads: "Being asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, he answered them, 'The kingdom of God is not coming in ways that can be observed, nor will they say, "Look, here it is!" or "There!" for behold, the Kingdom of God is in the midst of you.'"

So perhaps the Kingdom of heaven is not coming with the next election, or the next scientific advance, or Supreme Court ruling. Maybe the new heaven and earth break in when we recognize and embrace the possibility of God's love. Sometimes we perceive God's work at the end of Apartheid in South Africa or the Civil Rights Act. We see it shining in people, from Jesus to Martin Luther King, Jr. to your neighbor. This Kingdom often comes in inches. It arrives at an AA meeting, a food pantry, choir practice, when we stop and listen without judgment, or a thousand other ways. We see glimpses of the new heaven and earth, which are never perfect or complete, but for a moment, the tears are wiped away, and we lose our fear of death and embrace life.

Resurrection III: The Cosmic Importance of Small Things | Colossians 1:15-20 | May 14, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 14 May 2023 13:15:36 GMT

[Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible….

Jesus the Christ is cosmically significant. In what sounds like an early hymn, the author of Colossians proclaims the loftiest view of Christ in the New Testament. Calling Jesus of Nazareth "Christ" lifts him beyond a great person in history. In modern terms, the writer says this Jewish carpenter, a subcontractor, who was also a charismatic rabbi, is the key to understanding God's hope for the universe. In his life, teaching, death, and resurrection, all things find meaning and energy in God's purpose. That is cosmic!

What do you think of when I use the word "cosmic"? I remember astronomer Carl Sagan's show "Cosmos,” the most watched PBS show ever. Sagan appeared on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show 26 times. In his first episode, Sagan stood over a pounding waterfall and said, "The size and age of the universe are beyond human understanding, lost between immensity and eternity….Our species is young and curious and brave and has made much progress," But our future depends on the scientific work of understanding our world. Sagan was cosmic. Listen to his words which were the inspiration for Joni Mitchell's song "Stardust,"

The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.

After hearing him speak, I wanted to learn about all the star constellations, and our family bought a telescope. He showed me the world was bigger than Boone, Iowa, and even more significant than Boston, America, or the human species. I didn't become an astronomer, but Sagan did influence my spirituality and view of God. He deeply believed that science led us not to cast God out of the universe but to explore the greatest mysteries of the creative force of all life and consciousness. Therefore, theology must not be reduced to narrow doctrine. Spirituality that is cosmic is more than ritual, positive thinking, or being a better person. We are awed to discover our deep connection to God and all life. How cosmic is that?!

Back to Colossians, how does Jesus of Nazareth go from being a brilliant, witty, and courageous rabbi to the Christ of faith who is the firstborn of all creation? And how would this cosmic view of Christ help us to a growing faith? The original biblical authors had no idea how much creation was out there. They never heard of a galaxy, black hole, or light year. They didn't know the Earth was round and revolved around the sun. Yet a few verses of scripture point to Jesus becoming part of the life force in all things.

Modern scholarship moved away from this kind of theology to the great "Quest for the Historical Jesus." How can we know what is historically true about Jesus? Hundreds of scholars and preachers have sifted through archeological evidence, Greek manuscripts, and historical research to get the most complete and accurate possible picture of who Jesus was so we can understand what Christianity is about. At least ¾ of my sermons follow this path. The thinking was that if we can get a clear picture of the historical Jesus and what he taught, we can get to the true faith.

The value of the quest for the historical Jesus grounds us in human reality and brings Jesus close to us, but maybe too close sometimes. It is often the case that the portraits of the historical Jesus look much like our own highest ideals, rather than letting Jesus speak for himself and challenge and shape us. We create the Jesus we want. Our spirituality also needs a sense of transcendence and awe, that God is more than the best of human reality, even more than what the Jesus of history shows us. We need both the human Jesus and the Cosmic Christ. We need to explore the words of scripture and the wonders of the cosmos to fully seek the Divine. (In John 3:16, which reads, “God so loved the world that he gave his son….” The Greek word for world is cosmos. God so loved the cosmos!)

Colossians does not speak at all about the historical Jesus of Nazareth. The short letter is about the implications of the Risen Christ connecting us to God and showing us God's purposes for all creation. This Christ was together with God in the beginning, then became human at the incarnation, and after death and resurrection, pulls us towards a final union with God. This is Christmas Eve theology. The last reading of the "Lessons and Carols" service is the beginning of John's Gospel:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ² He was with God in the beginning. ³ Through him, all things were made; without him, nothing was made that has been made. ⁴ In him was life, and that life was the light of all humankind. And the word became flesh and dwelt among us.

This text describes not just a historical Jesus but a cosmic Christ. The first theologian to use the term "Cosmic Christ" was Teilhard de Chardin, a Jesuit who was also a paleontologist. De Chardin participated in the excavation which discovered the "Peking Man," skull dated at least 230,000 years old. Later discoveries in Ethiopia pushed early human development back to possibly 4 million years. The idea of human origins being so ancient and occurring in stages of evolution created theological controversy in the Catholic Church. Didn't all humans descend directly from Adam and Eve, already created in God's image, just as we are today? Official church doctrine held that the earth was created in one week of 4004 BCE. Archbishop Ussher added all the years of the genealogies of Genesis to get this date. These discoveries of the evolutionary development of humankind were viewed as one more threat by science to dethrone God from the control of the universe. First, we find the earth revolves around the sun, and we aren't the center of the universe. Gravity spins the planets, taking the heavens out of the control of God. What happens to our scriptures if humans were not created in the beginning, but were millions of years later to the party? Soon scientists might challenge the notion that the Pope was infallible.

De Chardin thought this archeological discovery was fascinating and worked to bring together the archeological evidence with faith and scripture. For his efforts, he was silenced by the Catholic Church and ordered not to teach or publish in 1926, a ban that lasted until his death. De Chardin was mainly unknown when he was buried in a monastery graveyard in Hyde Park, NY. His book "The Phenomenon of Man," written in 1941, was finally published after his death in 1957. John XXIII, the reforming Pope, discouraged people from reading it, and Catholic booksellers couldn't carry it.

When I stumbled across his gravesite and read the inscription, I was immediately interested in reading a book so steeped in controversy. The book is profound, controversial, and still relevant today. If you think God's work in humanity began 4 million years ago, not just 4000 BCE, it creates a powerful shift. Think of the investment of time in human development. Ninety-nine percent of human history finally gets us to the point of creating a written language. If you ever wondered whether God has the patience to deal with you, there is proof. De Chardin is eloquent about the wonder of the evolution of not just our bodies but human consciousness. He believes our consciousness is no accident but part of the purpose of creating the universe. Our God-given calling is to continue striving for greater consciousness and understanding of how the universe and all life are interrelated.

Guess what scripture text de Chardin put at the center of his theology. Colossians 1:15-20,

[Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, ¹⁶ for in ^[ ⁱ ^] him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible….

The Risen, Cosmic Christ, is the key to understanding humanity's divine evolutionary task. The work of God in Jesus of Nazareth was like the splitting of the atom, releasing new spiritual energy into the world. At the resurrection of Christ, love is unleashed with new power which brings greater harmony to all living things. Whatever you do to increase human flourishing in the millions of years project contributes to God's ultimate hope for life.

Here's the end of De Chardin story. His publication spawned new thinking about humanities role in the universe and spurred environmental theology. Pope Francis quoted this once-banned work as the starting point for understanding our place in creation and the spiritual necessity of addressing climate change. If, as Colossians and De Charden says, Christ is the in and part of all things, then we must also add to the Great Commandment to love the earth as we love ourselves. We are in relationship with all living things, who are in Christ as well.

The rehabilitation of de Chardin’s work reminds us that we are constantly working towards things that are much bigger than us and these things take more than our lifetime. But we must persist because the next generations are counting on us. As Sagan said, maybe we need to claim that our species is young and curious and brave, and our next spiritual evolution is to find ourselves in a relationship of love to all of creation.

Resurrection II: Restored to Friendship with God | John 21:14-21 | May 7, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 07 May 2023 13:12:18 GMT

Do you love me? It is The. Fundamental. Human. Question. We ask the question at the relationship's beginning, middle, and end. We ask it of spouses, family, and even God. Often our question is prompted by friction or crisis. During a disagreement, angry words spilled over. We disappointed someone close to us and feared they would ditch us. Insecurity seeps in when we feel like a burden, so we ask for reassurance. In the musical "Fiddler on the Roof," Tevya sings to Golde, "Do you love me?" She thinks it is a silly question,

For twenty-five years, I've washed your clothes
Cooked your meals, cleaned your house
Given you children, milked the cow
After twenty-five years, why talk about love right now?

But Tevya persists and asks her six times before she says, "Yes, I suppose I do." They both sing together at the end,

It doesn't change a thing
But even so
After twenty-five years
It's nice to know

The song came to mind as I thought about Jesus asking Peter three times if he loved him. This scene is the last in John's Gospel. After breakfast of bread and fish on the beach with Jesus, he turns to Peter and asks, "Peter, do you love me?" The question is overshadowed by Peter denying Jesus three times just a few days before. Peter proclaimed, "I will lay down my life for you." Jesus answers, "Peter, you will deny me three times before the cock crows." (John 13:37). You might think Peter should be the one asking, "Jesus, do you still love me after my failure?" Why is Jesus asking Peter? Does Jesus need reassurance, or is the question really for Peter?

The first time Jesus asks, he says, "Peter, do you love me more than these?" We aren't sure if "these" refers to the other disciples, the fish they caught, or the fishing life in general. Peter could answer the question with a chuckle, "Yes, Lord, you know I love you." Then Jesus asks a second time, and things feel more serious. But the third time Jesus asks, it says Peter is hurt. Peter seems uncomfortable having to answer three times in front of everyone. But it's only fair after denying Jesus three times. Jesus isn't making Peter grovel to make up for his mistake. After each exchange, Jesus says feed my sheep or tend my lambs. He is rehabilitating Peter, not tearing him down. Without speaking honestly about Peter's denial, his guilt and shame will linger. When we pretend things like this don't happen, they become like a festering wound and more toxic and painful. Jesus is acting as the Great Physician performing surgery on Peter's soul. Jesus wants Peter free and whole.

The story is rich and moving just as it is, but the original Greek adds a layer of complexity. Ancient Greek used three words for love which overlap but have different emphases. First, Eros is romantic, passionate, desiring love. Eros isn't just romantic; Plato thought this love was also the source of creativity. Second, philos is the love between friends. This love is mutual and reciprocated. Aristotle believed friendship was one of the highest virtues for health and success in life. Without friends, what is the point of having plenty of things? He described close friendships as one soul dwelling in two bodies.

Third, agape-love is associated with altruism. Agape is self-giving love, seeking nothing in return. Plato said this is the highest form of love. Aristotle believed agape was the force that kept the planets and stars ordered correctly in the heavens. Using "unconditional love" in our mission statement is similar to what agape describes. Agape is also how Homer describes the love held by Odyssey's dog Argos, his faithful companion who recognizes him even disguised as a beggar. So, ErosEros relates to your lover, philos is among friends, and agape is from God or your dog. (the same three letters in reverse order!)

The first time Jesus says, "Peter, do you love me?" he uses the word agape. Peter answers, "Yes Lord, I philos-love you." In other words, Peter, do you love me in a self-sacrificial way, expecting nothing in return?" Yes, Lord, I love you as a friend." Jesus asks a second time, Peter, do you agape me? Yes, Lord, I philos you. The third time, Jesus says, "Peter, do you philos-love me?" And Peter answers, "Yes, Lord, I philos-love you."

One group of biblical scholars thinks the changes don't matter because these words can sometimes be used interchangeably. What if Jeanne asks, "Todd, do you love me?" I answer, "Jeanne, you know you are my friend." If you are dating and are the first to say, "I love you," what happens when the other person says, "You are such a good friend"? Maybe they aren't in the same place with the love you are in.

Another interpretation is that Peter is offering Jesus as much as he can. Since he denied Jesus to save his life, Peter might be cautious about answering with agape love. He said he would die for Jesus at the Last Supper and then denied him three times that night. To respond with agape might seem presumptuous. Peter will not set himself up for failure again by saying more than he can bear. Yet Jesus persists and asks again, "Peter, do you agape me?" Peter is cautious about diving in (and we know Peter usually dives right in!). But he sticks with, "Yes, I philos you." By the third time, it seems that Jesus relents and asks if Peter loves him with philos friendship. This interpretation sees Jesus meeting Peter where he is. If Peter can only offer friendship, then Jesus will take it. It's not an agape or nothing demand. Christ comes alongside Peter and accepts the love Peter offers. It doesn't have to be perfectly self-giving love expressed just as Jesus wants. It is enough that Peter offers his sincere friendship.

What I like about this interpretation is that I often stand in Peter's sandals. I often fail to love fully and completely. I get tired and distracted and miss opportunities to love. I fear my compassion may not be received and appreciated, so I withhold it. My ego gets in the way. Some people are so aggravating. Jesus talked about loving enemies. I have much work to do in learning to love more fully. I am glad God's love is steadfast, even though my compassion can be erratic. God is not finished with me yet. I don't have to attain a more perfect love to follow Christ. The only way to learn to love is by practicing.

Now I want to push back just a little on this interpretation. Peter offering Christ friendship-philos-love is not insubstantial. Remember, Aristotle said friendship was a high virtue, that friendship can be one soul in two bodies. At the Last Supper, Jesus washes the disciples' feet and then says, "I do not call you servants any longer because the servant does not know what the master is doing, but I have called you friends. (John 15:15).

So, Jesus offers philos to the disciples at the Last Supper. Perhaps this guides Peter's response to Jesus. He desires to be restored to friendship with Christ. Was Plato wrong about love, with a hierarchy placing agape clearly at the top? Each expression of love is related to the other. Experiencing and giving one kind of love makes all love grow. In Celtic Christian spirituality, everyone is encouraged to have an "anam cara," a soul friend, who knows us deeply, and whom we can trust with our deepest thoughts and confessions. The art of friendship makes other love like altruistic, self-giving agape possible.

We can also view this passage through the lens of the Great Commandment. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind, and with all your strength, and love your neighbor as yourself. Agape is used for love both times here, but I think including all kinds of love is valuable. Altruistic agape does not exist without friendships and taking time to build good neighbors. The love of Eros properly understood is also part of learning to love more fully. Each type of love creates more capacity for another. All love is part of a positive feedback loop, that grows the more it is shared.

What if you heard the question from God, “Do you love me?” How do you answer and what can do we learn from this story of Jesus and Peter? From Jesus point of view, I learn the importance of meeting people where they are and coming alongside. This love includes speaking truth. Without honesty, love is blocked. But Jesus also meets Peter where he is. He doesn’t demand a perfect answer, or a love that might not be possible in the moment. From Peter’s answer I see the great value of friendship. When we use the word love we are often talking about spouse of family, but friendship deserves its place. Peter believes friendship is possible with the Risen Christ. That is a bold belief. Christ accepts this love and channels it. Feed my sheep. If you love me, love what I love. Whether it is agape, philos, or eros, just make sure you love.

Resurrection I: Beyond Belief to Practice | John 21:1-14 | April 30, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 30 Apr 2023 17:51:30 GMT

I wonder if we have missed the boat about the deeper meaning of Resurrection. Eastertide lasts 40 days before Pentecost, the same length as Lent, but we have no seasonal spiritual practices to shape our vision toward Resurrection. Lent is full of spiritual practices, like giving up something we value to remind us of our need for God. We have daily devotionals and time for self-examination. Holy week includes Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday to prepare our hearts. Then we have the big blowout on Easter Sunday. We bring our "A-game" for music and preaching, and fill the chancel with Spring flowers. But then we are done with Easter. I was packed and left for vacation right after church.

The unconscious message of overweighting Lent is that Easter is the happy ending to the sad and dark story of crucifixion rather than the new beginning of the light and life of the Christian story. While Easter is one of the two big Christian holidays to celebrate, Resurrection becomes another event on the calendar. If Easter is only an annual celebration of something which happened centuries ago, then we either believe or disbelieve it. Just because you believe something happened doesn't mean it impacts your life. You can believe Christ was raised from the dead and still be miserable and hate your neighbor. Some people think the Easter story is an interesting myth that never happened, yet they manage to be decent people. So, what is the point of believing the Resurrection is historical if it doesn’t change your life?

I believe in many things about the universe, but it doesn't change my life. The earth rotates on its axis every 24 hours, revolves around the sun every 365 days, and gravity keeps my feet on the ground, and causes objects to fall at the rate of 9.8 m/s2. I haven't done the math myself, but I don't disbelieve these things. But it doesn't change my outlook to believe in the rotation of the earth, the stars, or gravity. The facts don't transform me.

However, if I delve more deeply into the nature of the universe with curiosity, something shifts in me. Standing outside on a starry night, I see a shooting star. I can't comprehend how earth hurtle through space at 67,000 miles per hour, yet I'm standing still. Light from the stars moves faster than I can think this thought. In a moment of awe, I realize the universe is wondrous. Like the writer of Psalm 8, I might think,

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars that you have established;
what are humans that you are mindful of them,
mortals ^[ ^a ^] that you care for them?

I have moved from knowing facts about the universe to experiencing myself alive in it and sensing a transcendence that grounds me in wonder.

Similarly, how do we move beyond either believing or disbelieving in the Resurrection of Jesus, as an historical event, towards a moment of awe which grounds us? I don't want to convince you the Resurrection is an actual event that happened long ago. I hope to invite you to be curious and open to recognizing the Risen Christ in daily life. The possibility of this encounter is what I want you to believe in. This belief requires more than our logic or agreement. It will take us on a pilgrimage, a spiritual adventure, which will change us to our core.

John’s Gospel invites us to encounter this living presence of the Risen Christ. It calls us to a place beyond belief. Before Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, Jesus tells Martha, "I am the Resurrection and the life; do you believe this?" She responds with the proper theology, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God." She believes, but she doesn't yet know what it means. She doesn't expect Lazarus to come out of the tomb, nor does Mary Magdalene expect life when she visits the grave on Easter morning. They must go through the journey beyond belief to a living encounter.

Our story in John this morning moves in a similar direction. Peter and the disciples have gone back to Galilee, and I wonder why since they have seen the Risen Christ twice already. Peter, showing bold leadership, says, "I'm going fishing." Are they really going back to fishing after everything they have seen? Maybe they needed a vacation like I did after a long Holy Week. Or perhaps they just didn't know what to do next. What are you supposed to do with the knowledge of someone you know rose from the dead?

After fishing all night, and a man calls to them, "Did you catch any fish?" "No," they answer. (The narrator tells us this is Jesus, but they are still in the dark.). Once again, we have a story where the main characters do not recognize Christ when they first see him. Mary Magdalene thought Jesus was the gardener. On the road to Emmaus, Cleopas thought Christ was a random traveler. Now Christ is hidden as a guy giving fishing tips.

"Caste the net on the right side of the boat, and then you will find some fish." What do you have to lose with one more try? Now they catch so many fish they can't get their nets hauled in. Then a disciple says, "It is the Lord." Notice the awareness isn't from hearing Jesus' voice calling to them. Recognition comes from experiencing the abundance of fish when they did not expect it. They experience this catch as a Christ-filled-moment. If you are a fisherman (or here in Maine, a lobsterman!), there is nothing better than a good catch. The disciples were fishermen, and when they got the best catch ever, their minds went straight to "Christ is Risen." Peter is so thrilled he abandons the catch to go see Jesus. (He was fishing naked, so he puts his clothes on, then dives in the water. Peter always makes life interesting!)

The story invites us to experience the reality of the Risen Christ whenever we receive abundance and grace in the world. In practical terms, all the sunrise and sunset pictures you post on Facebook, the taste of the first fruit of your garden, the smell of lavender finally blossoming are signs of God's grace and goodness. Theologians have a word for these experiences. General revelation is knowledge about God received through nature, history, and our perception. The creator leaves a trace for us to notice. In the creation story of Genesis, after each day of creation, God looks at the world and says, "It is good." God's goodness is sprinkled all over the Boothbay peninsula. Taking the time to notice and receive the gifts of beauty and awe is a spiritual practice. The Divine meets us in the ordinary things of life and shows us the extraordinary nature of a life filled with the glory of God.

I propose a rhythm of spiritual practice that gives us continuity from Lent through Easter. In Lent, we work at letting go and giving up things that hinder us. We challenge the Lordship of ego and honestly face our shortcomings. Lent calls us to make space for God and face suffering as Jesus confronts the cross. Easter practices should follow through on this process. We shift toward receiving the wonder and generosity of God's goodness. We have done our soul-searching and moved our ego out of the way so we might notice God's presence. Early Christians tied Easter to Springtime, so we are surrounded with the signs of new life. Eastertide spiritual practices can be very concrete. We plant seeds in the ground, put the boat in the water, take long walks and notice the world awaking around us. These acts can be prayerful. This natural flow of spiritual practice moves from Lent into Eastertide.

When we recognize the earth awakening, it points us toward our awakening. We hear the call to see new life in everything, in each other, our souls. The blossoms of Spring point us to new human possibilities. The wonder of a warm smile is as grace-filled as the warming sun moving toward us. Like the earth, we go through cycles of growth and change. Lent is pruning, Eastertide is planting. Through engaging in spiritual practices, we embrace and discover the possibilities of Resurrection after death.

Theologian and spiritual guide Richard Rohr says that the meaning of the Resurrection isn't just to believe in what happened to Jesus. Notice the possibilities of new life and dive right into it, stop and put on your clothes if you must. Rohr writes,

Christ is the light that allows people to see things in their fullness. The precise and intended effect of such a light is to see Christ everywhere else. In fact, that is my only definition of a true Christian. A mature Christian sees Christ in everything and everyone else. That is a definition that will never fail us, always demand more of us, and give us no reasons to fight, exclude, or reject anyone.

Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” Resurrection is mixed into life. It didn’t just happen long ago, but is hidden in plain sight. Go and see!

Art Attribution:

Swanson, John August. The Great Catch, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN.

https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56550

Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/ .

We Had Hoped | Luke 24:13-35 | Guest Preacher, Rev. Alexis Fuller-Wright

Sun, 23 Apr 2023 15:22:09 GMT

“Now on that same day,” the scripture says, “two of them were going to a village called Emmaus.” On that same day. Meaning on Easter Day.

To recap, earlier that day the women went to the tomb to take the spices that they had prepared, but found the stone rolled away, the body absent, the tomb empty. They saw a mystical figure, all in white, telling them, “He is not here, he has gone ahead.”

At this point, the disciples have heard the women’s testimony and some even believed them.

And now it is a few hours later, and the place is a few miles away. We find ourselves on a dusty road outside of Jerusalem, where two people are traveling on foot.

We don’t know much about these two, except that they were somehow connected to the Jesus movement, most likely as distant followers. They know what has happened over the previous few days. They know about the betrayal, and the denial, and the desertion, and the condemnation, and the crucifixion. With heavy hearts, they are discussing all that they have seen and heard.

And suddenly, a stranger shows up and walks with them for a while. He asks them what they’re talking about, and they stop in their tracks, looking sad, because the story is still fresh. Their broken hearts are still raw.

But in spite of the fact that they were heartbreakingly sad and that the roads were notoriously dangerous… in spite of the fact that talking with strangers was patently unadvisable, particularly as afternoon moved toward evening—those two joined in conversation with the strange man. They told him about Jesus of Nazareth, a mighty prophet, who had been handed over to be put to death at the hands of the authorities.

