Anticipating Advent…

Tags

Advent, Jesus, prayer, quiet, spirituality

Advent is a season that often gets lost in the buildup to Christmas.  For many of us, Advent is simply pre-Christmas.  Pre-Christmas entails buying gifts, juggling parties, meal planning and cooking, and generally running around at break-neck speed.

Unlike pre-Christmas, Advent invites us into a completely different posture.  Advent invites us into a quiet expectation.  We know that something incredible is coming – the birth of the Christ Child.  And we hold our breaths in anticipation, waiting to marvel at the miracle of Jesus’ birth.  Advent is the Church’s gift to us – a time for contemplation and prayer.

The funny thing about Advent is that the Church usually forgets to slow down too.  Like everyone else, we schedule Quiet Days, parties, and learning.  We squeeze in meetings before the end of the year, and we rush to keep up with the liturgies.  But this year, something is a little different at St. Margaret’s.  Because of the Hurricane, many things that were planned were either canceled or delayed.  Therefore we do not have a Quiet Day, there is no Diocesan Convention, and there are fewer meetings.  However, what is left seems right:  an Annual Meeting to review what has been an incredible year; a Movies with Margaret night that is light enough for us to learn and share easily; a Christmas party for us to gather in fellowship with the entire community; and some incredible liturgies, including Advent Lessons and Carols, our Cemetery Memorial service (a wonderful gift for those who find the Christmas holidays difficult), and two very different Christmas Eve services.

Given that St. Margaret’s has enabled us all to slow down a little bit, I invite us all to treat Advent like a spiritual discipline.  Come to Church every Sunday in Advent.  Find a devotional to direct your time daily (see resources below).  Carve out some time to just come to the Church and sit quietly with God.  Our intentional observance of Advent is a gift that we can give to ourselves this year and that we can share with a friend or neighbor.  During what can be a noisy season, Advent at St. Margaret’s might just become the best gift you give to someone else this year.

Resources for Advent

1)  Advent Calendar/Devotional:  Fling Wide the Doors

2)  Book:  Silence and Other Surprising Invitations of Advent, by Enuma Okoro

3)  Other Diocesan Suggestions:  Mercer School

Sermon – John 18.33-37, P29, YB, November 25, 2012

Tags

Christ the King, Jesus, king, Sermon

When I say the word “king,” what words come to mind?  Perhaps these words would be on your list:  ruler, power, authoritative, supreme, distant, dictator, or my personal favorite, Elvis.  Kings are something of a foreign experience to us, since we are a country that was founded on getting rid of kings.  Our presidents are the closest things we have to kings, but the modern presidency is not really like a kingship.  Yes, the president is a ruler, but the president is elected and is balanced in power by the Congress and Supreme Court.  Yes, the president has power, but a president can also be impeached or not reelected.  So when we think of kings, we may have to think back to a king who did have some influence over our lives – King Henry VIII.  If you remember, King Henry was the king who wanted to divorce his wife so that he could remarry.  When the Pope refused the King’s request, King Henry not only divorced his wife anyway, he also started a revolution that led to the Anglican Church – our mother Church as Episcopalians.  If that is not power, I do not know what is!

Today, the Church celebrates Christ the King Sunday.  You would think on such a day, we would be hearing a text that glorifies Jesus, or that marks Jesus’ victory – such as the triumphal Palm Sunday lesson or an Easter or Ascension text.  Instead, we get the story of Jesus on trial with Pilate.  Jesus does not really look victorious in this passage – he has been humiliated, beaten, and is now being mocked by Pilate.  This is not exactly the image of Christ we may have had for Christ the King Sunday.  In fact, between Jesus and Pilate, Pilate plays the more stereotypical role of king.  Pilate uses power and authority for selfish ends with no concern for building community.  He hoards power and lords his power over people even to the point of destroying them, on a cross or otherwise.  Meanwhile, Jesus empowers others and uses his authority to wash the feet of those he leads.  He spends his life on them, and he gives his life to bring life.  Pilate’s rule brings about terror, even in the midst of calm.  Meanwhile, Jesus’ rule brings peace, even in the midst of terror.  Pilate’s followers imitate him by using violence to conquer and divide people by race, ethnicity, and nations.  Jesus’ followers put away the sword in order to invite and unify people.  Pilate’s authority originates from the will of Caesar and is always tenuous.  Meanwhile, Jesus’ authority originates from doing the will of God, and is eternal.[i]

So if Jesus as a king is so different from any kings that we know, why do we label and celebrate Christ the King?  Christ the King Sunday is not that ancient of a concept in Church history.  In 1925, in the face of growing nationalism and secularism following World War I, Pope Pius XI established the feast of Christ the King.  The feast was meant to be a way of declaring where allegiances should be – not to a country, but to God.  Our allegiance should be to Jesus – our only ruler and power.  In a time of national pride, the Church boldly proclaimed, “We have no king but Jesus.”  Proclaiming Jesus as King is a fascinating reappropriation of the title “King.”  When the Church invites us to proclaim Christ as King, not only does the Church ask us to put Christ above any earthly ruler, the Church also asks us to redefine the concept of a king.  Jesus is a king who lays down his life for the sake of others; who endures humiliation and death for the salvation of people; who humbly cares for the poor, oppressed, imprisoned, and suffering.  This image does not sound anything like the image we have of a king; and yet, this is what we proclaim today.  Our king could have easily overtaken Pilate and even Caesar for that matter – but our king humbles himself to the point of death on a cross – because our King’s rule is both here and in the age to come.  This kind of king – who can save us from our sins through his death on a cross – is the only kind of king we really need.

