Chalice Sermons, Musings, & Other Ponderings

Sermon, Sunday, 5 July 2009

2009-07-04T20:59:00.000-07:00

Mark 6:1-13a

I have a friend, Marge, who was a seminary student with me back in the beyond time. I became friends with Marge, as well as her husband (who was also one of our professors) and her teenage daughter, Aimee. I often housesat for Marge when she and her husband would travel, so Aimee and I got to be buddies. At one point, Aimee was set to travel for the first time out of the country, to Europe; to France, if I recall correctly. Having recently returned from my own sojourn beyond our country’s borders, I wanted to give Aimee a small bon voyage gift to mark the momentous occasion of her trip, so I purchased a passport case. When I gave it to her, I also provided a bit of advice, which was to keep close watch on her passport because U.S. passports are valuable overseas and can be stolen and used for nefarious activities.

Marge later told me that Aimee told them about my advice and seemed to take it as sacred truth. Marge also told me that they had said exactly the same thing to Aimee before but it wasn’t until she heard it from me, a non-parent in her life, did it really take hold.

I have a feeling that such a reaction is not completely unknown to parents of teenagers or parents with children of any age for that matter. And that reaction is not all that different from what Jesus must have experienced that day in Nazareth. We all know the familiar phrase “familiarity breeds contempt” and indeed that phrase could easily have been borne out of the incident we heard from the first part of the lectionary reading from Mark’s gospel this morning.

But before we get too hard on those folks from Nazareth, let’s consider the situation for a moment. If any of our neighbors in the apartment building where Allen & I live came up to me to tell me that they were sent by God to reform the world, I might be a little skeptical. Why, that’s just Cliff or Shana or Carlos. How can she or he be such an important person?

And of course, all this is only more intensified when you’re talking about someone returning to their hometown. How can he be that important? He’s just Walt & Susan’s kid, the one who got caught smoking behind the A&P. Who does she think she is? Her parents were plain old laborers who had little education. In fact, I’m not sure if her father is her father, if you know what I mean. Such comments and ones like them, perhaps not spoken but certainly considered, are all too common. And they lead to the discounting of many a prophet. And Jesus wasn’t the only one to note this phenomenon. Plutarch, who did his moral philosophizing during the first century not long after Jesus, said, “The most sensible and wisest people are little cared for in their own hometown.”

Just prior to our reading from today, Jesus had been out starting his ministry; traveling around healing, performing miracles, preaching, and teaching. Undoubtedly word of his activities filtered back to Nazareth; those sorts of events aren’t kept quiet for long, as the gospel writers themselves note from time to time. But I’m willing to bet that the miracles and the healings got much bigger and better press than his teachings and preaching ever did. It’s still true today; if you want to get a message across you do it rather than talk about it. We’re fascinated by action but not so interested in words. I believe it’s human nature transcending culture, time, and geography.

So very likely the home folks back in Nazareth heard about the paralyzed man in Capernaum who walked again, about the man with the withered hand who stretched out his cured hand, about the maniacal demoniac in the land of the Gerasenes who was brought back to sanity, about the woman who touched Jesus’ hem & was healed of her decades long flow of blood and about the young girl who was even brought back to life from death. Those stories travel. But had they heard what he had to say; what he was preaching and teaching throughout Galilee? If they even heard it, they probably didn’t remember it because the miracles were so impressive and words...well, words are just words.

So when Jesus got up to speak in the synagogue, his words, his thoughts of doing things differently, of interpreting scripture in a new way, came across as brand new to his listeners that day. They simply weren’t expecting what they heard. Jesus was issuing a challenge to the status quo and it was coming from within, from one of their own. It was coming, in fact, from the son of a carpenter for crying out loud. This was coming from Jesus, Mary’s son. Did you notice they didn’t even mention Joseph? “Jesus doesn’t have the credentials to do this,” was assuredly the thought in several minds that day.

Interestingly, this is the last time that Mark puts Jesus in the synagogue. From here on out, he goes out to the people directly, avoiding the standard routes of religious proclamation, eschewing what we would call “church” and instead preaching wherever he could gather a crowd of folks who would listen. As much as the crowd in the synagogue in Nazareth rejected Jesus that day, Jesus rejected them.

And the lectionary gets it right by making sure that the two seemingly disparate stories we heard from Mark earlier are indeed read together. Though the sending out of the disciples seems like a completely separate narrative, the fact that it follows this tale of rejection is important. Because as Jesus realizes that he won’t be accepted and heard through the usual religious routes, he discovers that he needs to do things in a new way. Sending forth his disciples in pairs is all part and parcel of the reaction to rejection. Jesus essentially says, “Fine, if I can’t do it your way, I’ll do it mine and put my message right out there in the midst of the people.”

Jesus’ instructions to his disciples as he sent them out was to pack light carrying only a staff; a staff for support? or defense perhaps? or because that’s what shepherds carry? Who knows. It was clear that he was saying, however, don’t get weighted down in non-essentials. What you need will be provided. Just take my word out there...to the people. And they did.

Those of us in the seemingly ever-shrinking mainline may need to pay attention to these two narratives closely if we wish to survive and be a presence within Christianity. Because if we’re going to expect “them” to come flocking to us in our churches, it may not happen. And you know whom I mean by “them.” “They’re” called the unchurched, which, I’ll point out, is our term for them, not theirs. “They’re” just folks. They don’t define themselves in relation to church or religion at all.

They’re the people Jesus went out to and sent his disciples to in order to heal and speak with after being rejected by the synagogue, by the religious establishment, by those who knew him best. They’re the people on which Jesus’ subsequent ministry focussed.

How often do we reject our own when they try to speak a new word? How frequently do we find that familiarity does indeed breed contempt? And of course, the very person we’re most familiar with, our very selves, is the one we reject the quickest. “I can’t do that because my ideas are too crazy, too far out there,” we hear ourselves saying. “I’m not a good speaker.” “I am unable because I don’t have the latest computer or the best clothes or a reliable car.” “I could never do that because…” and you fill in the blank. We all stop and reject ourselves all too quickly, as quickly as Nazareth rejected Jesus. We reject the one we know the best because indeed we can be very contemptuous of ourselves because of our familiarity.

But we are, like those early disciples, called to go out without our vast holdings of material goods and a simple supportive, defensive staff in hand. We need the support and defense that that staff provides because there are many places that will also reject us and our message of inclusivity and love. And just like the disciples were instructed to do, we need to shake the dust off our feet and continue on to more receptive ears.

You are equipped, right now, right here, to do ministry. Each of you. Every single one of us can leave this place this morning with all that we need to provide healing in an extremely broken world, a world that may be receptive or may not. But that’s not our concern. We are called, both individually and as communities of God’s church, to break down the walls and barriers that our culture tends to erect and speak a new word...out there...out in the midst of God’s people.

© Gerry Brague

Newsletter article for the week of 14 June 2009--Looking for power in all the wrong places

2009-06-21T16:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

What must have been going through young David’s mind. A few moments earlier he was in the fields, watching the family’s sheep: keeping them safe from predators and making sure none of them strayed off.
Then, suddenly, without warning, he was summoned to the sacrifice that was going on in his hometown of Bethlehem. There the priest Samuel looked at him and said, “Yep, this is the one that God wants!” And with that poured oil over him, anointing him and starting a process that would eventually make him king of Israel. Surrounding him were his father, his probably peeved brothers who had just been passed by for the same honor, and likely some astonished townsfolks.

I don’t think it’s an accident or coincidence that about a thousand years later, in those same hills outside of Bethlehem, other shepherds, perhaps minding descendent sheep of the ones that David was watching that day, were suddenly and unexpectedly drawn away from their duties to pay a visit to a newborn baby, himself of David’s lineage.

Shepherds are the least likely to grow up to be king or to get in early in paying homage to a just born king. Shepherds are just expected to stay with the sheep; that’s their job after all. When it comes to dead-end jobs,shepherding must rank up there with the best(or worst?) of them.

In our modern-day, non-agrarian culture though, we don’t get that joke so much. God chooses a shepherd to rule over the promised land?! God chooses shepherds as the first recipients of the good news of salvation of humanity?! Right! Tell me another good one.

But it’s true. God works with who God will to bring about God’s commonwealth here on earth. And there’s no reason to believe that God has given up yet on doing any of that.
If we think however that we’ll find God anointing anyone in the halls of power and places of influence, we’re looking in the wrong places and we need to read about shepherds a little more.

Peace,
Gerry

[This post is out of order--it should have come before the sermon on the 21st. Oops. My apologies.]

© Gerry Brague

Sermon, Sunday, 21 June 2009

2009-06-21T16:36:00.000-07:00

1 Samuel 17:1a, 4-11,19-23, 32-49 and Mark 4:35-41

Storms and giants. Giants and storms. The Hebrew Bible reading and the gospel reading together cause deep resonance some two and three thousand years after they occurred. And here we are, on a lovely Sunday morning in California, replete with images of storms and giants.

Now I have never faced a Goliath in my life: a real life, gargantuan person who was clearly out to do me harm. And, similarly, the times I have been on any sort of water craft have been peaceful, calm affairs without the stress and angst of a storm raging about me. (Okay, the time I did go water-skiing was not so calm, but it was a beautiful day.) But certainly, looking at these passages as metaphors, we each have faced our share of giants and storms in our lives. Each of us has stood toe-to-toe with our own personal Goliaths. Each of us has been buffeted and tossed helplessly about while we cling as best we can to whatever sense of reality we can grasp.

The reactions of the actors within these stories are worth investigating. I think that keeping an eye on David and on the disciples might be instructive. Both react differently to the particular stress they face. Both come out okay...eventually. And it might be useful to use the lens of art history to view these stories.

At the start of the Renaissance, that amazing period of time in history when humanity got its act together in some respects and dusted off the bleakest times of the dark ages, artists were finally seen as something more than craftspeople. Prior to this period, art adorned and the creators of art weren’t necessarily known entities; we don’t really have the names of many of the artists prior to the renaissance.