“But,” they said, “we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”

It’s a poignant line. “But we had hoped…” We had hoped that things would be different. We had hoped that Jesus would defeat Herod and Pilate and the rest of the ones who ruthlessly rule our land and our people. We had hoped that our friend and teacher would still be alive… still teaching and leading us. We took great risks to follow him. We staked our reputations, even our lives, on him. We had hoped that things would be different now.

We had hoped.

And if you’re like me, it’s a line you have uttered at one time or another. We had hoped the relationship would work out. We had hoped that there would be a job offer. We had hoped our beloved would be able to stay sober this time. We had hoped God wouldn’t feel so far away.

And we are surrounded by so many unfulfilled hopes. We had hoped that the chemo and radiation would work. We had hoped the depression wouldn’t return. We had hoped our children would grow up in a safer world. We had hoped things would go back to the way they were before Covid. We had hoped it would be clearer where to go from here.

There’s a lot of disappointment and heartbreak bound up in those four simple words, “But we had hoped…” More often than we would like, the things we hope for don’t come to fruition. We don’t get the job. We can’t figure out how to reconcile with our family member. The illness progresses. The one we love says goodbye. The things we want our bodies to do stubbornly refuse to happen. Even Covid still lingers.

The words we speak on the road to Emmaus are words of pain, disappointment, and yearning. They are the words we say when we’ve come to the end of our hopes — when our expectations have been dashed, our cherished dreams are dead, and there’s nothing left to do but figure out where to go from here.

But we had hoped.

If we’re honest, even the Jesus who shows up in our text today is not really the Messiah we hoped for. “But we had hoped” he’d be more dramatic. More convincing. More unmistakably divine. We had hoped he’d make post-Easter faith easier. Part of the disappointment we face on the Emmaus road is the disappointment of a Jesus who prefers the quiet, hidden encounter to the big, showy burning-bush moments we crave.

In spite of this, we Christians are called to be people of hope. For we are receivers of the gospel promise that the way things are is not the way things will always be… that change is possible, and that life really could be different.

After all, we follow the One who brought healing to people who thought they would never be well.

We follow the One who brought power to people who felt powerless… purpose to people who felt purposeless… meaning to lives that felt meaningless.

We follow the One who defeated hate and fear and violence and death by the startling power of love. We Christians are called to be people of hope.

But like those disciples on the Emmaus road, sometimes our hope leads to heartbreak. Sometimes we are stopped in our tracks by grief or disappointment or fear. Sometimes, all we can do is wallow in, “we had hoped…” And that’s just part of life.

Because the promise of our faith is not that our hearts will never break or that our hopes will never go unfulfilled. And it is also not that we will always be safe or that our needs will always be met. If you’ve read the gospels, you know that. If you’ve studied the history of the church, you know that. If you’ve paid attention to your own life, you know that.

The promise of this story is that in those moments, Jesus will show up beside us.

The promise of this story is that when all seems lost, God will give us the strength to take the next step.

The promise of this story, and the promise of the Gospels as a whole, is that when our hearts break – not if, but when – we will not be abandoned. We will be accompanied. We will be guided. And we will find healing in unexpected places.

This week, I couldn’t help but notice that as soon as Jesus falls into step with the companions on the road, he invites them to tell their story: “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?”

Astonished by the question, Cleopas and his co-traveler tell Jesus everything. They share with him the story of their faith — its rise and its fall. They tell Jesus how high their expectations had been for their now-crucified leader, “a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people.” They describe their devastation at his death. They tell Jesus the whole story.

And Jesus listens. He hears them out, allowing them the balm of being heard. And then — when they’re done — he tells the story back to them, but as he does so, the story changes. In his retelling, it becomes what it really always was — something far bigger, deeper, older, wiser, and richer than the travelers on the Emmaus road understood. “Here’s what you’re leaving out,” Jesus seems to say. “Here’s what you’re missing.”

As theologian, Debie Thomas, writes, “When Jesus tells the story, he restores both its context and its wonder. He grounds the story in memory, in tradition, in history, in Scripture. He helps the travelers comprehend their place in a narrative that long precedes them, a narrative big enough to hold their disappointment without being defeated by it. When Jesus tells the story, the death of the Messiah finds its place in a sweeping, cosmic arc of redemption, hope, and divine love that spans the centuries.”

And perhaps that’s one of the most poignant gifts that the church has to offer a scared and grieving world today. A broader perspective. A deeper hope.

When we find ourselves on our own Emmaus roads, our lenses can tend to become very small…very myopic. We lose all sense of the big picture. But when we are part of a community of faith, like this one, we are able to place our lives in the broader, more expansive context of God’s all-encompassing Story. Like Cleopas and his companion, we need Jesus to meet us on the road, and to help us find ourselves in a bigger, better story.

Beloved church, so very many things are different right now than we had hoped they’d be. And yet, Jesus hasn’t left us. In fact, he’s as present now in the sharing of stories and the breaking of bread, as he was in that encounter 2 millenia ago.

So keep walking. Keep telling the story. Keep honoring the stranger. Keep breaking bread together. Even when things haven’t turned out the way you had hoped. For it’s in those small interactions where God often shows up most astonishingly. May it be so, again. Amen.

Easter | Love Wins | John 20:1-18 | April 9, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 09 Apr 2023 17:47:32 GMT

I want to move slowly through Jesus' resurrection appearance in John's Gospel to appreciate the author's magnificent storytelling. In the other three Gospels, several women arrive at the tomb together, and they are met by dazzling angels who tell them Jesus has risen. Matthew is the most dramatic,

² And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, rolled back the stone, and sat on it. ³ His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing was white as snow. ⁴ And for fear of him, the guards trembled and became like dead men. ⁵ But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.

That is a resurrection story worthy of a halftime show at the Superbowl. Bring out the marching band and cue the Hallelujah chorus, with Rihanna and Mick Jagger guest appearances.

John's Gospel is more for the introverts among us. Mary Magdalene goes to the garden alone in the early dawn. The first Easter Sunrise Service starts solo, just Mary in solitude and grief. Mary was at the cross as Jesus died while the other disciples hid. She sees the stone rolled away. She does not shout for joy, "He is risen." Mary assumes someone stole Jesus' body and didn't even look in the tomb. She rushes to tell Peter and the disciples.

Peter comes carrying the guilt of failure and cowardice after his three denials. He is no hero at the tomb either. He sees the grave clothes neatly folded, which takes us one more step into the mystery. These graverobbers must have been very neat. Can you imagine, "Wait, fold everything nicely. Leave the tomb better than you found it. We may be thieves, but we are not barbarians." Something more than a robbery has happened. Peter observes and goes home without comment. He doesn't look for the body, organize a search party, or even comfort Mary. Peter goes home. "The tomb is empty, I have had a nightmare of a weekend, so I'm going home and continue feeling sorry for myself." Mary must deal with this herself.

These first two scenes in John's Gospel let the story breathe with humanity. In the first reaction to an empty tomb, people see what they expect to see. I would be right there with Mary, expecting the worst. I can empathize with Peter, feeling exhausted and too numb to deal with the unknown. Unless we see with the inner eyes of faith, we will always see what we are conditioned to see.

Our brains pay close attention to the negative threats in our environment. Our minds wander from our breath to anxiety about things left undone, past failures, and worries about the future. If you have tried meditation, you know the challenge of letting go of thoughts. These thoughts are rarely musing on all the happy moments and spending time being grateful. Why would you meditate if that was the problem? It takes time to learn to empty the brain of negativity. Brains must be trained towards gratitude and hope.

Disaster and fear sell better than optimism. In last week's sermon, I said that news sources often emphasize the negative and sensational keep our attention. This week, Washington Post journalist Amanda Ripley's column examined a cynical bias in news reporting. She tells this story:

At a cocktail party in a crowded Washington living room some years ago, I met a magazine editor working on a high-profile new book. It would transport the reader into the future, he told me, describing in vivid, terrifying prose all the catastrophes that might happen because of climate change: unbreathable air, dying oceans, hunger, drowning.

Would it offer people any hope? She asked.

"It's not my job to give people hope," he said, sounding vaguely disgusted. I got the sense that hope was for the weak. And that by asking my question, I was weak, too. A year later, his book ended up being a bestseller. So, I figured maybe he was right. Maybe hope is not our job. But then I couldn't help but wonder, whose job is it?

Ripley notes in the article how it feels safer to pitch negative stories to editors. It is easier to publish stories about buffoonery than progress. I wrestled with this as a journalism major. My early heroes were Woodward and Bernstein, exposing corruption. In high school, I read "The Jungle" by Upton Sinclair and wanted to be a muck-racking journalist. I thought if I revealed what is unjust and evil, someone would do the work to improve the world. But it doesn't necessarily work that way. Ripley points out how a cynicism bias makes us seem worldly and realistic, but it isn't the whole truth. If that is all, we hear, we lose hope. She points out how hope is seen as naïve, even weak:

The word [hope] sounds gauzy and fey, like rainbows and sunsets. It feels like a gateway drug to delusion and denial. "I don't want your hope," climate activist Greta Thunberg said at the World Economic Forum 2019. "I want you to panic."

We need Greta Thunberg's passion, but we feel defeated and overwhelmed without hope. It is possible to look at the world as it is, to face the worst of humanity, and still see through the eyes of faith, hope, and love. Mary Magdalene is a great model for this attitude. Mary does not run away from grief and fear; she lets love draw her in. She is at the cross while others are keeping a safe distance. When Peter goes home, she is determined to find out what happened to Jesus' body. She may not have fully understood what happened, but she is engaged. Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is show up.

Let's look more deeply into the second half of the story. She investigates the tomb for clues, and now there are two angels there who ask her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She is at a grave! She thinks a body was stolen! Why do you think she is weeping? I love how she is unimpressed by the two angels. She is single-minded in her quest for the body of her Jesus. She turns to the gardener, "Have you taken the body? Tell me!" The gardener also asks, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She might think, "Why is everyone so concerned that I'm still grieving when we should be finding Jesus's body?"

When Jesus asks again, he adds, "Who are you looking for?" This question is not a rebuke. In John's Gospel, Jesus uses questions to get to the heart of the matter. In the first chapter of John, two men follow Jesus after he is baptized. Jesus turns to them, saying, "What are you looking for?" The conversation leads to Andrew becoming the first disciple, and he recruits his brother Peter. Jesus asks similar questions of several people. A lame man is begging by the pool of Bethsaida, and Jesus asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" The man starts to tell his tale of woe, and Jesus says, "Do you want to be well?" Later when, Bartemeus, who is blind, is shouting by the roadside, Jesus asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" It may seem completely obvious as we read the story that the lame man and the blind man want to be healed, and Mary wants to find the body of Jesus. But does Mary really want to recover the dead body of Jesus?

Who are you looking for? What do you want? The question is an invitation to speak about what you truly need, and what you really hope. We often go through our day unaware of what we are looking for. As Yogi Berra said, "If you don't know where you are going, you will probably wind up someplace else." We often journey through life on autopilot. The self-driving car of our brain takes us to where our habits lead. It charts a course to lessen our fears and anxieties so we feel safe. But is that what we really want? Leaving the auto-pilot in charge won't deliver us to our true hope, which is often not on the map.

The path of the Spirit takes us on a different route. Hope is created as we take the journey. The Spirit draws us past cynicism and despair to show us that love wins. Like Mary Magdalene, we don't always understand the big picture, but all we must do is take the next step and then the next one. We may have to look for love through some challenging times, at the foot of a cross, or the bewilderment of an empty grave. Mary searched for love, and when she felt near a dead end, love found her. Jesus spoke her name, and love flooded in.

This message is where John's story is leading. Are you looking for love? By love, I mean a deep connection to life, a strength that flows through you and connects you with everyone and everything. Here is the surprise. The loving God is also looking for you. Love found Mary in the graveyard. Love will soon locate the disciples locked in a room from fear and Thomas so full of skepticism. Love will discover Peter and heal his shame. And love will find you too.

Be not afraid. Christ is risen. Love wins. Alleluia and Amen!

Palm Sunday | Look for the Unexpected | Matthew 21:1-11

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 02 Apr 2023 17:38:56 GMT

What was it like in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday? Imagine the intensity as spiritual pilgrims flood the city for the Passover Festival. People jostle in packed markets, hoping to get a large, tender lamb. Vendors haggle to get the best-inflated price for their stock. The Temple bustles with last-minute cleaning and decorating; clinking coins are carefully counted, and a cacophony of cattle, lambs, and dove calls. Roman Guards are posted, alert for pick-pockets and trouble-makers. Scribes and rabbis are rehearsing their teachings, ready for the hot-button issues and questions from pilgrims. Everyone knows the rumors that Jesus of Nazareth is on his way. Will he come like John the Baptist with fire and fury? Or is he a quiet healer?

Many people just want a nice Seder without family arguments over theology and politics. Merchants and Temple leaders want enough peace to bring in the shekels, but others have important statements to make. Passover is not just any religious feast, with pageantry, piety, and good pastries. Passover marks God's liberating action of enslaved people, as plagues and pain rained down on the cruel Egyptian overlords for their tyranny. This holiday is not about a holiday day off and sharing your new recipes for mint lamb or Hrosis. Part of society says Rome is good for business; they build the roads and spur technological innovation. But others feel taxed to death for Roman wars and resent Hellenization, which feels like an imperial cultural war on tradition and religious values.

Passover begins at the main gate West of Jerusalem. Pontius Pilate, the fifth Roman prefect of Judea, had been "keeping the peace" for seven years. He rides into the city with his heavy cavalry (the assault rifle of the ancient world), hoof beats pounding a message of power and authority, polished armor, and golden Eagle standards glinting in the sunlight. Order will be kept. Some in the crowds feel relief, and others feel the hair standing on the back of their neck.

On the city's east side, away from the mighty main gates, Jesus is coming down from the Mount of Olives. This area was a vast cemetery, with 150,000 graves discovered. According to the prophet Zachariah, chapter 14, when the Messiah comes, Yahweh will come down to the Mount of Olives and shatter it in two. The Resurrection of the Dead will begin there, hence the cemetery. This area is where Jesus retreats each night to the Garden of Gethsemane.

Symbols matter. Jesus comes not on a war horse but a donkey, with no army but his ragtag followers. The donkey is a symbol of humility and peace. Pilate parades his war horses; Jesus rides on a donkey. These are the competing symbols in the cultural conflict.

I think the donkey is more critical than the palms. Only John says people waved palms. All four Gospel agree Jesus rode a donkey, and two note it was a young donkey never ridden. Luke and Mark add people throwing their cloaks on the road. I can see why liturgists, trying to create meaningful Sunday morning experiences, went with John and the palms. You can imagine the liturgical implications of throwing clothes in the street, and by now, we would have changed it to Thrift Store Sunday. Palms are what people want. That shout "Hosana," which means "save us." "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord" comes from the Psalms for Passover and alludes to the coming Messiah from the Davidic kingship. But Jesus asks for a donkey.

In Mark and Matthew, half the story is about securing a donkey for Jesus to ride. At first, glance, who cares? Why do we need six entire verses about going to get the donkey? If this were supposed to be Palm Sunday, Jesus would have said, "Go to the next village and climb the third palm tree on the left and cut its branches, and tell the owner Jesus requires them. And if he complains, go to Zachariah, the florist, and just make an order. It's not about the palms; it's donkey procurement that counts.

Beyond Zechariah's prophecy of the Messiah riding a donkey, let's see what precedes this story. In Matthew 20, James and John come to Jesus and ask if they can be at his right hand and left hand when he comes into his Kingdom. "We have been your most important advisors in the campaign, Jesus, so we should be appointed Chief of Staff and Secretary of State." Jesus says, "You don't know what you are asking. Can you drink the cup I will drink?" When the rest of the disciples get wind of what James and John asked, they are all angry. When Jesus needs them most, everyone is more worried about who will be the next church council moderator and Senior Deacon.

Jesus gives a quick admonishment,

"You know that among the Gentiles, those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. 43 But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, 44 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be a servant of all. 45 For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.

Matthew peaks into the internal politics of Jesus and his not-so-merry band, and now it is time to enter Jerusalem. He dispatches two disciples to get a donkey. Now, this is a "short straw" job you give interns. If you were Jesus, to whom would you give that job? I know my answer! "James and John, my left- and right-hand men. Go get me a donkey." I imagine them arguing to town, "We left our nets and families behind. 'I'll make you fishers of men,' he said, 'Be all you can be.' And now we are donkey thieves."

I moved a lot of animals on my farming day, and it is one of the most dangerous and inglorious jobs. You might be kicked, bitten, head-butted, knocked into the mud, or just look silly. You have to work carefully with animals. Remember, this donkey hasn't been ridden. Have you ever been on an animal that has never been ridden?

Imagine this young donkey encountering the crowd entering Jerusalem, with people waving palms and throwing clothes before it. The horrified donkey's ears are pinned back, nostrils flaring, and he stops and paws the ground. An overzealous celebrant frightens him, and he rears up. Jesus holds on tight and reassures the frightened animal that they will get through this together.

What is Jesus communicating with the donkey? The donkey could be a symbol for the people of Jerusalem. They are like frightened beasts of burden, anxious about the future and unpredictable in their fear. Like a donkey who bucks, they might shout Hosanna on Sunday and "Crucify him" on Friday. Jesus, the Good Shepherd, shows them he is not afraid of their anxiety or stubbornness and will guide them faithfully.

Jesus also shows he comes in peace, not with war horses. This little parade might be mocking Pilate with some great street theatre. Pilate thinks he looks powerful, but Jerusalem is a stubborn donkey. Let's not forget Jesus' ride ends his ride at the Temple, and he goes in and cleans house, condemning the money changers and purveyors of sacrificial animals as a den of robbers in the place of prayer. He doesn't attack the next-door Roman garrison, but the house of worship must be set right. And then he heals people, the lame, sick, and suffering of the city.

It's quite a tumultuous first day of Holy Week. Matthew says the whole city is in turmoil. No one knows what will happen next, and everyone's predictions on Monday will be wrong. Those hoping for a nationalistic messiah will be disappointed. The rulers who think crucifixion will end the trouble have no idea. Even the disciples are confused and divided, one betrays Jesus, and all deny him by week's end. This situation is how it is when God works in the world. We seldom grasp God's bigger picture. We don't always understand the ways of love.

How do we navigate our Jerusalem? How do we keep our sites on the ways of a donkey rider and not the war horses? I may be wrong, but I think we are headed for heightened tensions as the 2024 political campaign ramps up and more possible indictments come for Donald Trump. The first step in any crisis is to manage fear and anxiety. Slow down, stop making dire predictions, and clarify what is most important. News media only make money if we watch, and politicians only get contributions when they are in the media. Creating apocalyptic tension is their business plan. We don't have to make this culture war our primary focus.

The reality is legal trials are long and boring, as they should be. Your opinion and my opinion about Trump's guilt don't matter. What matters in a constitutional democracy is the opinion of juries. The most likely outcome is that the legal system will do its job, and democracy will survive. Political leaders get indicted and go to prison all the time in America. If you live in Illinois, four of the last ten governors have been indicted. This too, will pass.

We must focus on how God calls us to act with love. Through our mission statement work, we identified the words defining us as a church-welcome, hope, love, and justice. The world needs us to be the church right now. As Jesus cleared the Temple, we need our house to be in order. The world needs our hope as people are dying deaths of despair. While the nation divides us from them, we refuse to create outcasts. We need the strength to both defend marginalized people and seek to build bridges. Unlike Jesus' disciples, we know that Resurrection is coming. This knowledge gives us the courage to get through the Maundy Thursdays and Good Fridays. Easter will happen again, and a donkey will get us there.

Lent 5: Look for the Liberator | John 11:1-45 | March 26, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 26 Mar 2023 19:20:49 GMT

At the beginning of every Sunday service, I welcome to “believers, questioners and questioning believers.” What does it mean to be a true believer.? Is it being all in on parting the Red Sea, the virgin birth, and the infallibility of the Pilgrim Hymnal. Some of you are more comfortable in the “questioning believer” category. The teachings of Jesus and the mission and purpose of the church make sense to you, but you have concerns about the bloody violence of the First Testament, and stories like Jesus walking on water. I’m sure a few of you put yourselves in the “questioner” category. You might be more of an agnostic, maybe there is a God or maybe not, but it can’t hurt to go to church and there is coffee! I’ve known several atheists who are regular church attenders because they value the community. So, I say this every Sunday, welcome believers, questioners, and questioning believers.

Let’s go to the tough question in John 11 and raising Lazarus from the dead. The text asks you to believe that a man was raised from the dead after four days. He wasn’t in a coma. When Jesus asked to roll away the stone, Mary says, in the King James Bible, “Lord, by this time, he stinketh.” It’s one thing to believe in a near-death experience. But we know as scientific fact that a brain deprived of oxygen for 4 minutes-not four days but four minutes-starts to undergo brain damage. I believe the soul is eternal and lives after death, while the body is mortal and dies. But how does an eternal soul go back into a four-day dead, brain destroyed, putrefying corpse? If you were Lazarus, would you want to come back into that body?

You can answer, “With God all things are possible. I don’t understand how a brain gets regenerated, but I take the story on faith.” But is your faith weak if you say, “I don’t buy it!”? No one had an iPhone to record Lazarus raised from the dead, so what do we do with the story if you are in the questioner camp? I’m looking for a third way between two opposite beliefs. Belief number one says you must believe in the literal truth of brain cell regeneration and the raising of Lazarus from the dead, and thus Jesus’s body rising too. Belief number two is that is scientifically impossible, so the whole story is a fairy tale. The third way says this is an incredible story about Jesus, who liberates us from the power of death. It tells us the truth even if it is not historical fact. The truth is we are always choosing whether we believe and live in the power of life or the power of death.

Jesus’s disciples don’t like this story from the start. Jesus strangely lingers for a couple of days after he hears Lazarus is ill. When Jesus suggests they go to Judea to care for him, the disciples protest. “Don’t forget they tried to stone you to death the last time.” When Jesus insists on going, Thomas answers, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Remember Thomas is the doubting one, who wanted to see the wound in Jesus’s side to believe in the resurrection. He is a questioning believer. I’m not sure if his response is sarcastic, or an attempt to show courage. Jesus is asking his disciples to do a hard thing. It would be like saying in 1964, “Let’s go to Mississippi and register black voters.” Things could get dicey.

The disciples fear the power of death. The religious authorities and Roman rulers hold the ultimate power to kill anyone who defies them and challenges to source of their wealth and privilege. They can stone Jesus for blasphemy, or crucify him for insurrection. Tiberius, the Roman Emperor, crucified up to 30,000 people just in the city of Rome. Tens of thousands of people were put to death by crucifixion. The disciples clearly understood the Empire’s ultimate power of death. It is fine to have ideals, but they can get you killed. Just the hint of threat makes us back off speaking the truth. Despots rule by making us fearful. If you challenge me, I will summon a mob.

Jesus arrives in Bethany too late. Disease has taken Lazarus, and the wake has begun. Martha greets Jesus at the edge of town and accuses him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” The Jesus they know healed the blind man, and the lame woman and cured the lepers. If there is one thing that every person knows about Jesus, he is a healer. Why would a healer let someone he cares about die?

