Rainbow Covenants

I wrote this sermon for Calvary UMC based on one I wrote back in 2014 for Presbury. It is a story that has captivated me and I've been trying to move out of the way enough for the Holy Spirit to share it.

Scripture:

Hebrew Bible: Genesis 9:8-17 (NRSV)

Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.”

God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.” God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.”

Gospel: Mark 1:9-15 (NRSV)

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

Sermon:

Let us pray:

Patient Teacher,

we give you thanks for this scripture even when the stories within it are hard.

Open our minds today. Open our hearts.

Write your covenant within us, so that these stories we read become more than just children's bedtime stories. May they become our story. Amen.

How many of you have heard the story of Noah's Ark before? It is somewhat familiar, I know. Most of us if we have any religious background at all growing up hear about it as children. Look at the animals in the ark! we say, mimicking the lion's roar. When I was a kid, we used to read these silly stories written from the points of view of the animals on the ark. We used to laugh and laugh at Noah trying to keep the elephant away from the mice they were so terrified of. But when you take a moment to read the Genesis account, you realize that this is not a nice happy story. Lots of people die. Earlier in chapter six of Genesis, the scripture actually says that God was sorry God had made humankind. It is a heartbreaking, confusing, terrifying tale. But from the terror emerges this beautiful promise, a covenant, one of many that God makes with us throughout our history as people of faith.

You may have heard a tale of terror this week if you turned on the news. Or maybe you didn't. Can something really be a tale of terror if it replays over and over again to no effect? But surely what happened in Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Florida on Wednesday was the kind of evil that would make God regret creating us.

When I think of the story of Noah and the ark now it is the idea of God who is angry and frustrated and done with the world that sticks with me. It sticks with me because it is an image that makes me uncomfortable. And because it is a feeling I understand. I scrolled through images of the victims, read stories about them, heard the nonsense from Washington about thoughts and prayers but no action. And I thought, you know what we need, God. Another flood. How can we possibly come back from this? How can we rebuild in a world where so much has gone so wrong?

But God does not work like we do, thank goodness. Well, in the story of Noah, God does take on some decidedly human tendencies, which makes me wonder that we decided the destructive flood came from God because humans have a capacity for violence we would like God to have as well. I'm not so sure God does share those qualities. But there is something in this story that God does share with us. And that is grace.

God is able to redeem even the worst of situations. A flood was coming, everyone would die, but maybe God could still save us. And God did. Noah built the ark. Teachers and coaches gave up their lives for their students. First responders saved who they could. And now survivors are claiming their voices and standing up to politicians who refuse to enact common sense gun laws to try and save more children from the horror they lived through.

We may think in these stories of terror that God should pack up shop and move on. But if God does that, then we don't have to change either. We get to wash our hands of the world, stop trying to figure out how God is calling us to change it. We don't have to sit there and be grieved over loss as we move toward new life anyway.

But God has made a covenant with us. Set a rainbow in the clouds to remind God’s self, supposedly, but also to remind us: new life is possible.

I see the story of Noah as a resurrection story. Sure, it is a much more depressing resurrection story than the one we will read in forty days, but it is about new life that comes out of the horror of death. Not because of the horror of death--- God doesn’t need destruction to bring about new life. But new life is always possible for humanity. The thing that makes Noah’s story a Lentan one is that it covenants with us, requiring us to rebuild. To try again. To take forty days to dig deeper into spiritual disciplines, to fast and pray, and turn our lives back to God.

So already I have suggested in this sermon that maybe it wasn't exactly God who caused the Flood like the text says. Now I am reading a responsibility for us into the covenant we read this morning. If you look carefully at the covenant we read, God covenants with us that humanity will never again be destroyed by a flood. There is no response for humans. It isn't a “if you do this, then I will do that” kind of covenant.

Maybe the Gospel story explains this part better. In the scripture we read from Mark, Jesus has been baptized. He emerges from the water, the heavens open, God names him beloved, and then he is immediately driven into the wilderness. We can presume he is still wet, that’s how quickly he moves. He doesn't have time to celebrate his belovedness; he gets right to work in the wilderness, relying totally on God in the midst of difficulty to discover what his identity as Beloved means for his work here on earth. God never says, “This is my Son, the Beloved if he does all the things I want him to do.” But Jesus knows that his identity as Beloved of God means that he has a responsibility to help live into the kindom of God.

And so do we. God's covenant with Noah says there is no such thing as too far gone. We might not believe God, but that is what the rainbow tells us anyway. There is no violence, no grief, nothing that is too far gone that God can't eke some good out of it. And we, as beloved children of God, baptized as Jesus was, also have a responsibility to work with God to eke out this good. We are agreeing to work with Jesus to renew the world from the inside out.

I was talking to Pastor Beth this week about this passage from Noah. When I read it now, I picture less the art we find in children's Sunday school rooms, and instead I picture an experience I had the last time I was in Bosnia.