In some ways, celebrating Christ the King this Sunday is most appropriate.  We are at the end of our liturgical year.  In this liturgical year, we journeyed toward and celebrated Christ’s birth; walked through the years of his ministry, teaching and healing; journeyed through his passion and death; and celebrated his resurrection, ascension, and gift of the Spirit.  Ending the liturgical year by declaring Christ as King is the way that the Church summarizes the whole of Jesus’ life.  This Jesus, who was born in lowly manger, who lived a humble carpenter’s childhood, who cared for and tended the least of these, who taught the disciples how to live a different kind of life, who made the ultimate sacrifice for us, and who rose victorious from the grave – this Jesus is the Christ we call “King.”  This humble, humbled, humbling Christ is the only ruler we call King.

So what does Christ being King mean for our lives today?  If Christ is King, then we are Christ’s people.  Those who have been baptized into Christ Jesus are, as the psalmist says, the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand.  “Christ has made of us a people with his kingship.  And that kingship is unique, unlike any earthly kingship that is bound by geographic borders…  All are welcome, especially the chronically unwelcome ones.”[ii]  When we say that we are Christ’s people, we do not imply that we elected Jesus or that we hired Jesus as CEO.  We belong to Christ as his subjects – sharing the Eucharistic meal, sharing our lives, serving Christ as one, and resting our hopes in Christ.  Being the people of Christ impacts how we treat one another in this place, how we treat others outside of this place, and how we treat ourselves.

At the end of another Church year, having lived through another cycle of hearing the stories of Jesus’ life, of being taught again through his miracles and parables, we come together to proclaim the truth of Christ’s kingship.  After another year of living our own lives – burying our loved ones, baptizing our children, celebrating marriage, mourning broken relationships, welcoming new families and ministries, struggling and thriving – we bring all of our own experiences to the climax of this day as well.  We lay down all of this past year at the feet of the crucified, enthroned Christ, and we give thanks.[iii]  We are blessed to be a people ruled by a king who rules with love and mercy.  Being so blessed, we extend that kingly love and mercy to each other, to our neighbors, and to ourselves.  Amen.

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[i] Jaime Clark-Soles, as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching_print.aspx?commentary_id=1490 on November 23, 2012.

[ii] Mary W. Anderson, “Royal Treatment,” Christian Century, vol. 120, no. 23, November 15, 2003, 18.

[iii] Anderson, 18.

Sermon – Matthew 6.25-33, Thanksgiving, YB, November 22, 2012

Tags

anxiety, God, Jesus, Sermon, Thanksgiving, worry

Today is one of those Norman Rockwell days.  We pull out old family recipes, we gather in the kitchen to cook and share in reminiscences.  We watch the Macy’s parade, hoping to sneak a glimpse at The Rockettes.  We map out which football games we will watch.  The table is set in festive ware, and the food is not only delicious, but also brings back the memories of so many other Thanksgiving meals.  We smile, laugh, and our hearts are full of gratitude.  This is the day that the Lord has made.

Or at least that is how we always fantasize Thanksgiving will look.  Instead, we have been scrambling around, making sure we have all the ingredients we need, trying to figure out what to serve to Cousin Sam’s vegan girlfriend.  We worry that Uncle Fred will be as rude and obnoxious as he always is, and whether the kids will get too impatient and cranky before the meal begins.  We worry that the turkey will be dry or that the recipe that we entrusted to our sister will not be as good as Grandma’s.  We struggle to find just the right outfit that is flattering enough for pictures, but comfortable enough for the full belly we will have after the meal.  And quite frankly, having finally mostly recovered from the Hurricane, we have barely had time to turn our thoughts to Thanksgiving, and our nerves are a little frazzled.

So as we rush into Church today, our minds full of to-do lists and worries of the day, what do we hear from Jesus?  “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?”  Jesus scolds those who are gathered for that very human experience of anxiety, implying that their worries are rooted in a lack of trust in the God who can just as easily care for birds and lilies as God can care for them.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with this passage.  I discovered this passage as a teen, and have returned to the passage time and again when I felt the waves of anxiety crashing over my head.  The passage is oddly comforting and frustrating at the same time.  The passage has a way of making me feel guilty about my anxiety – as though I should be ashamed of my worries and concerns.  I can almost hear the scolding tenor of Jesus, like a nagging mother.  But like most mothers who know best, the words are simultaneously comforting because I know that they are true at the deepest levels of my being.  I find comfort in these words because they force me out of the mire that is usually self-imposed, and turn my heart to where my heart belongs – to God.