In the midst of this change comes Donatello, who, early in the renaissance, created some stunning works of art, including the first nude free-standing statue in a very long time. Statues, prior to this for several centuries, had been part of architectural features, not items to be viewed from all sides. And what was the subject of this first of its kind statue? None other than one of our heroes from the readings this morning, David.

Now, most of you probably know much better the famous other sculpture of David. But let’s look at this earlier take on the subject, which precedes Michelangelo’s version by about 70 years and is also found in Florence, Italy.

Donatello chose to cast his David in bronze, perhaps a reference to the armor of Saul’s which David didn’t wear or the obviously really heavy, impressive, and clearly useless armor that Goliath did wear. This David is not terribly large--true to the scripture, David is small, as is the statue itself.

We find David here at the point of having just killed Goliath. We see Goliath’s sword in David’s hand and there at David’s feet is the freshly decapitated head of Goliath, still wearing his less than helpful helmet. David’s face is calm repose, almost blank. This is still the early renaissance--emotion did not yet play a large role perhaps. But in that face, we see a David who is self-assured and certain. It seems like David has his eyes cast down; in humility perhaps, but also maybe regarding the spoils of his victory.

So, some 70 years later, one of the greatest artists who ever lived, took on the same subject, but with a very different approach, with a different medium, having a different result. Michelangelo took about three years to turn an enormous block of marble into the David who knew what he was about to do but had not yet done.

This David stands ready; facing his Goliath with assuredness and certainty. Against all the warnings of his own countrypeople and the derision of the opposing army, especially Goliath, David comes to face the foe who would enslave God ‘s people.

In his right hand, he holds a stone, visible only from behind. This hand is strong though and prepared; the veins are showing and the grip on his stone is tight. The right hand is prepared and ready to spring into action.

David’s face and left hand are different though. This face, in comparison to the face of Donatello’s David we just saw, is filled with emotion and confidence. David knows here that he is facing one of the biggest foes, at least physically, that he will ever face. The left hand is up at his shoulder, holding the slingshot waiting for its stone. You can’t quite see it here, but this hand is smooth; no bulging veins. The grip is loose yet ready.

Finally we turn to the painting that is on the bulletin cover: Rembrandt’s Christ in the Storm on the Lake of Galilee, painted about 120 years after Michelangelo was working on his David. The boat, if you’ll notice is barely visible heightening the sense of urgency; in the midst of this raging storm, there is little support for the terrified band of disciples. With waves that big and the wind obviously howling all around them, I’m not sure I don’t blame them their lack of nerve for which Jesus chastised them.

And there, at the center of all those frightened disciples, sits Jesus. You really have to look for him in the midst of all that’s going on. But he is the calm, the eye of the storm, so to speak. We peer into the situation through this painting in that moment just after Jesus has been awakened from his sleep and just before he calms the waters. The astonishment of the disciples which we heard about in the reading after he calmed the store has not yet replaced the fear and terror.

As we deal with the giants and storms of our lives, we can make choices: we can remove all the armor that surrounds us yet weighs us down, the armor that our culture insists we put up. We can strip ourselves of our defenses and face them with the certainty and knowledge that God stands with us. We can strive to listen for those simple words “peace, be still” and know that the storm will truly eventually end. We can rest assured that victory is ours, no matter the outcome of our struggles and that we are God’s people, in the midst of facing our giants and storms.

© 21 June 2009, Gerry Brague

Sermon, Sunday, 14 June 2009

2009-06-13T16:14:00.000-07:00

1 Samuel 15:34-16:13 Mark 4:26-34 2 Corinthians 5:6-17

Through the long liturgical season which we have just started, the season known as the days after Pentecost, when you hopefully like the color green in all its variations, there are actually two tracks in the revised common lectionary for the Hebrew Bible readings. One track is tied to the Christian Testament readings, especially the gospel reading. These readings are usually linked in some thematic way and they will bounce all over the Hebrew Bible. The other track is not tied to the gospel readings and goes through the sweep of a story. I have usually chosen to follow that 2nd track and am doing so this year. So our reading today from Samuel is the start of the narrative about David, the great king of Israel. Next week, we’ll pick up again in the story about David and in ensuring weeks hear more about him.

Therefore, there’s not really supposed to be a thematic link between this reading and the Mark reading. But did you notice a happy coincidental theme between them? David, small and young, is an unlikely candidate for the kingship. And Jesus, in the second parable he tells in today’s reading, makes a great deal about the mustard seed, which is tiny and one wouldn’t expect major things to come out of it. But Jesus points out that a shrub big enough for birds to nest in grows from it.

Our faith history, according to the Bible, is topsy-turvy this way so often. The weak become strong; the small, big. It’s unexpected. The powerful aren’t always as powerful as we think. Joseph’s brothers thought they were done with him when they sold him off to Egypt, but little did they know their little brother would have power in the end; power enough to save them from starvation.

Esther was a woman in the court of a mighty king and outwitted a powerful advisor who was going to kill the Jewish people. Mordecai, that nasty villain, was out to eradicate all the Jews but Esther, in a surprise turn, comes from her humble position and saves the people while eliminating the threat that Mordecai posed.

So it goes: Jeremiah was only a boy; Moses stuttered; “whatever you do for the least of these you do for me;” the angels announced the birth of Jesus to lowly shepherds. Even Paul gets it when he casts off the power he held that allowed him to search out and eliminate the new Christian faith and becomes one of those persecuted himself.

Throughout the Bible, tables are turned again and again. Maybe it’s what Paul was writing about in today’s epistle reading when he said that “there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (2 Corinthians 5:17) He really did get it: the old orders of things have got to change; in Christ everything is new and upside down.

And David, out there minding the family flock like a good boy, missing the big shindig in town, was no doubt surprised when he was summoned and found himself under the oil horn that Samuel was wielding. He was the least likely of the family to go far...after all, he was the youngest. Nothing was expected of him. When it came time for the whole anointing ritual, he was an afterthought on his father’s part.

Now remember, the kingship of Israel was a new thing, so it’s not like David or anyone else was sitting there aspiring to be king. Israel had not had kings. God was their king. Theirs was a loose confederation of tribes which had gone to judges to settle important matters. They had great generals who secured the promised land for them and kept out invaders. They had high priests who led the people in their religious life. But kings, earthly rulers, were not a part of their socio-political life.

The people grumbled though that they thought they needed a king like all the other countries around them. You know that ever-present drive of human nature that says if Mary has a red wagon then her neighbor Johnny has to have one too? It works the same for countries and governments. Israel grumbled loud and long enough that finally God gave in and said “alright already, you can have a king” and Saul was named.
Well, Saul is one of those tragic figures from the Bible who starts off good and ends up at the bottom of the heap. We won’t go into Saul’s decline here, but as you heard in today’s reading, God repents--yes, God repents--of having chosen Saul as king. And Samuel, who has been doing God’s work for several chapters now, has to go off and anoint a new king in Bethlehem.

Well, things around Israel must have been tense; Samuel doesn’t want to do this because if Saul gets wind that he’s getting the royal pink slip, he’s not going to be happy and Samuel has a good idea of how that regal unhappiness will play out. So Samuel is on edge. The people of Bethlehem seem a little edgy too; when they see Samuel approaching they don’t rush out to welcome him. No, their first jittery question is “Do you come peaceably?” It makes you think that there are things going on between the lines of our reading.

But Samuel says he’s come to do a sacrifice, which is the cover story for the anointing. So he begins and he gets Jesse to parade all his sons before him, all seven of them: big, handsome, strapping examples of manhood in its prime. But God has a surprise for everyone, including Samuel and David. The runt of the litter is the one God wants. God is not going to make the same mistake again from when God gave Saul the royal ball to run with.

It all reminds me of the search a certain prince carried out, when he was looking for the one woman who would fit into a glass slipper that he has kept as a souvenir. Of course all the maidens of the country want to fit into that slipper, and they all try, but, as we all know, it only fits the lowly, soot-covered Cinderella.

It’s a common story in human history, this rags to riches tale. It’s found from folklore to literature, including scripture. And Jesus knew that when he compared God’s realm to a mustard seed.

A mustard seed? How could that be? We all know that God’s realm is like the vast ocean; God’s realm is like the huge cities that we’ve built; God’s realm is fast cars and roaring jets and the expanse of the desert.
No, says Jesus, think smaller...think, in fact, tiny. God’s realm is so tiny you might just miss it, which most people do as they search for the grand and glorious. Because Jesus knows things little can and do grow. Jesus knows enough about farming to point out that it takes a seed, a wee seed, for something to grow. And Jesus knows too about David coming from the bottom of the heap to end up as the greatest ruler that Israel ever knew. If Samuel had said to Jesse, “yeah, you’re right...the kid out with the sheep probably smells bad anyways and God certainly wouldn’t want someone that low” things would have been very different in Israel’s history.

We don’t see as God sees; that’s stated plainly in our reading this morning. God sees beyond what we mortals can take in. God sees potential and hope and fulfillment while we usually look at size and stature and glitziness. And if we’re not careful, while we’re oohing and ahhing about how grand something is, we just might miss the fact that that little mustard seed is growing up and providing homes for birds and doing whatever else mustard bushes are meant to do.

Listen for God telling you to go ahead, hook up with the little ones all around you: the marginalized, the dispossessed, the have-nots. God already sees them. God wants you to see them too.

Image from http://www.finaltrump.com/2009/03/the-three-anointings-of-david/ and looks like an old Sunday School picture. I liked it though...those really put-off brothers in the background tell a story in and of themselves.

© Gerry Brague, 13 June 2009

Lection Divina--Newsletter Article for the week of 31 May 2009

2009-06-07T17:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

During worship on Pentecost Sunday, we used Lectio Divina, for our scripture reading, a spiritual practice in which one tries to listen actively to what the text, and God through the text, is trying to say to you.

Lectio Divina is active, sacred listening. It is a way of hearing a text in a new manner, allowing it to sink into your being. It is a different way of reading or hearing a text than how you might read or hear a newspaper story or a piece of junk mail. And though we did Lectio Divina as a group, it can be done privately also. Simply follow the same steps we did on Sunday with any text that you wish to go more deeply with.