Martha and Mary fear a different power of death. It is sad enough that their brother has died. But it appears they are not married, so Lazarus was the male head of the household. Without him, their status is diminished. Who would now handle their money and their property? Lazarus’s death changes their status and security. If only you had been here, Jesus. They voice the unfairness and injustice of death. Why do some die young and others live? Life is random and brutally unfair when it comes to death.

Martha hints that maybe there is still something Jesus can do, and he replies, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha has read Theology Today, and says, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” The Pharisees believed all the faithful dead would be raised from the grave at the last judgement. The final ending of the Nicene Creed reads, “We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.” Which then prompts Jesus to make this famous statement “I am the resurrection and the life…” What exactly does that mean? When is the body raised from the dead? Do we not go to heaven until this resurrection? I draw some comfort thinking of my close relatives in heaven, are you telling me they are still asleep in their graves waiting for a general resurrection?

Jesus then finishes this awkward pastoral conversation asking Martha if she believes him. She gives what sounds like an early creedal statement, “I believe you are the Messiah, the Son of God.” By the way, when Peter says this, Jesus lauds him as the foundation to build the church. So, Martha is in good theological company. Jesus makes no promises to her, other than a general hope of resurrection and eternal life. (Honestly, I would give him a C at best in pastoral care, but that is not the point of the story.)

Jesus shows more emotion with Mary. He weeps over Lazarus. You may wonder why since he is going to raise him from the dead. The pain and grief of death is real, even if you believe in eternal life. Jesus meets Mary’s grief with tears. That is a good model for us all. At the time of death, it is more important to acknowledge pain than to get our theology right, especially since our theology is never quite right anyway. Don’t tidy death with platitudes like, “God needed another angel.” Death stinks, no matter what your theology is.

Speaking of the smell, Mary reminds Jesus that Lazarus has been dead four days. Don’t roll away the stone, it’s getting putrid in there. Death feels like the ultimate power. It stinks and must be closed off behind heavy stone and sealed away. Of course, Jesus’s demise hangs over the narrative. All the phrases here foreshadow his death and resurrection. Everyone in the story responds to death with fear and grief. They are quick to place blame on Jesus for not coming sooner. The reality of death ramps up our anxiety and fear.

The possibility of raising the dead corpse is just unfathomable. It is so incredible that the next verses say some people believed this happened and some did not. But you know who believed in this resurrection of Lazarus? The religious establishment believed, and they felt threatened. The religious leaders decide to kill Jesus, and later they want to kill Lazarus too. Those who keep power by the threats of death are afraid when the power of life liberates us from death.

This irony brings us to the deep truth of this story. Death is a force greater than when your body stops living. Death is the power that robs us of our life vitality, even as your body lives. Let me explain what I mean with two famous quotes.

Julius Ceasar, in Shakespeare’s play, faces the possibility of death saying, “Cowards die a thousand times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.” This truth applies to more than soldiers. We have all experienced the little tastes of death when we fail ourselves and the people we love. When we stop ourselves from fear of failure, afraid of what others think of us, choosing to play it safe rather than to risk growth or love, we die just a little.

When Jesus says, “Unbind Lazarus, and let him go,” the story is telling us that Jesus is liberating all of us from the power of death over our lives. It’s not just hope for eternal life, but the power to overcome the little deaths too. Jesus frees us to live beyond our fear of death’s power.

One of my favorite quotes from the Shawshank Redemption, “It comes down to a simple choice really. You get busy living, or you get busy dying.” Sure, death comes for us all. You can hide and wait for it. Or you can live unbound.

Lent 4: Look for the Shepherd | Psalm 23 | March 19, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 19 Mar 2023 19:18:08 GMT

This morning we are looking deeper into the beloved Psalm 23. The Psalm is often associated with funerals, but we shouldn't reserve it only for death. The Book of Common Prayer first included Psalm 23 for funerals in the mid-sixteenth century. Henry Ward Beecher, an abolitionist preacher and brother of author Harriet Beecher Stowe, often preached from Psalm 23 during the Civil War.

"I have heard the soldiers sing the 23rd Psalm on the battlefield. It is a song of courage and trust, hope, and faith. It reminds us that even during the darkest hour, we can find light and comfort in the care of our Shepherd. He will lead us through the valley of the shadow of death, and we shall fear no evil." (Quoted in "The Life of Henry Ward Beecher" by John Henry Barrows)

This Shepherd Psalm has stood the test of time as a source of comfort in God's love and care.

The rich imagery evokes a sense of peace, care, and abundance. God leads us to green pastures, still waters, a table with platters of food, and an overflowing cup. This Psalm is attributed to King David, who started as a shepherd. David knew what the comfort of rod and staff meant since he slew a lion to protect his flock. He had the responsibility of protecting his sheep and later safeguarding a kingdom. Many Psalms were written for specific circumstances; grief, failure, fear of defeat in battle, or crowning a new king. But this Psalm speaks more to God's presence throughout the spiritual journey.

It strikes me that this Psalm touches on every great need from Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Maslow believes that humans develop and grow from basic physical needs to self-actualization. We need food, water, shelter, and rest, represented by green pastures and still waters. Once our bodily needs are met, we need safety and security. The Psalmist says God's rod and staff will protect us from predators, and a table is prepared for us even in the presence of enemies. We need loving relationships, and we are promised a place we dwell in the household of God. That isn't just a physical place but an assurance that we belong to a community. When we feel fed, safe, and belong; we desire esteem and a sense that we are accomplishing something significant with our lives. The act of anointing establishes a higher purpose. Royalty and prophets are chosen and anointed by God to do their work. We are anointed through baptism to do good work. Self-actualization is the space of meaning and purpose. The Psalm assures us that goodness and mercy will follow us, and we are led on the path of righteousness. God will teach us how to live well. Every great need of a human being is blessed in the poetry of Psalm 23. God is present in all of it.

The second important point of this Psalm is that God is relatable. God is not described here as the lawgiver, the judge, royalty, or the remote maker and architect of the unfathomably large Universe. The God described here is actively present in a time of need.

The use of language makes this presence clear. Notice for the beginning three verses, the Psalm speaks about God in the third person. The third person refers to someone or something outside us. Third-person pronouns include he, she, they, or it. So, the Psalms says, "The Lord is my shepherd, he leads me, she restores me. But when the going gets tough, and the writer feels the threat of death and enemies, the tense shifts to the second person in verse 4. The second person addresses God directly with a "you" aqs in "You prepare a table…Your staff comforts me…". The implication of this shift from third to second person is it invites us to move from talking about God to talking to God. If we talk about God, it is an opinion in our heads. If we are speaking to God, we are in a relationship.

I prefer the King James Bible’s use of "Thou" over the modern "You." Generally, a fan of modernizing language, but calling God "Thou" resonates with me. I loved reading Jewish philosopher Martin Buber's book, "I and Thou." According to Buber, there are two fundamental ways of experiencing the world: "I-It" or "I-Thou" relationships. The "I-It" relationship sees the world as objects to be used for our purposes. When we relate this way, we are more detached, separate and everything is supposed to serve us. The concept of "Thou" in Buber's philosophy refers to other beings' sacred, authentic, and unique nature. In an "I-Thou" relationship, we encounter the everyone as a living, breathing presence who deserves our full attention and respect. The Thou is not an object to be used or manipulated but a living subject with its dignity. The Psalmist is speaking with gratitude to a living God.

What do I mean when I say a "living God?" I can believe in God in the abstract but never know or sense a relationship. I may recite the first lines of the Apostles' Creed,

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son Our Lord, Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit….

I might be speaking honestly and accurately, but there is no relationship. It's like saying this about my wife, "I believe Jeanne Fenton is the daughter of Doug and Anne Herdt, who was born in Berlin, Germany, on June 22, 1959, and graduated from the University of Virginia, and we were wed in holy matrimony in the year of our Lord 2009 on August 22." These words are accurate and descriptive, but they're not very romantic.

When I meet a couple for pre-marital counseling for the first time, I have them introduce their partner to me. If they present themselves, I get a description of their work, hobbies, and so on. But if I ask them to introduce their partner, they say, "John has the kindest smile and makes me feel safe and cherished….Susan lights up my world and makes me feel like I can do whatever I set out to accomplish." These words speak of a thou who is a part of our hearts. Likewise, Psalm 23 moves beyond belief, creed, or idea about God to talking to a living God.

The language isn't describing God but details God's actions. It is full of verbs.

God makes me lie down.

God leads me by still waters.

He guides me on the path.

She restores my soul.

Thou prepares a table.

Thou art present to me.

These are active verbs, and where there is action, a relationship exists. Philosopher Buckminster Fuller went so far as to say, "God is a verb." Fuller was a brilliant mathematician, architect, and philosopher. He invented the geodesic dome, was a systems theory developer, and wrote books on education. But at age 32, he was anxious, depressed, and broke. His daughter died before age four from complications of polio and spinal meningitis. Fuller lost his job, had no savings, and his second daughter, Allegra, was born. He was so desperate he considered drowning himself in Lake Michigan so his family could get money from his insurance policy. Fuller later described an experience of a profound incident that would provide direction and purpose for his life. He felt suspended several feet above the ground, enclosed in a white sphere of light. A voice spoke directly to Fuller and declared:

From now on, you need never await temporal attestation to your thought. You think the truth. You do not have the right to eliminate yourself. You do not belong to you. You belong to the Universe. Your significance will remain forever obscure to you, but you may assume that you are fulfilling your role if you apply yourself to converting your experiences to the highest advantage of others. ^[19]

More than 40 years later, Fuller wrote a book titled, "No Second-Hand God," where he declared, "God is a verb." Fuller says that God is not just a static entity or a noun but an active force constantly creating and shaping the Universe. "God" is not seen as a distant, separate entity but as an integral part of everything that exists, a dynamic energy that permeates all of creation. God is the harmonic balancing force of the Universe, not just the original Creator. God is love, not the abstract idea of love.

Or as the Psalm says, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures and restores my soul. Think for a moment which part of the Psalm resonates for you. Do you need rest beside still waters? Are you missing a sense of belonging, wanting deeper relationships? Are you in need of courage in the struggle? Longing for meaning? Fearing death and evil and wondering if the universe is good? Let the poetry of these verses speak to you. Pick the phrase that resonates most and say it to yourself quietly five times. Try this as a spiritual practice every day this week. And may the Shepherd go with you.

Lent 3: Look for the Thirst Quencher | John 4:5-26 | March 12, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 12 Mar 2023 18:12:03 GMT

“Whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

I often wake in the night with my mouth dry as sand and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Without a drink, this thirst will take over and keep me awake. Our bodies are a finely calibrated system to regulate water. If you are dehydrated, your brain will lower blood pressure and kidney functions to preserve the internal liquid. I was once dehydrated from illness, and my fingertips and toes started to numb. I knew I would die if I did not get to the hospital for IV fluids.

Our bodies contain about 60 percent water on average, peaking at 75 percent. A similar amount of water covers planet earth. Water helps our bodies regulate temperature. It brings all the necessary nutrients and oxygen to every living cell and carries away waste products. Water protects our internal organs and keeps our mouths and eyeballs moistened.

Water is life. H2O is a great regulator that keeps the body balanced and healthy. Without modern plumbing, our time and energy would be more focused on carrying water. Access to water is becoming a leading source of war and conflict.

No wonder water is held sacred in religion. We are initiated into the church by the act of baptism. The Bible compares spiritual life to thirsting for God dozens of times. Psalms 42:

As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

The prophets proclaim that God will bring water to the thirsty. Providing water is a sign of restoration and justice. Just as water helps the body regulate itself to be healthy, God will meet the thirsty and restore society that thirsts for equilibrium. Amos said:

· Amos said, "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. Amos 5:8

· Isaiah calls God the thirst quencher 13 times, "For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; Is. 44:3

· In the Beatitudes in Matthew's Gospel, Jesus said, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied." Jesus later says that the righteous person is the one who gives the thirsty a cup of cold water to drink.

John's story of this encounter between Jesus and a Samaritan woman at Jacob's well is grounded in this rich spiritual metaphor. We thirst, and God gives us the water of life.

Wells were essential to the social life of a community. Everyone needed water from the same place, and women went to the well in the morning to get what their families needed for drinking and cooking. Just like the water cooler at the office, people lingered to hear the flow of news and gossip.

John gives us multiple clues that this is an unusual conversation. First, they both show up at noon when no one is around. If a woman is getting water at noon, she either doesn't want to see people, or she has a late night and is only rising. Jesus sent his disciples away and perhaps thought he would have solitude at the well at noon.

So, a man and a woman are talking alone at the well. Jesus is breaking social customs just by speaking to this woman. Would you blame her for being on guard, alone with a strange man?

"Give me a drink of water," Jesus asks. That's forward. He doesn't say, "Hello, I'm Jesus of Nazareth. Do you come here often?" The woman brushes him back, "Why are you asking me, a Samaritan, for a drink?" Now we have another reason showing this is an unusual conversation. (We will return to the issues between Jews and Samaritans.). Jesus says,

"If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water."

She might think, "Typical privileged, egotistical male. He thinks he is God's gift to women, offering me living water instead of well water. Hey buddy, you don't even have a bucket, yet you think you are greater than Jacob himself."

"Oh, I have living water, and anyone who drinks it will never thirst," Jesus responds.

This guy won't give up. OK, I'll bite. Give me some of this water, so I never have to come back to this stupid well.

Jesus says to bring her husband, but she doesn't have a husband.

"That's true; you have had five husbands, and the one you are with is not your husband."

Jesus sounds rude! The woman masterfully avoids the bait and quickly changes the subject. "I see you are a prophet. Which mountain is the right one for worship, here at Mt. Gerizim or Jerusalem?" Now Jesus has the conversation he wants. Let's talk about religion and politics. "The day is coming when people won't worship at either mountain but will worship God in spirit and truth." Now Jesus has her attention. He reveals her thirst for something deeper and brings her to a meaningful life. This unusual encounter leads to a dramatic change of heart, and this Samaritan woman becomes the first of many evangelists of Jesus's message.

While this story is about a transformation, it's not just a conversion story. The story isn't about a random woman but a stigmatized Samaritan. If we thirst for God's love, we must overcome social customs and prejudices that work against love and dignity.

Jews and Samaritans had several centuries of hostility. The Samaritans were Jews from the northern kingdom, conqueror by Assyria. The Assyrians sent colonists from other nations to dilute the population. When Jews exiled in Babylon returned to Jerusalem, these groups conflicted. The Samaritans saw the Judean returnees and interlopers, while in Jerusalem, they viewed Samaritans as half-breeds and not real Jews. If a Judean called someone a Samaritan, it implied worshiping false gods. In Jerusalem, the returnees were building a new Temple when the Samaritans had a perfectly good temple at Mt. Gerizim. The Samaritans wrote the Persian emperor to complain, telling Antaxerxes that Jerusalem Jews would build a temple and then a wall, and then they would rebel and stop paying taxes. So, the Persians stopped construction.

In John's Gospel, Jesus reminds everyone that we drink from the same well. We all have bodies that thirst and drink the same water to survive. We must drink from the same well, Jews and Samaritans, Israelis and Palestinians, black, white and brown, gay and straight, male and female and nonbinary, Democrat and Republican. If we continue to play the "us vs. them" game, we will thirst.

When people who are supposed to be our political leaders say things like "the other political party hates America and wants to destroy our way of life," they poison our communal well. When we carelessly call others the Neanderthal Right or the Woke Left, we muddy our collective waters, and everyone will thirst. Political speech threatening to "eradicate transsexualism" or promising, "I am your retribution" is dangerous. If we are silent, then justice will not flow like water, and we will become a dry land.

If your enemy is thirsty, give them a drink. (Proverbs 25:21) If they persist, throw a bucket of cold water on inflammatory and hateful rhetoric. Thirst for more, long for something better.

Like Jesus, we need to meet at the well for unusual conversations that break the barriers of hostility. How do we make God's love real without fueling the culture war around us?

Since we are talking about living water, the story which comes to mind is from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. In 1969, Fred Rogers invited Officer Clemmons, the neighborhood policeman (who is black), to cool his feet in Fred's wading pool. They removed their socks, soaked their feet, and talked briefly. This polite chat broke racial barriers when many towns had white-only pools. When the Supreme Court finally ended this discrimination in 1971, some towns decided to fill their pools with cement rather than have an integrated sharing of the same water. Better to suffer in the heat than admit equality. On the 50 ^th anniversary of the show, many people wrote stories about how that moment opened their minds to equality. After all, hating on Mr. Rogers is like strangling puppies. A significant encounter at the pool, or a well, can be transformative.

I wonder how our pool needs to be more inclusive. I heard Holly Stover say at the bell concert fundraiser last Sunday, "Everything we do at CRC seeks to reduce stigma and shame so people can be a part of the community." Help includes not just the food bank or the Fuel Fund, but dignity. Where in our community do we need to carry the water? The challenges of grief, mental illness or addictions are often buried and shamed. In the face of hateful rhetoric how do we demonstrate love? Is it time for a PRIDE March in Boothbay? What is welling up in you today?

Jesus said,

Whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up with abundant life."

We become like a spring of water. Friends, follow your thirst. Meet the stranger at the well. Drink deeply from the waters of life in the spirit.

Lent 2: Looking for the Spirit | John 3:1-17 | March 5, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 05 Mar 2023 13:51:48 GMT

Nicodemus, a Pharisee, comes to Jesus at night for a clandestine chat. I wonder what is on his mind, what he wants. Is he on a spiritual quest, or testing Jesus to find his weakness, or hoping for an alliance in religious politics? In line with our Lenten theme, is he searching for God's love in all the wrong places? On a deep dive into Nicodemus this week, I discovered he appears three times in John's Gospel, so we can explore how his relationship unfolds with Jesus over time. What can we learn through Nicodemus? How do we come to Jesus unclear about our search and what we truly need from God?

Our story needs some context. Notice this scripture is only the third chapter of John. In this Gospel, Jesus begins his public ministry at Passover with the scene of turning over the tables of the money changers and clearing the Temple. Jesus sure knows how to make a dramatic entrance! His ministry begins, whip in hand, to the sounds of coins crashing, dove wings flapping, frightened sheep bleating, and angry protests. Perhaps Nicodemus is watching in the crowd, thinking, "Here is a man with whom to reckon."

John says Nicodemus is a Pharisee, so we might think he was against Jesus since we know Jesus had multiple run-ins with this group. But Nicodemus sounds sympathetic,

"Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with that person."

Notice he uses the pronoun "we." Other Pharisees are interested in knowing more about Jesus behind the scenes. I wonder why? The Pharisee's primary opponent was the Sadducee party. The two parties disagreed on the central act of faith in God. Sadducees focused on making sacrifices at the Temple to please God and gain favor. Pharisees believed that closely following the laws of the Torah was more important than sacrifice. According to the Jewish Encyclopedia, the name Pharisee means,

"one who separates himself," or keeps away from persons or things impure, to attain the degree of holiness and righteousness required in those who would commune with God.

https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/12087-pharisees

Remember that Nicodemus wants to be holy and seeks God with a rigor that might be beyond us. He prays when he wakes, keeps kosher at his meals, and can likely recite most of the 693 laws of the Levitical code from memory. He is a student of the Torah who reveres adhering to its commands. When Nicodemus saw Jesus wreaking havoc with the animals for sacrifice, he may have thought, here is someone who will be on our side. This Rabbi Jesus knows that Torah is more important than animal sacrifices, and he knows how to make a statement.

Jesus's first response throws Nicodemus off track. Jesus replies to Nic's gracious opening: "Truly no one can see the Kingdom of God unless they are born from above." Nicodemus's carefully calibrated legal mind misfires, "How can anyone be born after growing old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?" We might assume Nicodemus is being too literal, thinking Jesus meant an impossible physical rebirth. But Nicodemus doesn't strike me as stupid. I wonder if he is also speaking in metaphor.

Jesus responds, "Truly Nicodemus, you must come from water and spirit. The wind blows, and you hear the sound, but you don't know where it comes from or where it is going. That is how you must live in the Spirit." No wonder Nicodemus is confused because Jesus seems to be speaking in riddles.

To better understand Jesus's meaning, let's think about wind. The Greek word "pneuma" can mean wind, spirit, or breath, depending on the context. Many religious traditions connect wind, breath, and spirit. Nicodemus would have known the creation story of Genesis, where the Spirit of God hovers over the waters and blows with the wind to separate the land from the sea. God breathed into the nostrils of lifeless clay and enlivened Adam. The central practice of Buddhism is to be conscious of your breathing. Breath is the aliveness you receive at every moment from the world, born from above in each new moment. People who study comparative religion show the similarities between Spirit, the Hindu "prana," or Daoist "chi." Breath is where spiritual practices connect to the living reality of God.

To paraphrase, Jesus said, "The answer, Nicodemus, is blowing in the wind. Bob Dylon's classic helps us understand Jesus's meaning. Listen to the words of the third verse:

Yes, and how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
And how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, and how many deaths will it take 'til he knows
That too many people have died?

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind

Bob Dylan is not asking questions that cannot be answered with numbers. How many times must you look up to see the sky? I don't know, seven? How many deaths are too many? If you don't mourn one death, you will never be able to answer the question. It's all blowing in the wind until you pay attention.

Here is another way Jesus could have made his point if he had grown up in Boothbay Harbor. Nicodemus, if you want to sail the ship, you must understand and work with the wind. The Sadducees are under the impression that sacrifice is the way to God, so they would begin their cruise by sacrificing to God for favorable winds and gentle seas. The Pharisees are experts in all the laws about sailing. They know who has the right of way, which side is port and which is starboard, and the difference between a jib and a jibe. You can learn much about sailing by reading Patrick O'Brien's stories and the US Sailing Manuel. But if you want to get out in the harbor past Squirrel Island, you must become an expert on the wind. Jib and jibe all you want; the wind is where the energy is.

Memorize all the scripture you can, and follow the law to the last iota, Nicodemus. You know the law, but that doesn't mean you know God. To know God is to know love. Paul, the former Pharisee, eloquently makes this point.

If I speak in the tongues of humans and of angels but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith to remove mountains but do not have love, I am nothing.

We don't get any report of what Nicodemus makes of this conversation. He fades into the night, and Jesus goes to John for baptism. Nicodemus shows up later in John chapter seven when a crowd is arguing and wants to arrest Jesus for blasphemy, which is punished by death. Nicodemus says, "Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing." Good for him for upholding the true purpose of the law. But the crowd turns on him and says, "So, are you also from Galilee? Are you taken in by all this?" It must have been a rude awakening for Nicodemus to see that the law is only as good as the people who are willing to follow it. Being right about the law won't protect him from people's prejudices' or the religious ideology they believe. For the second time, Nicodemus fades from the scene.

Nicodemus shows up again after the crucifixion. He meets Joseph of Arimathea, and together they take Jesus' body for burial. Nicodemus is the one who brings all the myrrh and aloes for the preparation of the body, seventy pounds worth of the essentials. (John 19:39). Of all people who could have come to claim Jesus's body, how strange it is Nicodemus. It's not one of the 12 who abandoned Jesus, not Peter who denied Jesus three times, a family member or one of the Marys. It's Nicodemus, the Pharisee who could only talk to Jesus at night.

