Sermon: "Merry Little Christmas"

King Street UCC. Danbury CT

January 2, 2011

Matthew 2:1-12

“On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”

Matthew 2:11

“Merry Little Christmas”

Christmas 2010 is over.

Many of us have already taken down the decorations,

packed away the ornaments, and either dragged the tree out to the curb or stuffed it back in its box for another year.

We’ve stopped wishing each other “Merry Christmas” and instead have switched to wishing each other a “Happy New Year.”

The colored lights, the swatches of red and green, and silver and gold that have decorated our landscapes since Thanksgiving, will soon disappear, leaving behind the whites and grays of just another winter’s day.

That giddy feeling of anticipation that prevailed in the weeks leading up to Christmas has dissipated.

The magical spell which leads strangers to smile at each other, hold doors for one another, and to actually be civil to each other in their daily interactions, has worn off and soon we’ll be back to the standard exchange of impatient glares, judgmental comments, and general crankiness that we reserve for those who invade our space, cut us off in traffic, or keep us from getting where we need to go as fast as we’d like to get there.

Yes, Christmas 2010 is over  - according to our cultural calendar.

But according to the Christian calendar the season of Christmas still lives on.

The celebration of the birth of Christ does not end on Christmas day.

It continues right through to January 6^th, the day we traditionally set aside to commemorate the arrival of the Magi – those wise visitors from the East who came bearing gifts for the child King whose birth was announced via the appearance of a guiding star in the heavens.

But in reality since our cultural Christmas begins earlier and earlier each year, with sale ads appearing well before Halloween even arrives, by the time December 26^th rolls around we’re ready to have it all over and done with.

We’re ready to pack the whole thing away and get back to our normal routines.

But not everyone is in such a rush to put Christmas behind them.

While we in the Western Church celebrate the birth of Christ on December 25th, many Eastern Orthodox churches still follow the older Julian calendar and celebrate Christmas on January 7^th. 

So while we’re packing away our decorations and returning to work and school, their celebration is just beginning.

In Ireland, January 6^th is known as “Little Christmas” – in recognition of the fact that this is the day the wise men arrived marking the end of the Christmas season.

Also known as “Women’s Little Christmas,” the Irish celebrate this day by honoring the work that women do to prepare for the Christmas holiday.

On January 6^th it is the tradition for Irish men to take over all the household chores while the women spend the day in the pubs with their friends.

Alas, we have no such traditions in our country; in fact January 6^th often passes by unnoticed even among those of us who attend church on a regular basis. When I was growing up, January 6^th was the day that we took down the Christmas decorations, but few of us honor that tradition any more.

Some of us may know that January 6^th marks the first day of the season of Epiphany, the season that celebrates the revelation that the human Jesus was God made manifest in this world.

Yet because January 6th often lands in the middle of the week, many churches choose not to recognize it at all. The story of the Magi is wrapped up into the Nativity story on Christmas Eve, and the season of Epiphany begins instead with the story of Jesus’ baptism.

Before we know it Christmas is over and the next time we encounter Jesus he is a full-grown adult.

But we’re not there yet.

On this day, January 2^nd, we’re still waiting for the Magi to arrive.

We’re still living in anticipation of the gifts they have to present to the Christ child.

In a way it’s fitting that we’ve already moved on from Christmas Day.

It makes sense that we’ve already packed the decorations away, including the Nativity Sets that adorned our tabletops.

Because those Nativity Sets complete with adoring shepherds and the baby Jesus lying in a manger often contain one glaring inaccuracy.

They often contain the figures of the Three Wise Kings arriving to present their gifts to the newborn Jesus.

But according to the gospel text that we heard today, that’s not how it happened.

The Nativity story that we all know with the pregnant Mary, the overcrowded inn, and the baby Jesus lying in a manger is from the Gospel of Luke.

The story of the Magi is from the Gospel of Matthew.

And Matthew makes it clear that the Magi arrived to visit not the infant Jesus, but the child Jesus.

They found him not in a manger, but in a house.

And it is soon after their arrival to visit this new child King, that King Herod ordered the killing of all male children under the age of two.

Because these Wise Men arrived not at the time of Jesus’ birth, but nearly two years afterward.

I had to laugh when I heard one pastor admit that at Christmastime when he enters the homes of his family, friends, and parishioners he takes note of whether they have a nativity set.

And if the nativity set contains the figures of the Magi, he immediately removes them and places them across the room, or in another room entirely, to symbolize the time and distance that separated them from their actual arrival.

In fact, the children in his congregation have now made a game of “finding the missing Wise Men” who inevitably disappear whenever their pastor visits their homes.

But the timing of the Magi visit is one of those details that we tend to take liberties with, just as we do with other aspects of the story, as the children discovered earlier.

In reality, we don’t know how many wise men there were, where they came from, or whether they were kings, astrologers, or philosophers.

But we like to place crowns on their heads, gold chains around their necks, sit them on camels, and give them names because it helps us to visualize their role in the story. 

But there is one detail of the story that we do find in Matthew’s gospel:

We know that the wise men brought gifts - and that detail fascinates us.

Much has been made about the meaning of the gifts and what they symbolize, and how the rareness and assumed high value of the gifts made them all the more special when presented to the Christ child.

Just like those television commercials that try to convince us that no one has ever asked for a smaller less expensive gift at Christmas  – and thus we should be buying each other cars  – we tend to equate monetary value with meaning.

If the Wise Men had brought Jesus a simple clay pot, a pair of homemade sandals, and a handful of mustard seeds, the gifts probably wouldn’t have even garnered a mention in the story.

This would be the first century equivalent of getting socks and underwear for Christmas. I can just see two-year-old Jesus ripping open the packages and glaring at the Wise Men with a look on his face that says, “C’mon guys, where are the real presents?”