Luckily, we are in good company.  Our modern consumerist society does not make us as different from those in Biblical times as we might think.  Clearly those following Jesus stressed as much as we do about putting food on the table and the latest clothing styles.  In fact, this fear is present throughout scripture.  How many times have we heard that command, “Fear not.”  “The order not to fear is perhaps not only the most reiterated in Scripture, but also the least obeyed.”[i]  What Jesus sees and why Jesus scolds is because Jesus knows that those anxieties pull us away from the work that God has given us to do.  When those doing God’s work get distracted by their worries and fears, they have little time or energy left to actually do God’s work.  This is what Jesus is trying to communicate – to redirect energy from that inner storm of worry, fear, and anxiety, to the productive work of God’s kingdom.  For, as Jesus explains, “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?”  Worry pulls us inward – which is completely the opposite direction that the Church sends us after every Eucharist.

Today, instead of letting myself wallow in guilt or seeing Jesus as a scolding parent, I will think of Jesus as a great yoga instructor.  In yoga, one of the primary goals of the practice is to clear your mind.  Any good yoga instructor will admit that you cannot clear your mind by willing your mind to be clear.  Thoughts and distractions will continue to invade your practice.  The trick is to acknowledge the thought, and let the thought go, returning your focus to your practice.  Uncle Fred worrying you?  Release the fear from your body.  Perfect Thanksgiving meal weighing on you?  Let go of the anxiety from your mind.  Rowdy children and messy dishes stressing you out?  Free your heart to love without limit.  These are the words I imagine Jesus, the yoga instructor, offering us today.  Today is not really about any of those things anyway.  All of those things – food, loved ones, and rest – are gifts from God:  the same God that desires for you to do the work of seeking and serving Christ in others.  The rest is gravy!  Amen.

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[i] Jason Byassee, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 406.

Thanksgiving…

Tags

God, interfaith, praise, thanks, Thanksgiving, worship

Last night, I joined with the clergy and members of local synagogues, churches, temples, and a mosque to celebrate Thanksgiving.  I have been meeting with the Plainview-Old Bethpage Interfaith Clergy Council for about a year.  In that time, the Christian churches have shared Lenten and Holy Week offerings; the Rabbis and Cantors joined the Christian clergy to celebrate my installation as Rector at St. Margaret’s; and all of us have served side-by-side as we make sandwiches for our local soup kitchen.  But this worship service was the first time I have experienced a joint worship service in a language that would appeal to all of us.

I must admit, I was a little uncertain of whether the service would work.  Although our faith traditions share many core tenets, we as clergy are constantly learning about each other’s faiths and discovering significant cultural differences.  As we processed into the Lutheran church, and as I touched the baptismal water with a rabbi at my side, I was not sure whether we could make the service truly meaningful for all those gathered.

What I found, though, was that in worship, our similarities and our differences made our worship whole.  Our prayers and scripture readings centered my heart in thanksgiving.  Our coming together to praise God for our many blessings made me remember what this National holiday is actually about – at least for those of us who are persons of faith.  Thanksgiving for us is a day set aside to praise God from whom all blessings flow.  Thanksgiving is a day when, no matter what our faith, our prayers are focused on the adoration and praise of God.  Whether it was a cantor’s song, a mufti’s prayer, or a reformed pastor’s blessing, our worship last night was just the centering worship I needed in what has been a chaotic month.

Thank you, interfaith community of Plainview-Old Bethpage.  Thank you for turning my heart to deep thanksgiving, praise, and adoration of the God who sustains me.

A prayer from my tradition:
Accept, O Lord, our thanks and praise for all that you have done for us.  We thank you for the splendor of the whole creation, for the beauty of this world, for the wonder of life, and for the mystery of love.

We thank you for the blessing of family and friends, and for the loving care which surrounds us on every side.

We thank you for setting us at tasks which demand our best efforts, and for leading us to accomplishments which satisfy and delight us.

We thank you also for those disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge our dependence on you alone.

Above all, we thank you for your Son Jesus Christ; for the truth of his Word and the example of his life; for his steadfast obedience, by which he overcame temptation; for his dying, through which he overcame death; and for his rising to life again, in which we are raised to the life of your kingdom.

Grant us the gift of your Spirit, that we may know him and make him known; and through him, at all times and in all places, may give thanks to you in all things.  Amen.

-Book of Common Prayer, 836.

Sermon – 1 Samuel 1.4-20; 2.1-10, P28, YB, November 18, 2012

Tags

God, prayer, Sermon, spirituality, vulnerability

I have been thinking a lot about prayer this week.  Prayer is one of those parts of my life that is always a struggle.  I have learned all sorts of methods of prayer over the years and have leaned on various methods when I needed certain kinds of guidance.  But there are times when I can tell that my prayer life has gotten off track.  One of the recurring questions that every spiritual director has asked me is, “Have you lifted this up to God in prayer?”  I always hate when that question comes up, because inevitably the answer is no.  I am the kind of person who will diligently work and struggle to figure something out or will bear pain alone for quite some time before the thought occurs to me to offer up my burden to God.