We don't know the end of the story as Nicodemus disappears from history. In sermons, Nicodemus often becomes the foil for people who are too literal, legalistic, or ideological to understand Jesus's message of spiritual rebirth. Some authors have tried to fill in the gaps and claim Nicodemus was a convert. Nicodemus is a saint in the Eastern Orthodox church, the patron saint of curiosity.

I think John left the story open-ended. Nicodemus isn't a saint or a villain. He is a good man who wants to do the right thing. But he struggles with the limited views of God he has inherited. His God is too small, and the only way forward for him is to open to a broader, more expansive understanding of the divine. Does Nicodemus finally get it? The real question is to us. Are we open to the fresh winds of God's Spirit?

Lent 1: Look for the Resistor | Matthew 4:1-11 | Feb. 26, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 26 Feb 2023 17:27:35 GMT

Let’s jump right in and talk about Satan! The song in my head this week is the Rolling Stones, “Sympathy for the Devil,” which begins:

Please allow me to introduce myself; I’m a man of wealth and taste.

Please to meet you, hope you guess my name.”

As a Bible Belt kid, I thought the song was heretical, but I now believe Mick told the truth. The devil hides behind the face of wealth, power, rank, and respectability while covering for evil and injustice.

Who (or what?) is the Devil? Lucifer, Beelzebub, the prince of darkness, and the Anti-Christ are all names we give to that power of “the dark side of the Force.” Satan has gone through many metamorphoses. In the Old Testament, Satan is not a personal demonic power of evil but the accuser or prosecutor who stands at the right hand of the accused. In the book of Job, Satan plays a prominent role as prosecutor of the philosophical question, “Will humans have faith in God if things go badly for them?” Job’s life is the test case in this trial conducted by Satan. The serpent in the Garden of Eden is just a clever snake, not the Evil One.

The Greek word in our text from Matthew is “diabolos,” which can mean the adversary, accuser, or seducer. The diabolo tries to trick you with falsehood. I experience the diabolo as a writer. Most writers must overcome an inner critic, a judgmental editor that says your writing is never good enough. That pastoral prayer you wrote is silly compared to Mary Oliver’s poetry. You are not nearly as kind as the Dalai Lama. You can’t make justice roll down like waters like Dr. King. Give it up, you fraud. That is the Diablo, the snake in the Garden, the accuser of Job. It isn’t the dark evil of Mordor from “The Lord of the Rings.” The judgmental voice undermines what is genuine within us from emerging. Diablo speaks whenever we seek to begin something creative and good.

By Jesus’s day, the idea had emerged from Persian that Satan was the evil leader of darkness to oppose the God of light. This character became the devil with hooves and horns and a forked tail. You can see this devil in Renaissance art of the Last Judgement in cathedrals like the Duomo in Florence. Satan will snatch your soul into the fiery pit and torment you for eternity. Horror movies like the Exorcist, or Friday the 13 ^th , portray people possessed by evil spirits who give them superhuman destructive powers. For protection, the faithful must cling to the holy relics, a cross, or a rosary to ward off evil spirits. Do you believe in this Satan, who tries to snatch you from God with power beyond your control?

We can also talk about Satan in psychological terms. Part of being human is to have negative and maladaptive thoughts and behavior patterns that trip us up. Carl Jung brilliantly explored what he called the shadow. This shadow is thoughts in the unconscious psyche too shameful or fearful to face. We don’t align with our ideals, so we try to hide what is unacceptable. But Jung says this subconscious shadow finds a way to the surface, causing emotional disruption. Most often, we recognize our shadow in the behavior of others. It is easy to see arrogance, cruelty, or greed in others while ignoring our own. In Jung’s view, we form the shadow as a normal part of developing our identity. It just happens. The key to healing is to face and accept, even befriend, our shadows. When Jesus said, “love your enemies,” he meant our internal enemies too.

Who did Jesus meet out in the wilderness? Was it the accuser of the Old Testament who tested Job, the Diablo speaks falsehood to us, the dark forces of evil, or his own shadow?

What gets my attention in the first verse is that the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness to be tested. This test is not an ambush by evil. The Spirit guides Jesus to face this inward test before he begins his ministry. Jesus spends forty days fasting to prepare himself. That sounds extreme. If Jesus were a minister in training today, he might be admonished for lack of self-care. But fasting in the wilderness is a well-traveled spiritual path common to prophets like Elijah or John the Baptist. Many cultures have rituals of a vision quest of facing adversity alone to be considered ready for adulthood or responsibility.

Imagine what would bubble up being alone, silent, and weak with hunger after 40 days. The point of this exercise places Jesus in a vulnerable state. Fears, flaws, and inadequacies arise. There is time to think about every failure or grievance. You blame yourself, then your parents, get angry, then feel sorry for yourself. No wonder we fear silence, yet every spiritual tradition counsels that we need solitude for our souls to emerge.

Remember, this wilderness trial is under the Spirit’s guidance. Perhaps Jesus began with counsel from a spiritual director. The trial follows a profound spiritual experience. While John baptizes him, God says, “This is my beloved, and in him, I am well pleased.” The testing isn’t happening because Jesus failed at something but because he is beginning something. God’s love has embraced him, and now the temptation begins. Pay attention to this! If you start something new, an important work of value, anticipate the resistance and questions. It is a part of the creative process. Watch for the Diablo. (That is becoming my word for the inner critic, shadow, trickster voice speaking in my head.)

Notice how Diablo tries to undermine the very foundation of Jesus’s strength. “If you are God’s Son, speak the word that will turn these stones into loaves of bread.” What is the strategy here? Pay attention to the power of the word “if.” A red flag should appear when you hear the word because you are likely under attack.

“If you really loved me, you would…”

If you were a real man, you would…”

If you were a good Christian, you would…”

The attack pattern implies that you are somehow lacking unless you do what follows. If you don’t do what I ask, you are a fraud and not worthy. If you loved me, you would buy me that car. The bait is to fight about the car (or whatever the request is.). But the issue is, do you love me with the conditions I’m asking?

Diablo is trying to undermine Jesus’s calling from God. If you are the Son of God and have a divine calling, here is how you would act. If you let Diablo define your true calling, then you are lost. You will operate out of alignment with your soul’s most profound intent. Each of the three temptations is trying to get Jesus to be something other than God’s hope.

A messiah would turn stone into bread. Maybe this is the temptation of materialism. Your work only matters if it makes a material difference. Unless you can quantify the goal, it doesn’t matter. How big is your budget, how many people did you feed, what is your weekly attendance? It’s good to have some material goals. That is the “M” in SMART goals. Your goal should be measurable. But some things can’t be quantified. The love we offer is immeasurable.

A messiah could leap from the peak of the Temple and not be harmed. Was this the temptation to feel invulnerable? If God is with me, then nothing will hurt me. I am exempt from hunger, poverty, illness, and misfortune because I’m right with God. Satan offers all the world's kingdoms if Jesus bows to him. Are they really his to offer? Is this the temptation that the ends justify the means? It’s OK to make a deal with the devil if we are pursuing the right outcome. Be realistic. That is how the world works. The voice of Diablo always sounds reasonable. Bite the apple; then you will know what God knows. It’s just a small lie to protect them. To make an omelet, you must break a few eggs. Don’t worry about collateral damage.

This wilderness trial is essential because Jesus will face challenges at every inflection to be what people think the Messiah should be. John wanted more judgment, his hometown crowd wanted more nationalism, Pharisees wanted rigid adherence to the law, Peter wanted him to stay safe from crucifixion, and some wanted more signs and wonders. How did Jesus stay focused on the voice of the Spirit?

I like the translation from The Message Bible becomes it makes it clear that all three of Jesus’s responses to the Diablo are from the book of Deuteronomy. (I also like the quote where Jesus says, “Beat it!” to Satan.). Listen to all three quotes to hear the similarity:

“We don’t live by bread alone, but by every word from the mouth of God.” V.4

“Do not test the Lord, your God.” v.7

Worship the Lord your God, and serve only God.” v.10

Each quote has a singular focus. Stay focused on listening for God, seeking God’s presence, and walking with the Spirit. Diablo is the great distracter. Worry about money! Try to please everyone! Who is winning? Who is in, and who is out? Why me? Why not me? The goal of a healthy spiritual life is to resist Diablo’s devilish power of distraction. Walk with God daily. Listen for God through scripture and listen to Spirit speaking in our lives. Seek first the realm of God, and all things will be added to you.

Metamorphosis | Transfiguration Sunday | Matthew 17:1-9 | Feb. 19, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 19 Feb 2023 17:22:34 GMT

In Bible study on Monday, we looked at the word study of "Transfiguration." In Matthew, the Greek word is "metamorphou" as the English metamorphosis. A metamorphosis is a change from one thing into another. Meta means after, and morph means form, so we get an "after-form."

In science, a metamorphosis is an abrupt change in bodily structure through cell growth and differentiation. As a kid, we would wade in the pond's shallows and watch them go from little fish to growing legs and becoming frogs. Jeanne and I joined a neighborhood project raising caterpillars into butterflies and observed metamorphosis firsthand. A hungry caterpillar starts the journey holding tight to milkweed with all its tiny legs. They gobble a massive amount of greenery to sustain growth. Most insects can't eat milkweed because the sap gums their mouth closed, and they die. Monarch caterpillars have a particular enzyme that breaks down the gluey residue, so the milkweed is their buffet. Most caterpillars will become dinner for birds, but a few will attach and go into a cocoon, where the magical metamorphosis happens. After a few weeks, wings can be seen through the crystallise until, finally, the new creature pushes its tender wings and breaks through as an elegant, transformed flying being. We placed this beauty on our butterfly bush and watched her soak up all the nectar for the journey to Mexico.

Matthew describes the mysterious event of a luminous Jesus conversing with Moses and Elijah as a metamorphosis. Let's explore why that word fits.

Let's enter this story from the disciple Peter's perspective. Peter is among the big three in Jesus's inner circle heading up a mountain for a spiritual retreat. Peter was likely aware of the importance of mountaintops as places to seek God. Holy people and mystics in many religions made mountain pilgrimages to contemplate the divine. In Greece, Mt. Olympus was the home of the gods. Mt. Kailash in Tibet is revered by Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, and Jains. The mountain's divine powers cleanse the sins of the climber. The Irish call mountaintops the "thin places" where the veil between heaven and earth is more permeable. Caterpillars climb milkweeds for metamorphosis; humans climb mountains.

Moses climbed Mount Sinai to speak with God, where he received the Ten Commandments. Exodus 24 tells the story of Moses dwelling on Sinai for 40 days, and a bright cloud covered the peak while he was there. When he came down from the mountain, he had to cover his face with a veil so the glow would not frighten people. We will see the parallel in the Transfiguration story.

Peter has much to ponder at the mountaintop. The previous chapter, Matthew 16, is a turning point in the Gospel story. Jesus asks the disciples, "Who do you think I am?" Peter responds, "You are the Christ, the Messiah." Jesus praises him for his spiritual insight that came straight from God and says, "I tell you that you are Peter, ^[ ^b ^] and on this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of Hades ^[ ^c ^] will not overcome it.

Before Peter can fully embrace his newfound status, Jesus goes on a tangent, saying he must go to Jerusalem and suffer at the hands of the elders, the chief priests, and the teachers of the law and be killed before he is raised from the dead.

This is crazy talk! Peter pulls Jesus aside and says this is a terrible plan. "This shall never happen to you." Peter didn't expect a rebuke for his concern, but Jesus said, "Get behind me, Satan. Peter, you have no idea how God works."

As I said, Peter has much to ponder. What has he got himself into now? He left his fishing boat to explore the marvels of God and change the world. "Be all you can be." Martyrdom was not in the recruitment brochure. If Peter had been paying closer attention, he would have observed how many people wanted to kill Jesus. In the Christmas story in Matthew, Herod slaughters innocent babies trying to find the Christ child. People want to kill Jesus eight times in the Gospels before we get to Good Friday. Transforming the world with love does not come easy.

Now we come to the big moment. Engaging in Messiah talk is one thing, but becoming luminous as a full moon and speaking with your long-dead spiritual ancestors, Elijah and Moses, is another level. Matthew's description is sparse and straightforward. If there had been a security camera on Mount Tabor around 32 CE, what would we have seen? Can a spiritual vision be captured on camera? You know the challenge of capturing a beautiful moment on camera. iPhone cameras are excellent, but your best sunset photo over Linekin Bay cannot fully express the wonder of ripples of light playing across the water, the birds skimming the waves for fish, and the warmth of the sunset air.

So, what would we see at the Transfiguration? Christian art often tries to show the scene in grandeur. Raphael's famous “Transfiguration” was designed as an altarpiece, with Jesus glowing, hovering off the ground, and a crowd scene below. At first glance, the painting seems like an overwrought spectacle. Artists do their best to memorialize and capture Jesus in our art and architecture. Most Renaissance art portrays Jesus as much more God than human than my understanding. But Peter would have liked the grand scenes of Raphael. He wanted a glorious, victorious Messiah. When he sees Jesus with Moses and Elijah, he is excited about constructing three tabernacles to honor the moment. When you have a building, you have an institution, and then you have power. This holy site may be an alternative to the Temple in Jerusalem for Jesus's followers. These are the first words out of Peter's mouth. How can we capture this and use it to grow the movement? Jesus, surely you know a few contractors from your former employment who can get us started. I wonder if Peter and Raphael are on the same wavelength, focused more on glory than the path Jesus takes.

Let's look at the next scene in Matthew. A bright cloud descends on the mountaintop, and a voice says, "This is my Son, the Beloved; ^[ ^b ^] with him I am well pleased; listen to him!" Notice three things in this scene. First, the bright cloud reminds us of the scene in Exodus 24 when Moses is on Mt. Sinai. This moment happens in a pattern like previous revelatory events of God's presence. Second, the voice repeats the words from Jesus's baptism. "This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased." Third, the command is added, "Listen to him." The voice doesn't say to fall down and worship Jesus. Or build a shrine. Or tell everyone what you have seen. At this mountaintop moment in the thin place, the divine message is "Listen." That is it. "Listen. Listen to the life of this man, Jesus." The response to glory is humble awe and willingness to follow.

Let's turn back to Raphael for a moment and look at the bottom half of his painting. We have a crowd scene that is dark and chaotic compared to the light and symmetry of Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. This scene portrays the healing of the epileptic youth, occurring in the verses directly following the Transfiguration:

^14-16 When they returned to the crowds again, a man came and knelt in front of Jesus. "Lord, do pity my son," he said, "for he is a lunatic and is in a terrible state. He is always falling into the fire or the water.

Everyone is amazed when the youth is healed of this terrible affliction. What Raphael has done in this altar piece is combine the Transfiguration with the following story of healing in Matthew's gospel. This vision is not meant to make the peak sacred, as Peter thought. The glory of light is brought into the real world when Jesus comes down the mountain. Raphael shows us that Jesus's shining moment is a moment for humanity, our moment, a light shined in the darkness and brings us all to metamorphosis.

I was curious to see where the word metamorphosis is used elsewhere in the Bible. Paul was fond of the word. In Romans 12:2, Paul says it most simply:

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed (undergo a metamorphosis) by the renewing of your mind.

The early church's theology taught that we are not merely to exalt Jesus but to follow his way and become more Christ-like. Bishop Irenaeus said in the 4 ^th century, "The glory of God is a human being fully alive." This life sometimes feels beyond my reach. Some days I am just a hungry caterpillar, or I am wrapped up in a cocoon, and I feel like staying there. But if you have wings, at some point you must get out. Like the butterfly, you must push to break free. It is supposed to be hard. The butterfly gains the strength to fly from the effort of pushing through the cocoon. The push is the last part of the metamorphosis.

I invite you to hold your hands up, palms out. And after a deep breath, push out into the air. Pull back and push again with a big exhale. Friends, Christ makes you strong, and whatever your push is now, you got this! Amen.

Murder Mystery Spirituality | Matthew 5:21-26 | February 12, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 12 Feb 2023 17:20:26 GMT

“You have heard it said, don’t commit murder….” Of course, you have heard that said because it is in the Ten Commandments. Even if you haven’t read much of the Bible, you can probably name eight of the ten commandments. It’s easy to forget a couple, like don’t worship graven images. I always forget, “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” but not because I like to swear. But I bet “don’t commit murder” is at the top of the commandments you remember. After all, we are fascinated with murder. Reading murder mysteries, watching police procedural shows, and playing murder mystery games are great entertainment. I’m an enthusiastic fan because mystery writers show me the world and teach me things while entertaining me.

There are so many genres of murder mysteries. Lisa Scottelini explores mafia corruption in Philadelphia and bears witness to the trials of a woman detective. Laura Lipmann probes the dirty politics of sports stadiums and development in Baltimore. I’m an international mystery fan. Henning Mankell pioneered Nordic Noir with his great detective novels uncovering sex trafficking, the challenges of immigration, and Russian mafia influence in Norway. I’m not as big a fan of the creepy psychodrama stuff by Steig Larson, like “The Girl With the Dragon Tatoo.”

You can read Scottish and Celtic Noir. Dervia McTiernan and Tana French have Dublin covered. You can take a trip to Venice with Donna Leon’s series, which brings Italian history, art, climate change, and great food to the forefront. I only started Elizabeth George last year, and I have many of her 800-page Inspector Linley mysteries to anticipate.

My favorites include the numerous mysteries where a clergyperson is the leading crime solver. Father Brown mysteries started the genre, but I have learned some church history from Sister Fidelma and Brother Caedfel and Umberto Eco’s “Name of the Rose.” Julia Spenser-Fleming wrote a great series about a woman who is an Episcopal priest who had been an army helicopter pilot who solves mysteries in upstate New York. All Spenser-Flemming books start with words of hymns like “In Bleak Midwinter” and “There is a Fountain Filled With Blood.” (Who knew hymns make such good murder titles?). I can’t leave out the PBS series “Grantham,” and I realize that some of the best portrayals of clergy in popular culture are in murder mysteries.

Murder mysteries are not just escapist entertainment. These stories connect me to hope for justice and fairness in the world. Most murders get solved in the end. In the real world, justice gets denied, the law becomes one more tool of the powerful, and accountability is only for some and not others. I enjoy a few hours where the heroic efforts of a detective won’t let evil triumph over the good. My favorite characters give me hope that there are many unknown heroes quietly doing their good work. As I go on their adventure, I feel that maybe my work matters too.

The best characters are not superheroes with special powers. They are humans who struggle as we struggle. They take their work home with them and have troubled marriages. They grapple with the trauma that goes with the job or struggle with alcoholism. They must face their flaws and fears to get to the truth, be tempted to cut corners, take the law into their own hands, falsify evidence, avoid the facts to get a promotion or protect corrupt police or politicians. Doing the right thing does not come easy, which is why we admire the main character. (Don’t worry, I still have “though shalt not commit murder, nor curse your sibling” in my theological sites, but first, I must talk about Chief Inspector Gamache.)

Armand Gamache is my favorite central character in Louis Penney’s novels set in Quebec. Like many outstanding detectives, he is intelligent, observant, thinks outside the box, and has the courage of his convictions. He faces the challenges of catching murder masterminds, bureaucracy, danger, and complicated trails of clues. But Gamache is also human. He is one of the few who has a good marriage, shows kindness, and is aware of his vulnerability, especially around his love for family. His heart aches when he must send his son-in-law, also a detective, into danger, knowing his daughter could become a widow. Gamache reads and quotes poetry at work but doesn’t take any crap from fools.

These traits make Gamache an expert on the motivations of the human soul. Gamache knows that solving a murder is more than just collecting fingerprints and hair samples. It’s all about the motive. In one story, he is at a crime scene, and his son-in-law is trying to determine the time of death. “I estimate the trigger was pulled between 1:00 and 1:30 AM,” he says. “The murder didn’t happen when the trigger was pulled,” Gamache says. “The murder started further back when a resentment was given oxygen. Jealousy was allowed to become a fire of outrage. Greed over-road human compassion. That was the time when the murder began.” (I have no idea which story this was in, so just go with me here!).

Gamache sounds like St. Thomas Aquinas outlining the dangers of the Seven Deadly Sins. The outward action of murder, lying, stealing, or whatever, begins with an inward attitude of the heart gone bad. If you watched “Breaking Bad,” you saw how a high school science teacher whose life is falling apart became a violent drug lord. Murder often has a long fuse that could easily be stopped early on, but over time attitudes of the heart break bad, and turn to violence and destruction. The best detective novels take us on a journey through all the suspects who have a motive, a personal dislike, a financial interest, a jealousy. We all have these things. But the murderer is the one who let the little darkness grow until it controlled them.

This moral slippage is what Jesus was getting at in the Sermon on the Mount. You have heard it said, thou shalt not commit murder, but I say that if you curse your brother, you are in danger of hellfire. We have all said unkind things, not just to people who are jerks but especially to people whom we love. Jesus is not trying to set up an impossible moral standard for us. He is not telling us we must be perfect or we are going to Hell. I think Jesus is being pragmatic. He knows what most mystery writers know. The evil we do starts small and can grow enormous, so deal with it quickly before you break bad.

This truth isn’t abstract. The day after I was ordained, I went to the church where I was Associate Pastor in Providence, Rhode Island. The morning headlines revealed a family from my church had been kidnapped and likely murdered. Ernie, Alice, and their eight-year-old daughter Emily were later discovered in a shallow grave. My first pastoral duty was to meet with the Sunday School kids and process how they were dealing with the death of their classmate. (One more thing I didn’t learn in seminary.).

The murderer was a member of the neighboring UCC Church in Barrington. Chris Hightower was a Sunday School teacher, a soccer coach, and a dedicated father to the outer world. But he had financial troubles. He was a commodities trader and took huge risks that broke him. Ernie Brendle was a friend and loaned him $10,000 to help him get his business on its feet, but he wanted his original sum back. When Chris lost it all, Ernie filed a complaint, and Chris’s trading license was revoked. Chris kidnapped the family, made Ernie sign a retraction, then killed them all and made up a story that the mafia was involved.

Both churches were devastated that such a monstrous thing could happen in our relatively affluent communities by someone in a position of trust, even in church. Some people dealt with this by saying Chris was a monster. The Sr. Pastor told me in the hospital parking lot that Chris was one of the meanest men he had ever met. I was just out of seminary and didn’t have the courage to say, “Why was he teaching Sunday School then?”

This murder was featured in a 2017 TV series, “World’s Most Evil Killers.” A detective who worked the case said this about the murderer:

“He would give you the creeps, no humanity at all. You look into their eyes, and you don’t see a soul. There is just nothing there. It is just hard-core evil personified.”

https://www.providencejournal.com/story/news/2017/12/23/where-are-they-now-notorious-ri-killer-christopher-hightower-imprisoned-in-illinois/16733655007/

The TV show misses the point of what is terrifying about the case. Chris Hightower was a decent person who made a series of horrible choices that led him to do something dreadful. In pastoral conversations from that time, several people asked me a surprising question. “I wonder what I’m capable of doing?” People told me about their significant stresses. The State Savings and Loan system collapsed that year, taking one-third of all savings. People were up against a terrible recession, strapped for cash, struggling in their marriages, mad at their bosses, and wondered if they were headed down a dark path. My first response was, “If you are talking to me and asking the question, you will probably be OK. It’s the unexamined attitudes that will get you.”

It’s highly unlikely you are going to murder someone. But Jesus is making a larger point. The faith he taught isn’t just about thou shalt nots. Like all good detective thrillers, it requires a search for motive. When we face the truth about ourselves, fullness of life awaits us.