Bosnia, to those of us who remember the news in the 1990s, is one of those places that seemed to once mirror the wickedness of the world that must have so disappointed God. During the war, neighbor killed neighbor, concentration camps were established, mass rape was used as a calculated tool of war. Today, the violence is not rampant though tensions still course along ethnic lines, but corruption still defines the country. There is apathy, disgust, hopelessness. A dark rain flooded the country with a hate so powerful that it is a wonder anything is left, but even today stagnant water left over from the war seems to cover so much. Bosnians know the wickedness of humankind. They have wondered if God can ever pull them out of the violence they have endured--- if they are too far gone. Bosnians know what Noah felt, looking over the wickedness of his fellow humans as those first fat drops of rain fell on his nose.

That wickedness is always very apparent in graveyards in Bosnia, especially if you can look across and see just how many graves are marked 1993 or 1994. And one day, I found myself in one of these graveyards. I had gone with my friend Đana to visit her family because it was Bajram (or Eid), a family, food, and faith-oriented holiday. First, though, we stopped at the community graveyard; during Bajram, one also says prayers for the dead. The cemetery sits almost precariously up on the mountain, rows of skinny white graves sticking out into the sky. We stopped the car and got out to see Đana's cousin Dijana and her family were already there. Dijana and Đana covered their heads with these huge scarves and went over to the graves. I stood around awkwardly trying to keep Dijana's three-year-old and Đana's two-year-old from falling down the mountain. But at one point I paused and looked up at the two cousins praying, their veils flapping in the mountain breeze, at this little line of graves all with the last name Domazet--- most of whom I knew. Đana's father was killed during the war in 1994, her mother from a heart attack when she was in her early forties, her grandmother from Alzheimer’s, and her aunt from cancer. Đana was crying, and reached over to touch her mother's grave. So much loss in such a young life. So much pain. The floodwaters in life had taken so much from her. And yet, yet here we were. The sun was shining, the grass was so green, and two toddlers were running around hand-in-hand laughing.

Đana rebuilt her life. She decided that the destruction of war, the pain of grief, the constant fear of loss would not keep her from living. Noah rebuilt his life, built a home and planted vineyards. And many in the community of Parkland, Florida, are rebuilding already as well, refusing to let violence have the last word in their community.

Perhaps there is a part of your life that needs rebuilding. Perhaps there is a part of you destroyed by fear or apathy, shriveled by bitterness and loss. Invite God into those places this Lent. Look for rainbows, seek goodness together. Perhaps that means taking up a practice like gratitude journaling--- forcing yourself to look for the good in your life and nurture it. Perhaps that means becoming an advocate as many students are, standing up to death-dealing things in our world and working to stop them. Perhaps that means spending time in service, helping someone else to rebuild.

The rainbow covenant reminds us that God will work beside us to bring life from dead situations anywhere and anytime. Won't we choose to work with God?

Do Not Be Afraid, Mary

Scripture: Luke 1:26-38 (NRSV)

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Sermon:

Our theme for Advent comes from the words the messengers from God, the angels, be they Gabriel or a whole host, say when they appear to share the good news of Jesus' birth. Do not be afraid. Our world is a fearsome place, and we are fear-filled people, often for good reason. But the angels remind us that such fear can keep us from hearing and experiencing the good news that God is with us. Last week, we looked at the story of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist and cousin-in-law of Mary of Nazareth, Jesus' mother. His fear was so much a part of his identity he didn't believe the angel standing in front of him. This week, we are talking about Mary, and our fear that God has made a mistake and that nothing can ever change.

So as we delve into this story, let us pray:

Patient teacher, we give you thanks for the words of your messengers, and ask that they sink into our hearts today as we worship you. Amen.

Aaron and I returned from vacation just over a week ago. We went on a big European adventure for our thirtieth birthdays, spending most of our time in France, though we also spent a few days in Italy and an afternoon in Switzerland. We drove, well, Aaron did anyway, to get from place to place because we figured we would see more that way. Anytime we saw a really cool old church or old castle, we could just stop on a whim. Except every town in France has an old church or castle. That may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much. I distinctly remember at one point Aaron pointing out the window and saying, “Oh look. Another castle.” Now castles sometimes cost money to go inside, so we didn't always go in those. But churches are free. So we visited a lot of churches. And most of them, being Catholic, seem to be named Notre Dame, or Our Lady, in deference to the Mary we read about in our scripture today.

We saw so many statues, icons, and paintings of her in these churches, particularly of the moment our scripture today describes. She's always calm and serene, regal, usually reading a Bible or some kind of devotional in the Annunciation. Even if she appears small and child-like in stature, there is a calmness to her in these images that makes her seem not just older but otherworldly. And though we Protestants may complain about this veneration of Mary of Nazareth sometimes, we too are guilty of relegating Mary to a pedestal of perfection. Because the more perfect we make her, the less we feel we can emulate her.