So we’re happy to read in Matthew’s gospel that the Magi brought Jesus some good stuff: Gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Even if we’re not exactly sure what frankincense and myrrh are, they sound exotic so they must be expensive.    And actually they were.

But the reason why these gifts are mentioned in the story has more to do with their symbolic meaning then their monetary value.

Gold was a gift that was often given to Kings, thus the implication was that even as child, Jesus was to be worshiped as a King. 

Frankincense was incense that was burned by the priests in the Temple, thus the implication here is that the boy Jesus was being recognized as a revered religious leader. And Myrrh when combined with oil was used to anoint the bodies of the dead before burial.  

This gift was meant to be a foreshadowing of Jesus’ death and resurrection. 

Ironically, with our focus landing so solidly on the gifts that the Magi brought we tend not to notice that the presentation of these gifts is the last thing that the Magi do in the story.

The gifts are mentioned in a single verse, almost as an afterthought.

Because the reason why the Magi came from so far away to visit this boy King was not to present him with gifts, but to pay him homage.

The word “homage” is mentioned not once, but three times in this passage.

In the original Greek the word used is proskuneo, which literally means to kiss the hand, and in common usage meant to prostrate oneself at the feet of a king, to lay oneself down, to give oneself over out of respect for another. 

When the Magi first entered Jerusalem, they asked, “Where is the child who has been born the King of the Jews, for we have come to pay him homage.” 

When King Herod summoned the Wise Men, in his deception he asked them to return to him and reveal the location of the boy king, so that he too might pay him homage.

And the first thing the Magi did upon entering the house and seeing the child Jesus with his mother Mary, was to kneel down and pay him homage.

Only after this act of worship – the kneeling down, this payment of homage - only after giving themselves completely to Christ, do the Magi present their material gifts.

And oh how I wish it were our tradition to do the same.

I wish we could separate December 25^th from January 6^th.

I wish we could keep December 25^th as the day we honor the birth of Christ, the day we pay him homage by giving ourselves completely over to him and pledge to live our lives just as he did.

And I wish we’d come to celebrate January 6^th as the day that we emulate the actions of the Magi by exchanging gifts and paying homage to the image of Christ that we see in each other. 

Because the way it is now, we get so caught up in the gifts that we miss the part about paying homage.

We are so enamored with the gold, and the frankincense and the myrrh we forget that the first thing we’re supposed to do is kneel.

At no time is this more evident then when something happens to disrupt our idea of what Christmas is meant to be.

A working father of six spends his entire paycheck on gifts for his children only to have them stolen out of his car, “I guess my kids won’t have Christmas this year,” he says dejectedly.

A woman in a refugee camp in Haiti cries out in anguish, “We're not having Christmas this year ... The children have no toys. If we don't have money to buy them clothes, how could we have money to buy them toys?”

The message that we are sending to our children, and that we have internalized ourselves regardless of our social standing, is that there is no Christmas without the gifts.

But the message of the Gospel is that the hope and they joy of Christmas is not found in the material gifts that we give each other, it’s found in the gift that God has given us by becoming human in Jesus.

God became human in Jesus to show us that we have the potential to do so much more than we think we can do, that we can be so much more then we think we can be.

The Magi prostrate themselves before the child Jesus and give him gifts that honor who he is and who he has the potential to become – a king, a spiritual leader, a servant to all.

The Magi represent the wisdom that recognizes that every human life is a journey taken in search of the One who calls us beyond ourselves into faithful service – the One before whom we are prepared to kneel, and to whom we offer the best of our gifts, flawed and unworthy though they be.

We encounter these wise men, as they kneel with supreme grace and dignity before a child who represents to them simplicity, vulnerability and poverty. They are prepared to kneel, for in their wisdom they discern the glory that is hidden in this child.

And so we too, as we’re engaged in our own human journey, search for the One who would have us be so much more than we are.

And bearing our unworthy gifts, we kneel on the dirt floor beside these Magi, and worship the child who calls us to live our lives in love rather than fear.

When we encounter the story of the Magi, once we strip away the things that come from our memory but are not in the story itself  - the crowns, the kings, the baby Jesus lying in a manger - we’re left with the image of human beings giving themselves completely over to Christ.

Laying their bodies down on the cold, hard ground while saying, “We offer our lives to you.”

And we do this by asking God to help us to discern what it is we are called to do, who it is we are called to be. 

As we begin this New Year, ask yourself, “Who is it that I am called to be?”

What is it that you are being pulled towards?

What is tugging at your soul and won't let go?

What keeps you awake at night, as you wonder could I, should I, how will I?

What is God asking of you, and are you willing to take a leap of faith to get there?

This Thursday I hope you’ll remember to celebrate January 6^th by paying homage to the Christ child.

I hope you’ll take the time to commemorate the arrival of the Wise Men and the beginning of the season of Epiphany.

I hope you’ll keep that Christmas tree up just one more day and hang a shining star upon the highest bough,

And have yourself a Merry Little Christmas, now.

Amen.

Christmas Eve wishes...

Packed away in the box that holds my Christmas decorations I have an old dog-eared copy of the 1976 Sears Christmas catalog.
The people at Sears called it the "Wish Book" - which is a very appropriate name given that there was no way my parents could afford half the stuff that was in there. As a child all I could do was "wish" when I poured over its pages.
Now, when I take it out at Christmas time and flip through its slick pages the images of Sunshine Family accessories, Johnny Bench catcher's mitts, and life-sized play kitchens bring back all the longings I once felt during Christmases past.
If only...

If only I had that doll. That baseball glove. That guitar with the flames painted on it...
Then I would be cool.
Then I would be happy.
Then I my life would be complete.

