The last moment of goodness…

Tags

breastfeeding, children, failure, God, grace, joy, parenting, relationship, success

The last bottle of expressed milk

In the last couple of weeks we have seen quite a lot of change in our infant.  She is finally getting up on her knees to crawl instead of doing her “commando drag.”  She is pulling up to a standing position and happily standing for a while.  She is trying and enjoying new solid foods, showing much more dexterity and ability than I had imagined.  And this week, she is slowly easing off of breastmilk.  After some early problems with weight gain, the doctors had me start giving her expressed milk to encourage more consumption.  Once that began, she quickly decided she liked bottles better.  And so for the last year I have been expressing milk for her to eat.

Many people have shown shock when they realize I put up with pumping that long.  What I knew from our first child is that, in some ways, producing milk has been the one expression of parenting that has felt purely good for me.  In all my other parenting efforts, I regularly feel like a failure – not being a consistent and effective disciplinarian, not being creative and fun-loving enough, not knowing how to answer the hard questions.  But producing milk, which luckily my body does quiet easily, was the one thing that I could do that was good and pure, and to me, felt holy.

Looking back, I know my feelings are a little irrational.  My ability to produce milk for a year does not make me a better parent any more than my challenges make me a bad parent.  The truth is that producing milk for so long is probably the only thing that I will ever be able to control when it comes to parenting.  Once that contribution is over, the rest of my journey with my daughter is going to be a series of wonderful successes and terrible failures.  And that is the nature of relationships between parents and children.

In many ways, I suppose that is how our relationship with God is too.  We have very little, if any, control over the relationship, and most of the time we will feel like failures in the relationship.  It will be messy, hard, and sometimes discouraging.  But there will also be wonderful moments of grace, joy, and laughter.  The trick is agreeing to stay in the relationship, even when we do not feel like we are very good at it.  And quite frankly, God has that whole unconditional love thing down way better than most of us as parents or children do.  So hang in there, keep up the good work, and don’t take it all too seriously.  Happy Lent!

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Sermon – John 3.14-21, L4, YB, March 15, 2015

Tags

beloved, darkness, Divergent, God, insider, Jesus, John 3.16, judgment, light, outsider, repent, scripture, turn

Today we get one of the most beloved passages of Scripture.  Most everyone knows the line, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  But even for those of us who do not know the words by heart, we have seen the marker “John 3.16” all over – at sporting events, on road overpasses, on tattoos, and on Tim Tebow’s face.  Even Episcopalians, who can rarely quote scripture citations, know this one.

What is funny about the popularity of this scripture verse is that this particular verse is one of the more complicated verses in scripture.  On the surface, the verse sounds full of promise:  God so loved; God so loved the world; God gave; So that believers should not perish; Everlasting life.  All those words sound wonderful.  They make God sound loving and generous.  They make life seem full of promise.  Why would you not want to parade John 3.16 around in celebration?

John 3.16 sounds wonderful until you really start to dissect the verse.  John 3.16 makes God sound loving, generous, and caring.  Until you read that one pesky clause, “everyone who believes.”  So God will love, be generous to, and give everlasting life to anyone in the world – as long as they believe.  But what about those who do not believe?  We all know lots of people who do not believe in Jesus Christ.  They are our neighbors, friends, family members, and classmates [colleagues].  Do we really believe God does not love them too?  All we have to do is read John 3.18 to learn that “those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God.”

Now I do not know about you, but although this scripture lesson is known worldwide, and is beloved by many, I have never really felt comfortable with the implications of this passage.  I think two things either happen when we really start to look at this passage.  One, by recognizing that we are the “believers” of this passage, we both feel a sense of pride and acceptance and a sense of pity for the non-believers.  We feel bad for the non-believers, but we do not really know how to console them.  So we secretly just feel grateful and blessed, and wipe our hands clean of the non-believers.  They will have to fend for themselves.