But when I read this scripture, I don't read this Mary as this meek, ethereal being. I think she's kind of snarky. Whereas Zechariah cowered in fear and clung to disbelief when faced with Gabriel, she raises an eyebrow and points out the flaw in God's plan. In fact, reading back over the scripture in preparation for this sermon, I had trouble figuring out where such a delightfully self-confident young woman was fearful. Notice the words: perplexed, not fearful: But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Zechariah is terrified when he meets the angel. The shepherds are as well. Mary is perplexed. She is confused and has no qualms about asking the angel to explain himself. That is a bit different than fear.

It is the angel himself who brings up fear. Writer and theologian, Frederick Buechner imagines the scene of Mary encountering the angel from the angel's point of view, and in so doing uncovers an interesting understanding of where that fear comes from. He writes:

She struck him as hardly old enough to have a child at all, let alone this child. But he had been entrusted with a message to give her, and he gave it. He told her what the child was to be named, who he was to be, and something about the mystery that was to come upon her. “You mustn't be afraid, Mary,” he said. As he said it, he only hoped she wouldn't notice that beneath the great golden wings, he himself was trembling with fear to think that the whole future of Creation hung on the answer of a girl.¹

Maybe the fear in this story is not Mary's fear at all. Maybe it's Gabriel's. From scripture, we do not know much about angels, what they think. We don't know that they experience emotions like fear. We only know that they share God's message with us. But I, like Buechner, wonder. Was anyone in heaven talking to God, throwing ideas about redemption back and forth. And did anyone think the whole incarnation thing was a good idea? As Buechner points out, “the whole future of creation hung on the answer of a girl.”

One of the beautiful images of Mary of Nazareth that we encountered in France was a Mary with an intricate and expensive crown on her head and royal bearing. This is not the Mary Gabriel encountered. Mary was just a young woman, girl really. She was nothing special in the conventional sense, certainly not someone who had proven herself responsible or worthy or anything else we might consider a requirement to bear God's own self into a world filled with violence, pain, and suffering. How could one young girl bring God into this kind of world?

So maybe the fear in this story is not just Gabriel's. Maybe it's ours. Fearing that God has made a mistake. A mistake to choose a young, poor, brown woman to bear God’s own self. A mistake for God to put on flesh and dwell among us at all. A mistake to keep loving us. A mistake to keep offering us opportunities to transform the world.

Most of us, though, would never admit that we thought God would make a mistake. But we act like we do. We throw up our hands and say, “I don't know what you're trying to do, God, seems a little off, and nothing we do is ever going to change anything anyway.” And so we don't. Even with angels before us, sharing God's plan, more often than not we don't say yes, as Mary did. More often than not, we have a list of reasons why God's plan wouldn't work. We want a total do-over, to wipe the slate clean. We've given up on the world as it is. We believe changing it is impossible.

But Mary didn't. She asked questions, of course. “How can this be?” she asked, eyebrow still arched in confusion. Almost like she's saying to the angel, “You know there's a pretty big problem with your plan, so how are you going to get around that?” But when the angel answered her, she was in. Because she believed the angel. Nothing is impossible with God. This mess that our world is in is not irredeemable. God uses us, maybe not to bear Jesus in the same way that Mary did, but God uses us to bear God's self, to bring light and love into a hurting world, and to work for the kingdom that will have no end.

Now, I should admit to you that I had a rough week. I found myself crying or clenching my teeth in rage whenever I turned on the news and heard something about politics. On Friday, I read a powerful letter about moral bankruptcy in our country and in the church that made me wonder if we should just shut everything down. And then I came back to this sermon. I came back to Mary of Nazareth and her unwillingness to let fear turn to disbelief and disbelief turn to apathy. When God said, “Will you do this with me?” She said, “Here I am. Let's go.”

And so, even though the news is filled with stories of morally bankrupt leaders, I began to think of other stories, stories like Mary's, of people who have not given into despair but instead transform the world by saying, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord.” I want to share one such story with you.

Tarana Burke is a name that has come up recently in the news.² She is the founder of the Me Too campaign ten years ago, recently taken up on social media and exploded. An actress used this campaign, writing, “If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote 'Me too.' as a status we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.” The hashtag exploded everywhere and got people talking about the epidemic of sexual violence in the country, and even creating cultures in some places where that violence is no longer tolerated. Tarana said that the campaign evolved out of her own experience. She said the simple words, “Me too,” are so powerful because someone said that to her. She is a survivor, as well, and those two words helped her in her healing, and so she has been able to help others in their healing. We still have far to go, so far it may seem daunting and impossible. And in some ways it seems useless, as some senators are being forced to step down over allegations of harassment but others are possibly getting ready to be voted in regardless of similar acusations. How easy it would be to let our fear that nothing will ever change, our fear that we are powerless keep us from breaking the silence! But Tarana didn't let that fear keep her locked in shame. She spoke out, and through her campaign and survivors sharing with survivors, she shared God with a hurting world.

Now perhaps it's not exactly a fair comparison, to say that either Mary of Nazareth or Tarana Burke's stories are about a simple response of hope in the face of fear and despair. After all, Mary's “Here am I” launched her into a pregnancy outside of marriage and a motherhood that would lead to watching her son die on a cross. Tarana Burke's “me too” has deepened her organizing work with hurting people in hurting places. You can't say, “me too” and go back to life as usual. But so often we think that if it isn't something big, it isn't going to make a difference, so why even bother? Mary's and Tarana's stories show that even simple words can be transforming in big, though difficult, ways.