A video has been circulating on the internet lately called, “Coffee with Jesus.”  In the video, a man meets Jesus for coffee, which is his prayer time.  The video shows a two-minute montage of prayer requests, attempts to pray the Lord’s Prayer, and requests for superficial things, all the while with Jesus waiting patiently to speak.  When the man finally stops talking and takes a breath, Jesus leans forward to speak.  But before Jesus can start, the man cuts him off – closing his prayer with an abrupt “amen,” and running out of the coffee shop for his next appointment.[i]  The video of this man’s superficial, wandering, disjointed prayer that makes no space for listening to God is both funny and painfully uncomfortable.  The truth is that many of us resist deep, abiding prayer that is vulnerable and that cedes control to God.  Only when we hit rock bottom do we finally come to God in authentic and meaningful prayer.

As we read Hannah’s story today, I wonder if Hannah did not have the same problem with God.  Hannah is barren.  Now if you remember, in biblical times, barrenness is a condition that excludes women from community.  By not producing a child, not only is the woman seen as less than others, there are often accusations made about her sinfulness:  barrenness was believed a form of divine punishment.[ii]  So Hannah is cut off from society.  Then Hannah has the great misfortune to have Peninnah as a co-wife.  Now, co-wives were a given at that time, but this co-wife was the worst.  As if Hannah’s shame and sadness were not enough, Peninnah taunts Hannah about her barrenness.  Perhaps Peninnah treats Hannah horribly because she is jealous of her husband’s love for Hannah, but nothing excuses Peninnah’s behavior.  Peninnah, mother of many children, flaunts her fertility in the cruelest way.  Hannah’s husband, Elkanah, is not much better.  He certainly tries to care for Hannah – he gives her a double portion for sacrifices, and he deeply desires to personally fill the void created from a lack of children.  But Elkanah’s way of supporting Hannah only shows that he does not fully understand the experience of barrenness.[iii]  And as if all of this was not enough, even Eli, the priest, is equally unsupportive.  Eli sees her silent prayers in the temple, and he accuses her of drunkenness.  With everyone in her life against her, we hardly have to imagine how Hannah ends up in the temple, deeply distressed and weeping bitterly.

What I wonder though is why Hannah takes so long to go to God.  We do not hear of Hannah going earlier in life to God about her barrenness.  We do not hear about Hannah going to God about Peninnah before years of taunting accumulate.  We do not hear about Hannah going to God about her marriage.  Instead she copes with tears and refusing to eat.  I can almost imagine the spiritual director asking, “Have you taken any of this to God?”  Hannah has to become completely overwhelmed before she finally cedes her utter devastation to God.  Only when the burden is so overwhelming that she can no longer muscle the burden herself does she finally go to God.

We all follow the pattern of Hannah at some point in our lives.  We have some strange notion of being so in control of our lives that we should only burden God once things have gotten out of control.  We have all spent our prayer time without being truly, nakedly vulnerable with God.  We refuse to cede control to God even when only the two of us are in the room.  We are so stubborn with God – so guarded, so non-trusting, and so territorial.  I am reminded of that ol’ time hymn, “What a friend we have in Jesus.”  The hymn is all about our prayer life, but one line in particular says, “O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.”

Luckily God shows us all what can happen when we finally take everything to God.  Hannah finally breaks down and gives her pain to God.  She comes to God with the raw reality of pain.  She is not afraid of what others will think of her prayers, even if they assume she is drunk.  Hannah’s willingness to come before God, to give everything to God out of her utter isolation, results in the birth of Samuel.  Samuel not only relieves Hannah’s burden, Samuel is a gift back to God, and a gift for the entire people of Israel.  God’s blessing for Hannah is not just the fulfillment of a bargain.  God acts through Hannah to offer promise for all God’s people.  In fact, through Samuel, Israel’s first king, Saul, will be appointed.  Israel will become great, and their great king, David will rise from a lowly shepherd boy to become their leader.[iv]

We understand the enormity of this action when we hear Hannah’s song that we read today in lieu of a psalm.  Hannah’s song is only partially about her own personal victory.  Hannah’s song is about the victory of God in the face of uncertainty.  Hannah’s song illustrates how God acts in a way that totally upends the entire social order.  “He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor,” proclaims Hannah.  Samuel’s birth is not just for Hannah; Samuel’s birth is a promise for the entire people of God.  We see in Hannah’s experience in prayer that when we finally do give everything to God in prayer, God’s response can be more immense than we could ever ask for or imagine.

Hannah’s story gives us several gifts this morning.  First, Hannah reminds us of the joys of a rich prayer life with God.  Hannah’s prayer life is not perfect, and neither will ours be, but when we dare to be fully vulnerable with God in prayer, Hannah shows us the abundant blessings that await.  Second, Hannah reminds us that God responds to us.  We may not hear a booming voice from above that tells us the right thing to do or we may not receive an email confirmation that our request has been received, but God does respond to us in tangible ways.  The answer may not be what we want to hear, but God will respond to us in a way that offers us comfort.  Finally, Hannah reminds us of the dramatic ways that God is acting in the world around us, even when those needs are the furthest from our minds.  Hannah did not ask God to subvert the social order, but in God’s action to restore Hannah to fertility, God manages to do so much more by restoring all the people of God through the birth of Samuel.[v]  Our invitation today is to follow Hannah’s lead, to let down our guard with God, and to marvel at the wonderful deeds that God has done.  Amen.