To begin, select your text. You may want to follow the lectionary. Or you may wish to find some old, familiar texts that you need to hear in a new way.

Then quiet yourself. Turn off not only your stereo and tv and telephones and any other distractions you may have but also turn off, to the best of your ability, all the things that are nagging you and are running through your head. Spend a few minutes in silence.

Then read the passage. Though you can read it silently, I recommend that you do it aloud so that you can actually hear the words of the text. Read slowly and evenly, making sure each word gets its proper emphasis. Notice, as you read, what word or phrase sparkles or shines or jumps out at you. Don’t analyze why that word or phrase stood out. When you’ve finished the first reading, spend some time in silence with your word.
Then read the text again, this time through the lens of the word that spoke to you. Spend time in silence seeking understanding on what that word or phrase means to you.

On the third and final reading, seek to grasp what the text is calling you to do. Is it a call to action? Is it simply a response of gratitude? Is there something in your life that needs to be changed?

Finally, spend time in silence to bring all these experiences together. Throughout, seek God’s presence with you as you look to understand the word God sends to you.

Peace,
Gerry

Sermon, Sunday, 31 May 2009 -- Pentecost Sunday

2009-05-31T06:52:00.000-07:00

Acts 2:1-13

April in New England can be an iffy affair. Some in that section of our country joke that there are really only three seasons: summer, winter, and mud. April can be a part of that mud season with one day filled with spring sunshine and the warming of winter out of one’s bones while the next can bring a drop of many degrees and several inches of snow on the flowers doing their best to begin the growing process.

So it was in April 1934. There were some wonderful days of sunshine and then a terrible storm arose. Of course, on the tops of the White Mountain Range in New Hampshire, those changes in weather are only accentuated to the extremes. And the summit of Mt Washington, the tallest of the White Mountains and one of the highest on the eastern seaboard is no exception.

It was there, atop that treeless apex, that on April the 12th of 1934 that the fastest wind speed on earth was recorded, a measurement that stands to this day. Does anyone know what the speed of the wind was in that wild storm? There was a gust of 231 miles per hour.

Since that’s the fastest recorded wind speed, and because I sincerely doubt that anyone here today was there on top of Mt. Washington some 75 years ago, I imagine none of us have really experienced such high wind speeds. But who’s been in the midst of a hurricane? Or a wind storm sweeping across the plains? Or been atop a high, unprotected mountain in the midst of a storm.

I experienced the high winds of a hurricane while in seminary and those winds only got to 80 miles per hour or so. Still, from my dorm room window, we watched several of the tall pine trees on our campus lose their branches, one entire tree giving into the relentless pressure of those winds and toppling over. And those winds were only a quarter of those from the top of Mt. Washington back in 1934.

We’re told that on that day when the disciples gathered to celebrate the first Pentecost after Jesus’ death and resurrection, that besides the tongues of fire that appeared and the miraculous speaking in languages which everyone understood, there was a violent wind that rushed from heaven and filled the house in which they were gathered.

Let me be clear: this was not a puff...not a breeze...not a wafting zephyr. No, this was a VIOLENT wind. A wind that would knock your socks off, though I doubt they wore socks yet by this point in history.

In the original Greek, the word used here is biaios and it is not found elsewhere in the New Testament. The King James Version translates this word as ‘mighty’, but the translation of the word biaios is closer to forcible or violent, which is how the New Revised Standard Version translates it.

Too often we want to think of the Spirit as moving among us in those puffs and wafts and gentle zephyrs. Too often, we invite the Spirit into our midst and expect a breeze to blow through; nothing too strong or anything that would disturb our carefully coiffed theological stances. Our prayers often seek a kinder, gentler Spirit to blow around us.

But that’s not the Biblical precedent. If we are to read the Pentecost story and believe that nothing has changed since then, we should expect major, mighty, violent wind to accompany the Spirit. It’s not a wind that we can control like an oscillating fan in a too warm bedroom. It blows where it will and as strong as it will. And we’d just better be prepared for it not only to undo our tightly curled, perfectly in place hairstyle that we call church, but to blow us right along with it to places we may not want to go. This violent, forcible Spirit will move us and shake up everything we think is already right in place, and just where it should be.

I’ve been on the top of Mt. Washington. (Don’t think I got too athletic and hiked up or anything--there’s a road and a van that takes you there.) Like the top of most high, unprotected mountains, it is a very windy place, even on the best of days. I have a feeling though those winds, and the winds of that hurricane I experienced, are nothing to what God has in store for us when the Spirit is unleashed among us.

Photo of the Pentecost Dome at Basilica San Marco, Venezia, Italia; photographer unknown

Sermon, Sunday, 10 May 2009

2009-05-10T02:54:00.000-07:00

[Please note: I shall be on vacation for a little while, so this will be the last post until I return.]

Psalm 22 (25-31)

It’s a moment, even if we haven’t experienced or witnessed it ourselves, that is easy enough to imagine. Think of a crowded shopping mall...or a busy downtown street...or a teeming subway train. A small child becomes separated from her Mother, even if for a brief instant. Mom, of course, knows where her daughter is the whole time, but, in that instant, the child has no idea where her Mother is; Mother, her source of protection & nourishment. For a brief moment, a look of bewilderment flashes across the young girl’s face. Then comes fear followed by crying out. Reunion, because Mom is ever watchful, ever listening, is swift and brings comfort, quelling fears, reassuring the young one that all is well. But until that happens, there is confusion and fear and longing...longing for a return to safety and solace...longing for arms that hold and words that soothe.

Now age the young girl a few decades or so. Elongate that time of bewilderment, fear, and longing. Stretch it out to be several decades long itself in fact. Delay that reunion, withholding comfort, safety, and care from the one who longs for a return.

That description is the way many have experienced God; or better put, experience a lack of God. That description delineates what many of us feel about the Divine. Those of us who are bewildered or anxious or frightened because we feel we’ve been abandoned in the shopping mall we call life, surrounded by strangers in a strange land, seek and yearn for God’s return to our lives, yet think our cries go unheard; we feel abandoned because indeed God does not come to scoop us up in God’s arms right away. We stand amidst the swirl of people going to and fro all around us; people who are seemingly going about their business; people who seem to be connected to their God; people whom we want to be. Instead we yearn for the one who is no longer in sight. Instead we ache for God’s loving embrace once again. Instead, we are left seeking and crying out in our distress.

The verses from the Psalms that we read together today is the very end of Psalm 22. Those verses belie the beginning of the Psalm in which the author cries out in a way I have just described. Yes, we hear about the psalmist’s praise and how even the dead will bow down to God and deliverance is for generations and generations yet to come.

Yet hear the opening words of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Sound familiar? Of course, it’s the very same words that Jesus used from the cross; the words that he was mocked for saying, in the same way that the Psalmist was mocked and felt abandonment in the first 24 verses of this Psalm. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.” (1-2)

It sounds familiar because it is familiar to anyone who’s been around a church during Holy Week and know all too well the narrative of the crucifixion. For some of us though, it rings true for other reasons. Not only is it the cry of Jesus from the cross, in his pain and sorrow and grief as he hung awaiting death, but it’s the cry that many have exclaimed when feeling forsaken, abandoned, bereft, deserted. Deserted, indeed, by the Creator, by my God, my God.

We all know the good works of Mother Teresa, the Albanian religious sister who served the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, that poorest of the poor city. If anyone who has graced the pages of the daily newspapers in our lifetimes is going to end up being declared a saint, it is, no doubt, she. She worked tirelessly to alleviate suffering, to care for those who needed care, to bring the Christ into the lives of “the least of these.”

Yet listen to her words:

"There is so much contradiction in my soul, no faith, no love, no zeal. . . . I find no words to express the depths of the darkness. . . . My heart is so empty. . . . so full of darkness. . . . I don't pray any longer. The work holds no joy, no attraction, no zeal. . . . I have no faith, I don't believe." (as quoted in The Journey With Jesus Website, http://www.journeywithjesus.net/)

These words, made public at the occasion of the 10th anniversary of her death in 1997 from her letters, surprised many. But to many believers...yes, believers...her words had the ring of authenticity and truth. They all sound too familiar; too much the truth of our own lives; too resonant with the very thoughts that have found a home in the shadowed moments of our own lives.

The Psalmist complains that

“I am a worm, and not human; scorned by others, and despised by the people...On you I was cast from my birth, and since my mother bore me you have been my God. Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help.” (6, 10-11)

This ancient author goes on to describe the bulls and dogs who surrounded and are ready to attack. We read of the pining for God...an ache so real that it calls out through the centuries upon centuries to Mother Teresa and to many of us.

In our yearning, we struggle to maintain our balance in the swirl all around us. As we reach out, stretching our arms into the seeming void,we hope to grasp onto something, anything that will lead us to God, to that reunion we desperately crave.

But like Mother Teresa, we all too often find need in our midst instead of God. Our yearning is overshadowed by the great deprivation which surrounds us. The work that needs to be done eclipses our own deep-seated want for God’s touch.

So we set off, off-balance as we are, to right whatever wrongs we can along the way, as we ourselves stumble along. We do right because it is, well, right; because in the absence of a God who calls, suffering must be addressed, whatever the motivation.

So the Mother Teresas and all who know too well the mood of the beginning of Psalm 22, reach out for God and in our reaching out happen upon those who cry not for spiritual food, but for real, belly-filling food. As we seek to be sheltered by God, we find those who don’t know what real shelter is, sleeping night after night in a new doorway on the street. Our thirsting for the connection with the Divine remains unslaked as we provide cool cups to those who thirst for water that quenches thirst from the lack of clean, accessible water.

If these sermon words of mine seem foreign to you, if Mother Teresa’s story is unfamiliar, if the early verses of Psalm 22 do not describe your situation, rejoice and be glad. Love the God who is your companion and your way.