Do you know of other Mary of Nazareth stories? Of people who refuse to let the fear that nothing will ever change and God's plans are crazy keep them from working with God anyway? Perhaps you may know one from history, like Harriet Tubman, or maybe from watching television and hearing of peacemakers like Malala Yousafzai, or maybe you know someone from church or school or work who has in some way brought God into the world. Find those people. Become those people. Yes, our God might seem pretty crazy at times. But, as the angel Gabriel said to Mary, nothing is impossible with God. Let's jump into the possibility together. 

 

1Frederick Buechner, Peculiar Treasures, as quotes in Maria LaSala, “Mary's Choice: What the Annunciation Story Tells Us About Moral Agency,” 19 December 2011, https://rewire.news/article/2011/12/19/marys-choice/.

2See 17 October 2017 accessed 9 December 2017, https://www.democracynow.org/2017/10/17/meet_tarana_burke_the_activist_who. See also Tarana Burke, “The Inception, Just Be Inc., accessed 9 December 2017, http://justbeinc.wixsite.com/justbeinc/the-me-too-movement.

Finished: A Good Friday Sermon

This year Presbury UMC worshiped with Lord of Life Church (ELCA) for Good Friday.


Scripture: John 19:25b-30 (NRSV)
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfill the scripture), “I am thirsty.” A jar full of sour wine was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the wine, he said, “It is finished.” Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

Sermon: Finished
Let us pray:

Patient teacher, we hear this story year after year. But even though it may be familiar to us, we ask that the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts startle us into transformation and new life. Amen.

Jesus was dying. The women watched as he, already brutalized, was dragged through the city. They watched as the nails went into his hands, as the cross was lifted up. Their eyesight may have been blurred as they wept, their hearing may have been obscured by their own wailing, but they knew what was happening to their beloved teacher, healer, and savior. They knew his life was finished, and, with it, theirs as well.

We have not been to public executions. They are considered barbaric, though of course this week I learned that the state of Arkansas prepares to put seven people to death in ten days because the drugs they use in executions are set to expire. And of course, you can see plenty of footage on Youtube documenting police shootings in our own country. And of course, we hear almost daily it seems of bombs being dropped, on our behalf we are told, in other parts of the world. But while with these reminders we may catch a glimpse the shame of public executions, the senseless violence of it, most of us do not really understand it. But we do understand pain. And the women at the foot of the cross in the Gospel of John are like we have been at one point or another or maybe like we are now, consumed by our own pain. Wondering how our lives could go on.

 And while the women stood there, hearts breaking, helpless, angry even, Jesus said, “It is finished.” And then he died. So what is finished?¹ His life? We know that not to be the case. His work? Well, I don't know. Have you ever met someone needing healing, redemption, salvation? So then “it” couldn't refer to sin either, since we know there is still some sin left in the world, right? Maybe “it” meant pain, his and others? The women at the foot of the cross could tell you otherwise. We could tell you otherwise. 

Like so much of the Bible, the statement “It is finished” is open ended, resisting easy answers. So you may read it differently than I do. Tomorrow I may read it differently than I do today. But today, I think that Jesus didn't mean all pain was over when he declared, “It is finished.” He didn't mean sin was gone. We read this statement as an ending, but instead it is a beginning.²Even as he was dying, Jesus was promising us a new way to live.

You see, in the Gospel of John, “while the world hurls forth the worst it has to offer, Jesus remains unfazed and triumphant."³ Can you imagine what the women at the foot of the cross felt when they heard Jesus' words? They were despairing and fearful, but he was calm and confident. He wasn't belittling their pain, though; in fact, just a few verses earlier in our scripture, he encouraged them to continue to lean on one another when he told the beloved disciple and his mother that they were family now, saying, “Woman here is your son.” But death did not shake him the way it was shaking them. Because he trusted in God's transforming power. And he declared, even though no one could see it yet, that the old life was gone and new life was beginning already. It is finished.  

Frankly, I always preferred the Jesus of the Gospel of Mark, who cries out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). I want a God who knows my pain. But in the Gospel of John, the women are the ones who know my pain. They are huddled together, broken. But Jesus reaches out to them, not allowing the ugliness of the world defeat him and inviting us not to let it defeat us either. He does not let sorrow have the last word, or pain. In the Gospel of John, new life does not begin in the empty tomb, but even before, even from the cross. Because Jesus shows us possibility where we might never see it. Before the resurrection, he shows us how to remain triumphant even in the midst of pain.

I don't know about you, but this is a lesson I need in my life. Presbury knows that my family and I have struggled a lot in the past year. This is not the first, but the second Easter in a row that I would have been pregnant if I had not miscarried. And I have still not yet experienced the promise of new life. I cannot see it. I don't have certainty that next year or the year after we will finally have a baby. The bitterness gets so overwhelming at times. But Jesus in the Gospel of John on Good Friday tells us we don't need certainty. And he tells us that we don't have to let pain overwhelm us. He tells us it is finished. He doesn't tell us how or when; when he says, “It is finished,” he invites us even in the midst of our pain now, today, to live differently.