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[i] http://www.worshiphousemedia.com/mini-movies/10219/Coffee-With-Jesus.  Found on November 17, 2012.

[ii] Frank M. Yamada, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 291.

[iii] Martin B. Copenhaver, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 292.

[iv] Kate Foster Connors, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 298.

[v] Connors, 298.

Prayer…

Tags

God, hurricane, prayer, scripture, spirituality, suffering

Save me, O God, *
for the waters have risen up to my neck.

I am sinking in deep mire, *
and there is no firm ground for my feet.

I have come into deep waters, *
and the torrent washes over me.

I have grown weary with my crying; my throat is inflamed; *
my eyes have failed from looking for my God.

One of the things that got disrupted when we lost power for a week was my morning routine of praying Morning Prayer in the Church once my husband is off to work and my daughter is off to school.  Before I let myself get overwhelmed with the day’s tasks, I try to center my day with Morning Prayer.  Part of what I love about Morning Prayer is that it keeps the scriptures actively in my prayer life.  From time to time, a text that I would never have picked out myself jumps out at me with vital meaning for the day.

That happened last week when I was finally able to get back to some semblance of normalcy after the Hurricane and Nor’easter.  Psalm 69 was the assigned psalm, and before I could even get past verse one, I was overwhelmed with the images of the past two weeks:  destructive waters covering homes and businesses; the waves of water sweeping away children; the tears as homes burned to the ground.  Scripture, and especially the psalms, does not often literally describe what is happening in modern times.  But on this day, in this time, this psalm seemed to be an ode to those of us recovering from Hurricane Sandy.

But the psalm also beautifully did what psalms always do – metaphorically capture the struggles and joys that we face.  As I prayed this psalm, the waters became the anxieties that were up to my neck.  The mire was the mess of emotions left behind as life did not return to normal.  The deep waters were the struggles that seemed insurmountable, whose torrents kept pushing us under.

“In your great mercy, O God, *
 answer me with your unfailing help.

Save me from the mire; do not let me sink; *
 let me be rescued from those who hate me and out of the deep waters.

Let not the torrent of waters wash over me, neither let the deep swallow me up; *
do not let the Pit shut its mouth upon me.

Answer me, O LORD, for your love is kind; *
in your great compassion, turn to me.”

And like any good psalm, in addition to venting my pain, the psalm invited me to turn to God, giving words to my prayer.  But the prayer was not just my prayer.  The prayer was a prayer for all of us.  For parishioners still without power, for parishioners facing the cost of cleanup, for neighbors not so far from us who lost everything.  The words not only offered a tender request to God, they also offered the urgency that I felt in the depths of my heart.  I am so grateful for Holy Scripture in times like these – in times when the people of God have been there before and who give me permission to be fully human and vulnerable with God.

Sermon – Ruth 3.1-5; 4.13-17, Mk. 12.38-44, P27, YB, November 11, 2012

Tags

blessing, dependence, God, independence, money, Sermon, stewardship

This week, once our power was finally restored, Simone and I caught an episode of our favorite show, Sesame Street.  Typically I am running around the house getting us ready for school and work during Sesame Street, but this week, I found myself glued to the television.  In this particular episode, Sesame Street experienced a hurricane, and Big Bird’s home was destroyed.  All the neighbors of Sesame Street came out to help Big Bird.  But Big Bird struggled with their help.  Although he appreciated all their hard work, he was so fraught with sadness and despair that he could hardly focus on their generosity.  Although they put him up for the night, their houses were not the same as his.  Although they fed him meals, the food was not quite as he would want.  You could tell that he appreciated their efforts, but what he truly missed was his independence.  He did not like depending on others, especially because their care took him out of his comfort zone.

To be honest, I almost could not watch the episode.  The story was a little too close to home.  We have all been struggling with the battle between independence and dependence these last two weeks.  We have been dependent on the generosity of our neighbors and friends who have given us breaks from the cold, a space to recharge our electronics, a warm meal, or a place to clean laundry.  We have been dependent of the workers of LIPA and electrical workers from around the country to help us get our electricity restored.  We have been dependent on the availability of gasoline for transportation and for the few of us with generators.  Almost all of us have experienced episodes of dependence over the last two weeks, and we do not like it!  Receiving help feels awkward, throwing off the balance of power that we have with others.  We do not like the lack of control that dependence creates.  In fact some of us have stayed in cold homes, avoiding shelters or the offers of friends and neighbors just because we want some modicum of control over our disrupted lives.