If however you have noticed the nodding of your head throughout these words of mine, know you are not alone. From Mother Teresa around the globe to our community, there are many who seek God, but find God to be unreachable and remote. Continue to do the work that gives meaning to your life. God, when God reveals Godself to you again, will have been there with you as you reached out to those needing care.

Chalice Newsletter for the week of 3 May 2009 -- Defending Ourselves

2009-05-05T09:00:00.001-07:00

St Peter enthroned,
originally uploaded by Lawrence OP.

Dear Friends,

Peter stood before the court of the Priests and Elders of Jerusalem. He and his colleagues had been arrested the day before and, after spending a night in jail, found themselves before the leading religious figures of Judaism of their day.
Peter, if you remember, was always something of a foil throughout the gospels. Jesus likened him to Satan at one point in fact. Peter was always getting it wrong, it seemed, around Jesus.

But here he was, facing the authorities. They had been arrested because of a healing they did, though clearly the real reason they were brought in was because they were getting just a bit too popular. Luke, the autor of Acts, tells us they had 5,0000 followers. No doubt this is a representative number; no one went out a did a census of how many followers of The Way there were at that point. It is interesting that the number matches at least one account of the miraculous mass feeding that Jesus performed during his ministry. Luke’s point is that it was a large number who were following by this point.
So Peter, who bumbled his way through the gospels, is suddenly thrust into the position of being a spokesperson. Peter, who denied that he ever knew Jesus just hours before the crucifixion, faced the same people who schemed to have Jesus put to death. And, relying on the Spirit, Peter defended himself and those with him against the charges, those used as presenting charges as well as the unspoken ones.

If we had to defend our faith, would we open ourselves up to the movement of the Spirit and allow it to work through and in us? If we found ourselves facing a group of religious bigwigs, would we be confident of God’s presence with us?

And, actually, aren’t we in that situation more often than we like to admit? In our daily lives, when we are in contact with friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, don’t we have opportunities to tell the story of our church and our faith time and time again?
Peace,
Gerry

(Picture © Br Lawrence Lew, O.P. "St. Peter Enthroned" ;
text © Gerry Brague)

Sermon, Sunday, 3 May 2009

2009-05-05T07:34:00.000-07:00

Acts 4:1-12

“Houston, we have a problem.” These words, immortalized in the movie Apollo 13, have entered into the common lingo of our day as a way to say, sometimes humorously, that something is amiss. The wording, I discovered, is not exactly accurate, since both Apollo 13 crewmembers John Swigert, Jr and James Lovell said “Houston, we’ve had a problem.” The shade of difference in the meaning though means little. The problem referred to, if you remember, was a major one--life threatening in fact for the three crew members as they sped toward the moon. An electrical explosion shut down many operations in the command module including the oxygen system. “Houston, we’ve had a problem” translated by the movie into the present tense, was the start of some very tense days in 1970. After the film came out in 1995, the misquote phrase joined the popular jargon. Now-a-days, when you hear it, you know something’s not right. And so it is that the phrase comes to mind as I read the Acts lectionary text for today and think about pluralism as it stands these days.

When we became a part of The Center for Progressive Christianity several years ago, in preparation for that stance, several of us participated in an ongoing study of that organization’s eight points. The second of those eight points states:

By calling ourselves progressive, we mean that we are Christians who recognize the faithfulness of other people who have other names for the way to God's realm, and acknowledge that their ways are true for them, as our ways are true for us.

And in the light of today’s Acts reading, I want to say “Houston, we have a problem” though I wonder if Houston really cares or can do something about it.

Most of us, during that study, and I’d wager today, would affirm that 2nd point of The Center for Progressive Christianity. The thought behind this different approaches to God is known as pluralism which has a fairly major influence on us these days. No longer do we automatically discount something because it is different from us. Neither do we reflexively accept something because it is like us. We are more discerning now and more open. This, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. We are working on being open to diversity in our midst and learning how to live that out.

On the website The Journey with Jesus by Daniel Clendenin, he writes that David Barrett identified 10,000 religions in 2001 in the World Christianity Encyclopedia. Ten thousand separate religions that humanity has turned to in its attempt to understand, get closer to, and/or explain the divine. Of those 10,000, 150 of them have one million members or more. Either way you look at it, Christianity is one amongst many. And as Clendenin asks, “Is it reasonable to believe that Jesus is the only way to the only God, and that the other 9,999 religions are false?” Most of us would not take such a hardline position, I would surmise. But Clendenin goes on to make some important points to consider before we rush to a blind and wholehearted embrace of religious pluralism. (http://www.journeywithjesus.net/)

Because out there, in the world today and throughout the vast scope of our history, people have done some amazing things in the name of religion. And I’m not saying “amazing” always in the sense that they are wonderful things being done; I’m thinking too about actions and events that make us stop and shake our heads in dismay.

There have been crusades and jihads and wars, killing thousands upon thousands of people, all fought to prove that one religion’s path to God is the right one to the right God. We’ve had centuries of slavery and subjugation of entire peoples, often in the name of religion. Women have been and continue to be oppressed through religious beliefs. Some ancient Polynesian religions, I understand, had a class of slaves who were the human sacrifices to the Gods. Hinduism has long history of a complex caste system including the untouchable caste that, if you’re unlucky to be born into, you cannot escape. In the jungles of South America, Jim Jones led hundreds to their suicides in his church. Polygamy has been practiced by religious figures throughout history, including but not limited to the Mormons. which has some break-away sects that still understand their religious call to be one of multiple wives for one husband.

From Donald Wildmon of the American Family Association to Fred Phelps of “God Hates Fags” fame to Iranian Ayatollahs to Osama bin Laden to the Lord’s Resistance Army of northern Uganda to countless others today, we haven’t come far from the Crusaders marching to conquer the Moors several times a thousand years or so ago. But if we are to truly embrace pluralism, we need to recognize that it’s more than thinking warmly of the Dalai Lama or working together with a Jewish synagogue for Interfaith Hospitality Network.

And so we read today’s lectionary text from Acts in which Peter, defending himself and his colleagues, says flat out: “There is salvation in no one else [than Jesus] for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved.” (4:12) How do we defend our stance on religious pluralism facing such a direct statement by a true leader of the early church? Even from the words of Jesus we hear “I am the way, the truth, the life, no one comes to the Father except by me” (John 14:6) and the parable about a wide easy road and a narrow, difficult gate that is hard to get through in Matthew. (7:14)

As we did that study about becoming a member congregation of The Center for Progressive Christianity, I recall that during the session about point two, this one that I read a few moments ago about pluralism, we likened getting to God as a gate. We discussed whether there was only one path that led to that gate or whether there were multiple paths. As I remember it, we pretty much agreed that there were indeed multiple paths and we were on one of them, that path known as Christianity. We ended up with an image on newsprint with a number of lines converging from the bottom at a point near the top on a line, the space above which we had labeled “God.” It was an upside down funnel of the theological variety.

But I wonder now if that was only part of the picture. I wonder if there are other paths we didn’t draw in; lines that do not go to the gate we had imagined; paths that might even lead away from the top of that page where we placed God. Perhaps it’s not so much an upside down funnel as it is a mishmash of paths and lines going in all directions. What then do I do with pluralism? If I embrace and blindly accept these 9,999 other religions without much investigation into them, am I being naive and opening myself, and perhaps others, to possible movement away from God? And with so many other religions to check out, how and where does one draw the line that says “no, that is not a religion that leads to God.”

And I still have that defense from Peter to contend with. Now, mind you, circumstances between dear, old Peter and us are quite different. There was no “Christianity” then; there were a group of followers of Jesus of Nazareth, most of them Jewish. They hadn’t even gotten to the point where they were a thorn in the side of the Roman Empire yet; they were up in today’s reading before the Jewish high priests, not some imperial court. Peter was defending this sect within Judaism to the Jewish authorities. He shrewdly used a verse from Psalm 118 in his defense (the part about the rejected stone being the cornerstone) since they were indeed building a new religious edifice and that would be a verse that the priests would surely have known. Peter wasn’t talking so much about other religions in this case, but about how this new group related to Judaism.

So where does this leave us? Probably with more questions than answers. How do we approach pluralism? How do we work in interfaith situations and not seem triumphal? Where do we draw those lines about some of those other 9,999 religions? Do my lines need to match yours? Do I have to accept religions that still oppress women or gay men & lesbians or are xenophobic? Is violence such a part of religion so as to leave it to be irredeemable? And what then can be said about our own religion? How do we approach those who would say that their religious stance is the only way to that gate we see as the entrance to God? Is there no common ground? And how do I deal with other Christians who take very seriously the fact that following Jesus is the only way to approach God? Are we practicing the same religion? I’m not sure.

I fear this is one of those times at which I present more questions than answers. As we seek to find Truth however, we wonder about the truths that are out there. Indeed, Houston, we do have a problem. We have a problem in the tension between accepting other religions and acknowledging their ways as true for them while not diluting the message we are called to proclaim of God’s love and grace to the ends of the earth. We have a problem in opening ourselves up to others while understanding our call to bring the Gospel to others.

If you find yourself pondering such struggles, you are not alone. You are joined by many who seek to understand God as best they can while remaining true to the Christian faith that claims them.

© Gerry Brague, 3 May 2009

Vision, Mission, Storytelling, & Hope

2009-04-26T04:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends,

I see a church with a vision
I see a church on a mission.
I see a church who has made her mind up,
and she’s building her hopes on things eternal.
She’s holding to God’s unchanging hand.

The person who wrote those words is Rev. Bill Thomas. They come from a song he composed and wrote that is included in Chalice Praise. Bill Thomas was also one of the leaders at our region’s Annual Meeting at Asilomar this past weekend and is a talented musician, actor, and preacher. The other two leaders, no less talented, were Laura & Rick Hall. All three, Bill, Laura, and Rick, are part of the Church of the Valley, a DOC congregation in Van Nuys, CA.

Stories were much in evidence throughout the weekend: Laura’s journey into Christianity; Rick’s acting out a tale about his Baptist preacher grandfather; and Bill recounting his voyage from Ohio to New York to Los Angeles all in the context of the question “why me” based on an encounter he had with a pastor following a conference.