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Salt of the Earth | Matthew 5:13-20 | Feb 5, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 05 Feb 2023 18:18:24 GMT

Jesus said you are the salt of the earth. Salt is a life essential that is taken for granted. You probably did not think much about salt this week, but consider how often you unknowingly use and need it. Salt is more than a condiment to make our food taste better. Our body needs a certain amount for good health. The chemical compound for salt, sodium chloride, is essential for many chemical reactions which take place in the body. When deprived of it we become dehydrated, our blood pressure will drop, and we would eventually slip into a coma and die. This is why the IV bag at the hospital contains saline solution. Of course, this must be regulated because too much salt will raise blood pressure and degrade your arteries. Lithium chloride is a form of salt used as a mood stabilizer for bipolar disorder.

We have found multiple uses for salt, from melting ice on our sidewalks, curing animal hides, it is used in water softening equipment, and has many industrial uses for manufacturing chemicals. Before refrigeration, salt helped preserve meat, as in salt pork, salt cod, etc. The need for salt is so great that the world produces 187 million tons each year. The United States produces more salt than steel.

What does Jesus mean to call us the salt of the earth? Jesus didn’t know all the ways salt would be used in the modern world, but salt was valuable in the ancient world. Roman soldiers were paid with salt. The Latin word for “salt money” was salarium, from which our English word “salary” comes. Salt was a principal commodity of commerce and made up the bulk of the caravan trade across the Sahara. One of the oldest roads in Italy was called the Via Salaria (Salt Road).

Salt also had a social and religious significance. In Hebrew, Greek, Arabic and Persian texts there is a connection of salt and the idea of a covenant or binding relationship. To “eat salt” with another person was to create a bond of friendship. Therefore, the task of a disciple who is to be the salt of the earth is to bind people together, to strengthen the bonds of one person to another, to expand the human covenant and create a broader sense of human solidarity. In Jesus’ day, they did not know how salt helps create and sustain chemical reactions, but this knowledge fits the metaphor. The church is to be like salt, we are the hidden ingredient that brings about something new and good. As disciples we are to be the catalysts and the bonding agents that bind people together.

Salting our food does more than make it savory. Salt can take the bitterness out. It is almost magic. My favorite recipe contains Tuscan white beans and rapini with lemon, anchovy and garlic. The secret of the recipe is getting the bitterness out of the rapini. If you boil in in very salty water for two and a half minutes, the bitterness subsides and the rapini blends well with the garlic and lemon. Otherwise it overpowers the rest of the dish.

Disciples of Jesus are to be like that. We are to transform the bitter taste that the world leaves in our mouths. Discord, divisiveness, and derision are not to be in the spice rack of the church. Too often the public face of Christianity in our nation is like salt that has lost its savor. We are not called to scold the world into being good. We are not told to look at the evil of the world and then proclaim that the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Discipleship is more than stoking the fires of outrage about the evil and immorality of the world.

Here is another property of salt in cooking. I like to make a white bean and tomatillo chili. It is not a fire alarm chili, but a smoky slow burn with delicate flavors. I roast poblano peppers, add some smoky paprika, and at the end I put in some lime juice, fresh cilantro and finish it with a little tequila. The salt isn’t added till the very end because that is when the magic happens. At first taste you can sense the hot and sour flavor, but after a few shakes of salt, the poblano asserts itself. After another shake, the hint of cayenne pepper sneaks in, and I don’t know what the tequila does, but there is the wonderful slow burn balanced by the lime and tomatillo. Salt loses itself in the mix. It is the ingredient you don’t see floating around in the pot, but it brings out each flavor at the right moment, like a conductor of this culinary symphony. Salt, in the right amount, makes everything else better. If salt is too much the focal point, it ruins everything, like a big ego plowing through scene ruining it for everyone.

Being the salt of the earth is a way of discipleship. We are to get into the mix of the world, bind it together, remove the bitterness and discord, and bring out the unique flavor of everyone. This interpretation fits the context of the Sermon of the Mount, which Jesus has just given the Beatitudes in the previous verses. He has said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” He also blesses the merciful, the pure in heart, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, those who mourn (which I would translate “those who are willing to let their hearts be broken by the world), blessed are the meek (or those who are humble, not selfish and self-centered.) Jesus says that these are the virtues for disciples. These are the people who are going to inherit the earth, who will be filled, who will receive mercy, who will be called the children of God. These are unlikely virtues that exhibit and different kind of power than most worldly power. These are the attributes that will bring humanity together. As Harry Emerson Fosdick’s hymn reminds us, the salt of the earth will:

“cure the nation’s warring madness, bend our pride to God’s control, save of from weak resignation to the evils we deplore, lest we miss thy Kingdom’s goal.”

Jesus could have used any number of other metaphors to describe the role of the church in the world. He could have said, you are like a mighty army that will achieve victory, or you are like the tide that shall overcome the earth, an earthquake that will shake the foundations of the status quo. But instead, Jesus said that we are like salt. We are like those little crystals you put in a shaker on your table. It helps the food taste better and it quietly and unnoticeably keeps the body alive. Without it, you die.

You are the salt of the earth. You don’t need massive amounts of salt to accomplish a great deal. A few sprinkles go a long way on your plate. The waters of the ocean have an overpowering saltiness, yet contain only about three percent salt. Just 3 percent can be overwhelming. You may wonder, “What can just 3 percent of people do against all the evil and injustice of the world.” Here is what they can do. Recent research on nonviolent action campaigns in the 20 ^th century; an international study of labor movements, the civil rights movement, anti-apartheid protestors, Yugoslavia at the Fall of the Iron Curtain; asked the question, how much of the population must be engaged to be successful in their aims. You want to guess the number? 3.5 percent. Just over 3 percent of the people persistently standing as a sign for justice and truth can over power even a dictatorship. Why? Because their moral witness is like salt, and it permeates the whole stew of society, takes out the bitterness and brings in the flavors of all good things, even those who are afraid to stand out.

https://rationalinsurgent.com/2013/11/04/my-talk-at-tedxboulder-civil-resistance-and-the-3-5-rule/

Your activities, great and small, help bring about the world God intends, a world where there is hope and dignity, faith and liberty, love, and equality. To carry out this activity, we do not have to be numerous, wealthy, or powerful, just willing to get out of the saltshaker and into the world.

Beatitudes and How the Light Gets In | Matthew 5:3-12 | January 29, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 29 Jan 2023 17:02:37 GMT

There is great power in blessing people. One of our rotating outdoor banners says, "Be a Blessing, Practice Peace, Be Joyful, Lead with Love, etc." I often use it as a benediction. I have been called upon to bless many things, marriages, babies, houses, the Fleet and Jr. Fleet, the Community Refrigerator, town meetings, and a new handicap walking trail. Blessing things express our hopes for good things to happen.

In the New Testament, the Greek word translated as "bless" is "makários." It means the gods favor a person in some specific way. Makarios is not luck, not a skill; it means that the gods give you a gift. People use the word when you have a baby, when you find the right spouse, when you have a moment of fame, when your relative who was suffering is released to death, when people see you as righteous, or you had a mystical vision. You have experienced "makarios." Note that you can't bless yourself. No one says, "God bless me," when we sneeze. Blessing is a gift from outside ourselves. Greek literature does not give examples of being poor, grieving, or mourning as a blessing. Those experiences are curses and lead to tragedy (and Greeks loved a good tragedy.)

In that light, the Beatitudes are upside-down blessings compared to the understanding of Jesus's setting. What is so blessed about being poor in spirit, at the end of your rope, as the Message Bible says? How am I experiencing blessing when I mourn, I’m meek, or I’m persecuted for righteousness sake?

You might think it is blessed to be a peacemaker until you see what happens to peacemakers.

Nobel Peace Prize winners Martin Luther King, Jr., Anwar Sadat, and Yitzak Rabin were all assassinated. Recent Nobel winners like journalists Ales Bialiski from Belarus, Dimitri Muritov of Russia, and Malala Yousefzai of Pakistan; have all endured repeated threats of violence. I'm glad Jesus blessed peacemakers, because they are often cursed by people who prefer war and conflict to peace.

To get a feel for the tremendous emotional and social reversal of the Beatitudes, just imagine the opposite blessings for each:

· Blessed are the rich, and the rich in spirit, they shall inherit everything,

· Blessed are those who don't mourn and keep a stiff upper lip in times of loss.

· Blessed are those who are empowered and confident, with influence and well-branded personas.

· Blessed are those who go with the flow and don't get all excited about injustice or evil.

· Blessed are those who show no mercy and admit no mistakes.

· Blessed are those who are warmongers and who are good at figuring out who our enemies should be.

· Blessed are those who are careful never to say or do anything that upsets anyone, who don't rock the boat.

If we are honest, probably at least two or three of these Beatitudes are closer to our MO than the blessings Jesus offers. He does not give us an easy ethic that leads to peace of mind, health, or prosperity. But these blessings meet us where we live, amid challenges and suffering, and show us towards the life God hopes for us.

In the early church, the Beatitudes were the pathway of the spiritual life. Gregory of Nyssa, the 4th-century bishop of Cappadocia, compared the Beatitudes to Plato's emphasis on the classic Greek virtues. Gregory lined up each Beatitude with a virtue. Each virtue was also to guard against one of the seven deadly sins. Poor in spirit emphasized humility, which protected against the sin of pride. Meekness was like kindness, which guards against the sin of envy. Gregory compared the Beatitudes to a golden ladder that leads the soul to God. Each verse was another step towards greater awareness and communion with the divine. ²

Augustine encouraged praying the Beatitudes along with the seven petitions of the Lord's Prayer. He linked each Beatitude with a line in the prayer. For example, "give us our daily bread" paired with "hunger and thirst for righteousness." Forgive us our debts," paired with "blessed are the merciful." "Deliver us from evil" paired with "blessed are the peacemakers."

The Beatitudes were considered the primary devotional pathway to God for the next thousand years. In Dante's Inferno, the author envisioned the soul's journey as climbing Mount Purgatory to find our way to God. Mount Purgatory had seven terraces, each corresponding with the first seven beatitudes that needed to be followed to reach the next level. At each level, saints who were associated with that virtue would help you resist temptation and keep you on the ascent. It's almost like a spiritual version of a fantasy game that millions of people now play, like Dungeons and Dragons, where you must move to higher levels, gain strength, and find helpers.

The Beatitudes also played a role in Christian social ethics. Dietrich Bonhoeffer had a chapter on the Beatitudes in his book, "The Cost of Discipleship." Bonhoeffer wrote the book in 1937, the same year the Buchenwald concentration camp was opened to punish political dissenters. While Bonhoeffer wrote, Hitler was establishing the Reich Church loyal to the Nazi party. The cross was replaced with a Swastika, and dissenting pastors were thrown out of their churches. ^1. Lutheran pastor Martin Neimoller, was sent to Dachau. Niemoller had been a U-boat captain in World War I, a hero, and a member of the conservative national party who initially supported Hitler. But when Niemoller rebelled against the Nazi party controlling the church, he was arrested. He wrote the famous statement,

"First, they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a communist. 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."

Bonhoeffer wrote about the significance of living out the Beatitudes in Christian life. He believed Jesus called his disciples, then and now, to live extraordinary lives. That meant being merciful and just no matter what the rest of society was doing. Being a disciple meant doing the right thing and speaking out even if you knew it would lead to persecution.

The Beatitudes also influenced Dorothy Day, who created the Catholic Worker Houses to support poor people. Latin American liberation theologians commented on the Beatitudes, noting that people living in poverty in the Third World were the poor in spirit, the meek, and the mourning and that God cared for them as much as wealthier first-world Christians.

This quick survey shows how the Beatitudes have shaped both our inward piety and our outward social ethics in how we treat our neighbors. Jesus's teachings in the Beatitudes and the Sermon on the Mount are central to my faith because I often need a reality check. When I think the road ahead should be smooth, my faith should always bring peace of mind, or God loves me only when I'm successful, I remember the Beatitudes.

I need a life ethic that grounds me in authenticity and reality. I was looking for a meditation app to help me better focus. I found one I liked after listening to a couple of guided meditations, but then I got an email from the author that said the app was designed to make meditation easy. Well-being could be mine in just 10 minutes a day. I decided to delete the app because I want something more from my spiritual life. If the spiritual life was easy, I wouldn’t need God at all. It's where the rubber meets the road that counts. I need challenge as much as I need God's loving embrace. I value that the ethic of Jesus invites me to open my heart a little wider than comfortable.

The essence of the Beatitudes reminds me that I must embrace the hard places to go deeper in my faith. They remind me not to be slippery and avoid reality. Here are the lessons I take from these verses:

· Don't run from grief but make space for suffering.

· Acknowledge what I can't control and say it out loud.

· Don't get paralyzed by perfectionism. Do your best and keep moving forward.

· Don't sweep hard things under the rug.

· Don't cover up my brokenness. Sometimes it is the best witness and teacher.

· Speak out when I see a neighbor being harmed by injustice.

· Acknowledging vulnerability does not make me weak.

There is the line by Leonard Cohen, "There is a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in." The best visual image of the ethic of the Beatitudes is in the Japanese art of Kintsugi. This art form repairs broken pottery with gold filling, so you see the cracks highlighted. The scars on the pottery testify to the beauty that can exist within the brokenness.

Blessed are you who are poor in spirit, feel meek, mourn, long for true peace, and are willing to live truthfully and courageously on behalf of your neighbor. May you be blessed with the Kingdom of Heaven drawing near, and from the cracks of reality that break us, may you be blessed with the light getting in.

Notes

1. https://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/nazi-germany/the-church-in-nazi-germany/

2. See Rebekah Eklund’s wonderful book, “The Beatitudes Through the Ages.” Eklund shows how the Beatitudes have influence theology throughout Christian history.

Draw Us Near | Matthew 4 | January 22, 2023

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 22 Jan 2023 17:00:03 GMT

The Kingdom of Heaven is near. And I have so many questions! How near is it? Is it near in time, like Valentine's Day is soon, and I need to make reservations? Is it nearing politically or historically? An act of God will occur, and it will be so apparent that we will know it when we see it? Or does Jesus mean this nearness relationally, like God's heart is near us when we are suffering? Some might think it means the doors to the eternal heaven are opening, and we will gain access when we die and escape this world. And what kind of Kingdom will this be? Will Jesus be the King? I confess I'm not a big fan of the royals, though I liked "The Crown" and Magen Markell was great in the TV series" Suits" But Kingdom is so "Old Europe" and we renounced all that in 1776. Is this Kingdom on earth or in heaven somewhere in what we call eternity or both?

How do we translate the Kingdom of Heaven meaningfully for our lives? The Greek word for Kingdom, Basileuo, is a noun that can mean a literal territory, royal power, or the right to authority. Since the term king is more negative in our time, some biblical scholars propose Realm of God or the kin-dom of God. My favorite term from Martin Luther King, Jr. is "Beloved Community." The Beloved Community is near. I will use “Kingdom of Heaven" to stay consistent with Matthew. Matthew will give us more than one answer (and I love it when there is more than one correct answer!). The phrase “Kingdom of Heaven" appears 31 times in Matthew's Gospel and nowhere else. Other Gospels use the term Kingdom of God. Each occurrence is like a colored piece of stained glass that makes the window pattern through which we see the light of God.

Matthew says the basic message preached by both John the Baptist and Jesus is, “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near,” Jesus's hearers wondered what this meant, so he came to an answer through several parables and analogies.

In Matthew 13, Jesus gives us five comparisons:

The Kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, so tiny, yet it grows to incredible proportions.

The Kingdom of heaven is like leaven in bread that causes it to rise exponentially.

Here we have two pieces of “stained glass” that reveal the Kingdom of Heaven is like natural growth processes, seeds sprouting, or the organic chemical reaction of yeast. As one theologian describes it:

“Kingdom of heaven” described a process, a course of events, whereby God begins to govern, or to act as King or Lord, an action, therefore, by which God manifests being God in the (human) world" ¹

So, these first two show the Kingdom of heaven is a process (only 29 to go!). Trust the process. Half of you groan because you get tired of processes and just want to get things done. The other half are delighted that there will be time to process things.

Next, Matthew 13 gives three examples where the Kingdom of Heaven is something you must search for. It isn't apparent to everyone:

^44" The Kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and reburied; then in his joy, he sells all that he has and buys that field.

^45" Again, the Kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; ⁴⁶ on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

^47" Again, the Kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; ⁴⁸ when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad.

These short sayings could mean Jesus believed the Kingdom of Heaven is a particular level of human consciousness. We must pay attention to discern its reality. This Kingdom is revealed to the seeker. And what we find is the most precious thing in the universe.

In the Beatitudes, which I'm preaching about next week, Jesus says the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the poor in spirit and those persecuted for righteousness's sake. The Beatitudes bless the meek and those who mourn, who hunger and thirst for God's reality. These verses emphasize the nearness of God in times when we struggle or face adversity. The Kingdom of Heaven represents hope in God's goodness amid suffering, injustice, and evil.

Several parables emphasize that the Kingdom of Heaven is a community where everyone is equally valued and given dignity. In the parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard, Jesus says three sets of workers bring in the harvest. Some start work in the morning, some at noon, and others at the end of the day. When work is done, they are all given the same wage. The long-term workers don't think it is fair since they did more work. But the owner (God) says, “Are you envious because I am generous' ’ ^[ ^a ^] ¹⁶ So the last will be first, and the first will be last" (Matt. 20:1-18)

Jesus emphasizes this when his disciples argue about who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven. He reprimands them for this arrogance and says you become great in service, and he repeats; the first shall be last and the last first.

Later Jesus says the Kingdom of Heaven is like a wedding banquet, and if all the invited guests don't come, the list is to be expanded to everyone, the good and the bad. In Luke's version, the lame, the blind, and the oppressed are invited, so the food is not wasted. (Matthew 22)

I won't outline all 31 examples where Matthew uses the Kingdom of heaven phrase, but the Lord's Prayer deserves mention. “Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." We repeat this so often in our prayers we may gloss over the impact. Here is the translation from The Message Bible by Eugene Peterson:

Set the world right;
Do what's best—
as above, so below.

Here's another interpretation from Parker Palmer:

We pray for your reign of peace to come,
We pray that your good will be done,
Let heaven and earth become one.

So, the Kingdom of Heaven isn't just otherworldly; a reward to the faithful in the next life. We are to live in this divine reality in all of life. Aspire to the Beloved Community in the here and now, even if it seems incomplete in our troubled times.

We now have a more complete stained-glass window with various shapes and colors. I like the beauty of stained-glass windows, but what do we do besides gaze at them in wonder? The Kingdom of Heaven is more than an idea that comforts us or inspires us like a sunset. It calls for a response from us.

This response is what happens in our scripture reading. Jesus comes upon two fishermen and calls them to follow him. Leave your nets, and I will teach you to fish for people. Maybe they heard Jesus preach earlier about God drawing near, or maybe not. I'm always surprised at the spontaneity of these first disciples. I know I would have asked many more questions, at least did a Google search, and checked out Jesus on LinkedIn. There are a lot of frauds out there in the world. How did they know he was the real deal? Would you know Jesus was the real deal if he came to you and asked you to follow? It's hard enough to say yes to being a Deacon or agreeing to do the coffee hour. Jesus must have been inspiring to get them to leave their boats behind.

Matthew dangles this one-liner in front of the reader, “The Kingdom of Heaven is near." But the rest of the Gospel explains the invitation. The invite is so essential Matthew finds 31 different ways to say it. Which part inspires you? Let's pause and recap. As you hear this summary, think about which feature most appeals to you. In what way would you like to see the Kingdom of Heaven nearer to you? The Kingdom of Heaven is like these things:

· This Kingdom is a Growth process, like seeds and leavens in bread, where God's reality starts small and grows exponentially over time.

· Discovering the Kingdom requires exploring and searching. Its great value is only realized by those willing to see it. It's about consciousness; God calls us to explore our souls more deeply. Are you seeking it?

· The Kingdom is especially near during suffering and injustice when we are poor in spirit or feeling persecuted.

· This realm of God welcomes everyone to participate, and none gets a greater place than others. In turn, we are called to extend God's welcome to live in Beloved Community.

· Even though the phrase is the Kingdom of heaven, it is not a realm separate from human history. This realm has a tangible earthly impact. It calls us to ethical and socially responsible behavior.

The Kingdom of Heaven is near, and God invites you to respond. What is one way you will seek it this week, one concrete step you will make towards being a disciple? Let that rise in you like yeast. As Jesus said, “Knock, and the door will open, seek and you will find.”

1. Schillebeeckx, Edward (1983) [1974]. Jesus: An Experiment in Christology. London: Fount Paperbacks. pp. 140–141. ISBN 0-00-626586-3 .

What Time is It? | Ecclesiastes 3:1-14 | January 15, 2022

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sun, 15 Jan 2023 19:20:03 GMT

“For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven.”

Ecclesiastes is the most pessimistic and skeptical book in the Old Testament. Few sermons come from the book, yet these words sound like old friends. Pete Seegar set this text to music in 1959 because he was mad at his publisher. In his words,

“I got a letter from my publisher, ‘Pete, I can’t sell these protest songs you write.’ I sat down with a tape recorder and said, ‘I can’t write the kind of songs you want. You gotta go to somebody else. This is the only kind of song I know how to write.’ I pulled out this slip of paper in my pocket and improvised a melody to it in fifteen minutes. And I sent it to him. And I got a letter from him the next week that said, ‘Wonderful! Just what I’m looking for.’ ¹

Seegar only added seven words to the biblical text. The most obvious is the word “Turn.” After the phrase “a time for war, a time for peace,” he added, “I swear it’s not too late.” Because he wrote so little, he felt he should only take 5% of the substantial royalties. He donated the rest to causes.

The publisher sold the song to The Byrds, and the rest is history. They gave the song a samba beat that was a little more danceable, but that doesn’t explain why a piece of biblical text became so popular. You might expect this song from a religious singer like Amy Grant or a Gospel singer like Mahalia Jackson. But the Byrds were a folk-rock group and later transitioned to psychedelic rock. Their only other memorable hit was “Hey Mr. Tambourine Man.”

Biblical poetry over 2000 years old carried the popularity of “Turn, Turn, Turn” to number one on the Billboard singles chart for three weeks in December 1965. It’s the only scripture to make a number-one hit. Seegar wrote the right song for the time and place. The world was not just turning but wildly gyrating. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. led civil rights marchers to Selma, Alabama. The brutality of firehoses, clubs, and dogs used on nonviolent marchers shocked the nation. Later came the riots and fires in the Watts neighborhood of LA. Malcolm X was assassinated. The Voting Rights Act was passed. Astronaut Ed White became the first man to walk in space. The Vietnam War escalated as more combat troops arrived and the first massive anti-war protests began. Mohammad Ali won the heavyweight boxing title with his brash style and unorthodox fighting technique. It was a time of incredible anxiety and change, making great leaps forward one moment, then turning backward the next. Turn, Turn, Turn.

This dramatic tension came after a time of American optimism. After winning World War II came the baby boom, people rising in careers and getting houses in the suburbs. Whether you liked Eisenhower or Kennedy, these were good times for many Americans. The iconic TV show about the 50s was “Happy Days.” I was born in 1964, so I missed all this, but our Bible study group observed the 60s began with great optimism about changing the world, but all reform meets resistance. Kennedy was assassinated, and as more people left out of the American Dream pushed for inclusion, every institution was conflicted; government, churches, and families.