This craving for completeness didn't go away when I became an adult.
But the things I wished for could no longer be contained within the pages of the Sears catalog.
If only I had that job. That car. That house. That person whom I had fallen in love with...
Then I would be cool.
Then I would be happy.
Then my life would be complete.

Thankfully I no longer have much of a craving for "things" -
I don't have a longing for top-of-the line computer, a nicer car, or a closet full of designer clothes.
I don't even have a longing for a 5-bedroom house with granite counter tops or a $80K job with a pension plan.
And I don't envy those who have these things, or the pressure they must feel to obtain and maintain such things.
But I still have my longings.

For security. For health. For happiness. For wisdom. For compassion.  For love.

These are the 'things' that top my Christmas list.
Because I am human, and it is a human failing to want more than we have.
But these things also top my Gratitude list.
Because they are already present in my life, in many forms.

So, this Christmas Eve, as I remember Christmases past when I was disappointed because I didn't get the gift I wanted, or couldn't spend the holiday with the person I wanted, or couldn't fathom entering yet another year not living the life that I wanted, I feel the need to move away from "wanting" and to instead focus on what I have already received. 

I am thankful for my health.
For having the ability to heave myself out of bed every morning and move throughout the day relatively pain free. To be able to not just walk, but to run.

I am thankful for the home that I have.
For the roof over my head, for a warm bed to sleep in, and the food that sustains me.
And for the people and pets within it that make it a home. 

I am thankful for the opportunities that I've been given to grow.
To get an education, to do work that I love, to minister to and with others as we do God's work in the world.

I am thankful for the love that has come into my life.
In the form of family, friends, lovers, mentors, and animal companions.

I am also thankful for all the disappointments and losses in my life that have left me broken, but enabled me to grow stronger in the broken places.
For lost jobs, missed opportunities, unrealized dreams and unrequited loves.

And I am thankful for the "conditions" that I have had to overcome in my life to move in the direction that God has called me to go.
For the cleft palate that I was born with and lived with for 16 years, that taught me what it is like to not have a voice.
For the debilitating shyness of my youth that taught me what it is like to live in fear.
For the depression of my teen years that taught me what it means to have no hope.
For the gender and sexual orientation issues that I wrestled with as a young adult, which taught me what it is like to live on the fringes of what society deems "normal."
For the broken pelvis that laid me up for 5 months as an adult and taught me what it is like to lose one's independence and to have to ask for help with even the most basic things.

Most of all, I am thankful for the experience of being human - with all the joy and pain, ecstasy and grief that comes along with it.

Isn't that what Christmas is really all about?
Celebrating God becoming human.
God becoming one of us.
God being born into a creature that is completely helpless and dependent upon the love and support of others to survive.
God experiencing what it means to be one of us, so that we may move closer to God, and trust that God understands our suffering and our rejoicing. 

This is the gift that God has given us, and it is the gift that we open anew every Christmas Day.

We might not find it in the pages of the Sears Wish Book, or stare longingly at it through the glass of a shop window, but we desire it all the same.
We desire to be close to God.
We desire a God that knows what its like live in our skin.
We desire a God that so loves us SO MUCH that He/She is willing to become one of us, and live and die like one of us, to save us from destroying ourselves.
That is our desire, our wish, whether we know it or not.

So, Merry Christmas Eve.
Tomorrow, our greatest wish will come true.

The Spaces In Between

Ascend

The sound of loose gravel shifting beneath my feet breaks the silence as I crest the steep hill leading up to Tiedemann Field.  Tucked away on the grounds of a private school in western Connecticut, this tumbling meadow of soccer pitches and softball diamonds is my sanctuary.  Embraced on all sides by wooded glory, the rustle of fallen leaves and the lonely caw of a distant crow are the only sounds accompanying the slow steady cadence of my own breathing.

It is here in the solitude of a Sunday afternoon that I find the room to stretch my legs, to let my mind wander, and open my heart to God.

It is here that I talk to God.

It is here that I listen to God.

It is here where the veil between the material and the spiritual, at least in my world, is at its thinnest.

When I need to talk to God, to vent to God, to rave and rant at God, I run.

The words tumble out of my head so rapidly my body is forced to propel itself along in earnest just to keep up; turning my thoughts and fears over to divine ears as fast as my legs will carry me.

When I need to listen to God, to feel the presence of God, I walk.

Slowly, methodically, attentively.

Allowing deep longings to rise, quelling the inner chatter, and listening for God in the spaces in between.

Listening for God in the spaces in between.

This is the definition of theology that resonates most with me.

We listen for God, we look for God, we feel the presence of God, in the vague, shadowed spaces that drift in between our existence in the material world and our understanding of the spiritual world.

We search for language, images, and emotions that best describe our encounters with these spaces, in an attempt to bring order and meaning to that which is otherwise indefinable and unknowable.

Theology is the bridge we build between the known and the unknown, between God and ourselves.

For some, this bridge takes on solid unmoving form, with extensive, ornate, often redundant levels, towering towards the heavens while resting on a seemingly sound and sturdy footing.

For others, this bridge to God is strung together with fishing line and cotton thread.

A seat-of-the-pants, cargo-net-like contraption with shaky handholds, unsure footing, and gaping holes in between.

Twisting and billowing in the wind.

Changing form with every gust.

At times sagging beneath one’s weight, swaying dangerously close to the jagged rocks below.

Yet manifesting enough resiliency to spring its occupant high up into the clouds on the rebound.

This is the theological bridge that best fits the way in which I encounter God.

Where language and faith are liquid.

Ebbing and flowing.

Coming and going.

Birthing and dying.