The other way that many of us approach this text is that we sweep the verse under the rug.  We know a lot of other verses about God, and those verses tell us of a God whose love is much bigger.  We might imagine that there is hope for all the faiths of the world, and even for those without faith.  We prefer to focus on the part that says, “God so loved the world,” knowing the vast diversity of that world, preferring to imagine that our God is not a judgmental one, but a loving one.  And even if we concede that there might need to be some form of judgment, we will leave that judgment up to God.  We will let the business of who is in and who is out be God’s business, and we will just go on loving everyone anyway.

Either of those ways of thinking – the one where we pity the non-believers or the one where we brush aside the text – ignores the fact that those approaches come from the assumption that we are the insiders in this situation.  As Christians, we know that we believe in Jesus Christ.  So we must be the ones that John is talking about – the ones that God loves and saves, and to whom God gives eternal life.  But the problem with that underlying assumption is that the assumption puts us in a place of comfort, when, in fact, I think John 3.16 is supposed to put us in a place of discomfort.

In John 3.19-20, Jesus says, “…This is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.  For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed.”  Instead of sitting on our comfortable “believer” cushion, I think what this passage is really inviting us to do is to recognize how we are in fact the people in the darkness.  We have been talking a lot in this Lent about our sinfulness – our separation from God and neighbor.  Our Lenten disciplines are meant to be ways for us to contemplate our sinfulness, to repent, and return to the Lord.  None of us is spared from being sinful.  We have all fallen victim to pride, envy, and hatred.  We have all had malicious thoughts and done hurtful things.  We have all forgotten about God, making our lives about our own wants and desires.  And I am sure many of us have had something in our lives that we have wanted to hide in darkness.  None of us feel entirely comfortable exposed, being bathed in light.  Like that makeup mirror that is just a little too bright, not many of us are ready to be seen under the bright light.

There is a book and movie series out called “Divergent.”  It is a dystopian, futuristic series that captures what happens when the world destroys itself and the society that is rebuilt to prevent such destruction from happening again.  Though the premise is a bit complicated, one of the pieces about the series I find fascinating is the presentation of one group who believes that the truth is the answer to solving the world’s problems.  So all the members of that particular group must take what is called a “truth serum.”  When they take the serum, they must then be asked a slew of questions before all the members of the group, including extremely personal and private questions.  The idea is that if all your secrets are exposed, there is nothing left to hide behind.  Everyone is on equal footing and no one can hide their true selves.

I imagine the world in that group from the Divergent series as being like the one that Jesus is talking about today.  We are people who would avoid a truth serum – who would avoid the light – because we do not want all of ourselves exposed.  There are some things – those really dark, embarrassing, or shameful things about our lives – that we do not want the world to know.  We like the dark, if for no other reason than we can hide those ugly parts of ourselves there.  In fact, we like keeping a little bit of darkness in our lives.  And I imagine most of us would quite quickly decline a truth serum.

If we can admit that truth – that part of us that prefers there be just a little bit of darkness for us to hide in occasionally – then we might be able to see why John 3.16 is so brilliant.  If we can be humble about our own darkness and our own sinfulness, and approach God in that way, then Jesus’ words are much more meaningful.  For those of us who have a bit of darkness in us, God so loved us that God gave up God’s only Son so that we might have eternal life.  In this way, John 3.16 is refreshing.  When we realize that we are the ones in darkness, John 3.16 does not make us feel self-righteous, pitying others.[i]  Instead, John 3.16 is a harbinger of light.  In fact, John 3.16 calls us into the light with the promise of love, forgiveness, and grace.  Once we get ourselves out of the “insider’s circle” this passage becomes much more redemptive and much more full of hope.  And perhaps that is the point.  Not to make us relieved because we are on the inside looking out, but to make us relieved because we are on the outside looking in – and being beckoned in by our Lord and Savior.  If we can come to see this passage in this light, then I say go ahead and get that tattoo, embroider that wall hanging, and even make that poster for the big game.  Perhaps your artwork will remind you to keep turning from the darkness and turning into the light.  Amen.