So what has to be finished in your lives, and also in our world, for you to walk in this new beginning Jesus has made the way for? On a post-it note, I want you to name, on one side, what needs to be finished in your own life, and on the other side in the world, for us to walk in new beginnings. Maybe it is bitterness and jealousy, like I struggle with after miscarriage. It could be a sin that needs to stop controlling your life. It could be a toxic relationship or a job that keeps you from walking in new beginnings. And on the other side, what needs to be finished in our world? Let us trust Jesus' declaration that it is finished, even when we can't imagine otherwise. I want you to write it down and come forward and nail it or just post it to the cross. We will leave those things there, and prepare our hearts to follow Jesus into a new life trusting the old is finished and there will be--- that there is already--- a new beginning before us.

 1The idea that follows riffs on the commentary by Randall C. Bailey, “Good Friday,” Preaching God's Transforming Justice: A Lectionary Commentary, Year A, eds. Dawn Ottoni-Wilhelm, Ronald J. Allen, and Dale P. Andrews (Lousiville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013), 192.

2Trygve David Johnson, “Homeletical Perspective on John 18:1-19:42,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year A, Vol. 2, eds. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Lousiville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 301 and 303.

 3Mary Louise Bringle, “Homeletical Perspective on John 18:1-19:42,” Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B, Vol. 2, eds. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Lousiville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 309.

A Tribute to My Mother-In-Law

We lost my husband Aaron's mother a day before her fifty-sixth birthday and a week and a day before Aaron's thirtieth birthday. This is what I shared at her celebration of life. 

I am Shannon Sullivan, Bonnie's daughter-in-law. Or Ms. Bonnie, as I usually call her. What can I say--- it's hard to break habits from high school. We all know the stereotype of the relationship between mothers-in-law and their daughters-in-law, but it probably won't surprise you to know that Ms. Bonnie was not like that. In fact she supported me and defended me and continually checked in to make sure that Aaron was treating me all right. Even though my sisters insist that I am the reacher and Aaron is the settler in our relationship, Ms. Bonnie--- and David too--- always looked out for me. “That Aaron better be spending time with you instead of always going to the airport!” she would say to me.  

The first time I went to Aaron's house as his girlfriend, Aaron and I went walking through the woods and came back with the bottoms of my jeans caked in mud. She was mortified, worrying that my parents would never let me come back. So she made me borrow a pair of Aaron's pants so she could wash mine. And his pants fit me. Kind of a terrible experience for a fifteen-year-old girl who knew little about body positivity, but I later joked that we would have to get married because we would save so much money on pants if we could borrow one another's! But it was just the first of many ways she took care of me--- of us--- even while she made us laugh, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Mr. Mike told us the other night that she knew Aaron and I would get married when we went away for college even though we went to different colleges. But she never said anything to Aaron because she never wanted to influence him. Sure, she gave advice, but she always wanted us to make our own decisions and supported us no matter what we did.  

But it was her faith that really was transformational. There's a story in the Bible about the relationship between a mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law. It's the book of Ruth. In it, a woman named Naomi loses her husband and both sons and decides to move back to her own country. One daughter-in-law kisses her and wishes her well but another clings to her and ends up going with her to Bethlehem. That one is Ruth, whose name means friend, and Ruth really took care of Naomi in the fog of her grief and nourished her into life. Bonnie was more like Ruth was in this story for me, and I was more like Naomi, especially this year. Naomi at one point says change her name to Mara, because Mara means bitter and she thinks God has dealt bitterly with her (Ruth 1:20). I felt a lot like Naomi this past year. Now, Ruth's life was one big struggle too, but she does not give up, as Naomi actually does and I felt like doing at times too. And Ms. Bonnie never gave up either. 

I was one of the people who helped care for my mother-in-law on and off for the past two years. I would come over to her house to help with meals and moving around, but I would bring my grief baggage and my frustration with God and my hopelessness that I would ever have a baby. Ms. Bonnie always had hope, for herself, for me. She was always there to give me an encouraging word. She would often say that it was so hard because she couldn't do anything, couldn't offer anything because she was so weak. Carrying hope for someone who doesn't have anymore is a pretty big offering. So is prayer. She and Mr. Mike would pray for Aaron and I every day, even while Aaron and my prayers were often focused on ourselves because of how isolating our grief and anxiety can be; she didn't let her physical isolation and even later her depression keep her from directing her energy for prayer towards others. She was a true friend, a woman who was always giving, always loving, in spite of her own pain and in spite of my frequent bitterness.  

Chaplain Allen Seigel at Upper Chesapeake read Proverbs 31:10-31 as Ms. Bonnie was dying. Verse 29 says, “Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.” Bonnie did surpass them all. And even though I am still thinking of changing my name to Mara sometimes, I give thanks to God for Bonnie's friendship, her guidance, her prayers. And I know the love of Christ that she taught us will still sustain us as a family always.