Shrinking and growing.

With a gardener’s eye pruning the excess, the unnecessary, the no longer needed.

While letting the sturdier offshoots spread at will, never quite knowing exactly where they will lead.

Theology for me flows in both the mystical and the practical.

I go to church to worship God, to be in community with others who worship God, to experience the feeling of being held up by the hardwearing bricks of scripture, tradition, ritual and sacrament.

But church is not where I go to talk to God, or to listen to God.

Instead, I come to this hilltop sanctuary.

Where leaves tumble across the grass, 

where the wind whistles in baring branches, 

where shadows and sunlight continually shift form and place, 

changing perspectives, 

altering the colors,

blurring the outlines of the world,
and giving me a fleeting  glimpse of the spaces in between.

Psalm 139: I am still with you...

I'm in the midst of writing my Ordination Paper and I've taken to praying this Psalm before I sit down to write. To remember why it is that I'm doing this.

Psalm 139:1-18

¹ O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
² You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
   you discern my thoughts from far away.
³ You search out my path and my lying down,
   and are acquainted with all my ways.
⁴ Even before a word is on my tongue,
   O Lord, you know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in, behind and before,
   and lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
   it is so high that I cannot attain it.

⁷ Where can I go from your spirit?
   Or where can I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
   if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
⁹ If I take the wings of the morning
   and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand shall lead me,
   and your right hand shall hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me,
   and the light around me become night’,
¹² even the darkness is not dark to you;
   the night is as bright as the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.

¹³

For it was you who formed my inward parts;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
   Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
¹⁵   My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
   intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
   all the days that were formed for me,
   when none of them as yet existed.
¹⁷ How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ I try to count them—they are more than the sand;
   I come to the end^*—I am still with you. 

 

 

 

November Grey

This is a familiar place.
I've been here before.
But not for a long time.

Not much has changed. I have to say.
I would have thought they would have at least redecorated while I was gone.
The sky is still a low, flat grey.
The trees have been drained of color.
Their once vibrant reds and yellows have browned and now lie in a heap on the ground.
And that pleasing crunch beneath the feet has gone as well.
The rain has seen to that.

Darkness comes early.
The light is leaving this place.
But I can't tell if it's receding...or I am.

I have that strange feeling one gets standing in the foot of the surf.
Feet sinking into wet sand as the waves wash in, and then pull out.
You'd swear you're moving along with the wave, as the sand shifts beneath your feat.
For a disorienting moment you think you're being pulled out to sea.
When in reality you have not moved at all.

I've been here before.
As a teen, in my early twenties, and again in my early thirties.
Whenever some unrequited love or desire tore into my life,
sending me spinning out of control,
and leaving a gaping hole behind in its wake.

This is November.
This is pre-Advent.
The time of waiting before the waiting.
The time of fading light, greying skies, and barren landscapes.
The time of dimming hopes.
The time when all the greenery and life that one has lovingly cultivated,
either goes dormant,
or withers and dies right before ones own eyes.


I've been here before.
But I've never stayed here longer than necessary.
December will come.
Advent proper will begin.
Preparations will be made. Hope will once again be anticipated.
The light will return to the world.


But not yet.
For now, I must decrease, so that He may increase.
Another November Grey must be endured.
With all its numbing pain and listless anguish.
For life to be born anew.

Pinch me, I'm dreaming...

My friend Marie blogged about experiencing the presence of God in her dreams and it got me thinking about how often I experience God's presence in my own dreams.

Usually I feel God in my dreams as a permeating presence which is there regardless of what it is I'm dreaming about, kind of like a Divine overlay. It's a warming, comforting, presence that comes through as a guiding voice or scripture verses that float through my dreams.
Whenever I have these 'God experiences' I can never remember the exact content of the dreams, I just remember feeling that presence throughout and I wake up feeling very peaceful yet invigorated.

The most vivid God dream I had happened about seven years ago. I was a year into my undergraduate degree and still wrestling with the call I was feeling to go to seminary. Many people were telling me that it was what I should do, but given that I was still just finding my way back to Christ after so many years away, I didn't see how I could be a "leader" when I wasn't sure where I was going myself!
That night I had a dream that was filled with images of churches, religious symbols, clergy robes, and people gathered around me listening to me speak. I remember feeling as if I was comforting them after they had experienced some tragedy. It felt good. It felt right.

Right before I awoke, in a moment of lucidness, I remember asking God directly, "What does this mean? Does this mean I'm supposed to be a minister?"

And the response I received was:
"You are to love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your strength, and all your mind."

This was not the "yes" or "no" answer that I was looking for, so again I asked, "What does this mean?"

And again I received the same response:
"You are to love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your strength, and all your mind."


Now at the time I had a vague awareness that what I was hearing was a scripture passage but having spent so many years away from the Christian church, and having been raised Catholic and thus never encouraged to read the Bible myself, this was NOT a passage that I had committed to memory. Yet this is exactly what I heard. It was loud, it was clear, and when I checked my Bible after awakening I realized that it was taken word for word from the Gospels. Which is how I knew that the answer I received to my question did not bubble up from my own consciousness. It came from somewhere outside of me.


The dream, with all its religious symbolism was for me confirmation enough that the path I was meant to be on was leading towards the ministry, but the response I received to my question let me know that entering ministry was not about the religious symbols, the church buildings, the clergy robes, or the 'good feeling' I get when I've helped someone.
It's about God.
It's ALL about God.

All of the other stuff - the symbols, the liturgy, the drive we feel to help and love one another - all of this flows OUT of the love that we have for God.

I needed to be reminded of that.
I was getting so caught up in worries about going to seminary and succeeding academically, and anxiety over whether I had what it takes to BE a minister that I had lost sight of the most important requirement: I needed to love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength.
Once I did that, everything else would come much easier.