All three leaders knew the value of story and didn’t hesitate to use the power of story to get across thoughts and ideas about the church and what a life of faith might and can look like.

Are we a church with a vision? Is Chalice on a mission? Do we know that the power of story is going to help us build our hopes on things eternal?

Silence...not telling our stories...tells an even louder story; it is a story of our reluctance to share with others the Good News that is ours to tell. And really, who’d want to be involved with a church like that?

Yes, it is God who guides and holds our future. But to hold onto God’s unchanging hand, we have to reach up and grasp that sacred hand and then tell the story of the guidance and care God’s hand give us.

Peace,
Gerry

(Picture and text © Gerry Brague)

Regional Annual Meeting

2009-04-19T21:26:00.001-07:00

Asilomar Trio,
originally uploaded by revger.

This week there is no sermon because I was attending the 155th Annual Meeting of the Christian Church of Northern California-Nevada. This is the regional expression of our denomination, the Disciples of Christ. We have about 70 congregations in our region and once a year we gather at Asilomar, the state-run conference center in Pacific Grove. It's a beautiful setting and about 350-400 of us were there. There are several worship services, workshops (I actually co-led one this year rather than going to any), meetings, and just plain running into folks, many of whom I see once a year.

Our presenters this year were excellent: Rick & Laura Hall and Bill Thomas, all of The Church of the Valley in Van Nuys, CA led us in worship and music. They are extremely talented and thoughtful people. The music they brought to us (both Laura & Bill are musicians; Rick is an actor) and the stories of their own lives were inspiring and challenging. Bill especially challenged us in regards to the vote in California regarding same-sex marriage and wondered how God could ever not sanction and love the love between two people, whatever their gender.

This picture, by the way, is of the three of us from our congregation who were there for the weekend. Allen, Ann, & I (along with Loma, who came down for the day) each came away with some new thoughts.

When things go wrong -- Newsletter article for the week of 12 April

2009-04-17T06:34:00.001-07:00

Christ Candle,
originally uploaded by revger.

Dear Friends,

I was a bit flustered. Could you tell? Did you see perhaps a bit of a nervous twitch or my growing anxiety?

Everything was all set for the Easter service:

the worship service was done in time for the deadline to have it copied
the computer slide show finished and polished
compatibility with the UCC’s church’s projector was confirmed
my remote slide advance clicker worked from the back of the church

It was all in place.

Or so I thought. Those of you who were in worship saw that, even though my remote clicker had worked just fine moments before the service, during the opening parts of the worship, it was reluctant and obstreperous. Then of course, the connection with the projector kept failing and when I thought I was advancing the slides, I really wasn’t. And then there were the times the screen just turned purple. Argh!

So my nervousness increased & I grew increasingly embarrassed as each techno-glitz came roaring down the cables at me. Until…

Well, until I realized it was just fine. Even when the acclamation of Christ’s resurrection hadn’t gone as I planned, Christ was still raised. Even when the screen in front didn’t match what was on my computer at the time, we still sang praises to a God who comes and walks among us. Even if the Table collapsed right before us, my computer had burst into flames and the piano had sprouted wings and flown away (they didn’t, by the way), we would still have shared the meal together and been the blessed community that God calls us to be.
In spite of our best plans, not because of them, we praise God and give thanks for the community of faith that surrounds us.

Christ is risen! Alleluia!

Peace,
Gerry

Picture and text © Gerry Brague

Easter Sunday!

2009-04-12T06:09:00.000-07:00

Responding to Resurrection
Mark 16:1-8

[I'm not preaching a sermon today. Instead, I'm doing an interactive sermon with the congregation. Here are some thoughts and questions for you to ponder.]

Mark's gospel ends abruptly. We read that Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, & Salome came to the tomb where Jesus had been laid following his crucifixion just days before and when they got there the stone was rolled away. A "young man" told them that Jesus was not there; that he had risen. He then instructed the women to go and tell the disciples. (Never mind that the women were "disciples.") According to Mark, they ran away in fear and told no one. And that's where Mark's gospel ends; in fear and silence. (There are two other endings of Mark's gospel that have the resurrected Jesus making an appearance and the women telling the story. But this abrupt, fearful, silent ending is considered to be Mark's original ending; it is older and more verified.)

Why do you suppose the women were afraid? Of what were they afraid? Of whom? Why did Mark leave us hanging there? What were the women feeling? How did those feelings affect their actions?

Given Mark's ending, the telling of the story is left to us, the reader. So we join with those of the Christian faith throughout the centuries who have read Mark's gospel, ending in fear and silence. How are we to pick up the instruction of the young man to "go, tell"? Is it our charge now to go forth and tell the story of resurrection, rebirth, & renewal? How can we tell the story? St. Francis is quoted as saying, "Always preach the gospel. Use words when necessary." How can we tell the story of resurrection without words? How do we overcome our fear & amazement and cajole ourselves into telling the story to those around us, our fellow 21st century dwellers? What story would you tell about resurrection?

Many blessings to you on this Easter 2009! Tell the story...take up the charge to the two Marys and Salome.

© Gerry Brague, 12 April 2009
Picture © Allen Foster, 10 April 2009
San Francisco, CA

Do This--Communicate! Newsletter Article for the Week of 5 April 2009

2009-04-10T06:47:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, at the meeting of the elders following worship, one of the elders said something along the lines of, "it all boils down to communication." I almost jumped out of my seat applauding that statement. I have said several times that communication is key in a congregation our size. There must be free, two-way communication that is honest and loving.

At Chalice, we communicate in a variety of ways: some formal (like this newsletter); some informal (those chats that are happening all around Mahany Hall as we take down our worship space). Sometimes communication occurs in ways that we don't even realize: the way a word is spoken; body language; the tone of our voice; an look in the eye. Even as one who loves the written word, I recognize its limitations because those elements are missing.

But oral or written, we communicate by what we say (or write) and by what we don't say. An unanswered email can make someone wonder whether they've caused offense or is the other person just busy. Lack of a response to a request can indicate a lack of interest...or is it just someone being overwhelmed.

Reading through the gospel accounts, Jesus was sometimes clear in his communications with his disciples and sometimes more cryptic. Some of the words that are attributed to him leave us scratching our heads; we feel like we're missing something. What could that parable mean? Why did he teach that? Often, indeed, we have missed some important background cultural information that is unrecoverable after more than 2,000 years.

At other times Jesus was clear: "Do this," he said on occasion. In fact the word "maundy" comes from the Latin "mandatum" which means "command." (Can you see how the two words intertwine?) On Maundy Thursday, that original Maundy Thursday just prior to his arrest and crucifixion, Jesus said "do this" a few times. Probably, most of us think of that meal that he instituted and told his disciples, including disciples for ages hence encompassing us in that commandment to eat the bread, drink the wine, remember me.

But Maundy Thursday's "do this" extends also to that surprising, turn-everything-upside-down tale when Jesus--the teacher, the leader--took a bowl and a towel and washed the feet of his followers. It was an apple cart upset sort of moment. But not only did Jesus get down on his knees and provide the expected hospitality of the day, he then told the disciples (again that includes us) that they were supposed to do the same thing: wash the feet of those who are "beneath" you; serve each other regardless of status; take care of the least of these. "Do this...do this," Jesus said.

That sort of communication is unequivocal; we can't argue it. How are you going to "do this"?

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

photo & text © Gerry Brague

End of Lent--Newsletter article for 29 March 2009

2009-04-04T20:34:00.000-07:00

With silent steps
We tiptoe our way toward the end of Lent
As we peek over our shoulders to see
The weeks that have brought us here
Weeks of searching
Days of journeying
Hours of anticipation
Leading to this time we dare to approach
In awe and reverence
At the message we know is to come
At the tale told countless times in our life
Yet always hauntingly new
Of human inhumanity toward a divinely-wrapped human one
(Or is it a humanly-wrapped divine one?)
Of pain and anguish and fear and desire
To remove a cup
While there on a Table is
A cup reserved
For us
Some bread set aside
For us
By one who now bleeds and is broken
As we ourselves would bleed and break

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

Oops--Sorry--I forgot to post this earlier this week when I did the newsletter.
©Gerry Brague

2009-04-04T17:32:00.000-07:00

This week, there really isn't a sermon. The video above is what I offered for the gospel scripture reading, Mark 11:1-11 (even though the title leaves off a 1). I'm not sure how the resolution came out...I hope you can read the words and see the pictures. If not, I apologize. I've had a lot of trouble uploading it for some reason. (I do wish I understood a little of this...)

Blessings for Holy Week.

PS--If you'd like a Quicktime file emailed to you or a MPEG file, email me or leave a comment here. It would be a bigger file, but easier to see, I imagine.

Refocus; Newsletter Article for the week of 22 March 2009

2009-03-25T14:51:00.000-07:00

My new computer (whose name is Wilhemina) does a really cool thing for the screen saver (I hope I can describe it sufficiently for you to get the idea): A picture that I have stored in my photo program appears on the screen. After a moment or two, it starts to decrease in size while other pictures appear around it, each the same dimensions as the first and each reducing in size along with the original image. All the while the computer is adding more and more pictures as they all recede together. Eventually, the screen is covered with hundreds of tiny photos, too small to figure out what they are. The size-reduction and adding of more photos continues...and this is where it gets really cool. Because if I change my focus from trying to see individual images and look at the whole screen, I realize that a new image is appearing from my file of photos made up of all those other now teeny-weeny photos; Wilhemina is creating a mosaic right before my eyes. Eventually, the new image comes into focus and stops for a moment, filling up the screen. And then, the whole process starts over again, with this image receding and other pictures starting to surround it. Magically (at least to me) my computer reads the colors and degree of light and who knows what other factors of all my photos to create mosaic after mosaic.

Somewhere along the line though, I have to switch my focus; if I want to see the new image, I have to let go of the old one. If I try to hold onto the original picture and don't look at the others that are being added, I'll miss out on the new image. Even if my vision allowed me to see pictures that small, I would be overlooking rebirth and transformation right before my eyes.