After the flood you set in the clouds a rainbow: more reflections on miscarriage

This content has been moved to: 

https://www.shannonesullivan.com/blog/setintheclouds

On the Day of my Ordination

In college, I told one of my friends that when I grew up I just wanted to love people. He made an inappropriate comment at the time (ahem, Jeff), but I have pursued ordination as a way to live into that calling to just love people. And on my ordination day today, I find myself feeling like the most loved person in the world.

It has been a difficult day for me in many ways. My grandmothers should be here. My baby should be filling up my womb. They aren't and it isn't anymore. And I am being ordained into a church that has refused God's call on T.C. Morrow, who should have been to be commissioned today but was not. So the love I have felt today has been threaded through with loss, the loss caused by grief and the loss caused by injustice.

But even in that loss I have felt God's arms wrapped around me as family and mentors, friends from high school and seminary, colleagues, parishioners and co-ministers drove all the way here to celebrate with me, whoop-whooped in support as Bishops prayed over me, commissioned me to take on the mantle of trouble-maker and justice-seeker, and covered social media with well-wishes and encouragement. I have felt hope again, for myself, for the church, for our world. But that hope is not just a nice, warm feeling, but a charge to keep moving (thank you Bishop King for preaching exactly the words I needed to hear and also for mentioning Star Wars). Because God has work for us to do.

God Is Never Done with Us

This is what I preached on the second word for a 7 Last Words Service at Clarks United Methodist Church. Eight United Methodist Churches (with 7 pastors) came together to remember the crucifixion: Cokesbury Memorial, Presbury, Union, Salem, New Beginnings, Union Chapel, Clarks, and New Hope Christian Fellowship UMCs. 

Scripture: Luke 23:32-33,39-43 (NRSV)

Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with Jesus. When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left.

Photo by Aaron Harrington, 2015

One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!" But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." 

He replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

Sermon:
Let us pray:
Even on the cross, you show yourself to be our patient teacher. In the midst of ridicule and torture, you offer words of hope to another who was in need. In the midst of real human ugliness, you speak of paradise. So even in the midst of the stresses in our own lives, the grief, the fear, may you speak to us again of paradise through the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts, and help us to call out to you in search of your kingdom. Amen.

Last month, some of my friends and clergy colleagues began circulating a petition with the hashtag #kellyonmymind. Kelly Gissendaner, Georgia's only female death row inmate, was scheduled to be executed on March 2. The execution was first postponed because of snow, and then because of cloudy drugs, almost as though some Georgia state officials were just looking for reasons not to execute her. Yet the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles who can actually grant her clemency has no interest in doing so, despite the prayer vigils and demonstrations and phone calls.

You see, Kelly readily admits that the act that put her on death row was heinous. As she has said in a much-quoted clemency petition:

There are no excuses for what I did. I am fully responsible for my role in my husband’s murder. I had become so self-centered and bitter about my life and who I had become, that I lost all judgment. I will never understand how I let myself fall into such evil...

And we know from Georgia's actions in 2011, that even in the face of evidence of a wrong conviction, which Kelly admits hers was not, the state has no qualms about executing people. Troy Davis was executed in spite of pleas for clemency around the world and continued maintenance of his innocence.

Kelly is not innocent. But her story has garnered so much attention because of the repentance at the heart of her story. Kelly has transformed completely, from this self-centered and bitter person to a redeemed and renewed child of God. Testimony after testimony of guards, inmates, and theology students who studied alongside Kelly speak to her transformed life.

So when I imagined the criminal beside Jesus, I imagined Kelly. I imagined the injustice of the Roman death penalty much like the injustice of the death penalty in Georgia. I imagined the wailing of the women following the cross to sound like the wailing of those who have called for life for their friends like Troy and Kelly. And in my imagining I knew that God's justice and mercy are nothing like Georgia's. And nothing like ours.

Now, I do want to point out that nothing in this scripture indicates that the criminal in Luke's gospel repented. We often refer to him as the repentant criminal, but he never asks forgiveness for what he has done. He doesn't express remorse. He doesn't say the sinner's prayer or confess Jesus as his savior. We can assume, given what we know of Rome historically, that the criminal was a political one, a revolutionary, but we do not know for sure. Luke's description of the criminal gives us absolutely nothing in the language of today's traditional understandings of salvation with which to explain what this man did to merit paradise. But what Luke does show us in this encounter between Jesus and the criminal is that God's justice and mercy, God's saving work, are not limited like our understandings of them are.

God is never done with us. God can work with whatever we give, no matter how small. God does not give up on us. When Kelly was coldly planning her husband's murder, God did not give up on her. When her husband was murdered and Kelly planned to get his insurance money, God did not give up on her. When Kelly was sentenced to death by human courts, still God did not give up on her. And finally, she realized that. And she accepted God's love for her.