I am now getting much closer to making my dream a reality, and in many ways I already have.
But I believe that God calls us all to be ministers.
Some of us are crazy enough to want to do it for a living, and choose it as a vocation.
But we're ALL called to love God with every fiber of our being.
And once we do, that love will naturally flow out and feed our desire to minister to each other.
As teachers, healers, counselors, preachers, and administrators of the sacraments.
Regardless of which career path we choose, with God's love in our hearts we all have the capacity to fill these roles for others, in many different ways.

We all have the ability to make our dreams - and GOD'S will for us - come true.

Wednesday Words of Wisdom

Today's "words of wisdom" relate to the most practiced yet unappreciated art that we learn here in seminary - PROCRASTINATION.
I have two papers due tomorrow, I've had weeks to work on them yet I've barely started either one. Looks like it's going to be another all nighter!
(and yet here I am wasting precious time on my blog....hopeless I tell you, hopeless!)

"Begin while other are procrastinating. Work while others are wishing." ~William Arthur Ward

"Don’t wait. The time will never be just right". ~Napoleon Hill

"Procrastination is like masturbation. At first it feels good, but in the end you're only screwing yourself." ~Author Unknown

The Altar in My World

I posted this picture of my prayer altar on Facebook today.
I had initially grabbed my iPhone to take photos of the steady stream of leaves blowing past my window. Winter made an early entrance overnight and into this morning in the form of sleet here in Boston and snow back home in CT, and I wanted to capture the frenzied dance taking place outside in the quad between the deadened leaves and the unrelenting wind.
Fall, it seems, is hanging on for dear life, as winter is determined to make its mark here in early November. Just two weeks ago the tree outside my window was ablaze in color, turning the white walls of my dorm room orange and red when the sun hit it just right.
Now it stands bare against the gray November sky, letting in more afternoon light, but blocking out less of the world then it once did.

As I readied my camera phone, a moment of calm settled outside and my focus shifted to the altar on my windowsill. I set this makeshift altar up on my first day of seminary, and other than the summer months when it travels home with me, it has been there ever since. Regardless of the many changes in the seasons that have taken place outside my window during my three years at seminary, and despite the many changes that have taken place within me, my altar has remained essentially the same, with a piece added here and there for good measure.

Cobbled together over many years and from many sources each item on the altar is there for a reason.

• The framed stained glass with the painted word "SPIRIT" - purchased ten years ago in a gift shop full of *spiritual* knick-knacks in Provincetown, Mass. It's traveled with me through four different moves. And it finds its home in a window no matter where I am.
• The mosaic cross engraved with the word "HOPE" - bought for me by my wife in shop in Southern California, how long ago, I can't remember.
• The laminated Catholic Mass card from my father's wake in December 2001. The prayer on the back begins, "Fill not your hearts with pain and sorrow, but remember me in every tomorrow."
• The Tibetan singing bowl that I purchased just last year for the Blue Christmas service I did at my field placement church. It snowed that night and only five people showed up. But the bowl sang all the same.
• The dried and whitened palm fronds from Palm Sunday services of two years passed. One (hidden behind the bowl) is folded into the shape of a cross.
• A cockle shell received in a student led worship during a class my first year at seminary.
• A conch shell taken from a healing ceremony for a friend who was battling breast cancer many years ago. We were each given shells along with the instruction to place it where we would see it every day and to offer up a healing prayer whenever we did. My friend survived her battle, but I keep the shell as a memorial for those who didn't survive theirs.
• The acorn, now dried and split, was picked up right here on campus at the end of a walk, two years ago.
• The dried and curling leaf is the newest addition. I picked up as I set off down the hill on my 2.5 hour *discernment* walk a few weeks ago. I carried it with me the whole way.
• The painted stone engraved with the word "PATIENCE" is another take-away from that same gift shop in Provincetown. The corresponding Chinese symbol is engraved on the back. Oddly enough, *have patience* is the message that I discerned on my recent 2.5 hour walk. The stone, which has been on my altar for as long as I can remember, has now taken on new importance during my morning prayer.

The remaining four stones are the functional pieces of my morning prayer routine.
I pick them up and finger them in sequence as I move from prayers of thanks and praise, to prayers for healing for others, to prayers of confession, and finally to prayers of petition for my coming day.

The orange and white marbled stone is the first stone I pick up every morning. I found it lying next a stone wall at a CT retreat center in 2005. Its jagged underside and uneven color reminds me of how *unformed* I felt when I found it. I had just made the move into a new church and a new denomination and I remember sitting on that stone wall off in the woods by myself during a church retreat, wondering where it was that God was leading me.
When I pick up this stone in the morning I start off by thanking God for awakening me, for my breath, for my movement, for my senses. My gratitude then moves out from there. For having a safe place to sleep, for the roof over my head, for having access to food, electricity, heat, and running water. For the people God has brought into my life, for the opportunities - and the struggles - that I've been given. For love and joy and Creation itself. And as the gratitude flows, the sharp edges of the stone remind me that love does not exist without pain, and joy does not exist without sorrow.

The flat, black stone is what I hold when I pray for others. Another token received at a student led worship service, its smooth surface is cool to the touch and I tend to rub it between my hands, warming it as I pray. It's wide and flat and serves as a strong stable base to lift up the sorrows and needs of my family and friends, my community, and my neighbors in the wider world.