I wonder if the “Turn, Turn, Turn” resonated with people because the words speak about holding contradictory things in tension. Life is not always simplistically one thing or the other. Progress is not a straight line upward. Nor is long-standing injustice inevitable. Not all reform is progress, and not all tradition is fair or just. The song is not judgmental or cynical; it’s not unduly pessimistic or optimistic; it’s not a clear prophecy of the future. Its message can be summed up in the Alcoholics Anonymous saying, “You must learn to take life on life’s terms.” What is it time for right now?

Notice how the structure of the poetry calls us to hold things in tension. The first two lines put the conditions we see as positive and hopeful first:

A time to be born and a time to die;
A time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted;

The following five lines flip the more negative aspect first. A time to kill, break down, weep, mourn, and throw away stones. Then we get three positives again. It’s a time to embrace, seek and keep. This alternating continues to the end, reinforcing the message that life won’t always be what you want. You must pay attention and take life on life’s terms. The good life, the life of faith, discerns the moment and comes into attunement with what is. As Paul says, “We weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice.” Wisdom discerns the moment and leans into reality.

The prophet Isaiah (Is 28) makes a similar point with the metaphor of planting and harvesting seasons. You can’t just plow all the time just because you like plowing. You can’t plant in December nor harvest in Spring. The successful farmer must work with the land, rain, and wind and adjust accordingly. It is the same with our spiritual lives and with the church.

What is it time for now? I wish I knew. The times are complicated, but I can offer some guidelines.

First, it is a season of acknowledging grief. For the first time in decades, life expectancy has declined in the US. COVID has brought many kinds of suffering. It’s disrupted the natural development of our children, pushed us into isolation, and every community organization feels the lack of participation and volunteers, from churches to symphonies. On New Year’s Day, as we shared joys and concerns in church, we noted how many deaths our community endured in December. We are the oldest county in the oldest state.

Acknowledging grief is essential for our spiritual health. Otherwise, we become negative, angry, or depressed, and we don’t know why. Greif is in the air we breathe as we long for how many people we once had in the sanctuary, and we miss how things used to be. It’s become cliché to say things aren’t going back; we live in a new normal. But we don’t always believe it. I wish I could take you back to where you were three years ago. It would be much easier for me. But this is not in my power. As Heraclitus said, “You can’t step twice into the same place in the river. It is a time to mourn, but it won’t always be, and we can do other work even while we grieve.

Second, I believe it is a season of recovery and restoration. It’s a season of facing fears and trying new behaviors and attitudes. It’s a season to lean in to change. If you let go of the past, you can see who you are right now. Friends, I don’t want you to lose sight of all the goodness you have. This church is full of wisdom, kindness, grace, and resources. The wider community needs us to be a part of the restoration. You are not too old or too tired to do a new thing. Ecclesiastes urges us to embrace the polarity of opposites. We can grieve and grow. We can accept the present and embrace a different future. It is time to let go of some things so we can grab hold of something new. God calls us to turn, turn, and turn. I swear it’s not too late.

I love the note of joy in the last verses of this scripture. Ecclesiastes is both a reality check and an encouragement. I read through the whole book and noted that the author tells us seven times to take joy in all the good things in life, no matter how small. Life can be challenging, but God’s goodness still flows. Joy embraces the small, ordinary things and aligns us.

Joy surprises us even in the worst of times. I recently subscribed to a Substack called “A kind of refugee” ² by Larissa Babij, which reports on daily life in Ukraine. This week she wrote:

On Monday, I met a soldier who had shrapnel lodged in many parts of his body for a couple of months while he was a prisoner of war. They were surgically removed only after he returned to Ukraine in the fall.

Sitting in a cafe, I marvel at this tall young man, still underweight, with bright, intelligent eyes. He came in on his own two legs; it’s the third day he’s walking unassisted. After the explosion that filled his body with shards of metal and glass, he could only move his head.

“What did you do to get from that state to this?” I ask in wonder, watching his hands and fingers move lightly, same as anybody else’s.

We talk about how the body naturally repels foreign objects; small pieces of metal or glass would gradually migrate toward the surface of his skin. “And you pulled them out with your fingers?” Yes, he says and smiles.

Life in Ukraine emphasizes the wisdom of Ecclesiastes, and people hold suffering and hope in the same breath. As Babij concludes:

It’s been a year of great changes. As we move into the next, I wish you vibrant health, radiant love, spaciousness within, and the courage to meet every new challenge with your own great power!

Turn, turn, turn. I swear it’s not too late.

1. https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/the-byrds-turn-turn-turn-song-story/

2. https://akindofrefugee2022.substack.com

Christmas Has Consequences | Matthew 2:12-23 | January 8, 2023 | Rev. Virginia Rickeman

Sun, 08 Jan 2023 14:50:48 GMT

Well, the writer of Matthew doesn’t mince words, does he? This story is way worse than simple post-Christmas letdown. But then, the Bible doesn’t romanticize Christmas the way we tend to do.

Now, I’m as guilty of that as anyone. I have a small collection of nativity sets (which I didn’t put out this year because… puppy). Of course, these all have the figures of the baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Some also have animals (not all of them indigenous to Palestine). Some have an angel. Some have a shepherd or two. Most of them have three kings. Always kings — you can tell by their crowns — although the word magi doesn’t really mean kings. And always three — although Matthew only indicates that there were more than one.

See, we have been adjusting the Christmas story for centuries. One of the ways we modern Congregationalists do that is by, often, conveniently skipping over the end of Matthew’s second chapter. Yet, in burying the raw horror of soldiers killing babies, we do the Bible and the world — and our own souls — an injustice. This sort of thing has been going on for millennia and continues today. Why do you think there are so many refugees everywhere you look?

Oscar Romero pointedly called us to account:

“We must not seek the child Jesus in the pretty figures of our Christmas creches. We must seek him among the undernourished children who have gone to bed at night with nothing to eat….”

It’s no use turning away. It’s no use thinking, “It’s not my problem.” It’s no use saying, “There’s nothing I can do about it.” Elie Wiesel spoke often and urgently about the necessity of hearing the cries of those who suffer:

“In the face of suffering, one has no right to turn away, not to see. In the face of injustice, one may not look the other way. When someone suffers, and it is not you, that person comes first. Their very suffering gives them priority. . . . To watch over one who grieves is a more urgent duty than to think of God.”

Again, Wiesel noted, “To remain silent and indifferent is the greatest sin of all.”

And what is sin but the wounding of one’s own soul, the building of a barrier between oneself and love, between oneself and joy, between oneself and God? Indifference is a kind of death.

So, what then? I don’t pretend to have any more insight than you, or to feel any less powerless than you. When it comes to putting faith into practice, I am as reliant on the vision of others as anyone. Worse, I am as lacking in courage as anyone.

But the important thing is simply to start somewhere. I have decided to find, write down, and post inspiring quotations that will keep in the forefront of my mind and prayers the necessity of doing something. I trust that what that “something” is, will become apparent when I am ready — when we are together ready — to act. I need to keep reminding myself of this in order to keep hope alive, in order to resist the temptation to pull the covers over my head, roll over, and go back to sleep.

Oscar Romero again:

“We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.”

The saintly bishop was not so naive as to think there wouldn’t be a cost to what he advocated. There is an emotional cost to doing what is right. “There are many things that can only be seen through eyes that have cried,” he said. Whether it is our own suffering that brings tears, or identifying with the suffering of others, I believe a hurting, broken heart is an opening for grace, whether we want it or not. Of course, for Oscar Romero, the cost was his earthly life.

He gave it in the conviction that, “A church that doesn’t provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn’t unsettle, a word of God that doesn’t get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn’t touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed — what sort of good news is that?”

“Oh,” I hear some of you thinking. “My life is too busy to do one thing more.” Or, “I’m too old for that now.” Or, “I don’t have the faintest idea where to begin.” I know you’re thinking it because I’ve tried out those excuses, too. These are the same kinds of excuses we use for not doing many things we think we ought to be doing, no? I make excuses when I don’t really want to do something.

I knew a woman in her nineties who could no longer get out of her apartment very much, except to go down the elevator to dinner. She called herself a “worker bee.” “Worker bees are the ones that can sting, you know. Sting people to action.” So she set herself a goal of writing so many letters a week to people who, she believed, had power to make changes — to officials at all levels of government, to newspapers, to church committees (!). She was blessed with more money than she felt she needed, so she gave generously to various organizations that helped people. She knew she didn’t have much longer to live, so she was going to make it count.

I seem to remember that she liked the famous Edward Everett Hale quotation:

“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”

A bee that can sting (although it gives up its life in doing so), a mosquito that can keep you awake with its whining all night, a spider whose very appearance can make a good many people freeze or shriek — These are tiny beings, but far from powerless.

It’s also a relief to think of ourselves as little, as ordinary folks. Everything is not all up to us. We are in a long line of people who have made positive contributions, large and small, to bettering the world. There are people all around us attempting to do their part — some famous, many more unknown. One of the famous ones was Congressman John Lewis:

"Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble."

Little Ruby Bridges, desegregating an Alabama school. For all her courage, she still couldn’t have done it alone. She had her family and church, U.S. Marshalls and an unnamed benefactor who bought her clothes.

Or Greta Thunberg. She has had to have the support of her parents, plus people willing and eager to give her a platform on which to speak. This is not to diminish her bravery and intelligence, but to note that for every remarkable individual leading the way, there must be many others contributing whatever they have, as well.

As I said, I am dependent on the wisdom of other voices, past and present, for whatever insight I can offer you this morning. These are reminders to myself as much as gentle counsel to you, if you wish it. John Lewis repeats what so many have insisted is true:

“You are a light. You are the light. Never let anyone – any person or any force – dampen, dim or diminish your light. Study the path of others to make your way easier and more abundant.”

Christmas has consequences that demand both courage and hope. More than that, however, is the promise that God, Emmanuel, is among us, around us, within us, still at work birthing the divine realm.

Here is Amanda Gorman’s astonishing poem describing what this feels like.

Hymn for the Hurting

Everything hurts,

Our hearts shadowed and strange,

Minds made muddied and mute.

We carry tragedy, terrifying and true.

And yet none of it is new;

We knew it as home,

As horror,

As heritage.

Even our children

Cannot be children,

Cannot be.

Everything hurts.

It’s a hard time to be alive,

And even harder to stay that way.

We’re burdened to live out these days,

While at the same time, blessed to outlive them.

This alarm is how we know

We must be altered —

That we must differ or die,

That we must triumph or try.

Thus while hate cannot be terminated,

It can be transformed

Into a love that lets us live.

May we not just grieve, but give:

May we not just ache, but act;

May our signed right to bear arms

Never blind our sight from shared harm;

May we choose our children over chaos.

May another innocent never be lost.

Maybe everything hurts,

Our hearts shadowed & strange.

But only when everything hurts

May everything change.

Whatever we fear, whatever stands in the way of our speaking out against violence, whatever impedes our acting in the cause of justice, whatever excuses we want to cling to, may God open our minds and hearts to a new way of living. May we give each other both courage and kindness. May we value the smiles of children more than anything.

Jesus does. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Art Attribution: “The Massacre of the Innocents” by Léon Cogniet
1824, Léon Cogniet/Musée des Beaux-Arts, via Alamy

Babies Born in Strange Times and Places | Luke 2 | Christmas Eve 2022

pastor@congochurchbbh.org (Todd Weir) — Sat, 24 Dec 2022 19:15:20 GMT

Tomorrow, on Christmas Day, approximately 353,000 babies will be born worldwide, at the rate of one baby every 4.3 second. In one hour of a Christmas Eve service, 15,300 babies will be born while we sing about good news of great joy. Much like our Christmas story, babies come into the world in some of the strangest places. Many women will give birth in transit to the hospital, doing something they had to do in normal life, like Mary and Joseph going to register for the census. Several dozen babies will be born in cars, with taxi drivers as midwives, and someone who gives birth in a Volkwagen will name their baby girl “Jetta.” If you really hate holiday flights, just remember that somewhere out there a woman is going into labor on Jet Blue, wishing she had the roomy comfort of a manger. I can imagine the flight attendant shouting out “Be not afraid. Any business class passenger willing to give up their seat will receive 1000 frequent flyer miles and a complimentary Jet Blue gift bag.”

Sonia Marina Nascimento stopped by a post office in England to buy a mobile phone credit -- She went into labor and gave birth to a baby girl right there. The post-master, who acted as midwife, put the baby on the scales and declared she weighed 8 pounds and 2 ounces, then put an Express Mail sticker on the baby’s forehead and said, “That will be five quid, and 50 pence please.” Some births are truly harrowing. Sofia Pedro climbed a tree to escape the floodwaters in Mozambique, Africa. The brave mom held onto branches as she delivered her baby Rosita. A few minutes later, they were rescued by a South African helicopter crew, umbilical cord still attached.

Every family likes to tell birth stories, whether it is a common story or a great adventure, looking for signs of meaning and hope for the future, things to pass along the child as the grow up so they know where they came from. Something I like about these stories is the ordinary heroes who are unexpectedly midwives, having neither the training or resources to help, but manage to step up anyway. When these little angels are ready to burst forth into the world with their shouts of good news and great joy, most of us are like the shepherds, doing are job, and suddenly called to witness a miracle. It is part of being a decent human being, you can’t just walk away and say, I’m not competent, I’m not trained, I don’t like the site of blood, or I’m really busy today, I have presents to buy. You stop, grab a hand and say, “Be not afraid, and push.”

It may be a cliché to say “It takes a village.” I have a good birth story from our neighborhood. Our neighbor in Northampton, a single woman who was 38 years-old, decided it was her time to have a baby. Just because the timing of a husband was not working, she was not going to miss the opportunity. Our neighborhood was full of empty nesters not yet grandparents, and eagerly offered support. I realized we had 4 sets of adoptive parents on the block, who couldn’t have biological children. One family offered to take her dog for a week while she gave birth, and the family across the street organized a “gender-reveal” party. Have you been to one of those yet? The doctor puts the gender of the child in an envelope, and the party sponsor then orders a cake, pink for girls and blue for boys, I know a little traditional and gender specific, and the whole neighborhood finds out whether the baby is a boy or a girl when we cut the cake. A generation ago, this might have been discouraged, how could she do this without a husband, but it restores my faith that a neighborhood is rallied around her. And we will have a great story to tell.

All of the 353,000 babies born tomorrow deserve a good story. Whether they are born in a hospital or refugee camp on the Ukranian border, whether they have health insurance or not, whether they are born among Christians, Jews, Muslims or fill in the blank; Red State babies, Blue State babies all need the same things. We have a common hope for all them, for babies in Flint, Michigan and rural West Virginia, we hope they will have clean drinking water when they are weaned from their mother’s breast, we hope all babies will have a sustainable planet to live on. Unto all of us are these children born. You are the shepherds and taxi drivers, the innkeepers and flight attendants, the wise men and the post masters, who are called to be midwives, so the babies born on this night will have great stories to tell. Be not afraid.

http://www.theworldcounts.com/stories/How-Many-Babies-Are-Born-Each-Day

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/11/28/crazy-birth-stories_n_1117035.html

Plan B | Matthew 1:18-25 | December 18, 2022

Sun, 18 Dec 2022 15:23:05 GMT

Joseph is the easiest part to play in the Christmas Pageant. I was delighted to have the role in sixth grade because there were no lines to memorize. I just had to walk around and look supportive of Mary. After all, she is the one who is carrying God’s chosen one, doing the heavy lifting, riding on a donkey while pregnant, and giving birth in a stable. That’s why we sing “Ave Maria,” not “Ave Joseph.” We never call him the Blessed Virgin Joseph, though he might have been a virgin too. Mary becomes the symbol of motherhood, but Joseph’s role seems to be to cover for Mary and an ill-timed pregnancy, keep the baby Jesus safe, and then disappear from history. Joseph is missing from all the key moments of Jesus’s adult life.

Joseph probably had a plan for his life. He was engaged to Mary, a lovely young girl the two families had arranged for him to marry. He had a trade as a carpenter, maybe a few shekels in Bethlehem Savings and Loan to start a family. I wonder if Joseph watched the sunset and dreamed about the lovely house he would build to raise his family. Let’s call that Plan A. Get married, work hard, and raise your family.

But news reaches Joseph that Mary is pregnant. We don’t know if Joseph was relieved, sad, or angry, if he loved Mary, or if he was disappointed that this arranged marriage wouldn’t work. We only know his actions. Matthew tells us he was righteous and didn’t want Mary to be publicly disgraced, so he planned to dismiss her quietly. Back in the day, young women pregnant out of wedlock were sent away to live with relatives for a year, have the baby, give the child up for adoption, and life went on.

Joseph’s discretion is no small thing. Deuteronomy 22:23-24 reads:

²³ “If there is a young woman, a virgin already engaged to be married, and a man meets her in the town and lies with her, ²⁴ you shall bring both of them to the gate of that town and stone them to death….So you shall purge the evil from your midst.

It sounds barbaric, but at least the man gets punished equally in the Bible. Stoning could have been his option if Joseph was a lesser man, prone to insult. Instead, he chooses grace and moves on to Plan B. Did he go to bed that night wondering what to do next? Who might be available to be his wife? “Too bad about Mary, but she was high-spirited; maybe she would have been a little high maintenance. Gretchen is a nice woman but a little dull. What about Sarah, she always has a nice smile? Honestly, Mary was my best option, but what else could I do?”

He falls asleep and dreams of an angel who says, “Joseph, I have another plan for you. Go ahead and take Mary as your wife because she is pregnant by the Holy Spirit and will give birth to the child who will save Israel, God’s chosen one.” Matthew is a sparse storyteller, saying Joseph wakes up and precisely does as the dream tells. Don’t you want to know more? What was the conversation like with Mary or her family? Was she grateful? Did they exchange angel stories? “My angel was tall and glowed; what was yours like?” Wouldn’t that be a great scene as the new couple bonds over sharing profound spiritual experiences?

Would you take such a significant step from a dream? Would you think about it? Maybe talk to a therapist first, someone skilled in dream analysis. Would the therapist say the dream revealed your lack of self-esteem and encourage you to follow your God-given dreams? You can’t possibly believe this. Come on, Joseph, you know where babies come from. This dream is just weird. Don’t base your life on it.” But he does.

Ancient cultures had different views on dreams than we do. I’m reading Otto Rank's “The Origins of the Soul.” Rank believed that the idea of the soul comes from dreams. People would dream about people they loved who were dead or haunted by enemies they killed in battle. The notion of the soul living beyond our bodies grew out of these dreams. Many native American cultures believed it was imperative to follow the directions of a dream, that the dream world was as real as the physical world, perhaps more important because that is where the soul exists. Ignore a dream at your peril. Dreams are central to Joseph’s story. Three dreams will shape his life.

One dream into the story, Joseph decides to claim this child as his own. We don’t get any wedding stories, so maybe Mary and Joseph eloped. Did they do a Vegas wedding and hope people didn’t count the months too closely before Mary gave birth? You know how brutal small-town gossip can be. Most likely, everyone knew, but nobody talked openly about Mary and Joseph needed to get married for propriety’s sake. The important thing is that Joseph does the right thing. People might gossip down at the local Chatterbox Café. But Joseph was a carpenter, and no one wanted to get on his bad side. Then you will have to wait months to get your leaky roof fixed or kiss the new deck goodbye. Mary got pregnant out of wedlock, Joseph did the right thing, and life went on.

What intrigues me is Matthew emphasizes Jesus being of the House of David, the royal family, as prophecy says about the Messiah. But Joseph is not Jesus’s biological father. Jesus is adopted into the house of David. The Holy Family has a built-in awkwardness, but it is no big deal to Matthew. I find this meaningful because I am an adoptive father for two sons and the stepfather for Jeanne’s two children. They are my children by grace, and the tie is as deep as if they were children by biology. Occasionally people have asked me if I had any children of my own, and I gently say, “These are my own children.” Matthew’s agenda is about the fulfillment of prophecy, but I love how this opens our understanding of family as bound together by love, not just biology.

Family values are remarkably flexible in the Bible. After all, the Bible is where I learned the word concubine. Abraham and Sarah decide to have a child through a surrogate named Hagar. Sarah gets pregnant, gives birth to Isaac, and throws Hagar and her son Ishmael out of the house. But God honors the promise of covenant to both Ishmael and Isaac. Matthew includes several surprises in Jesus’s genealogy. Tamar was a prostitute. King Solomon was the son of David and Bathsheba, so we have adultery in the picture. Ruth was a Moabite woman, so you have a foreign bride in the mix. And now, the culmination of the house of David is an adopted son. Can you imagine Jesus drawing his family tree for a school project? It’s like an old, gnarled tree, with the scars of limbs cut off years ago and branches stretching out in odd angles, but the peculiarly shaped tree draws the eye. That tree has survived to tell an interesting story. Every angled limb testifies to a plan B, where the tree had to adapt in crisis to thrive.

Most families hide their awkward course of events, but Jesus’s family hangs out there for everyone to see, prostitutes and all. Furthermore, Matthew says this is how God works, creating love amid all the mess and questionable choices. People like Joseph commits to God’s prompting, follow new dreams, and do what it takes to hold on. And Joseph must change his plans not just once but three times. We have the journey to Bethlehem and untimely birth in a stable, which will be my Christmas Eve sermon.

Joseph has two more dreams of angels that guide his fatherhood. An angel warns him that Herod wants to kill baby Jesus. So, he must flee to Egypt with his family. We don’t hear how Joseph got a job, lived as an immigrant, or understood his dreams of angels. We only know he is faithful to what the Spirit puts in his heart.

I’m inspired by Joseph’s story and Matthew’s unembellished honesty. God works amid family drama to create a new beginning. If Matthew’s family tree represents the path of the Messiah, our families can work too. We adopt people out of love. Families love when our kin don’t conform to what others say is normal. We love our children when they come out as gay when they go through heartbreak, divorce, or gender transition. None of this is more shocking than the Old Testament family life.

Many of us are living Plan B, C, and D. But if the family tree is rooted in love, by God’s grace, new dreams will guide us. Thanks be to God!

What You Hear and See | Matthew 11:2-11 | December 11, 2022

Sun, 11 Dec 2022 15:40:13 GMT

“Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?”

I wonder what John the Baptist and his disciples were hearing and seeing that led to this question in the first place. Just last Sunday, in our scripture lesson in Matthew 3, John proclaimed that one is coming greater than him to baptize everyone with the Spirit. When Jesus comes and asks John to baptize him, John protests, he thinks Jesus has his wires crossed. Here’s how I imagine that conversation:

“Jesus, you are the Messiah and need to start thinking like the Messiah. You are at the top of the pyramid; I’m just your humble promoter. Me baptizing you isn’t a good look. It makes you look, well, weak. You need to appear more messianic.”

Jesus answers, “John, I have to walk before I run. I want to be baptized like everyone else to show my commitment. I don’t want to ride down an escalator to a flock of reporters. I want to be baptized into this sacred mission by you. We are cousins; we’re partners. Do this for me, John.” If there are doubts about this being the right move, God enters the scene after Jesus’s baptism and says, “This is my beloved Son, and I am well pleased in him.”