[i] This idea shaped by the conclusions made by Paul C. Shupe, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 120.

Lenten hope…

Tags

already, Easter, God, hope, Lent, not yet, repent, sinfulness, spring, weary, winter, work

Picture credit: http://www.hellopamevans.com/selling-home-spring-smart-move/

Today is a day I have been longing for for at least a month.  The church bells are playing, the sun is shining, the temperature is rising, and I can see bits of grass under mounds of snow.  In some ways, the dreariness of winter has been most appropriate.  We are in Lent after all, so the feeling of weariness seems appropriate.  Any hint of spring would only tease us into a sense of relaxation – something we do not associate with Lent.  And yet, today feels like a little taste of Easter – a promise of what is to come in just a few short weeks.  For some reason, I really needed that taste today.

Of course, we always live our lives in a state of “already and not yet.”  As Christians we understand that the kingdom of God is already present and not yet fulfilled.  We live in a strange state of in between – of knowing that the Savior has come, and yet a time of waiting for the return of the Messiah.  It is an odd reality, and yet how we also understand this odd time.

Lent can be that way too.  We already know what happens after the crucifixion of Jesus.  Therefore staying in the moment, staying in the state of repentance and thoughtfulness about our sin feels contrived or forced – like pretending those birds aren’t chirping when we clearly hear them.  But that is also the beauty of Lent.  In fact, I think that is why we can experience Lent at all.  How else could we agree to delve into the depths of our sinfulness, our separation from God and others, without the promise of the Resurrection.  The Resurrection does not excuse us – it simply anchors us so that we can do the hard work that we need to do during Lent.

So today, I will breathe in the little promise of Easter.  I thank God for the gift of sun on my face and the trickle of melting snow.  And then I will get back to Lent with a little more energy and hopefulness.

Homily – Exodus 1.15-21, Matthew 5.13-16, Emily Malbone Morgan, February 26, 2015

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Emily Malbone Morgan, equality, homily, Jesus, Martha, Mary, power, Puah, role, Shiphrah, Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross, strong, women

Today we honor Emily Malbone Morgan, founder of the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross.  Born in 1862 in Hartford, Connecticut, Morgan came from a prominent family with deep Anglican roots.  Through a friendship with a homebound friend who looked to Morgan for spiritual companionship, Morgan began to gather a small group of women for prayer and companionship; this group evolved into the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross.  Morgan worried about working women who were tired and restless but had little hope for a vacation.  She formed summer vacation homes for the working women and their daughters for physical and spirit renewal.  She also formed a permanent home in Massachusetts, which is still the headquarters and retreat center for the Society.  Today the SCHC has 31 chapters and over 700 Companions in six countries.  The Society lives a life of prayer and contemplation rooted in tradition and has led to commitments to social justice for women.

What I love about Morgan is that she comes from a long line of strong women.  We hear about some of these women in scripture today.  First we hear of Shiphrah and Puah, the midwives who clearly disobeyed the king and saved many children.  Then we hear of Martha and Mary, who both witness to the full and complete spectrum of the ways women participate in the life of faith.  What I love about all three sets of women is that they boldly lived into their faith, sometimes taking on risks, thinking outside the box, and ultimately shaking up expectations of what men and women can do.

These last couple of years, the issue of the way women are treated around the world has become a hot issue.  Wage discrepancies, and susceptibility to violence, oppression and societal limitations have all come under criticism.  As legislation around women’s bodies arises, many women have fought back.  What I love about our lessons today is that both God and Jesus praise the women who step out to seize power and equality.

For the midwives, Shiprah and Puah, God rewards them for their loyalty and bravery.  For Mary, Jesus praises her for taking what was usually only given to men – the privilege of sitting and listening.  Today our lessons and Morgan’s witness invite us to consider our own role in inequality and God’s invitation to be an agent of change.  Amen.