The dark, round stone is my confessional stone. It has a heft and weightiness to it that reminds me of the burden that I carry with me always. I tend to walk and talk aloud as I *confess* before God, tossing the stone from hand to hand, releasing and receiving the burden as I go. "Bless me Father for I have sinned..." is still the mantra I cling to. This is often the longest portion of my morning prayer routine, as I talk out, and pour out, whatever it is that is darkening my soul. Whether it's a spiritual struggle, an emotional uncertainty, or a physical longing that has distanced me from God. Then I let it go, ask God for forgiveness and guidance, and say the Lord's Prayer. Knowing that I will be repeating this process the very next day...and every day.

The white smooth stone is my favorite. It is hope. As I slip it between my fingers I ask God for strength and courage to complete whatever task lies before me that day. I end my prayer time with the same prayer every morning. The Prayer of St. Francis...
"Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace, where there is hatred let me sow love, where there is injury - pardon, where there is doubt - faith, where there is despair - hope, where there is darkness - light, where there is sadness - joy. Oh Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

This entire routine can take me anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour and half, depending on how much time I have in the morning, and how much I feel the need to pray.

As seminarians, we're often told that clergy who don't make time for prayer in their daily routines are the ones most likely to burn out.
And that making time for prayer is a practice that should be established in seminary.

Having an altar is a good daily reminder to engage in that practice.
I can't look out the window and thank God for the changes I see in the seasons without standing before that altar, and thanking God for the changes I see in me.

Lead us not into temptation...

I've been distracted of late.
While I can't reveal here exactly what has been distracting me, I thought it was worth reflecting on how easy it is for us as human beings to lose focus when we're confronted with distractions, and how during these times of distraction it is that much more important that we stay in conversation with God - to keep us from wandering too far off track.

Distractions are inevitable.
God put us in a world full of shiny baubles that we find hard to resist.
We want, we desire, we covet.
We do these things so often God had to go and make not one, but THREE official Commandments to keep us from losing ourselves in our desires. Numbers 7,8, and 10 pretty much cover the spectrum of bauble desiring, stealing, and coveting.

Shiny baubles come in many forms - the latest techno gadget we can't afford, the bigger house we wish we had, the dream job that we can never seem to find, the unrequited love that tears at our heart.

We want, we desire, we covet.
Material things, experiences, people.

Of course what we're really seeking is security, happiness, and love.
And we think we're going to find it in a thing, in an experience, in a person.
And we do find security, happiness and love in all of the above.
We wouldn't be spiritual beings having a material experience if we didn't; we wouldn't be human.
But while we do derive happiness from things, experiences and people - TRUE happiness can only be found in God.
Loving God. Serving God. Discerning and doing God's will.

Which is why when we find ourselves to be overly distracted by the baubles, we need to ask ourselves, "What is it that I'm seeking? What is it that I'm missing? What is the message that God has for me here?"

Sometimes our desire and God's desire are one and the same.
But we need to pull our attention away from the bauble - the object of our desire - in order to determine whether our will is in sync with God's will.

This semester at seminary I've been learning a lot about discernment and how to put it into practice. There are many ways for us to to discern God's will by listening for the voice of God.
Centering prayer. Walking meditations. Lectio Divina. Clearness Committees.

I often go off on long walks with Jesus, picturing him walking beside of me, or just ahead of me, as we have a conversation. The rational mind may be inclined to think that both sides of the conversation are coming from within oneself, but yeah....NO.....my experience tells me otherwise. The Jesus that walks beside me often offers insights and startling responses that I had never considered. I've come to trust the process, and to trust that this is the way that God has chosen to speak to me.....Because I have chosen to listen.

The bauble still dangles before me.
The desire is still there.
God's will regarding the presence of this desire in my life is still to be determined.
But as long as I keep my focus on God, and stay in conversation with God, the bauble itself is less of a distraction.

Through the practice of discernment, the very presence of God and my acknowledgment of God's presence has gifted me with the security, happiness and love that I desire.
It hasn't negated my human desires, but I don't believe that it is God's intention to do so.
God gave us the created world and God gave us each other.
God wants us to find security, happiness, and love in the created world and in each other.
We are created in the image of a Triune God who lives in relationship with Godself.
We in turn were created to live in a Triune relationship with God, Creation, and each other.
We can't live in relationship unless we first desire relationship.
Desire is not an evil thing.
But it can easily trip us up and lead us away from God if we're not careful.

Therein lies the difficulty of living this human experience.
Shiny baubles abound.
Some we're allowed to have, because God wills it; others we are not, because God knows it is not what is best for us.

So I will continue to discern, I will continue to listen for the voice of God, I will continue to shift my gaze off my distraction so that I may better see the messages that God has dropped along my path.


What about you?
What shiny baubles are serving as a distraction in your life?

God may call us to embrace our desires, or God may call us to let them go.
And if we truly love God, we must accept God's will even if it contradicts our own.

And at no other time is the following phrase more appropriate:
EASIER SAID THAN DONE!
In the meantime, me and Jesus.......we have a lot of walking to do.

The Devil is in the Details

I was told by several people today that I need to blog more. And since I'm into that whole "God is still speaking" thing, I decided I'd better heed the suggestions (and their possible divine origin) and actually do it.
Besides I have a paper to write and a whole Communion liturgy to memorize for class tomorrow which means it's time I honor one of the original purposes of this blog: Procrastination.
I'm not home, so I can't clean the house to avoid school work so blogging is the next best thing (why didn't I think of this before??.....*sigh*.....two years of dorm room time gone to waste).

Seriously, I have a terminal case of "senioritus" this semester. I've gotten into the bad habit of starting papers at 10:00 pm on the night before they're due. So far I've managed to keep my head above water but looking ahead to the next two weeks I see a tidal wave a'comin' and if I don't get my act together I'm in real danger of getting washed out to sea.
(how dramatic.....and take note of all the lovely water imagery. You see, this is so much more interesting than writing a paper).