But something has changed, and John the Baptist is unsure about Jesus. He sends a messenger to ask, “Are you the one to come, or should we wait for another?” Did John fear that he had made a mistake? What had he heard about Jesus that disappointed him? I looked back at the previous chapters of Matthew’s Gospel to see what Jesus was doing. He gathered some disciples and gave a lengthy Sermon on the Mount, proving he could gather a crowd. Throw in several healings and a couple of controversies with the Pharisees (whom John called a brood of vipers.). Jesus has built some momentum, but John is viewing all this in jail.

I wonder if John got a report on the Sermon on the Mount. “Blessed are the poor in Spirit and the meek and the morning. Love your enemies. Turn the other cheek. Go the extra mile if a soldier asks you to carry his armor. Take the log out of your own eye before attempting to remove the speck from another’s eye.” Does John have his red pencil out? “If someone strikes you on the right cheek, hit him back just as hard. See Exodus 21, “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. If someone persecutes you, you call them a brood of vipers. How about blessed are the bold, the daring, and willing to do what it takes?”

Was John the Baptist expecting more of a military and nationalistic Messiah who would lead a revolution, throw off the Roman dominance, or who would more vigorously condemn and resist those in power? Maybe John thought the Messiah should get him out of jail. After all, what is a messiah for if not to rescue you, especially if you are family?

Jesus’s answer to John’s disciples is simultaneously joyful, hopeful, ambiguous, and baffling.

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: ⁵ the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. ⁶ And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

Great list, Jesus! We will go tell John, but first, we have some questions. Let’s talk about what is not on your platform. Most of Jesus’s agenda is a direct quote from scripture, but he has carefully picked what he says and does not say. He mostly duplicates the sentiment of Isaiah 35, starting in verse 5,

Then the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

The lame will leap like deer. And the mute tongue will shout for joy.

Water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert.

OK, blind, lame, and deaf; check. But Jesus adds to Isaiah, the healing lepers and the dead raised. Interesting! Next, we could turn to Isaiah 61, which begins:

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me
Because the Lord has anointed me;
He has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives
And release to the prisoners, ² to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,

OK, Jesus has checked the box for good news to the poor and oppressed. But I’m sure John’s disciples knew the book of Isaiah well. What about liberty for the captives and the release of the prisoners? Remember, John the Baptist is in prison. Jesus throws in all the healing and adds lepers to the list but leaves out the release of captives. And what about the day of vengeance of our God? I wonder if there is tension about what messianic priorities should be. John’s disciples might say, “Heal all you want, Jesus, but we want John released. We want God to swoop down and avenge us against our oppressors. Didn’t you listen to John when he baptized you in the Jordan? Burn the chaff; get rid of the brood of vipers.” Remember, the central figure for Jews in Jesus' day was Moses, who liberated the captives from Egypt.

There is no clear job description for the Messiah carved in stone. The messianic hope is more of a collection of poems and proclamations over the centuries that God will act decisively for good in history. These scriptures inspire and encourage us with God’s intent, but we don’t see the details about what God will do next. I love Isaiah’s prophetic hope. These are my favorite scriptures, but this is not a strategic plan. It’s open to interpretation. I’m all in on team Jesus, but I understand why John would be disappointed and wonder if he baptized the right person for the job.

I can see myself with John’s disciples pressing Jesus. John is in prison, and violence and intimidation are winning. What are you going to do about this, Jesus? The crux of the moral issue is that if someone stands up and does the right thing, speaks the truth, and acts with integrity; we want the hero to win and God to make things right. But far too often, people with courage have their lives threatened and destroyed. When I think about John the Baptist executed for speaking the truth, names of modern martyrs like Martin Luther King, Jr., Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and El Salvadoran Bishop Oscar Romero come to mind. Peter and Paul and 11 of the 12 disciples were executed for their preaching. These are not abstract threats from history. It’s not just prophets and whistleblowers under threat. I’m deeply troubled by the increase in people trying to shape the world through violence. There are increasing attacks on houses of worship, poll workers, elected officials, and almost all minorities; Jews, all people of color but especially blacks, women, and LGBTQ+ people. In 2021, America had a 30 percent rise in hate crimes, and 2022 may be just as bad.

This is the violence we hear and see Jesus. We long for eyes to be opened to see each other as neighbors, not enemies. We want the deaf to hear, the blind to see, and to recognize that we are all God’s creation. You promised to heal the lepers, please also remove the stigmas that push people to the margins because of the color of their skin or who they love. Raise us from the dead end we are traveling, and bring some good news to the poor and hungry. Would it be too much to ask to liberate the captive, to strengthen the prophets like John in our day? Like Nelson Mandela was freed. Forgive me if I overstep, God, but could some crooks and liars be brought to justice?

I don’t want to overstate the difference between John and Jesus because Jesus says that John is the greatest of all the prophets. Jesus honors John’s courage and mourns his death, but he doesn’t rescue him. Even the greatest prophet can have questions and be disillusioned sometimes. What is Jesus saying to John and his disciples? I hear Jesus saying things are happening, good and wondrous things are coming into being, even amid pain and suffering. It may not be what you expect or hope. But a new world is blossoming as eyes and ears are opened. There is good news. Love is on the move. But love by nature is not a conquest or sudden revolution; it grows where it is welcomed and nurtured. Soon Jesus will join John as a martyr, yet the story is their light shined in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

As Christians, we live this story too. In a few moments, we will do something we do every week. We are to share our joys and concerns. It is our weekly reminder that we have both. Joy surprises us and fills us with wonder and hope. And our real disappointments move us to speak our concerns to God and one another. We hold on to both; like John we question if Jesus was really the one, yet if we pay attention, we hear and see signs of God’s presence.

Prepare the Way | Matthew 3:1-12 | December 4, 2022

Sun, 04 Dec 2022 18:09:22 GMT

Americans love a road trip. The freedom and adventure of the highway are staples in our songs and movies. Have you seen Midnight Run, Thelma and Louise, The Blues Brothers, National Lampoon's Vacation, or Plains, Trains, and Automobiles?

What would our music be without Springsteen belting out, "Baby, we were born to run."? "Well, I'm running down the road trying to loosen my load; I got seven women on my mind." The Eagles told us, "Take it easy, don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy."

Johnny Cash said, "I've been everywhere, man,"

"Louisville, Nashville, Knoxville, Waterville.

Simon and Garfunkel were "Homeward Bound." John Denver was on Country Roads. Jackson Browne was "Running on Empty." Rihanna sang, "Shut Up and Drive." Whether we are "On the Road Again," with Willie Nelson, Truckin' with the Grateful Dead, or as Cheryl Crowe sang, "Every day is a winding road." Not to be confused with the Beatles' "Long and winding road."

The road trip means we are going somewhere, having adventures, coming of age, and on a journey toward transformation. However, if you ever had to commute to work, you know the reality of the road is not so glamorous. Crossing the bridge in Wiscasset on a July weekend does not feel like freedom or transformation. Sometimes the only song we hear is "Are we there yet?" We might end up on:

The Road to Nowhere with the Talking Heads

"The Streets with No Name" with U2

Highway to Hell, with AC/DC

Every trip has a challenge, a test, a quest to fulfill. You might be trying to get around the world in 80 days or find Sweet Home Alabama. The Blues Brothers were on a mission from God, or maybe you are trying to find out who you truly are. As Charlene sang, "I've been to paradise, but I've never been to me." Sometimes, you just need to crank up Ray Charles and "Hit the Road Jack" and take a Journey (with the band Journey) where you "don't stop believing" (not to be confused with Fleetwood Mac's "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow.). Life is about the quest.

Matthew is taking us on a road trip. In our quest to follow the historical Jesus, the Risen Christ, we must find the GPS coordinates of salvation history. Jesus was born of Mary, who had to take two road trips in Matthew, first to Bethlehem and later to Egypt. Various travelers come on pilgrimage to her child, angels, shepherds, and wise men from the East. Jesus has everyone on the move; north, south, east, and west. Matthew is making a pit stop with John the Baptist. He is marking the journey with numerous road signs so we understand what this journey is all about.

John is in the wilderness. We should immediately recognize several biblical stories. Moses is in the wilderness when he hears the voice of God from a burning bush. God calls him to free the slaves of Israel, who wander in the wilderness for forty years. They journey through the Red Sea, get manna when hungry, receive the ten commandments, and build a Golden calf for a cow god. Wilderness is a place where they move from slavery to freedom. It is a transitional space where they face adversity and become God's people. Wilderness is where prophets like Elijah go to hear the voice of God, and it is where Jesus will go for 40 days of temptation after his baptism.

The first road sign is John as a voice in the wilderness. He is not preaching in the Temple of Jerusalem, where his message would be easily accessible to thousands. He isn't sending tweets you can read in the comfort of your home and make fun of his wardrobe choices. If you want to hear John, you must walk a day from Jerusalem and another day back. More importantly, you must re-enter the wilderness and be a wanderer, free yourself from the slavery of the past to find what comes next.

Matthew surrounds John with several more biblical road signs. He is wearing camel hair and eating locusts and wild honey. John renounces all traditions of making a living, yet he is no beggar. He is living off the land as his own man.

Matthew places John in a rich lineage of Isaiah 40. Jon fulfills Isaiah's prophecy of a voice in the wilderness, shouting to prepare the way. Isaiah is the greatest of Israel's prophetic books, the most quoted in the Gospels. Here is the fuller quote:

A voice cries out:
"In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord;
Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

(Notice we are on the highway again, think of the Eagles lyrics, "On a dark, desert highway, cool wind in my hair…Welcome to the Hotel California.)

⁴ Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
The uneven ground shall become level,
And the rough places a plain.

A massive construction project is taking place to prepare the way through the wilderness again. In Isaiah's day, 500 years before Christ, it is a message to the exiles in Babylon that they shall return home, back to the Promised Land. Get ready for the journey.

The third road sign is John baptizing in the Jordan River. This road sign says, "Promised Land Ahead – Pay toll ."The Jordan marks the end of wandering in the wilderness and the beginning of having their own land. Moses didn't get to cross over. The Jordan River is a core communal transition point to life without Moses, from wanderers to settlers. Some peoples, like the Bedouins, were content with the nomadic life. Could Hebrew slaves be settled people and hold their own against their neighbors?

John is baptizing at this symbolic boundary with multiple road signs. Matthew uses every metaphor possible to say that this is a tremendous spiritual inflection point. Move through the wilderness from slavery to freedom, take the highway home from exile, cross the Jordan River, and be baptized. Pay the toll by repenting, and you can move further down the highway. We understand baptism as the ritual of becoming a part of the faith community. It was a ritual for Gentiles to convert to Judaism in John's day. This baptism of repentance implies a critic of faith, charging that people are so far from a living faith that they are like Gentiles who must become Jews again by being washed clean in the Jordan.

The word repent has a powerful grip on our imagination. It sounds like a fearsome word full of judgment and attack. We may think of Jonathan Edwards's sermon "Sinners in the hands of an angry God," hanging us over a flame like a spider, and we must repent of our sins so God will save us. I preached in Edwards's church for nine years. A huge bust of him glowering down from the North wall, and few would sit nearby. People would come to Northampton on pilgrimage and take videos of themselves standing in the pulpit and shouting, "Repent" at the top of their lungs.

After a few years of this, I would roll my eyes and look at my watch, waiting for them to move on so I could return to work. The truth is, the sermon bombed in Northampton, and Edwards was later fired for being too rigid and scolding. I think he did some of his better work after leaving Northampton, maybe humbled a bit.

Let’s remove the scent of sulfur, and the sound of crackling flames from the word repent. The Greek word here is metanoia. The prefix meta means to move beyond what was before. Metaphysics means, beyond physics, discovering the ultimate source of things. The company META, formerly known as Facebook, wants to move beyond reality into virtual reality. Noia means "thought." Metanoia means moving beyond our current thoughts, changing our mind, turning around, and going in a different direction. Repent doesn't have to mean you are a miserable sinner who must sorrowfully confess everything to God. (If the shoe fits, wear it.). What if metanoia is part of the human condition? We fall short; we fail to understand, and we are constantly growing and stretching ourselves toward truth and love. Metanoia is our ongoing soul work to find our true selves in God. It is the journey we take, the path we must walk again and again.

We must take the road trip. We move through the wilderness to find freedom; we come home from exile. In Advent, we head to Bethlehem to discover Christ among us. As we take communion, think about where you are on your journey. Where is one place in your life where you need to be a little meta to renew your mind and think differently? Prepare the way for the coming of God in your life.

Stay Awake! | Matthew 24:36-44 | November 27, 2022

Sun, 27 Nov 2022 18:06:09 GMT

John Nelson Darby may be the most influential and controversial theologian for our time. You have probably never heard of Darby. He wasn't a prominent preacher or theologian in his day. Darby had a decent start as an Anglican priest serving a parish in Catholic Ireland. He brought in many Catholic converts, but the Anglican Archbishop of Dublin insisted that Darby make all his congregation swear allegiance to George the VI of England as the true king of Ireland. Darby resigned in protest and drifted to a small sect, the Plymouth Brethren, who were obsessed with discerning biblical prophecy. Darby believed that the Kingdom of God had nothing to do with the institution of the church, whose corruption God would soon end. After a great tribulation, Christ would come and establish a thousand-year reign.

Today's scripture reading from Matthew was a Darby favorite. "Two men will be working in the field, one will be taken, and one will be left. Two women will grind corn, one will be taken, and one will be left." Darby was the first to call this the Rapture (a word not used in the Bible.) He developed an elaborate theory of historical dispensations and what would happen as God established this new earthly kingdom. Darby's following was small, and the Plymouth Brethren split over details of what would happen after the Rapture. But his extensive writing included the Scofield Reference Bible which shared his work on how the world would end. After his death, this Bible was a popular seller, and his theology gained acceptance, especially at Dallas Theological Seminary, the largest Southern Baptist school. Hal Lindsey and televangelist John Hagee spread Darby's Dispensationalism, and it became a central belief for Evangelicalism by the time of Jerry Falwell. In the 1980s, people began to have bumper stickers that said, "In case of Rapture, the driver of this car will disappear." Then came the bumper sticker, "If the rapture comes, can I have your car?"

Whatever Darby's intent, his apocalyptic views have deeply distorted the church's mission. The major problem is the Rapture ignores the present reality of human suffering and makes earthly life nothing more than a test. It creates a paranoia of outsiders and a persecution complex. Darby's dispensationalism creates a mindset that easily fits with QAnon conspiracy theories, and many Evangelical pastors have been under fire for not supporting these fantasies.

In contrast, Biblical prophets like Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Amos were deeply concerned about human suffering and justice for the poor. Rapture proponents have little interest in social justice or climate change because the world will end. Why feed the hungry nations of the world if the end is near? James Watt, Secretary of the Interior under Ronald Reagan, argued that we should not have environmental regulations because the world would end soon anyway.

Rapture theology is increasingly politicized. Evangelical Christians have supported the Likud party in Israel and justified the oppression of Palestinians (including Palestinian Christians) because of their end-times theology. Did you know the State of Israel bought Rev. Jerry Falwell a jet to thank him for his support? Falwell was as important as any Secretary of State on Israel policy. A recent offshoot of Darby's theology is known as "Dominionism," held by Mike Pence and Supreme Court Justice Amy Comey Barrett. Dominionism encourages Christians to "take back America, believes that only Christians should hold elective office, and fueled a strong desire to ban gay marriage and abortion.

What would Jesus think about all this? Jesus was clear no one knows the day of the coming of God's Kingdom. Jesus also said, "The Kingdom of Heaven is among you." A quality of God's work is already here, even if not complete. Jesus never said, "Take back the power of government from Caesar." Instead, he said, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." When things get tough, and we feel like the world is ending, what are we supposed to do? "Keep awake, for you do not know the day when the Son of Man is coming."

This scripture sounds like an episode of Undercover Boss. The show is exactly like the title says. In one episode, the CEO of Checkers goes on hidden camera wearing the company uniform and works the fryer at the fast-food restaurant. The general manager constantly yells and belittles a cashier to tears. The undercover CEO listens on break to the cashier's tearful complaints of being demeaned and, after the shift, confronts the manager. The manager drips with disdain and says he does what he must do to motivate employees to work hard. When he says, "If you had some experience in the fast-food industry, you would understand how to manage people," Undercover Boss makes the big reveal. He has some experience; in fact, he is the CEO, and he fires the manager on live television. Boom! No wonder the show is on its twelfth season and has won two Emmys. Only the Olympics and American Idol had more viewers in their first year. It taps into the frustrations of unappreciated and poorly treated frontline workers. We would all like to know someone is paying attention. As long as they aren’t watching us too closely!

One of my heroes growing up was John Wooden, the UCLA basketball coach who won a dozen national championships. I was impressed by the famous line in his autobiography, "Character is measured by what you do when no one is watching." It means you have a habit of doing your best work and being kind or honest, even if no one is paying attention. This is close to Jesus's meaning in our reading today. Jesus follows this text with three parables in Chapter 25. First, he says there are five wise and five foolish bridesmaids. The wise ones had enough oil to keep their lamps burning in the night for when the bridegroom comes. The foolish ones were not prepared. Second, he tells the parable of the talents and commends the servants who increase the money in their charge. Third, he says that God will sort the sheep and the goats. The goats are judged, and the sheep are praised because when Jesus was a stranger, they welcomed him; when he was hungry, they fed him, sick, and cared for him. These are the final teachings of Jesus before the Last Supper. Together they form a relentless message readying disciples for the time he is gone. Be vigilant, act with character, do justice, and pay attention to even the small acts of help and kindness.

It is more important to live Jesus's teaching in the present moment than to figure out how and when the world will end. So, what do we do with this passage where Jesus says to be ready for his coming? We need to go Bible Geek for a moment and then get practical. Much has been made of the Greek word "Parousia, " translated as "coming." Darby turned this word into a theological term meaning the Second Coming of Jesus, the tribulation, resurrection of the dead, and leaving your car on the freeway. But Parousia simply means to be present, to come or arrive. Plato said the Parousia was the invisible presence of the gods in the sacred fire at the sacrifice of animals. In Greek stories, Parousia refers to a god showing up and being helpful. Zeus was the sky god of rain, thunder, and lightning. When the rain fell, it was his Parousia. The thunder and lightning were his judgment on the evil doer, his Parousia of justice.

Was Jesus talking about a second coming in a final judgment, as Darby believed? Or was he saying he will be present and come to us in our time of need? Just as Plato believed the gods were present in the sacrifice, our communion theology states we welcome the real presence of Christ as we break bread together. Jesus said, "wherever two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of you." The coming of Jesus is not always a dramatic end-of-the-world event. Jesus did say several apocalyptic things, and God may bring about some final event in the universe. But we are now 2000 years down the road from Jesus and 2.4 million years into human life, and Jesus himself said he did not know the day. Paul thought Jesus would return soon. What if soon means the next moment? What if the Parousia of Christ is after a deep breath and the prayer, "Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest."? Isn't Jesus present to some degree right now?

End times speculation is the perfect distraction for the real work of being open to the present reality of Christ among us. It may even be a failure to take responsibility. Jesus said, whenever you acted with compassion to someone in need, fed the hungry, visited the sick, you did it to me. So, keep awake. If you are paying attention, you may see Christ come among us this very week.

The Gratitude Factor | I Thessalonians 5:12-19 | Thanksgiving Sunday | November 20, 2022

Sun, 20 Nov 2022 16:31:01 GMT

We live in a time of technological wonders, yet few people seem happy. More cool gadgets don’t make us happy or fulfilled. I heard a comedian tell this story a few years ago:

I was on an airplane, and there was the internet – high-speed internet – on the aircraft. That’s the newest thing that I know exists. And I’m sitting on the plane, and they go, “Open up your laptops. You can go on the internet.”

And it’s fast, and I’m watching you tube clips – it’s amazing – I’m in an airplane!

And then it breaks down. And they apologize, “The internet’s not working.” The guy next to me goes, “This is bullshit.”

Like how quickly the world owes him something he knew existed only 10 seconds ago. Read more: http://www.bakadesuyo.com/2013/09/how-to-live-a-happy-life/#ixzz2hE7Q5WgQ

Gratitude can slip away so quickly. Most of us don’t lose our thankfulness in 10 seconds on an airplane, but I know that my sense of gratitude comes and goes. I wonder if ingratitude is a trait from our hunter-gatherer brain, which is so busy looking for the next meal that it forgets the blessing of the last one. Our consumer-oriented society is busy stimulating our old hunter-gatherer brains with more and more prey to chase (with cars or jet skis) and varieties of berries to pick (for which we may need bigger kitchens and more food processing gadgets.) So we are constantly conditioned to be anxious about what we don’t have rather than grateful for what we do have.

Ingratitude isn’t just about material things. We often take each other for granted, forgetting our teachers and mentors, the little things our spouse may do, and all the people who work hard behind the scenes without credit.

There is a story in the Bible where Jesus healed ten lepers, but only one came back to thank him. You would think all ten would be deeply grateful, but gratitude slips away. I had life-saving surgery years ago when my intestine perforated. I would have died if not for several things; Jeanne taking me to the emergency room, a skilled surgeon who had to sew me back together from the inside out, and a nurse who saved my life in the middle of the night, as my blood pressure dropped and fever rose, she put my IV bags in the freezer. She ran ice water through my veins to keep me alive. (That is why I am one cool customer!) I remember the morning after I came home from the hospital, looking like a concentration camp survivor but grateful to be home. I slowly crept to the mailbox, out of breath from this minor exertion, and I stood at the end of the driveway, thankful for the sun on my face, and said to God, I’m so glad I’m alive. May I never lose this sense of gratitude I feel right now and take things for granted.

But I do. I often forget as I worry about the future, feel underappreciated, or grouse about politics. I forget that every minute I’m alive is all a gift because I used all my nine lives on five operating tables. I should never have any reason to complain. If I were a surgeon, I think I would slap some of my former patients, saying, “You have a new heart, don’t eat that. Why aren’t you doing your exercises?” We just forget all the work and generosity of others that have made us who we are. When I get depressed, I stop myself and remember lumbering out to the mailbox with the sun on my face.

I learned that gratitude is not something we feel; it is a practice that improves life. As the Apostle Paul said, “In all things, I give thanks.” Not just in good times when all is going well but especially in hard times. One of the worst parts of my time of illness was having a colostomy bag for about nine months. You can be grateful that I will not tell you any of those stories. You can just take my word that it is a terrible nuisance. Sometimes I hated that thing. Whenever I had a bad experience with it, I would stop and say that I would be dead without this. That kept me from feeling sorry for myself (at least most of the time.)

Some of you may be thinking, “Wait a minute, pastor. Gratitude is fine, but what about times when I’m genuinely suffering and miserable? Isn’t counting my blessings just ignoring my grief and pain? Sometimes I just want to have a good cry or unload my burdens with a friend. Is that being ungrateful?

Of course not. Difficult emotions are a part of life. It is natural to feel awful, sometimes for days and weeks, when we go through loss and hardship. You are human and can’t pretend to be happy when you are not. I think that at least once a day, we need to stop and give thanks and be grateful for what we know is good, no matter how bad we are feeling. It is not an instant cure, but it makes a difference. Being grateful for a moment reminds us that we have resources, some things are beautiful, and people we love. We are more durable; we find more courage, and it is easier to trust and hope when we take some time to be grateful. Remembering these things helps us re-member, to pull ourselves together.