Unfortunately, I think the church desires more often than not to focus on the original image in the mosaic of the world in which God places us. We have to let go of old images of what church is; we need to blink and refocus every so often as a faith community. God is creating all around us a new image of church out of the mosaics of the pictures and stories that have made up the faith up to now. The new image isn't frightening, even though some would have us believe that. The new image comes from the files that God already has stored in us. The new image contains the pictures of lives of faith lived through centuries and centuries. We have to refocus though in order to see it. Will we do so?

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

PS--To see an example of the type of thing I'm talking about (a photo mosaic) go to this website.

Sermon, Sunday, 22 March 2009

2009-03-23T17:26:00.000-07:00

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22 (with a reference to John 3:14-21)

“Let them thank God for God's steadfast love, for God's wonderful works to humankind. “ We spoke those very same words just a few moments ago when we recited a portion of Psalm107. Those fourteen words of praise and thanksgiving are repeated in the entire Psalm several times. We only read nine of the 43 verses of Psalm 107 this morning.

The makeup of these ancient words is one in which after the introductory three verses several examples are described of the ways that God’s people go astray, and how God saves them. The six verses we read together tell of those who are sick due to their sinful ways and because of iniquities endure affliction. They were so bad off, those protagonists of these six verses, that they were almost dead, we were told. But, there, on the edge of the abyss of drifting off into that nothingness of death, their saving act was to cry out to God in the midst of their trouble and pain. And God, we’re told, sends healing.

Repeatedly through this Psalm we find the same structure: a brief description of those who have wandered from God and suffered because of it. But they turn to God and are redeemed. And over and over, those exact same words of praise and thanksgiving that I just reminded us of are repeated. From thousands of years ago, across the times of history, we can hear worshipers intoning those words that have not been diminished by centuries of use: “thank God for God’s steadfast love, for God’s wonderful works to humankind.”

The Psalms are a moving and powerful collection. They’re liturgy for those who worshiped the God of Israel all those years ago. But they’re more than that. They’re prayers; the prayers of people who cry out in distress, who are grateful for the gifts they have, who give praise and who seek justice. And yet, they’re not just prayers, not just liturgy, though those two genres combined would certainly be enough to warrant our attention to them. Beyond liturgy, beyond prayers, they are at their very core poetry; they, like all good poetry, are meant to express something more than just description or categorization. Poetry uses mere human words in whatever language to evoke emotion and intensified emotion at that. Poetry goes beyond information into realms that defy description. According to a more recent poet of our own English language, Robert Frost, “a poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.” (found on http://www.brainyquote.com/) Alice Walker another, even more recent, poet in fact wrote a poem about poetry. Who better to teach us about poetry than a poet and what better way to do it than in a poem? Her poem is titled “How Poems Are Made/A Discredited View.”

Letting go
in order to hold on
I gradually understand
how poems are made.

There is a place the fear must go.
There is a place the choice must go.
There is a place the loss must go.
The leftover love.
The love that spills out
of the too full cup
and runs and hides
its too full self
in shame.

I gradually comprehend
how poems are made.
To the upbeat flight of memories.
The flagged beats of the running
heart.

I understand how poems are made.
They are the tears
that season the smile.
The stiff-neck laughter
that crowds the throat.
The leftover love.

I know how poems are made.

There is a place the loss must go.
There is a place the gain must go.
The leftover love.

So we listen again to the words from Psalm 107: “Let them thank God for God's steadfast love, for God's wonderful works to humankind“ and we hear more than just thanksgiving and praise. We hear the lump in Frost’s throat, the homesickness, Walker’s place of loss and gain and leftover love. And we connect in ways unimaginable with some people who lived lives so different from ours as imaginable as they gathered for worship of the same God we today are worshiping.

Yes, we can get technical and dissect poetry and identify the formulas that make a certain style of writing a poem. The Psalms are no different; we can look at the words and see the devices used by those ancients. But we miss the point in doing that. We miss the heart-wrenching fear of those who were there on the edge of their demise until...until they cried out and a saving hand reached down and gently, ever so gently, pulled them back.

Because of this august collection of liturgy and prayers and poetry, we can see the ones the psalmist describes as they teeter on that brink between here and the hereafter there. And because it is poetry, we ourselves find ourselves on that very same brink, teetering along with them; joining countless others through barely noticed years and decades and centuries of history who have teetered and cried out in their distress and suffering.

And who among us has not at one point felt that teetering, that suffering, that lovesickness, that fear, that loss? Each of us, in our own way and in our own time has known the heart of the poet who created this psalm and been known by the psalmist. We have cried out to God; in fright, in panic, in the midst of throat-closing distress. We have known times of loss and felt that our being was ebbing away; teetering on the very edge of that abyss.

Ah, how I wish I could answer the questions that are swirling all about us right now; the questions that start with “why…” and go on to wonder about the suffering, the pain, their very existence. We query the forces of the universe as we seek to get the slightest grasp on those whys, listening deeply...deeply...deeply to the echoes of our cries that resound from the abyss trying to turn them into the answer we seek.

And yet we teeter, seesawing back and forth wanting to be saved, to be redeemed, to be kept from whatever Pit is threatening to draw us in and undo us.

And God, our God, the God of a psalmist who was doing what all good psalmists do...God reaches out. God reaches out and steadies us...slows us...breathes the breath of Spirit into us as the creating God breathed breath at the very dawn of creation. God, doing what all good gods do, draws us away from the edge we have too long wavered at, and settles us down.

“I sent you,” God says to us, “I sent you, my beloved daughter...I sent you, my beloved son...to be the light that shines in darkness. Not for condemnation and sorrow but for life and love. I need you to go to those who are also suffering, those in their own distress. Go to those on their own brinks of nothingness and help me to draw them back.”

Who knows if a poet of millennia ago, our psalmist, could foresee that any one of us, here in this time and place, would intone the words of our psalm and be reminded that “God’s steadfast love endures forever”? If anyone could do such a thing--if anyone could see us thousands of years hence...homesick, lovesick as we are...it would have to have been done by a poet.

Our Journeys, Newsletter article from the week of 15 March 2009

2009-03-23T17:12:00.000-07:00

So far in our Lenten Journey Storytelling times during worship, both Lisa & Phyllis have graced us with stories of journeys that explained, in an instance particular to each woman, how she got to where she is now. The eventual destination of each story, I noticed, was not expected or even sought by either storyteller necessarily. Both ended up at their destination, according to the stories they told, because of circumstances that led them there. Some would call it coincidence or fate; some might say it was the movement of the Spirit in their lives. Both Phyllis & Lisa affirmed the "rightness" of the destination now, even though it wasn't planned for.

If each of us stops and thinks about the stories that make up our lives, I'm sure we could identify many surprises along the way: destinations we never set out for; routes that took us off the map we had plotted; unexpected sidekicks and unlikely attendants who aided us in times of need.

I know for myself, my experience of even a simple trip, such as taking a bus from home to downtown, will vary due to any number of circumstances: the friendliness of the driver; a question a tourist might ask; or my witnessing of a teenager offering his or her seat to an elderly rider. Imagine how magnified the importance of similar acts in the journeys of our lives is. So often, without even realizing it, we depend "on the kindness of strangers," as Blanche DuBois in "A Streetcar Named Desire" famously said.

And as we do all that depending, we are likewise depended upon by others in their journeys. We are all on journeys that intersect and run parallel with others. We provide assistance and aid, sometimes without any intentionality on our parts, to others as they journey.

A point of the Journey Storytelling Time during our Lenten worship is to help each of us grow in our understanding of our own stories. Perhaps Lisa's story made you stop and remember how you ended up in the work that you do or did. Maybe Phyllis' recounting brought up for you your own journey to Chalice, to this denomination, to Christianity. The stories we'll hear in the remaining weeks of Lent are likely to do similar things. Don't discount your memories and the stories you recall! Reflect on those journeys that are uniquely yours and recognize the worth of each story. They are worthy because they are yours, and you are a child of God. And their worth increases because, as you examine them, you will find God in each one as a traveling companion.

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

Sermon, Sunday, 15 March 2009

2009-03-15T00:27:00.000-07:00

<--Image to the left is Christ Expelling the Moneychangers from the Temple, by Giovanni Bernardi. It is engraved rock crystal and was created c. 1540-1549. It is from the National Gallery of Art.

John 2:13-22

This passage from John is a real grabber, isn’t it? It’s a story that just jumps out at you, doesn’t it? It’s one almost anyone who’s even just glanced through the gospels remembers. It’s a real story, with excitement and passion.

Most of the stories of Jesus that we remember admittedly tend to be fairly passive. Most of the time the Jesus we encounter and remember is teaching...or discussing...or healing (which, I acknowledge, would be an important event to those healed, but you must confess there’s not a lot of pep or action in those accounts). The Jesus we remember is the cut-out, flannel board Jesus of the Sunday school rooms of decades past. We’d find that Jesus standing or sitting. Maybe even walking. But certainly never doing anything that might cause him to break a sweat.

This Jesus though...this Jesus we encounter in the Temple in Jerusalem is the action figure Jesus...in the league of G.I. Joe and any Rambo spin offs toys; not the cut-out, flat, uninspiring cut-out flannel-board Jesus. This Jesus wreaked havoc...in the Temple of all places. This Jesus--dare I say it?--got angry...teed off...hot under the collar! He was out and out indignant and infuriated and didn’t mind showing it.

I don’t know about you, but I seem to have the impression that white Protestants don’t do that. We generally don’t do the ‘A’ word. And if we do, we certainly don’t show it. We’re not supposed to, at least. It might offend someone. It might be upsetting. It might cause that other word we don’t say...conflict.

But there Jesus is...flailing about like a man gone mad with a bunch of cords he’s using as a whip, upsetting tables, causing everything to go helter-skelter, ruining a good day’s business for a bunch of people, and really frightening some livestock who were peaceably chewing their cuds just moments before.