With this internal struggle with dependence, our lectionary lessons today then are almost salt in our wounds.  First we hear from the concluding chapters of Ruth.  Ruth is often seen as one of the most independent, strong-willed women in scripture.  But in the portion of text we hear today, we hear the other reality of Ruth’s life – Ruth’s life is marked by dependence.  Ruth is dependent upon Naomi, who conceives of a plan to save them both; she is dependent upon Boaz, who can support her and sustain her; and she is dependent upon the community, who understands the roles of women and community in very different ways than we do in modern America.  In some ways, Ruth goes from being the central woman of fierce independence, to the dependent wife, mother, and daughter-in-law who fades into the life of the community.

Then we get the widow in our gospel lesson today.  Here is a woman, who barely has anything, who, as a widow, is inherently dependent upon others for support, and who is found putting the two final coins in her possession in the treasury.  Jesus praises her because she gives not out of her abundance like the others, but because she recognizes her total dependence upon God, and freely gives away everything.  The lesson we hear from Jesus today about this woman is that we are to be “dependent on nothing but the grace of God.  We are to be people without any resources except the riches of God’s mercy.”[i]

And this is where we all get more than a little bit uncomfortable with Jesus’ words and Ruth’s actions.  We replay these past two weeks and worry that if we cannot get comfortable depending on our neighbors, how are we ever to get comfortable with depending fully on God?  Or our practical brains kick in and we immediately begin to argue with God.  How are we supposed to function on our own without a penny to our name?  Are we just supposed to walk away from everything, standing on the street, saying, “Okay God, I am dependent upon you.  Take care of me.”  In our independent American culture, the idea of dependence is uncomfortable and almost feels impossible to us.

For guidance, I go back to our lessons.  First, I listen again to Ruth.  Instead of imagining Ruth as the woman oppressed by a patriarchal system, I like to imagine the joy that comes from Ruth’s life – the joy that is found when an entire community comes together for the sake of survival.  When Obed is born, everyone rejoices, everyone wins.  Maybe Ruth is not a liberated, independent woman – but are any of us truly so liberated that we do not need others in our lives?  Ruth chooses dependence – she willingly chooses dependence because she trusts that God will make everything right.  In fact, her independent self chooses dependence throughout her blessed story.

Next, I look back at the widow.  She irrationally gives everything to God – her very last pennies.  But we should be honest.  When all you have are pennies left, those little coins are not going to dramatically change your life anyway.[ii]  Her utter poverty and dependence upon others who care for widows allow her to see what the wealthy cannot – that everything belongs to God anyway.  What she teaches us is not to feel guilty or irrational about wealth and giving, but to realize that we will have to choose dependence upon God – because dependence never comes naturally.

When I worked at Habitat, I remember having a conversation with the financial consultant to our homeowner families.  In looking at one homeowner’s budget, she saw that the homeowner was giving about ten percent of her income to her Church.  The consultant was frustrated, because she knew that all that giving to the Church was hurting the homeowner’s children.  But the homeowner would not budge on the issue.  The homeowner insisted they would just have to find another way to balance the budget, because God was getting that ten percent.

The truth is that our lessons are not condemning wealth or independence.  What the lessons are trying to teach us is that both wealth and our own egos can trick us into thinking that we can truly be independent.  They can trick us into thinking that we do not really need God.  That is why the Stewardship Committee and I have been talking about our relationship with money this past month.  We have not been talking about money because we need to bring in enough to pay the bills, or because we want us to feel guilty about our wealth.  We have been talking about money because we want us all to see how our relationship with money can impact our relationship with God.  When we cling to our money or our independence so tightly that we blind ourselves to the blessings that can bubble out of letting go of those things, we miss out on opportunities for the Holy Spirit to work on us, to help us see through the lens of Christ.  Although some may connect dependence with oppression and depression, Ruth and Jesus show us that our dependence on God leads to joy and thanksgiving.[iii]

As I think back on these past two weeks, I will also remember the blessings.  I will remember how a hot bowl of soup or a warm pot of spaghetti warmed not only my insides, but also warmed my spirits.  I will remember the camaraderie of people gathered at the public library, charging electronics and helping kids blow off steam.  I will remember the ways in which our mutual dependence led to conversations with people that normally would have been superficial but were now full of meaning and shared support.  I will remember the great comfort of sharing an impromptu coffee hour with those of us who could spare the gasoline to get here last week, and how overjoyed I was just to see your faces and hear your stories.  If anything, this horrible storm has shown how we are more dependent than we all might like, but also how that dependence has led to incredible blessings.  Our invitation today is to embrace our dependence on God in the same way that we are embracing our dependence on one another.  Amen.

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[i] Mary W. Anderson, “Widow’s Walk,” Christian Century, vol. 20, no. 22, Nov. 1, 2003, 18.

[ii] Anderson, 18.

[iii] Anderson, 18.

Reflections on the Storm…

Tags

anxiety, Christ, grace, hurricane, love, serve, stress, suffering

I have been pondering for the last ten days what to say about the experience of Hurricane Sandy.  I think I felt overwhelmed because I knew that my experience was not as bad as thousands of others in our area.  My experience felt superficial somehow, as if I did not earn enough credit to have something to say about all of this.  But what I realized these last couple of days is that although I cannot speak for places that were utterly devastated by this horrible storm, I can speak for what life has been life for the rest of us, tied to those who are suffering more while suffering ourselves.