I have paper due next week for my Satan class that involves interviewing members of my congregation to document their beliefs about the Devil and the existence Hell. So far, every response I've gotten has been: "Yeah, I don't believe in either one.....and by the way, WHY are you taking a class on Satan in seminary?"
So now I have the pleasure of writing a 7-10 page paper on "Yeah, I don't believe in either one." Wish me luck with that.

Of course, this is not surprising. The UCC specifically, and New England mainline churches in general, are not known for espousing a fire and brimstone theology that holds that sin is punished via eternal damnation and that evil is personified in the form of the Devil. Heck, on the rare occasions that the UCC Statement of Faith is read in worship one can just feel the tension in the room as the congregation says in unison (through gritted teeth): "We...resist the powers of evil."
Evil? What is this "evil" of which you speak, and what power does it have? Evil, you see, is all in our minds. It possesses only the power that we give to it.

"Evil" is not a word that is typically part of our liberal Christian vocabulary (unless we're using it to describe George Bush or Sarah Palin). So it's not surprising that we have so little to say about it. We may talk about the evils of racism, classism, sexism, poverty and oppression, but we don't ascribe these things to some outside force. We blame them on the evil that exists within. Evil is the byproduct of our own God-given free-will. We are the cause of evil, and the potential to do evil exists within each one of us. So any "war against evil" is essentially a war against our own humanity.

Geesh, now it sounds like I actually AM writing a paper.
So I may as well go and be productive. That Communion ritual is not going to work its way into my brain via osmosis (ahhh, yet another use of water imagery...did you catch that?)

Sermon: "Mustard Seed Faith"

October 3, 2010

World Communion Sunday

“Mustard Seed Faith”

Luke 17:5-10

Since Pastor Cindy is not here today, we’re taking a hiatus from our weekly journey through Genesis and returning to the lectionary and the Gospel of Luke.

But if you want, when Cindy gets back you can tell her we got past page 9 in the Pew Bible so you can skip over all the begetting that happens in Genesis chapter 10. As in Noah begat Ham, and Ham begat Canaan….

That is unless you want a sermon on begetting….

While we’ve taken a side trip into Genesis in the past month, Jesus’ Journey to Jerusalem that began in the Gospel of Luke way back in June has continued in the lectionary. And this week we hear the opening verses of the final leg of that journey.

Along the way Jesus has continued to instruct his followers on the difficult demands of discipleship. And at this point the disciples have had more than a few opportunities to put what they’ve learned into practice. They’ve been sent out by Jesus to cure diseases, to cast out unclean spirits, and to proclaim the Kingdom of God.

And they ran into a mountain of opposition along the way.

They encountered diseases and unclean spirits in people, in the social structure, in the empirical government, and in the religious ruling body that were seemingly resistant to any cure or are too ingrained to cast out.

And at this point they’re realizing how big of task it is they have before them.

They’re starting to doubt whether they have what it takes to do what it is Jesus is asking them to do.

They’re beginning to lose hope that they will be able to continue Jesus’ ministry after he is gone.

And they’re questioning whether their faith is BIG enough to counteract all of the evil forces in the world.

And who can blame them.

There are a multitude of evil forces in the world – and whether we believe that evil is an entity unto itself, or that it’s simply the byproduct of humanity misusing the gift of free will, we can not deny that it’s difficult not to feel weighed down by the sheer volume of negativity that surrounds us.

Violence, war, poverty, oppression, discrimination, fear, hate, ….the list itself is overwhelming.

But the one thing that can counteract evil is LOVE,

Love that finds expression in the form of HOPE and FAITH.

The words hope and faith are often used interchangeably.

And while they are two sides of the same coin they are also quite different.

Hope stems from desire - we desire a particular outcome and if there is a possibility of it, we hope for it.

Faith is not a desire, but rather a knowing….it’s a belief IN something or a belief that a particular outcome will occur – it goes beyond desire, beyond the need for empirical proof that it is real.

It is born of an inner knowledge or certainty.

For example, I have faith in God, and I have faith that God will always love me no matter what.

I can’t prove that God exists, or that God loves me, but I know in my innermost being that God is a very real, very palpable force in my life, and I feel God’s love in a very real way even if I can’t explain how or why I do.

Faith is born on an inner certainty.

In contrast,

Hope is born of uncertainty.

You desire a particular outcome but you’re not certain it will turn out the way you want it.

For example, I hope that more often then not my WILL and God’s WILL will line up, but I know from experience that doesn’t always happen.

Hope and faith, while different, are linked together.

Hope, when expressed with faith, recognizes that God is involved in the process even if we can’t predict the outcome.

We may hope that things will turn out a certain way, but we have faith that regardless of how they turn out, God has our best interests at heart.

Hope without faith is simply wishful thinking, and we’re more likely to be disappointed or devastated when things don’t turn out the way we’d hoped.

But what’s even more dangerous is when we link our faith and the outcome of our hopes as if they had a cause and effect relationship.

This happens when we start believing that if our hopes do not come to fruition, then it is because our faith was not strong enough to warrant God’s favor.

I witnessed a glaring example of this linking of faith and hope only just recently.

This semester at seminary, I had a class assignment in which we were required to attend a Worship service at a church that is outside of our own tradition, to help us get a better sense of what works and what doesn’t in the context of Christian Worship.

So last week, I attended a contemporary Worship service at a local non-denominational Christian church. It’s a church that I would say falls on the more conservative or evangelical side of the theological spectrum. Using Pastor Cindy’s scale of Biblical interpretation, it is likely that the congregation at the church I visited has a higher percentage of biblical literalists then we have here at King Street UCC. But while the sermon I heard there last week may not have resonated with me theologically, I could identify with the theme of the service – the theme was Hope.