The Gospel writer John places this account early in his record of Jesus’ life and ministry. We find it in the second half of chapter two only. John’s first chapter begins with the well-known hymn or poem which starts, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” He then introduces us to John the Baptist and gets Jesus all baptized and ready for his ministry. John ends the first chapter with Jesus calling his first disciples.

Then we find our way into chapter two. RIght off, Jesus performs his first miracle; a very public one, at a wedding feast in which he, goaded by his mother, turns water into wine. Immediately, John reminds us that Jesus is divine and can do things that mortals cannot do. After a respite with his family and disciples in Capernaum, Jesus then ventures to Jerusalem at the time of the Passover feast. And right away he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work upsetting not only tables, but local religious big-wigs too undoubtedly.

If you stop to think about John’s narration and location of this event where he placed it and know anything about Jesus’ life, something might sound just a little odd to you. There’s a good reason for that; the Synoptic Gospels, otherwise known as Matthew, Mark, & Luke, all locate Jesus in Jerusalem just one single time...the week at the end of his ministry and life when he is arrested and crucified. Those three all include this Temple clearing account but it is late in their accounts. John, however, has Jesus in Jerusalem four times throughout his gospel; three of those during the Passover festival, as today’s reading was. In our minds, being more familiar as most of us are with the synoptics‘ versions, we have Jesus wandering about the Judean countryside for a few years and finally showing up in Jerusalem in time for that final week that we know so well.

John’s gospel in all likelihood was the last of the four gospels written. It’s a latecomer to the whole story-of-Jesus’-life game. Compared to the other three, he has different emphases and reasons for putting his work together. By the time that John composed these words, the early Christian movement or community was probably very different than the others knew. There were those by this point who were claiming that Jesus was only spirit, not flesh. It was Jesus’ divinity that was important to these folks and they denied the fact that he was truly human. Among other aims, John seeks to dispel that notion.

Of course, having an anger-showing, table-heaving, whip-wielding Jesus certainly goes a long way to that end. Jesus was human, John says right off, leaving no doubts or questions. Even though John’s gospel is less gritty in some ways and is more poetic, it does not equivocate when it comes to putting forth both Jesus’ divine and human natures.

And so, here we are two thousand years or so later, facing this angry, very human Jesus and we’re not exactly sure what to do with him, are we? We can happily handle the Jesus who welcomes children, cures lepers, and even hangs out with prostitutes. That Jesus, that flat, flannel-board Jesus of Sunday schools across many miles and years is easy to take...though, you’ve got to concede, really rather bland.

If we are going to embrace Jesus; if we are really going to claim that we are a follower of the Nazarene born of Mary; if we are truly willing to confess that Jesus holds a claim on us and our lives; if we are going to do those things, then we have to accept the anger that Jesus exhibited in that Temple along with the niceties that are usually ascribed to him. If we don’t, we’re in the same camp as those early followers who wanted to mask Jesus’ humanity and make him purely spirit whom John was working hard to prove wrong.

The good news is that this human Jesus is much more interesting. This is a Jesus I can talk about with others. This is a Jesus who knows and understands my anger and my tears and my frustration with the powers I encounter in my world, in my country, in my state, in my church.

I can bring this Jesus to those who find themselves at the margins because this is a Jesus still angry that more and more people do not have access to clean drinking water. I can envision Jesus storming into denominational gatherings and demanding a place at the Table for all. Jesus, I know, would be at city halls, state capitals, and legislatures and palaces around the globe demanding that attention be paid to the least of these.

Because John took the care that he did as he composed and crafted his gospel account to place this account right at the start of Jesus’ ministry, having just established Jesus’ divine nature through the water-into-wine moment, John can carry that anger and humanity of Jesus through the rest of the teachings and sayings that he writes about. We can read the rest of John’s gospel through that lens and it leaves us a little on edge because we don’t know when and if this guy will go off again.

We who claim to be followers of Jesus cannot be reminded enough that we are Christ’s body; a living, breathing, and even sometimes angry body. Our anger is holy anger; modeled after the one who cleared the Temple because it had become something far from a place of worship. Unlike the calm, placid demeanor of those good Protestant forebears who taught us to never raise our voices, we need to claim and own our holy anger. Turn the tables in the places where you know Jesus would do the same, because you are Christ’s body.

Sermon, Sunday, 8 March 2009

2009-03-08T00:16:00.000-08:00

Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16 (with a passing nod to Romans 4:13-25)

I love maps. I always have. I went through a phase in third grade during which I often drew the outline of my home state, Pennsylvania, and presented the drawings to my teacher. I’m not sure what Mrs. Henney thought when she received yet another crudely drawn version of our commonwealth on her desk. I think most elementary school teachers must be close to sainthood based solely on their patience. (And, by the way, I’d like to point out that the outline of Pennsylvania is not as easy to draw as you might think, especially for a third grader. This wasn’t Wyoming or Utah, after all!)

When a little older I found out that you could write to the various states and get maps from them. (This was in the 60s, so the states had the budgets to give away maps then.) Wow...I had a wonderful time. I would trace car trips we took as a family on road maps. Even today, I like to follow where I’m going on a map, even those maps on the screens of airplanes that more-or-less show you where you supposedly are in the world.

My love of maps and the related enjoyment of geography eventually grew into my still held fondness for travel. In high school, I would plan entire trips around the country based on an Amtrak schedule that I had gotten a hold of somehow. (Yes, I was an early adapter of what is now called the nerd persona.) Mind you, there wasn’t an Amtrak station anywhere near where I lived in Northeastern Pennsylvania. But I could plan. And dream.

By and by, my interest in maps and travel and geography actually led to some treks here and there. First, there were car trips, usually with my parents, somewhere on the east coast. By the time I got to seminary though, I was primed for something bigger: I had seen the U.S. east coast from New England to North Carolina and out as far west as Ohio. So when I was able to orchestrate the tiniest glimmer of an opportunity to study overseas, I fanned and cared for that tiny flame until I found myself in a plane hurtling across North America, the Pacific, and the equator. I spent most of 1986, putatively studying theology, in Adelaide, South Australia. But I didn’t stay put the whole time certainly; there were journeys to the Outback, Uluru (which you may know as Ayers Rock), Melbourne, the Great Barrier Reef, Sydney, and anywhere else I could find wheels that would get me there. I traveled by plane, train, car, and ferry. I felt, as a traveler, that I had arrived...some pun intended there.

Of course, I hadn’t arrived really. That big gulp of travel, after my prior sips, had only made me thirstier for more. I was primed to go and still to this day will gladly browse all the gadgets in travel stores. And, as you know, I still will board anything moving to see where it’s going. Travel is for me a cure for some deeply embedded symptoms, I think, which is why I’m fond of referring to our friend Marilyn as my “travel therapist”. T.S. Eliot was right, I think, when he said, “The journey not the arrival matters.” Just going is important.

When people think of the Bible these days, they think of it as a rule book or a guide or narrative or, some, as complete fiction. Few though think of it as a travelogue I would imagine. If we use that lens to view the Bible however, looking at scripture not so much as a tour book to the lands of the modern Middle East, but more as a travel memoir of the many varied characters who populate it, we might find some useful travel tips; tips that might help us as the travelers and tourists that we are in this funny, foreign land of faith.

And what better time to think about that than during Lent? Lent has so often been described as a journey (which I am first to admit I’m guilty of) that the metaphor may have become somewhat trite and overdone; a bit of a yawner, perhaps. “Oh, Lent?” we might hear ourselves responding, “it’s that ‘journey’ that we take every year for six weeks you know. I’m not sure where we start or where we end, but they keep telling me it’s a journey, so I just get on for the ride every spring when it rolls around.”

Compared to the journeys we find throughout the whole 66 books that make up our scripture, our travels today are pretty tame. We complain if our airplane seat won’t recline but Jonah was tossed off a ship in the midst of a terrible storm and swallowed by a big fish. We’re impatient if we’re delayed by an hour or two while we read that Moses led the Hebrew people through the wilderness for forty years--forty years!--waiting to get to the promised land. Paul’s missionary, evangelistic voyages are legendary and he encountered scorching heat, hunger, hostility, arguments, and raging storms at every step. Noah floated above a flooded earth with a living cargo bent on eating each other. The disciples scattered to the ends of their earth and told a remarkable story that lives on to this day. The Bible is all about journey from Adam & Eve walking out of the garden into a new and different life than they had known to the final journey that John of Patmos describes when we all end up before the celestial throne.

And so it is that we encounter Abram and Sarai today in the midst of their journey some 35 hundred years ago. The narrative that tells of their life on the road and of their descendants takes up a lot of the book of Genesis. The first 11 chapters of Genesis are more or less the story of all humanity as seen through the eyes of the authors of the Hebrew scriptures. They tell of creation and humanity’s wandering, or journeying, from God time and time again. The very first covenant that God makes is found in these first 11 chapters when God promises not to destroy all of creation again to Noah. When we reach chapter 12 though, things get a little more specific. Beginning in chapter 12 and all the way through to the end of Genesis in chapter 50, we get the tales of Abraham and Sarah and those who followed.

From these chapters last 38 chapters, we learn more and more about these forefathers and foremothers in faith. And it all begins with Abram and Sarai, not though in Canaan, the land they were to settle. They were from a place far from there: Ur in Mesopotamia or Sumeria. First they traveled to Harran, in modern day Turkey, where Abram’s father died. And there, in Harran, Abram received his call from God to go to Canaan, which we know today as Israel. So Abram & Sarai, along with nephew Lot, packed up and headed off to this funny place that was a buffer zone amidst all the big powers of the day.

Abram and Sarai were about 75 years old when they left Harran. They had lived a full life by this point. Well, not quite full because they were childless. And of course that meant a lot in those days; much more than we think of it today.