Now, you might agree with me that God does not give up on us, but you may disagree that the criminal crucified alongside Jesus did nothing to accept Jesus. He might not have confessed Jesus as Lord, but he did reach out. He stood up for Jesus against the derision of the other criminal. He admits his guilt, though he does not go into detail. And then he addresses Jesus. He asks Jesus to remember him. It may not be what we expect, but what Jesus' response shows us is that it is enough. God's saving power is enough.

So when we start to forget that God's saving power is enough, whether because we have given up on ourselves or whether because we have promoted ourselves as gatekeepers for who can and cannot be admitted into Paradise, Jesus reminds us from the cross "how deep the Father's love is for us." "How vast beyond measure," it is. As Kelly writes, "I have learned first-hand that no one, not even me, is beyond redemption through God’s grace and mercy. I have learned to place my hope in the God I now know, the God whose plans and promises are made known to me in the whole story of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus."

Here we find ourselves on Good Friday, men hanging from crosses, the fear clinging around them as though it was fog. It was an evil place, soaked in the blood of so many. But even there, no one was was beyond redemption. Even there God's saving power was enough. "Jesus, remember me," one criminal said, finding it more difficult to speak as he was painfully, slowly robbed of his breath. And Jesus replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be wth me in Paradise." You, even you, will be with me. For God is never done with us. 


References Read in preparation for the sermon:
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/markdroberts/series/the-seven-last-words-of-christ-reflections-for-holy-week/
http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2015/march-web-only/let-kelly-gissendaner-live.html
http://umonfire.blogspot.com/2011/09/theyre-trying-to-kill-my-friend.html
http://candler.emory.edu/news/releases/2015/03/candler-holds-vigil-for-kelly-gissendaner.html

An Epic of Hope

My partner is one of the people who gives me the best feedback on my sermons, and after a few weeks of trying to get back in the swing of things after returning home from vacation, I finally came home to an unprompted, "That was a good sermon today!" So, after having shared with with Presbury United Methodist Church, I bring it to you here to read, to critique if you wish, and (hopefully) to find a little hope. 

(If you are wondering where the reading comes from throughout August and September, we will be following an adapted Narrative Lectionary.)

Hebrew Bible: Genesis 45:1-15 (NRSV)

Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, “Send everyone away from me.” So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children’s children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. I will provide for you there—since there are five more years of famine to come—so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.’ And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt, and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here.” Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.

Sermon:

Let us pray:

Patient teacher, we give you thanks for all the ways you guide us,

especially for the examples of those like Joseph who show such forgiveness and compassion even in the face of violence and betrayal.

Guide us today. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts

reorient us so we can live lives overflowing with love

as Joseph did. Amen.

Last week I gave you all homework. Raise your hand if you did it! For those of you who either weren't here or forgot, the homework was to write down every day this week one blessing you received and one way you were a blessing throughout the day. We have been reading the past two weeks about God's promises to us through characters like Noah and Abraham. God told us that God blessed Abraham so he would go and be a blessing. Honestly, I found the homework more difficult than I expected it to be. While I can easily find ways I have been blessed, choosing a way I was a blessing felt uncomfortably like bragging. It also reminded me how even as a pastor, my days can too easily be spent without putting myself out there to really be a blessing to strangers. I don't know if that was your experience. But such difficulty reminded me that maybe I am a little hard on some of these ancient figures from the Old Testament. This call God has placed on our lives to be a blessing to others is not easy even without the added complications of conflict we see in Genesis alone.

The book of Genesis, the first book of the bible, is, frankly a depressing one. God created us and called us good. Then we sinned in the garden and had to leave. Then Cain killed Abel and things went totally downhill into a chaotic, violent, ugly mess until the flood came. But the destruction so upset God that God made a rainbow to remind us that life is too precious. But even with the rainbow and the new start, we continued to mess up. God showered blessings upon Abraham, but Abraham still lied and cheated. And God's whole promise to Abraham was that Abraham would be blessed so he could be a blessing! But Abraham had even more difficulty with that call than we do--- and so did his descendants. Jacob, his grandson, lied and cheated and encouraged violence within his own family by the way he valued some sons and wives and devalued others. The ugliness rivals Game of Thrones, for those of you who watch the show or read the Song of Ice and Fire series.

To look at our history as a people of faith through the bible story alongside our own struggles to be a blessing...it is all a little depressing. All God asked is that we show each other a little love, a little compassion, and instead we are greedy and self-serving or even just lazy. Brian D. McLaren, a pastor and public theologian, writes that “[t]he book of Genesis would be a tragic epic of despair,” that indeed would give us little hope for our own situations, if not for the end of the book: the story of Joseph.¹

(Some of you were probably wondering when Joseph would be coming in here!) His story really begins in chapter 37 of Genesis, the first son of Jacob's favored wife and so Jacob's favorite son. Now Joseph, as much as I will praise him later in my sermon, is not perfect by any means. He is one of those annoying kids who doesn't realize how pretentious he is. I'm glad my sisters aren't here in worship this morning or they would tell you that I used to be(am?) a lot like Joseph in this way. He tattles on his brothers, he has dreams about his whole family bowing down to him and he doesn't keep said dreams to himself. He prances around in ostentatious clothing, which, in his defense, was his father's fault for buying him the fancy coat. But as annoying as he was, and as insufferable as his father must have been fawning over him, no one deserves the treatment that his brothers give him.