Gratitude needs to be a part of any kind of recovery. I saw first-hand how gratitude kept people sober. I usually knew who would not make it through our transitional housing program where I worked in New York. It was the whiners and complainers. When things got tough and didn’t go their way, which is a part of life, they drank or relapsed. And they returned to all the old people, places, and things that got them in trouble. I remember a woman who went through the most demanding therapy program and survived foot surgery without pain meds because that was her addiction. After a year of recovery, she had to return to serve a six-month prison sentence in Arkansas for an old charge from when her then-boyfriend blew up their trailer with a failed meth lab, destroying everything she owned. When she returned to our program, I asked how she got through it. She said, “I get up every morning and think of everything I am thankful for. I thank God I am alive and not in prison, that I have a roof over my head, that I am sober, and I have numbers in my phone that I can call if I need help. I don’t leave my room until I have written my “gratitudes” in my journal.”

Don’t just take my word for it. Here are three things you can do that have been tested in clinical studies to improve well-being.

Keep a “Gratitude Journal.” Writing down 3 to 5 things every day for which you are grateful increases happiness and even recovery from physical illness. Don’t just think about it; write it down. It is more real when we put it in writing. This is like a daily exercise in remembering why we are here.
Thank someone else every day. Shawn Achor, a Harvard researcher who wrote The Happiness Advantage, found that people increased their happiness by writing one email every day praising and thanking someone else in their social network. This makes sense for a simple reasons. Sadness is isolating, because we pull in. Thanking people re-connects us, and we are likely to be happier with renewed bonds with others.
This is something Jeanne and I have done for more than 5 years. At breakfast we tell each other one thing we appreciate about each other. It can be a small thing like running an errand, or just for listening about how hard things were at the end of a long day. It turns out this simple practice increases happiness in relationships. I understand why. I have to do something every day worth appreciating. And I have to pay attention to Jeanne because I can’t come to breakfast and say “I got nothing today.”

I remember singing this song growing up in church, “Count your blessings, name them one by one. Count your many blessings see what God has done.” I thought it was so dumb. Turns out I was wrong, it is actually very wise. Our best scientific research has finally figured out what religion has known for centuries. It turns out we have a need to say, “Our God in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” Meister Eckart, a mystical theologian in the 15 ^th century said, “I our only prayer was to say thanks, it would be enough.”

New Creation | Isaiah 65: 17-25 | November 13, 2022

Sun, 13 Nov 2022 17:48:15 GMT

“I am creating a new heaven and a new earth.”

What goes through your mind when someone says, “We are going to try something new!”? Some of you will jump with excitement, “Bring it on. This will be fun. Let’s eat Kimchi. Let’s try interpretive dance in worship!” Others will say, “There is nothing new under the sun. Meat and potatoes, please. New does not mean improved.” Most of us are not adventurous innovators but prefer routine and comfort. As one church consultant said, “The only people who want change are wet babies.” We don’t pursue change until our discomfort level is intolerable. Our response to new situations depends on where we stand. Will this make our life better or worse? If you hear the Magnificat, where Mary sings, “God will lift up the lowly and scatter the proud,” it could be good or bad news.

Embracing change is hard. Malcolm Gladwell created a bell curve of the innovation cycle that looks like this:

2.5% innovators. These are the creators, innovators, and revolutionaries. On June 29, 2007, Steve Jobs shook the world by putting a camera, computer, calendar, record player, and everything else except a kitchen sink; into an iPhone. Industries and empires rise and fall in its wake. Jesus brought a fresh interpretation of the divine-human relationship that made religion more inclusive, loving, and less legalistic. Even death could not stop him.

13.5% early adopters. These folks have owned at least seven versions of the iPhone and already have version 14. In Christianity, it is the 12 disciples. Early adopters want novelty and get in on the ground floor of the trend.

34% early majority. These people wait a few months until the bugs get out of the new version. They are pragmatic and wait to see if something is working. These are the 70 followers Jesus sends out to spread the good news in Luke 10, Mary and Martha, various supporters of Jesus.

34% late majority. This group wants to be safe. They want to make sure cell phones don’t cause brain tumors. These are the 5000 people Jesus fed with five loaves and two fish. They have finally come around.

16% laggards. By the time this group comes around, you can be sure the trend is dead. Rotary phones are fine. They have a flip phone only for emergencies, which they never turn on to reach them. Laggards are the group who became Christians when it became an official Roman religion in the fourth century after Jesus.

Think for a moment where you locate yourself on this spectrum. How do you respond to change and innovation?

I land somewhere in the first half, depending on the situation. Occasionally, I have a new idea, but more often, I read a lot and glean from other innovators. Usually, I wait and see how the project is moving along. I tend to get excited by innovators and figure out how to spread their ideas to others. I am better at helping people get comfortable with change than always looking to jump on the next bandwagon. Most of us move around in the big middle of the curve depending on the idea, our energy level, and our stake in the situation.

This curve can help us understand how we adapt and grow as a congregation. We all have interests and emotions as change moves through a church, which must be taken seriously. If we don’t change fast enough, we become stagnant and decline. If we change too quickly, people get anxious, tune out and eventually leave. It takes trust and communication to make it through this curve.

Malcolm Gladwell popularized this curve in his book “The Tipping Point” in 2000. I would love to hear what he thinks 22 years later. I believe this process has become faster with new technology, and COVID forced us to compress a decade of change into a few months. Now we are all exhausted, and even the early adopters and saying, “Give me a break.” Forty percent of clergy have left the ministry, and a big reason is the innovation curve broke them. Either they couldn’t keep up, or the congregation didn’t want to follow. I wonder if we have all moved somewhat to the right on this curve and change is moving faster than we can handle.

Every institution is struggling with the breakdown of this cycle. Magen, our church school director, shared with me how kids are all running about three years behind standard social development patterns, so you see middle school behaviors in high school. People are prone to feeling left out, more susceptible to conspiracy theories, and more likely to harden their positions as they face the unknown. We long for stability and safety. This challenge is vitality requires innovation to flow, yet the change we need feels like too much or a frightening leap into the unknown.

What can we learn from Isaiah’s hopeful imagination in Isaiah 65? Biblical scholars trace this scripture to around 520 to 500 BCE. People are returning from exile in Babylon to Jerusalem, and their hope is flagging. The people who live in Judah are not throwing them a welcome home party, they are new settlers trying to establish themselves amid hostility. It’s like the winter of 1621, and the pilgrims are starving on Plymouth Rock. It’s 1950, and the new nation of Israel is tossed into a hostile environment. The future is uncertain, and this new enterprise now seems like a mistake.

Hope is getting a reality check. Isaiah is attempting to rally their spirits with the creative possibilities of God. (Remember Isaiah also says, “I will raise you up on Eagle’s wings.” He is an encourager!). Where do you think Isaiah is on that innovation curve? Clearly, he is an innovator. Can you take his words seriously? Lions aren’t designed it eat straw. Lambs will never be safe. We may have made progress in 2500 years on infant mortality and longevity, but if this is a prophecy, we are still waiting. This poetry sounds like a promise that goes beyond human history. What are we supposed to do with the challenges of the unknown present?

Here is how I read Isaiah. He is not an engineer or a political prognosticator, he is a poet. Poets inspire us to think outside the box. They bring us into the realm of imagination, not blueprints. Isaiah shows us a new heaven that inspires a new earth. Infant mortality will cease, you will live long and prosper, enjoy the fruitfulness of your land, snakes will eat dust and the lamb will rest easy by the lion. This is a mission statement about how life can be, but don’t rush it into a strategic plan. We first must enter the poetic imagination and be inspired by God.

I hear Isaiah telling us three things about who God is.

First, God is a creator who is not done with the universe. As 21st-century people, we have absorbed the idea of the Big Bang. Millions of years of evolution have brought us to this point. But we often relegate the work of God back to the beginning, and we will take it from here. But what if we believe God’s creative work is a continuing process? God is still speaking; therefore, creation continues. Isaiah’s council in the teeth of challenges and uncertainty is to embrace creativity. We won’t move to the goal by holding on to what we have or repeating the past. In disruptive times, we choose to create rather than our instinct to protect.

Second, Isaiah says God takes joy in us and wants us to find joy. Think of the energy released when you know someone takes pleasure in who you are and what you do. If we think God is judging us and waiting to punish us, we will have difficulty finding joy. Just as God finds joy in us, we are called to live with joy. If our religion makes us angry and miserable, what God are we following? If the church becomes a slog, we are doing something wrong. We are called to weep with those who weep, but tears get wiped away, and we are also called to rejoice with those who rejoice.

Third, Isaiah tells us that our work matters. I translate “you will live in our own houses and enjoy our own vineyards” to mean economic justice and fairness and also that our labor matters. The world often tries to tell us that all our effort is futile because the forces of hatred, injustice and suffering are just too big. Isaiah answers, “No way!” When you work towards the good, you are met by the creative force of the same Spirit that created the universe in all its wonder. Trust the process. Sometimes you feel like an ant dragging a bread crust up the ant hill. But God sees you, knows the number of hairs on your head, and the Spirit infuses your labors.

How do we live in the promise of a new heaven and earth? Embrace creativity, take joy in the work, and trust the process. Sometimes we will get stuck somewhere in the innovation curve and feel discouraged. That is human nature. But if we believe God is still creating, still working in us, hope will return.

Presence at the Table | Stewardship Sunday | Matthew 18:15-20, Luke 24:28-33 | November 6, 2022

Sun, 06 Nov 2022 17:44:05 GMT

What makes God's presence real to you? While on Sabbatical three years ago, Jeanne and I toured a small cathedral in Todi, Italy. It was an odd church, with a dramatic fresco of the Last Judgement, with devils tormenting people. I noticed a display of an altar cloth with drops of wine splattered on it. The display card said someone had the bright idea of running a DNA test on the spilled wine. Allegedly, the results uncovered human DNA from the Middle East, proving that the Eucharist's bread and wine became the body and blood of Jesus. I wonder if that means we may someday be able to clone Jesus. (What a theological mess that would be, trying to accommodate the Doctrine of the Trinity, with the possibility of multiple proto-Jesus's running around. Would they all get along without sibling rivalry?).

It took a few hours to discover why the display annoyed me. It wasn't simply my skepticism about the claim. My son went to Catholic School, and I recalled all the school services where I could not take Communion, even as an ordained minister. The priest was very nice about it, and I could always go forward and cross my arms and receive a blessing. I never did this because it felt like acknowledging second-class status to the one true church. If a church claims the power to render the mere matter of wheat and grape into the sacred body of Jesus, does that make God more present in their church than mine? Is God more real if molecules are transformed beyond scientific understanding? And if such a miracle can occur, why doesn't it make us kinder?

"Wherever two or three are gathered, I am in the midst of them." Pastor Roy started every communion service with those words in my hometown church in Iowa. It was a comforting thought, but I wondered, "Isn't God always present?" Anselm said one of the five attributes of the Divine is "omnipresent," the ability of God to be present in all times and places. Is God more present as we gather during Communion? Is the Divine "more there" in breaking bread than during the gorgeous sunrise?

I have attended some Protestant Communion services where the liturgy felt sterile. We remember Jesus while dreary songs play in the background. We get a nibble of very white bread and a bare sip of Welch's grape juice, if you are lucky. I snuck around the corner once as a child and watched Communion preparation. I was shocked at the lack of reverence. Complaints were aired about the length of the sermon and someone's garish hat. I didn't want to swallow bread so ill-treated.

I want a Communion that is vibrant enough to match the Jesus who fed 5000 people, told the parable of the Good Samaritan, healed lepers, and stuck it to self-righteous. But I don't want to disbelieve in the laws and science and engage in ritual cannibalism to get there.

While reflecting on the two scriptures I chose for today, I had a couple of "Aha!" moments. I was surprised when reading Matthew 18:20, "where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of them," is attached to teaching about church discipline. What is the connection between Jesus being present and the process of dealing with conflict and hurt in the church? It's good advice, but it seems like a random placement. I read from "The Jewish Annotated New Testament," which has Rabbi's comments in the bottom margins. The comments noted that in Leviticus 19:15, you needed two or three witnesses to accuse someone. No one can be charged on the word of one witness. Other Torah commentary noted that wherever two or three people are gathered to study Torah together, the Divine is present. Matthew is writing a standard idea that God is present to help us discern what is best, except he is now saying Jesus is present to his disciples in the same way.

Let me push this one step further. In Jewish writing about God being present where two or three are gathered, the Hebrew word is "Shekinah." The Shekinah of God is present. Shekinah can mean the divine dwelling place, the light of God, or the glory of God. The burning bush where Moses hears God's voice manifests the Shekinah. So does the innermost part of the Temple where God dwells, the pillar of fire that appeared before the people in the wilderness. The word is associated with where God is present to humans on earth. We could translate this verse to say, "The light of Go, the glory of God, is present wherever two or three are gathered in my name."

I also want to comment on the story at the end of Luke's Gospel. Two people who followed Jesus are walking the road to Emmaus after the crucifixion. They do not recognize Jesus as they journey until the evening when it says, "as he broke the bread and blessed it, suddenly their eyes were opened, and they saw it was Christ." We might find it strange that the disciples did not recognize Jesus for such a long time till he broke the bread. Since they weren't part of the twelve disciples, were they always in the back of the crowd and never up close? Why couldn't they tell it was Jesus by his voice or face?

The phrase "having your eyes opened" in sudden recognition is a standard literary device in Greek plays. The Greek word "anagnorisis" means to discover a character's true identity or true nature. Aristotle said all the best plays and tragedies have this event at the high point of the plot. The classic example is Oedipus, who suddenly realizes he is truly his father's murderer and mother's lover. Every good Sherlock Holmes story has this moment. We see all the potential suspects of the murder. Evidence spins us around a few times, pointing to more than one candidate. Then suddenly, the brilliant Holmes reveals the perpetrator, who was often a person of high regard, but they were secretly a murderer.

Another example is the scene in Star Wars II: The Empire Strikes Back, where Luke Skywalker is losing his lightsaber battle with Darth Vader when Vader suddenly reveals he is Luke's father. This is the plot twist that changes everything. Luke is not just the orphaned son of a Tatooine farmer but the son of the Dark Lord Vader. That's a fundamental identity shift.

Luke's Gospel (not Skywalker!) skillfully weaves the term "breaking bread and blessing it" into his Gospel several times to set up this eye-opening moment. The first time Jesus blesses and breaks bread, he feeds the 5000 people. The second time Jesus breaks bread and blesses bread is at the Last Supper. Now at the end of the Gospel, when these disciples think he is crucified and dead, he again breaks bread and blesses it, and their eyes are opened. It's an anagnorisis moment. He is suddenly revealed as the Risen One. To tie it back to our text in Matthew, two or three are gathered, and Jesus reveals the Shekinah, the light and glory of God, every time the bread is blessed and broken. Luke continues this phrase in the Acts of the Apostles. Breaking bread together is a mark of church life together.

What does all this mean for our monthly practice of Communion? First, it is essential to acknowledge that God is present in multiple ways, in the beauty of the earth, in acts of kindness and justice, in creativity, and love between people. We don't have a monopoly on God's light in church or at the Communion Table.

But the ritual of breaking bread around this table is a specific Christian practice of knowing God. It is a moment of revelatory possibility if we are present to it. We don't have to completely understand it to partake; just be open and willing adequately. Communion can reveal as many things to us as Jesus did in his work among us. Sometimes we may be conscious of grace and filled with gratitude. When Jesus invited the disciples to the table, he was aware of their shortcomings and knew they were all about to fail. He even had Judas at the table, so who are we to turn someone away? So breaking bread might remind us that we come as we are, are still loved, and belong. Other times in Communion, I am more aware of the people around me. I feel the combined energy of kindness, hope, and love in the gathered community, and it fills me with gratitude. Communion differs depending on the season, from Advent to Lent to post-Easter. We can use the same liturgy, yet no two services are the same. Who we are with, what has happened recently, the quality of attention we bring to the moment all play a role in what comes to us. But what I take from Matthew and Luke is that when we gather and break bread our eyes are open to see the presence of Christ among us.

Therefore, the miracle isn't necessarily what happens here at the table with bread and cup. The miracle is what happens in you. Bread is broken, spiritual food is shared, and eyes become open to see what is truly here, in the light and glory of God. Amen.

Body of Christ | John 6:51-58, I Corinthians 12:12-27 | October 30, 2022

Sun, 30 Oct 2022 19:25:57 GMT

"This is my body broken for you. Take and eat, as often as you do so, in remembrance of me." In the last two weeks, I have preached about the layers of meaning in the Communion bread, our daily needs, and Communion wine, a sign of celebration and thanksgiving. The idea of the body of Christ adds the next important layer to understanding communion (Eucharist). This morning, I will preach about how the image of the body represents a fundamental oneness between ourselves and God, and with each other.

We may forget how strange and offensive Jesus's words about eating his flesh and drinking his blood are because we think of it symbolically. Jesus's audience is dumbstruck and asks, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" It would be great if Jesus answered, "I'm speaking symbolically. It's a metaphor that means if you follow me, you must make an effort to take it all in and be a disciple. I will nourish your soul like bread nourishes your body." But he didn't. We forget Jesus is not an 18th-century enlightenment rationalist philosopher. He is a first-century Jew who uses the cultural forms of hyperbole. He says, "Pluck out your eye if it causes you to sin. Pick up your cross and follow me. You must eat my flesh and drink my blood." It is even worse in Greek, where the word translated "eat" means chomp or chew. Jesus says eat my flesh seven times in seven verses. If we were devout first-century Jews in Jesus's day, we would have been appalled:

Eating human flesh was forbidden. It was associated with vultures (Ez 39:17) and evildoers (Zech 11:9). Drinking blood was equally offensive. Genesis 9:4 says, "You shall not eat flesh (in this case animals) with its life, that is, its blood," "You shall not eat...any blood," said Leviticus (3:17). "You shall not eat flesh and drink blood," said Ezekial (39:17). https://onemansweb.org/this-terrible-eating-of-bread-john-6-51-58.html

Drinking blood was also a phrase for murderous violence, as in "My sword will drink the blood of my enemies."

Why is Jesus being so emphatic about this? In the context of chapter 6 of John's Gospel, Jesus just fed 5000 people. People wanted him to become King, and perhaps many wanted more bread. Or they wanted Jesus to champion their economic and political interests. He would not be the crowd's tool. I'm sure Jesus would approve of hosting a food bank (and I just blessed a new Community Refrigerator this week!). But Jesus did not want to stop feeding stomachs; he tried to feed hearts and souls. He was emphatic because he wanted people to align their lives with God's hopes, not just hang around for the free food. Jesus wanted disciples to take in his teachings and vigorously pursue holy work. To follow him, you need to eat, drink, chew, swallow and digest what you receive so it becomes part of your being.

There are a few verses in the Old Testament where tasting and eating are symbols for seeking God. Psalm 34:8 says, "Taste and see that the Lord is good." In Ezekiel 3:3, God says to the prophet, "Mortal, eat this scroll that I give you and fill your stomach with it." Then I ate it, and in my mouth, it was as sweet as honey." Jesus's words to take and eat his body teach us that God is a generous God who provides the sustenance of life for body and soul.

Most early church theologians understood the symbolic nature of communion. Transubstantiation, the doctrine that the bread and wine are miraculously transformed into the real flesh and blood of Jesus, was not mentioned anywhere until the 11 ^th century.

The earliest communion prayers from the Didache of the second century refer to the elements of the table as "spiritual food and drink." Several other early church theologians, like Justin Martyr, Tertullian, and Irenaeus, recognized that bread and wine stood for Christ as visible signs of grace. https://blog.tms.edu/did-the-early-church-teach-transubstantiation

In the year 202, Bishop Irenaeus said, "[Jesus] took from among creation that which is bread, and gave thanks, saying, 'This is my body.' The cup, likewise, which is from among the creation to which we belong, he confessed to be his blood." Irenaeus implies that all creation is a part of Christ's body. Therefore all of it is sacred, and all of it is a gift from God. When we receive the bread and cup, it stands for the whole package; daily food, the beauty of Fall and Spring, the harvest, the night stars, the joy of sex, and all the good and tangible things that flow from the creator.

Bodily life was essential to early Christianity as some theologians, known as Docetists, thought Jesus was a spiritual being without a natural body. Docetists taught spirit is good, but matter is evil, maybe even an illusion. At the table, we confess that the body, our bodies, and all matter, all material things, are gifts of God, not illusions from which we need to escape. Bread and cup shared manifest the oneness of all life and physical beings. When we justify exploiting earth's resources in ways that damage life on this planet, we are acting against the oneness of creation which we affirm at the communion table.

The Apostle Paul understood that the sharing in the body of Christ had ethical implications for how we treat each other. I Corinthians 12 tells us that we are all unique parts of Christ's body, and our work is to make Christ real through our life together. We may all be different, but we belong and need each other. We are one, whether we like it or not.

I discovered a thought-provoking essay by Douglass Campbell about how Paul was writing this letter amid a culture war. Roman imperialism was not just about armies; it also brought Greco-Roman culture to conquered peoples. They imposed religious values, displaced people from their land, and had a strict social and family relations hierarchy. In Palestine, this conflict led to revolt and, eventually, the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple. Paul's letter addresses 15 separate issues which were causing conflict in the community. Paul's church in Corinth brought together Jews from the local synagogue, others who were pagans and unchurched in our vocabulary, a few wealthy Romans who were probably seen as elitists, and slaves and servants who were drawn by Christianity's inclusive message. All the issues of class, ethnicity, family values, sexuality, and even the food you eat were on the table. People raised pagans thought eating meat sacrificed to idols was okay because they could buy it cheaper. The idols weren't real anyway. Devout Jews who kept kosher were deeply offended.

This passage in I Corinthians 12 is one of the best reflections on pastoral theology. Paul tells us three important things that are essential for unity. First, Paul shows how unity is not accomplished by trying to make everyone the same. Homogenization is not unity.

¹⁷ If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? ¹⁸ But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as God wanted them to be…. As it is, there are many parts, but one body.

Second, Paul says you need each other. Nobody is good or moves closer to God on their own.

²¹ The eye cannot say to the hand, "I don't need you!" And the head cannot say to the feet, "I don't need you!"

In fact, we are so deeply connected that when one suffers, all suffer; if one is honored, all rejoice in it. The spiritual journey is made with community. Communion, Eucharist, is a communal act, not an individual practice.

Third, Paul gives equal concern for every part of the body. There is no hierarchy, in fact, the lesser parts are sometimes the most important. Paul probably did not know what a white blood cell was, or that we need bacteria in our intestine for good health, but he would have appreciated how many essential parts of the body are unseen. The body isn't here just to serve the brain. The brain can tell the body where to go, and the foot can send back the message, "I hurt, and we aren't going anywhere." The stomach says, "I'm hungry, I need food." The eye says, "It's too dark, I can't see where to go." It's all got to work together, just like Deacons, Trustees, Mission and all our committees and staff. We have different hopes, needs and functions, but we are all a part of one body, and we accomplish nothing on our own.

We often use this language when we say, we are Christ's hands and feet in the world. When we act in kindness and do justice, we are making Christ's love real here on earth. This helps me when I feel my contribution is so small, my ability is limited to bring goodness. But we are part of a wider body when we work together. Think for a minute, what part of the body of Christ are you?