Homily – John 15.1-11, Martin Luther, February 19, 2015

Tags

fruit, God, homily, Jesus, life, Martin Luther, pruning, Reformation, vine

Today we honor Martin Luther.  Born in 1483, Luther’s intellectual abilities were evident at an early age.  Though his father wanted him to go into law, Luther at age 22 entered a monastery and was ordained a priest two years later.  After five years, Luther became professor of biblical studies at the University of Wittenberg.  His academic work led him to question the selling of indulgences by the Roman Catholic Church.  On October 31, 1517, he posted on the door of the castle church in Wittenberg the notice of an academic debate on indulgences, listing 95 theses for discussion.  The Pope and Luther went back and forth, but Luther refused to recant.  Three years later, Martin was excommunicated.  When Luther was threatened with arrest, his own prince put him in a castle for safekeeping.  There Luther translated the New Testament into German and began to translate the Old Testament.  He also worked on worship and education for the church. He introduced congregational singing of hymns, composed hymns, and put together liturgies.  He also assembled catechisms for education.  He wrote prodigiously and died more than 20 years later.

A lot of us think of Luther today and remember him as being victorious.  Luther was a key leader of the Reformation and we think of him only as a winner.  But we forget that much of his life was lived under threat.  Though excommunication might seem like no big deal to us today, Luther’s very life was in danger because he stood up to the corrupt church.  And even though he evaded the authorities, the only “life” he had was while being hidden away in a castle – basically an imprisoned life without the ill treatment.  We remember Luther as being the victorious reformer, but that work was not without some suffering.

What Luther learned was that life is a constant time of pruning.  Jesus says in our gospel lesson, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.  He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it a bear more fruit.”  Branches that are not bearing fruit, God removes.  But even those branches that are producing are trimmed back.  No branch is free from the cutting process – all will be affected.

In many ways, that is what Lent invites us into today:  a time of clearing and pruning.  There are certainly things in our lives that are not bearing fruit.  Though it may feel painful, those parts of our lives need to be cut off.  But even where we see hints of growth, we need to do some uncomfortable trimming to get to real productivity.  We many not write songs, produce liturgies or write education catechisms like Luther did in his pruning time in the castle.  But if we can endure the clearing and trimming, imagine how much greater our flourishing can be!  Amen.

 

Homily – Deuteronomy 15.7-11, Charles Freer Andrews, February 12, 2015

Tags

Britain, Charles Freer Andrews, Deuteronomy, dignity, friend, God, homily, human, India, neighbor, poor, social justice

Today we honor Charles Freer Andrews.  Born in Birmingham, England, in 1871, Andrews was ordained a priest in 1897.  Turned on to social justice efforts in college, Andrews became interested in the cause of social justice throughout the British Empire, especially in India.  In 1904, he began to teach philosophy in Delhi, where his students and colleagues began to refer to him by an Indian name which means “Friend of the Poor.”  Andrews openly criticized the racist treatment of the Indian people by British officials, and in 1913 he successfully mediated a cotton worker’s strike which could have become violent.  He travelled to South Africa to help Indians there.  While there, he met Gandhi.  Andrews was impressed by Gandhi’s teaching of non-violence, knowledge of Christian faith and practice of peace.  Andrews and Gandhi worked together to negotiate matters of Indian authority with the British government.  Andrews also took up the Indian cause in Fiji, and eventually returned to England where he taught about social justice and radical discipleship.

I am sure Andrews was no stranger to our text from Deuteronomy today.  The passage is all about the sabbatical year, where debts were forgiven.  The passage warned the faithful against scheming around the rules of the seventh year.  Knowing that year was approaching, people were hesitant to give to those whose debts would be quickly forgiven.  Instead, the people of God are told, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.”

