Mountaintops, the Force, and Faith: More Reflections on My Ordination

In United Methodist tradition, ordination happens at Annual Conference (you can read a summary of our annual conference here or here) through the laying on of hands by bishops. My experience was a blessing, especially because in addition to my wonderful bishop, the bishop who ordained my mother and another bishop were present. The bishop who preached the ordination service preached the exact sermon I needed to hear. But I also like how in other traditions the local church has more of a role in the ordination service, and how it is more personal. So the Sunday following my ordination, I designed the service with a nod to our ordination service to include my local church, Presbury United Methodist Church, who has had a pretty big part in shaping me as a pastor after all, and share my call story.

Scripture: Matthew 28:16-20 (NRSV)
Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Sermon:

Let us pray:

Patient teacher, we give you thanks. We should always start with thanks because no matter how low in the valley we may feel, and no matter how steep the climb up the mountain can be, there is always something to give thanks for. So we do. We thank you. And we ask through the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts this morning that you may help us always to give thanks for your presence all around us. Amen.

In our scripture today, Jesus directs his disciples to go up a mountain. Mountains have great symbolic importance in scripture. One of the names for God that you will find in the Hebrew Bible and you may have heard in praise songs is El Shaddai. There are a few different translations for this name, especially some interpreted as a feminine name for God, but one of the usual ways we translate it is God of the Mountains. It is a name that symbolizes power and majesty, as mountains also illustrate power and majesty. Mountains are also the site where pretty important things happen in the lives of people of faith. Remember that guy Moses we sometimes talk about? Well, he was called to lead the Hebrew people to freedom when he was on a mountain. Later, he received the Ten Commandments when he went up a mountain, Mount Sinai or Horeb. In the New Testament, Jesus takes Peter and James and John up a mountain to pray and he is transfigured before them. His face and clothes glow and Moses and Elijah appear beside him. God speaks, revealing to these disciples that Jesus is God’s beloved son and they are to listen to him.

Throughout the history of our faith, even modern day history, mountains are synonymous with God’s presence and power. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s last speech given before he was murdered. He said: 

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live - a long life; longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

Powerful words. Mountaintops are a place of vision, where Rev. Dr. King saw the kindom of God or the Promised Land, saw God’s intentions for us and was moved to continue God’s work no matter what he may face.

So mountains are important physical and symbolic sites for us as people of faith. And one mountain in particular in our scripture today served as both physical and symbolic in the disciples own journey. At this point in the story the disciples are in a valley. Valleys we have also heard of before--- does the verse, I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, sound familiar to you? Jesus has resurrected by the time we get to our story today, he has appeared to women, and they've shared what he told him with the disciples, but some doubted. The pain and horror of Jesus’ death is too fresh. But no matter their hurt and confusion, they go up the mountain anyway, and there they meet the risen Christ. Some still doubt. But they meet him all the same. Jesus does what he always does. He teaches, gives them direction, loves them. Some of them are finally getting it. Some still aren't. But then he says: And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.

I've preached on this verse before, and within the last two years, so it's probably bad form to preach it again. But I'm going to anyway. Because that's the key to everything. I am with you always. God is with us in the valleys and on the mountains. God is with us in our worship and in our doubt. God is with us when we are joyful and when we are despairing.

I have experienced this in my own life. My call to ministry, which I have also used in a sermon fairly recently--- it's terrible to be ordained for a day and already reusing sermons! Ah well. Anyway, my call to ministry happened after a sojourn in the valley. God had called me to be a missionary. When I was fifteen, I had such a transformational experience on a mission trip to Bosnia that I understood God to be calling me to similar work in my adult life. I planned to go to Cameroon to study abroad and my parents would not let me go, which felt like a betrayal by God since my mother was also my pastor. I studied abroad in France instead, and while that was an amazing experience, it was also lonely. I was confused. I didn’t understand why God would call me and then wouldn’t open doors for me to live out the call (now of course, as I go on our AppalachiaService Project trips I see God is, but that’s another story). All this to say: I was nineteen and in a very dark place spiritually. When I came back to the states, I lived in DC and would not have gone to church except someone told me just to try a church called Dumbarton. Dumbarton is a radical place, a church that explicitly welcome all people regardless of sexual identity or gender expression. This was a place where anyone could lift up personal prayer concerns and joys in the same moment one could plead for prayers for far away war-torn countries. It was a church where people could open up their hearts and use their hands and feet to do the work of Christ in the world. I joined their young adult group that met in the Methodist building on Capitol Hill to do bible study together and talk about science fiction. And even though I was still mad at God, even though I still didn’t hear God’s call on my life anymore, I felt myself moving out of the valley and slowly back up the mountain. 