As background, we lost power for seven days.  We have a fireplace (although it took us several days to secure wood) and we had hot water.  But we did not have heat, the ability to cook, or the other conveniences of electricity.  We had filled our cars with gas before the storm, but we knew we had to be careful about the number of trips out of the house.  We also have a three year old daughter.  We had several trees fall on the property, one damaging the church, but mostly we were spared significant damage.

Over the last ten days, several reflections have occurred to me.  First, I used to work with Habitat for Humanity, and in our work there, we told personal stories of homeowners to potential volunteers and funders.  I remember telling stories of families whose only heat source was their gas oven, who could not afford their electric bill and just went without power, or whose children suffered in school because of poor heat, comfort, and nutrition at home.  I told those stories and my heart broke as I imagined the faces of each of those homeowners.  But I had never experienced those realities, especially as a parent.  As we struggled this past week to warm our child by bringing her into our bed; as I slept by the dying fire (making sure to avoid accidents), realizing that although my body was warm, the frigid air around my head was keeping me awake; or as I found that despite my two layers of clothes, long robe, and a blanket, I still could not keep warm during the day, I began to see those Habitat stories in a whole new way.  There are neighbors who suffer this pain everyday, and yet we are blind because they are hidden in homes we do not notice, in sections of town we do not frequent, or in coworkers whom we do not know well.  Despite our suffering for seven days, or the continued suffering for people up to ten days so far, there are people who live this suffering everyday.

Second, there is a way in which the varied experiences of a disaster make you feel like that if you do not suffer in a particular way, your experience of suffering is not valid.  You feel shallow or weak or insensitive for complaining if your experience is less burdensome than others.  And in a way, I think that is appropriate.  We should always be grateful for our blessings and recognize that there are many ways in which things could have been worse for all of us.  But stifling our pain for the sake of honor others’ pain has begun to feel corrosive to me.  Despite the fact that my suffering or even the suffering of my parishioners was milder compared to other areas of Long Island, our suffering is still hard.  The experience of long periods of cold, of worrying about the health of yourself and your child who cannot stop coughing and wiping running noses, of worrying if the mental health benefits of getting out of the house are worth the anxiety of the uncertain gasoline situation, of feeling cut off from the rest of the world, of worrying about those whose suffering is worse, of being frustrated about not being able to reach those without power to see if they are okay – all of that takes a toll on the psyche.  And even when we got power a week later, about half of my parishioners were still without power.  So any sense that things just go back to normal is false.  The frustration of just wanting to get back to work without the ability to get back to work can be overwhelming.  It was not until the snow hit and the schools closed yet again that I realized how much of this emotion and anxiety I have been stuffing.

Finally, I have been struck by the overwhelming ways in which this storm has brought out the goodness in others.  My parishioners have been running extension cords across the street to share power with others.  I observed all of us talking to one another more – learning more of each others’ stories – caring more about the welfare of each other.  People without power themselves have bent over backwards to make sure my family was okay.  Friends and parishioners have taken us in for hot meals and for washing laundry or for simple camaraderie.  People long to help others even when they are suffering.  There is a sense of abundance in the face of devastation.  There is joy watching a toddler find creative ways to entertain herself.  And the outpouring of love from all over the region is even more overwhelming.  I have felt like that wall that keeps us from sharing Christ with one another has been decimated, and Christ is found all around us as we love and care for one another.

This last week and a half has been an emotional rollercoaster, and the end is not necessarily in sight.  I ask that you pray for one another.  I ask that you seek and serve Christ in all persons.  I ask that you love and give yourself grace the same way that you are loving and giving grace to others.  And I ask that you remember the ways in which you are opening yourself to others and not to forget that new way of being when we finally do get back to “normal.”

Blessings…

Tags

blessed, blessing, pledge, stewardship

Despite the fact that we have had a bit of hiatus with posts due to Hurricane Sandy, we are still wrapping up our Stewardship campaign.  Last week was our Stewardship In-Gathering.  I had imagined a full and joyful church, a procession with music, and warmth inside and out.  Instead, we worried about those who were missing, we sang without accompaniment, and we processed in the frigid, unheated church.  But somehow, that simplified offering of our pledges spoke volumes for me.  There was a sense that life goes on in the midst of chaos, and that the things that are good here at St. Margaret’s are still very, very good.

If you missed last week, or expect to miss this week too with gasoline lines, feel free to mail in your pledge to the church office.  We are hoping to wrap up pledging by the end of this month so that we can present a realistic budget to the church at our Annual Meeting in December.  If you have already pledged, thank you.  If you are still considering your pledge, or if you just want to enjoy hearing a testimony from a fellow parishioner, I encourage you to read Kim Irvine’s guest submission below.  Kim offers her thoughts on what being “Blessed to be a Blessing” has meant for her.