In many ways, St. Margaret’s is a faithful witness to opening our hands.  We are constantly collecting food and basic toiletries, giving gifts to the less fortunate and growing produce to feed the hungry.  We give liberally and ungrudgingly, as the text suggests.  But in all our good works, I sometimes wonder whether we could be labeled “Friend of the Poor,” as Andrews was.  It is one thing to give good or money to the poor, a necessary and important effort, but giving to the poor is not the same as being their friend.  Being a friend means getting involved, hearing their stories, finding out how they got to where they are today.  That work is much harder and messier, yet more meaningful.

Last week a story broke about Pope Francis and the Vatican opening up a new set of showers and a barber shop for the homeless of Rome.  The facility is beautiful and the homeless are treated with dignity and care.  The Vatican is trying to live into a life that embraces the poor and recognizes their humanity.  Now whether they become “friends of the poor” is something that is yet to be seen.  We all have that same invitation – to see the dignity of every human being and then to try to be their friend.  Good luck with your work!  Amen.

Tea time…

Tags

gift, God, Holy Spirit, Lent, listen, tea, time

Photo credit: http://www.lovethispic.com/image/45062/cup-of-tea

This Lent, I am reading the book The Way of Tea and Justice by Becca Stevens with a book group.  To be honest, I am not sure it is a book I would have picked up on my own.  I am not super passionate about tea; I am more of a coffee drinker myself.  Tea always seems to be so labor intensive.  When I think about the time it will take to heat the water and then let the tea steep, I usually just move on to something else.  I also get a little overwhelmed with all the accoutrement: tea pots, bags verses loose tea, special teacups, etc.  A cup of tea just seems to involve the luxury of time – a luxury I have very little of these days.

The funny thing about reading this book has been the fact that my other Lenten discipline has been slowing down and paying more attention to the movement of the Spirit in my life.  The irony of being a person who chose a discipline about slowing down and yet has no time to slow down and have a cup of tea is not lost on me!  I can only imagine that God is equally amused by my constant inconsistencies and unwillingness to relent and return to God.

The good news about the dual practices is that reading about tea has reminded me of the many occasions that drinking tea has been quite special in my life.  As a young adult, my dad introduced me to Earl Gray tea.  To this day, something about the smell of bergamot creates an automatic sense of nostalgia and calm.  In college, one of my closest friends introduced me to all sorts of teas.  She loved the accoutrement of tea – she even had a collection of tiny dishes that were simply meant for holding your used tea bag.  We had many a long conversation over cups of tea, and those memories have been flooding back this Lent.  And of course, one of my favorite memories from my Choral Pilgrimage in England was the afternoon that I enjoyed high tea with three of my fellow pilgrims.  That afternoon hangs in suspension for me as a moment of deep connection with the other pilgrims as well as sacred rest from an otherwise hectic schedule.

Sometimes we choose Lenten disciplines, but sometimes they choose us.  I think I had the right idea about slowing down this Lent and being more attentive to the voice of God.  But it has been my fellow readers who unintentionally pushed me to keep that work through reading.  Though I am certainly enjoying reading about the tea industry and one woman’s quest to bring a sense of justice to her ministry through tea, I am also enjoying the way my reading is bringing me back to God.  The time it takes to brew and enjoy a cup of tea has become an apt metaphor for the time that I need to carve out for God.  Well played, Holy Spirit.  Well played!

Sermon – Mark 8.31-38, L2, YB, March 1, 2015

Tags

community, cross, deny, discipline, God, Jesus, Lent, love, Sermon

How many of you have taken on a discipline for Lent?  I have been talking to many parishioners and most of us are taking on something.  Either we have agreed to say our prayers more regularly, we are reading a book or scripture more often, or we are doing some kind of community service or good deeds.  Many of us have committed to playing Lent Madness, which sounds like fun, but still involves reading about the saints each day.  In this way, our Lenten disciplines are burdens – things that we might not make time for normally or are just things we don’t really enjoy doing, but we do them hoping to learn something.  Or perhaps, as we hear Jesus say in our gospel lesson, we are denying ourselves, taking up our crosses, and following Jesus.