Joseph's brothers are classic bullies. They are obviously hurting, but instead of trying to break out of the cycle of hurt, they choose to hurt someone else instead. Joseph. They throw him into a pit, speak of killing him, but then decide to sell him into slavery. Afterward, they soak Joseph's fancy coat in blood and go to their father, allowing him to believe his beloved son was dead. This is a horrible, heart-wrenching story. And poor Joseph, as though his life wasn't bad enough, he tries to live as ethically as he can as a slave and still finds himself wrongly imprisoned!

But still Joseph does not break, and eventually he becomes Pharaoh's right-hand man. God gives him the power to interpret Pharaoh's dreams of a coming famine, and Pharaoh gives him the power to prepare and prevent starvation. And soon, Joseph's own brothers find themselves in Egypt at Joseph's own feet pleading for a little food to ward off starvation. They do not know who he is, but he knows exactly who they are. And then something amazing and beautiful and hopeful happens. Joseph, remembering the blessing of his father's love, looking at the blessing that here he was a slave who rose to prominence, looking at the blessing that in the midst of famine Egypt had plenty--- Joseph becomes a blessing. In McLaren's words, “Joseph refuses to imitate the hatred of his rival brothers. Instead, he returns to the imitation of God whose will, Joseph knows, is always benevolent.”² He shows us that we aren't doomed forever to keep on messing up and failing God's call to love our neighbors, to bless one another. He shows us that what God asks of us is actually possible, even in the worst circumstances. He forgives his brothers. He feeds them and cares for them and reunites his family.

Now, Joseph's brothers committed a egregious sin. It would not do anyone any good if Joseph just saw them again and welcomed them in with open arms. He was abused by his brothers! But when he saw his brothers again, he was safe, in a position of power so that, if his brothers refused to repent, he would not have to worry about them committing another violence against him. Also, because they did not know he was their brother, he was able to scare them a bit, to see if they would treat their brother Benjamin badly as they had treated him so badly. But he saw they had changed. They were no longer bent on violence and destruction. And so they were able to receive the grace he offered, to receive the blessing.

I read a story once about this kind of compassion and blessing in the face of sin. It is a story from South Africa. I know not many of you are familiar with South African history, but you may remember hearing the term “apartheid” before. The government of South Africa, run by the white minority established apartheid, officially introduced in 1948. Apartheid is a word that means “apartness,” and was a system of violent racial segregation not unlike Jim Crow in our country. In it, however, people of color were not considered to be citizens at all, did not deserve any rights at all, and so most services like medical services were inferior to those for whites. People of color were to be constantly reminded of their so-called inferiority, and they lived in constant fear of violence at the hands of their white oppressors.

When apartheid was finally overthrown in the 1990s, leaders like Archbishop Desmond Tutu came up with a creative and life-giving way to bring justice to the country that would allow them to acknowledge the human rights abuses that were committed while breaking the cycle of violence. They established the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission to bear witness to, record and in some cases grant amnesty to the perpetrators of crimes relating to human rights violations, as well as to determine reparation and rehabilitation.

There are many amazing stories about the commission, and I will share one with you today.

In the days of apartheid, seven youth were killed by the South African military in an ambush. One of the men who participated in executing the youth, who were lying wounded on the ground, testified before the Commission. In the room were the mothers of these young men. After he finished testifying, the mothers were asked if they wanted to say anything. The spokeswoman for the group of mothers said that they did want to speak. She turned to the young man and said, “You are going to listen to our anger. Sit there and listen.” One after another, these mothers spoke of the pain they had suffered. Then, after all had finished talking, one of the mothers turned to the man, who was totally crushed, and said, “Come here. Come here; let me hold you. Let me forgive you. I have no son, now. But I want you to be my son, so that you will never do these things again.”³

Like Joseph, these women did not say to the men that what they did was okay. But rather than returning violence with more violence, they showed love. They blessed the man who had sinned. And that blessing helped him turn away from sin. That blessing gave him hope.

So today I want you to remember that as difficult as being a blessing can be, as difficult as breaking cycles of violence and poverty and apathy and sin can be, repentance is possible. Let us go forward from this place and chose not to return sin with more sin. Let us go forth from this place like Joseph choosing to be a blessing even though it may be difficult.

1Brian D. McLaren, “How the Doctrine of (Un)Original Sin Can Help Christians Be Less Sinful,” Why Did Jesus, Moses, the Buddha, and Mohammed Cross the Road? Christian Identity in a Multi-Faith World (New York: Jericho Books, 2012), 112.

2Ibid.

3Thomas Porter, “The Last Supper: Naming the Conflicts and Giving Bread and Wine,” Conflict and Communion Reconciliation and Restorative Justice at Christ’s Table, ed. Thomas Porter (Nashville, Tennessee: Discipleship Resources, 2006), 23.