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A few months ago, when I was asked to serve on the stewardship committee, I was totally surprised. It seemed far out of my comfort zone.   While I do contribute financially to our church, I never really thought of myself as a “steward”.    Honestly, I hadn’t put a lot of thought into how my financial giving impacted my relationship with God.   The correlation of the two, God and money, was not very apparent to me.

I’ve learned a lot from serving on this committee.   One of the strongest messages for me is that God has entrusted me with his resources.  I am responsible to use God’s resources in ways that are pleasing to Him.   For me, giving to St. Margaret’s is one way to share what God has entrusted to me.   This church has been part of my life since childhood.  The people as well as the church building and grounds are very near and dear to me.

I’ve also learned some of the values associated with stewardship, which include:

• Giving intentionally;
• Giving regularly;
• Giving generously;
• Giving first to God;
• Give in proportion to the blessings you have received; and
• Cheerful giving.

While I can relate to some of the values above, I recognize several that I need to work on.

I’ve always liked the adage “actions speak louder then words”.  In order for our church to continue to grow and develop, it is so important to make a commitment to being stewards by using our finances, time and talent in every way we can.

“For where your heart is, there your treasure will be also. “  Luke 12:34

~ Kim Irvine

Sermon – John 11.32-44, All Saints, YB, November 4, 2012

Tags

hurricane, resurrection, saints, Sermon

All Saints’ Day is the Day that the Church commemorates the saints of Church History, who died living a faithful Christian life.  We remember notable saints, like St. Margaret of Antioch.  But we also remember all the saints, who by virtue of their baptism die into the sacred communion of all saints.  On this day, we remember those whose lives inspire us; and we remember those saints to us – our friends and family – who have died an earthly death.  And the way the Church celebrates those deaths is no different than the way we celebrate any funeral – by focusing on resurrection.  In our gospel lesson today, we see resurrection most clearly in the raising of Lazarus, who was dead for four days, and who is raised by Jesus to new life.

Now, I do not know about you, but after the week we have had, the last thing I feel like celebrating is resurrection.  We have seen actual death, as Hurricane Sandy and the aftermath have killed many and destroyed homes and livelihoods.  We have had our own neighborhoods plunged into suffering and destruction.  And many of us have suffered in various ways – with no heat, no hot water, no electricity, and no gasoline.  Sure, things could be worse for us, but they are not great.  There is a certain point at which we know we should be saying, “It could be worse.”  But honestly, “it” feels pretty bad.  And the slow progress on recovery and the horror stories of places like the shores and Staten Island make us feel worse.

So now, the Church wants us to focus on resurrection?  Trust me, I have been resisting pondering resurrection all week.  I even considered switching the lessons to the normal propers instead of the All Saints’ Day propers.  But I figured, although the lectionary is not divinely ordered, when I stick to the lectionary, God always moves in us for good.  So I starting thinking about all those who have died this year – those saints we celebrate today.  I thought of those who have died in this storm.  I thought of Miriam and Dick Gow.  I thought of what we say at every Christian burial – that life is changed not ended; that Jesus is the resurrection and the life; that we celebrate eternal life, not mourn earthly death.

With those saints in mind, I returned to our gospel lesson.  Two things gave me hope.  First: Jesus weeps.  Our gospel lesson tells us that Jesus is angry about Lazarus’ death.  The text says that Jesus was “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.”  But scholars agree that what the Greek is actually saying is that Jesus is angry[i] and that Jesus weeps.  If Jesus, the fully human and fully divine Son of God, can be angry and weep at death, so can we.

But Jesus does not linger in that emotion long.  Second, Jesus turns to resurrection.  Now we obviously cannot bring the dead back, as Jesus does with Lazarus.  But we can rest our hope in the resurrection.  This two-fold action of Jesus – anger and sorrow, followed by joyful hope in the resurrection – is our roadmap for this All Saints’ Day.

So despite the fact that we might want to linger in mourning, or despite the fact that the mourning comes in waves over time, we grasp tightly to the hope of resurrection.  And so, with the saints, we turn toward resurrection this day too.  We turn our hearts to the restored life that we find here on Long Island – as we see extension cords stretched across streets for neighbors to share power; as we welcome neighbors and strangers to come in our homes to share our power, heat, or to do a load of laundry; as we share our now unnecessary non-perishables, water, and blankets; or as we help an elderly neighbor remove branches and trees from their yard.

But we also turn to the resurrection life here at St. Margaret’s today.  We have been through almost a year together now, and in that time we have seen much resurrection life.  We have welcomed newcomers, revived outreach ministries, and begun new formation programs for children, teens, and adults.  We have seen life after what, at times, felt like a death, and we are walking into what feels like a time for great joy and hope.  So, instead of wallowing in grief, today, we choose marching forward with resurrection hope.  And even though pledge cards may seem hardly appropriate today, we take our pledge cards, those symbols of our commitment to resurrection living, and we march them forward today.  Because even in the midst of suffering and earthly death, today we claim life.  We proclaim that we put our energies into the life of faith here in this place, and the work of witness and mission we do right here in Plainview.  Because we are a resurrection people, joined by the saints, living a resurrection life.  Amen.

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[i] A. K. M. Adam, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 241.