To be honest, I am not sure most of us know how to deny ourselves.  We are trying to deny ourselves by following Lenten disciplines.  We are denying ourselves chocolate.  We are denying ourselves more time on Facebook or Instagram so that we have time to learn about saints.  We are denying ourselves extra sleep so that we have time to get up and exercise.  But I am not sure that is what Jesus means when he says we should deny ourselves.  I think what Jesus means when he says we need to deny ourselves is that we need to realize that life is not all about us – our needs, our wants, our plans.

Several of our teens and pre-teens are going through a program called Rite-13.  One of the parts of that program is a liturgy in which we bless a transition they are facing in life – from being shaped primarily by their parents to being shaped by their peers and community.  In that liturgy they will stand on one side of the church with their parents at the beginning, but then they will move over to the other side of the church with their peers – symbolizing this change.  For the teens, I think they often enjoy this part because the move toward their friends feels like freedom – finally getting rid of their overbearing parents.  But what many teens do not realize is that although the freedom is indeed fun, that freedom is also scary.  They are stepping out of a place of safety and protection – out of a situation where it is “all about you” – into a place of vulnerability and trust – into a situation where it is not going to always be about you.  In fact, very often they will need to tend to the needs and concerns of their friends more than their own needs and concerns.

This is what taking up our crosses and denying ourselves really means.  Taking up our crosses means finally seeing that our faith is not just about us and God.  Our faith involves a community that needs us.[i]  And as we learn more, we will find that not only does our church community need us, but the community outside of these walls needs us.  So denying ourselves and taking up our cross means that we might need to be the Christ-like person who helps someone without enough food.  Taking up our cross is going to mean that we might need to be the Christ-like person who stands up for someone else, either by stopping a bully or by advocating for systemic change.  Taking up our cross is going to mean that we might need to be the Christ-like person who talks about their faith even when talking about God might make you seem un-cool.

Julian of Norwich, who was actually one of the saints who almost won Lent Madness a few years ago, once said, “If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me.  But in falling and rising again we are always kept in that same precious love.”  We are not guaranteed a carefree and safe path just because we are a part of a community and because we offer love.  But love, which we find in the gift of community, will be with us whether we succeed or we fail.[ii]  One of my favorite pictures is from of a friend of mine who has two boys.  When the second was born, the older brother came to the hospital to see his new younger brother.  My friend took a picture of her older son holding the younger son.  The look on the older son’s face was priceless – the look was a look of utter distain.  In his grimace you could see anger, jealousy, and a sense of betrayal.  That one picture captured perfectly what most of us feel when we realize we are not the center of universe.  For many of us, that is what taking up one’s cross feels like.  We deny ourselves, valuing the community over ourselves.  When we do that, we will often feel the same way that older brother felt.  But what I also know is that eventually, the older brother came to love the younger brother – he found a playmate, a confidant, and a friend.  Like Julian explained, in loving outside of himself, that brother was not always protected from getting bruised up from time to time.  But he has always found love – in others, and especially in God.

That is our invitation today:  not to deny ourselves the simple pleasures in life, but deny ourselves the privilege of being the center of universe.  That work is not always fun, and sometimes we will feel like that older brother with a grimace on our faces.  But sometimes, when we really let go of our focus on ourselves, we find something a lot greater – a love that we could never experience alone – a love that can only come through God and our neighbor.  In that way, taking up our cross and denying ourselves does not seem so bad.  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “A Different Kind of Denial,” February 22, 2105 found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=3542.

[ii] Becca Stevens, The Way of Tea and Justice (New York: Jericho Books, 2014), 46.  Stevens quotes Julian’s words found in Revelations of Divine Love and adds her own commentary.