But they were 75 and setting off to do something new! A whole new journey. By the time we get to them today, they’ve had quite a few experiences; interesting experiences. Today we come to a point in the story that is pivotal. Not only does God make a covenant with them that they will be the parents of nations (that’s nations, in the plural) but to prove it, God actually changes their names--an event that occurs to people often when they encounter God and their lives are changed. This whole baby thing though; it’s wildly impossible and unthinkable. They’re both well beyond the point when having children is possible, not to mention convenient. In fact, in verse 17, just after our reading for this morning leaves off, the newly renamed, alleged father-to-be falls down laughing. In cyber speak he’s ROTFL (rolling on the floor laughing). A chapter later, Sarah overhears that she’s going to become pregnant, and she too has a good chuckle over it.

Of course, the last laugh is on none other than God, who always seems to get the last laugh. And that’s often the way of our journeys, isn’t it? I’ve seen and heard a saying that Allen reminded me about this week: “If you want to hear God laugh, tell God what you plan to do with your life,” or variations to that effect.

The last thing on the mind of these two nonagenarians who have traveled countless miles through the course of their lifetime is what their descendants are going to think about them. But there they were, finally in Canaan and they have to think about bassinets and the practicality of cloth diapers versus disposables. And, true to the promise, God came through and, as Paul reminded us in that letter to the Romans, Abraham and Sarah not only gave birth to Isaac and a genetic lineage that would grow and multiply, but also to a faith genealogy in which we count ourselves.

Journeying is in our roots; in our spiritual roots; at the core of our very being. We don’t, like our ancestors Abraham and Sarah, stay put. At least we shouldn’t, I believe. We need to be wary of becoming too comfortable in what we think of as our home and recall that God is constantly calling people of faith out on the road. Our journey is, clearly, supposed to be towards God; toward that center of our being. But like the journey that one takes in a labyrinth, the route is twisted and confusing often. Just when we think we’re there, the path turns and we are moving away from our goal and closer union with the Divine.

Throughout the journey of my faith life, I have had many surprises and unexpected events. But like the physical, geographical journeys I take, those surprises and unexpected events are the very things that I remember, that make the journey memorable, that are looked back on as high-points rather than the potential problems and inconveniences that they might have seemed at the time.

At one point along the way of my faith journey, in a place in which I finally felt spiritually at home, I encountered a prayer by one of the holy ones of the 20th century, Thomas Merton. Like a precious souvenir that may mean little to others but floods the mind with memories of a place or time, I’ve carried this prayer with me along the way and I want to end today with it:

"My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone." (from Thoughts in Solitude, Thomas Merton)

Photo of Uluru by Peter Nijenhuis from his Flickr site.

Make Them Hear You -- Newsletter article for the week of 1 March

2009-03-08T00:13:00.000-08:00

"Go out and tell our story, let it echo far and wide. Make them hear you. Make them hear you."* These words begin a song from the stage musical Ragtime which I used in a slide presentation at the retreat in January and to close our worship this past Sunday.

There are verbs of action in that song: go, make. And indeed that is the charge that we who are affiliated with Chalice in any way have. We are to go out and tell our story and make them hear us.

During our time on Sunday, our Regional Minister for Congregational Care and Women's Ministries, Paula Poceicha, invited each of us to pick up a footprint she had cut out from construction paper and take it home with us. On the footprint, we are urged to each write our own personal next step in making sure that the story of Chalice is heard and that we are true to God's call to us.

We spent time on Sunday looking at our current Mission Statement. We thought especially about the five actions that we state there that we are called to do:

worship
grow spiritually
build relationships
serve the wider community
share this Good News with others.

As Paula pointed out, we as a congregation may not be able to focus on all of these at once; taken together, we are biting off more than a mouthful. That could leave us frustrated, overwhelmed, and with a feeling that we are spinning our wheels.

But look at that list of verbs from our Mission Statement again and think of your next step. What are you going to do for the good of your faith community; for your own spiritual growth; for God?

One step, for most of us, is something we can do. Don't be concerned as you contemplate and take that first step about step number two, or step number 16, or any of the steps in the journey ahead. Think of the first step you can and will take.

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

*"Make Them Hear You" lyrics by Lynn Ahrens, music by Steven Flaherty.

Facing Lent -- Newsletter Article, 22 February 2009

2009-02-27T17:09:00.000-08:00

As I write, it is Shrove Tuesday--the very eve of the season of Lent. (And, yes, we are having pancakes in our household this evening.) By the time some of you are reading this though, we will have already had our Ash Wednesday service with Community UCC. For some of you, the ashes will have faded from your foreheads, and we have already started those forty days (plus Sundays) that make up this liturgical time.

I have always been a little perplexed by Lent. It wasn't really noted, as much as I can recall, as I was growing up. I never felt the call to "give something up" as many of my friends at school did (well, the Roman Catholic ones during that era) and only later in life considered the possibility of taking something on as a spiritual discipline. (During my mid-20s, I decided my Lenten discipline would be to attend my church's worship every week. From that memory, I guess one could surmise I wasn't a regular attender at the time!)

In my perplexity about Lent, I've always kept it at a distance. What little I knew about Lent indicated that it was a time of self-deprivation and seemed even to verge on self-deprecation. I decided that I was self-deprecating enough that I didn't need any church telling me to do it more. And though I've never actually suffered through deprivation, there have been times when it's felt like I could see it from where I was.

When I can calm myself down enough however and consider the coming weeks simply as an opportunity for me to get closer to God, I can begin to embrace Lent. Later in this newsletter, you'll find an article which refers to Lent as a journey, a common metaphor these days. Indeed, I know I am always on a journey in my faith. Lent is a chance to ease myself, even if it's an almost imperceptible shift, ever nearer to the One Who First-Of-All Created; and in that movement I might gain the tiniest sliver of understanding of all that God can be and is.

Lent is not all that long, when you think about it; only 12% of a year. In that brief space of time, there is an opening of a window of opportunity, that allows the cool, fresh breezes of our ever-evolving faith to blow in. Breathe deeply...and take the first steps of Lent 2009.

Photo used by permission of the photographer and can be found on Flickr

Dreaming of Growth - Newsletter article, 8 February 2009

2009-02-11T11:06:00.000-08:00

At the first of our congregational conversations on Sunday, during the "dreams and visions" section, I repeated the question "is growth a dream of ours?" a few times. I felt a little silly asking it; maybe those of you who were there felt a little silly answering it. It is sort of a "duh" question.

If you're like me, you might want to scream in response, "of course we want to grow!" After all, isn't that what church is all about? Aren't we supposed to grow and add numbers to our membership lists and need to add more and more chairs on Sunday mornings for the worshippers flocking to our doors? Don't we want to be bigger so we can do more things; so we can reach out more; so we can be known on the Peninsula? Growth? Duh! Yes!

But then...but then...I remember the words which I have quoted here before from Micah that inform us that God wants us to "do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God." (Micah 6:8) There's not much about church growth in there. And Jesus' admonition that you are to love God "with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind" and "love your neighbor as yourself" (Matthew 22:37 & 39) doesn't seem to me to be about pulling them into worship so we can be winners in the numbers game.

It is assuredly a tightrope balancing act that we are living as a congregation. On the one hand, there is the reality of being small and all that entails: a seemingly constant struggle to make sure there is enough money to pay bills and an apparent flagging of energy among some very busy people. On the other though, it seems if we focus our energy into growth alone, we won't be able to continue doing the good work that we have discerned that we are called to do and have done so far in our decade-plus lifespan. Chalice came into being, as I understand it, because a group of wounded people gathered together to do this church and religion thing differently than had been done in the past...inclusively...openly...caringly...lovingly...spiritually. God cared for our congregation then and I have no doubts that God will care for us into the future, no matter what our numbers are.

Yes, let us dream and vision of a day when our attendance and membership have increased and we are able to show that God's love and grace are for all people. But let us remember while doing that dreaming that our call as a church is not growth but justice, kindness, and love.

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

Good Eye - Newsletter Article from 1 February 2009

2009-02-05T20:31:00.001-08:00

I recently got a new camera. My old one died (in the middle of a Chalice worship service, of all times) and I had been without a camera for several months. It felt strange, I realized, not to be able to take pictures, something I have been doing since I was young.

The other day, Allen & I were showing a friend around from New York City who was out here for a meeting. We took her up to the Marin Headlands where the views in all directions are quite spectacular. She and I were both happily snapping away and comparing pictures on the little screens of our digital cameras. (Allen hadn't brought his camera, poor boy!)

At one point, as she was admiring a shot I had taken, she said, "you have a good eye," a compliment I enjoyed hearing. Of course, she meant nothing about the status of my physical eyeball but instead was referring to the way I frame shots and set up pictures.

Though I have been told that before, it always comes as a bit of a shock. It's not something that I've worked to learn; I haven't trained myself to set up shots...I seem to just do it. And sometimes, I surprise myself because a picture comes through that I didn't even know I was seeing.

At another picture taking time during a trip to London, I took a shot of the crowd at a big outdoor market. There in the center of the picture is a woman staring directly at me, as much as to say, "what are you doing with that camera?" I missed her when I took the picture completely. It wasn't until I got home and downloaded the pictures onto my computer that I saw her. My eye didn't catch what was going on as I took the shot; that that woman was communicating with me in her way and I missed it.

How often is that sort of thing true about our relationships with God and with each other? No matter how good our "eye" for that sort of thing is, we miss things...we overlook the obvious...we don't observe those things that are right before us. It's not until later, if then, that we realize what we've missed or overlooked.

Sometimes, with each other, it is sadly too late to go back and recapture a moment in which we were blind to something right before us. We are all human and recapturing in hindsight can be difficult because time intervenes, personalities change, egos are involved, and everyone needs to cooperate. But fortunately, the good news is that with God it is never too late. God is always ready for us to try again. God will redo moments and pose in front of our lenses time and time again and come back for more. It's never too late to begin to work on your "eye" to better observe and capture those moments in your spiritual life that will make you a fuller and closer to complete child of God.

Pace e Bene,
Gerry

PS--Okay, it's really hard not to get a good shot in the Marin Headlands, so maybe including that picture isn't fair. And the second photo may be too small in this setting for you to really be able to see what I'm going on about.

[The photos used here are my own and are from my Flickr account at www.flickr.com/photos/revger/.]