At the end of the service, members of the congregation performed what is known in evangelical circles as a Cardboard Testimonial.

About 12 members participated, and one by one, they walked out on stage, each holding a hand-written cardboard sign naming a struggle or affliction that once overwhelmed them – “Diagnosed with Cancer at Age 40” - “Unemployed for 17 months” - “Addicted to Cocaine.”

As each person reached the edge of the stage he or she then flipped over their cardboard sign to reveal the grace they had received from God - “Cancer Free at age 45” - “New Job for Higher Pay” - “Total Life Transformation.”

The congregation applauded after each reveal and it was a very powerful display for a group of folks who seemed desperate to hear the message that hope can be found in God’s grace regardless of how dire one’s circumstances seem.

In this case Hope goes hand in hand with Faith –

Having faith that God will be there for us when we’ve hit rock bottom. Having faith that God will lift us up and help us overcome whatever challenge has befallen us.

Of course we HOPE that God’s presence in our life will result in what we would name as a positive outcome – but what if it doesn’t?

And therein lies the danger of connecting hope and faith.

As powerful as those cardboard testimonials were, and as much as I stood and clapped as each person triumphantly revealed the grace that had entered their lives, as much as I wanted to shout “Hurray for you, you had hope, you transformed yourself, you survived!” ….. I couldn’t help but think of those who have hope, who have faith, and yet DO NOT feel touched by God’s grace.

What about the person who has been out of work for more than 17 months and has not yet found a job – is their faith not strong enough for God to reward them with work?

What about the person struggling with addictions who hasn’t yet garnered the strength to seek help – is their faith too small for God to notice that they are in need of a transformation?

What about the 40-year-old who is diagnosed with cancer and does not live to see her 45^th birthday – was her faith too meager, too inadequate, for God’s healing Spirit to descend upon her?

Testimonials are wonderful. They make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside and make us feel hopeful that if someone else overcame a hardship that is similar to our own then we can too.

But in encouraging these testimonials we are treading into dangerous theological waters.

It’s as if we are holding up a giant faith-ometer and measuring how much faith it takes to receive God’s grace. God’s love. God’s forgiveness. God’s approval.

We just don’t get it.

We still don’t understand that God’s love and grace is given to us at no cost, and it requires no effort on our own part.

It doesn’t matter how many prayers we say, or how many people we have praying FOR us.

It doesn’t matter how many hours we volunteer at our church, or how much money we put in the collection plate.

It doesn’t matter how fervently we call on God to help us, or how many good deeds we do in God’s name.

God’s grace is there for the taking, regardless of what we do, or say, or pray.

But we so want to believe that that is not true.

We want to believe that we have some control over our fate.

That there is something we can do to influence God, to get God’s attention, to make God approve of us so God will reward us with a new job, a new life, newly restored health or prosperity.

God is GOOD.

And that is what we say when we get that new job, that new life, or have restored health or prosperity.

But God is still good even when we don’t get those things.

It may just mean that God has other plans.

It means that our will and God’s will are not always one and the same.

It means that there is no way for us to know the mind of God.

And the size of our faith has nothing to do with the answer we receive to our prayers.

Jesus’ disciples were worried that the problems of the world were too big for their human sized abilities.

So the disciples said to Jesus, "Increase our faith!"

And Jesus replied, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you.

Here Jesus is not scolding the disciples - telling them that their faith is too small, that they lack even the tiniest amount of faith necessary to perform miraculous deeds.

On the contrary, he’s telling them that they already have it within them to do the things that God has asked them to do.

All it takes is the smallest amount of faith, a faith no bigger than a tiny mustard seed, to be in touch with the power of God.

And the disciples already had that faith – they had proven that when they answered yes to God’s call to become disciples.

And we all have that same faith as well, that same power of God with in us.

We all have that mustard seed faith.

Whether we’re clergy or congregant, whether we’re life-long Christians or stepping back into a church for the first time in years, or the first time ever.

Faith does not come in sizes – small, medium, and Grande!

Faith comes only in one size. You either have it, or you don’t.

And if you’re talking to God, if you’re asking for God’s help, if you’re arguing with God because you feel as if you just can’t get a break, and its not fair, and why can’t God send you a little good fortune for a change…and you’re starting to doubt whether God is even listening…

If you’re doing all those things, if you’re living in relationship with God then you have faith.

And that faith is plenty big enough to uproot a big old mulberry tree and replant it in the middle of the ocean.

It’s big enough to move mountains.

It’s big enough for you to enact the change in the world that you want to see.

Because you see, we may feel as if we have no control over what happens in our lives, and in many cases, we don’t. Some things we just have to leave up to God and trust that God will provide for us in the long run.

But there are plenty of things that we do have control over, and that’s where the power of our faith comes into play.

Even if we can’t change the circumstances of our own lives, we can change the lives of others.

Like the disciples, our teeny tiny faith gives us the power to cure disease, to cast out demons, to proclaim the Kingdom of God.

We do this every time we sit with a sick friend, help a loved one find their way out of hopelessness and despair, or share our experience of God’s love and forgiveness with someone who desperately needs to have both in their lives.

We are a people who share a mustard seed faith.

A faith that is small when it is planted within us, but grows beyond our wildest dreams when it moves outside of us.

There is much evil in this world. There is much that is broken and diseased.

But when we ask God to increase our faith so that we might fix that brokenness, the answer we receive is that we already have all the faith that we need to do so.

When we call out to God and say, “Why don’t you DO something?”

God responds, “I did do something. I made you.”

We are called to become the answers to our prayers.

And we are called to serve each other in community.

Which is what we do every time we come together around this table...

(proceed to Communion)