An ordained elder attending the church who was working at a faith-based, non-profit invited me to Student Forum's MOSAIC service, which in that year was held in DC. MOSAIC is the young adult ministry working for a fully inclusive United Methodist Church. This is not just about sexual identity but about welcoming people of all backgrounds and races and ages, about helping us as a church to truly reflect the diversity of the body of Christ. It was there that I could no longer deny God's call on my life.

The lights were dim, the chapel small but filled with warm bodies swaying slightly to the music from the guitars. And my friend walked up to the altar where communion lay and she took the bread and broke it. It was rainbow challah bread. And at that moment I felt like I belonged, I felt that this was home. It was a feeling of completeness that I wish for everyone. And I knew in that moment that God was calling me to be like my friend, breaking bread and building community in such a way that all people feel welcomed and loved. 

Now, as I always say when telling my call story, there were plenty of times before May of 2008 when God called me. People in my home church will tell you that they knew I was called when I was in elementary school. My mother knew when I was in middle school. The agnostic and atheist I lived with in DC at the time knew it. Heck, I remember looking a little at seminaries when I was in France--- I knew it but just wouldn't admit it. This is how the call on our lives works--- and we all have a call, whether or not it is to ordained ministry. God is always calling us because God is always with us.

And there have been valleys and mountaintops since. My experience of the exam for becoming a provisional elder was emotionally awful and followed by the ugliness of General Conference 2012, I wasn't sure I was going to stay Methodist. And then I went to Deer Creek and Mt.Tabor, and they reminded me that God has given me gifts for ministry. They have a gift for teaching pastors, and they took a tired, nervous young woman who was frustrated with the church and even a little frustrated with God, and you turned her into a confident pastor.
And I have been in a valley since my miscarriage. Maybe even before, frankly, because of our battle with infertility before we even got pregnant. And I certainly am not far away from that valley yet. But the overwhelming love I received yesterday--- the cards and texts and messages and posts about the live stream on top of having almost my whole immediate family, people from my home church, people from Mt. Tabor, people from Presbury, friends from high school, friends from seminary, congratulations from colleagues--- that was a mountaintop when I heard again the call to go therefore and make disciples. People all around the world need to feel that kind of love, so if I'm feeling it I can't keep it bottled up! I need to go, therefore, and share that love.

Bishop King, who preached the ordination service, told us we have to keep moving. So that is my invitation to all of you. When you are in those valleys, keep on walking. Try looking for higher ground, if you can, but keep on walking. Because the Force is with you always. I mean, God. God is with us always, to the end of the age. 

 

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.

A Forsaken God

What follows is a sermon on the Fourth Word for a community Seven Last Words service. Seven United Methodist Churches (with 6 pastors) came together to remember the crucifixion: Cokesbury Memorial, Presbury, Union, Union Chapel, Clarks, and New Hope Christian Fellowship UMCs. As usual, I wish I had more time to work on it...there are a few places that seem rough and not quite as pointed as I would hope. But the Holy Spirit spoke anyway. 

Scripture: Mark 15:33-39 (NRSV) 
When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. (34) At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Elijah.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.” Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” 

Reflection:
Let us pray:

Even from the cross you are our patient teacher. You turn to scripture when words fail. On this dark night, when words fail us, may the whispers of all our hearts and the words of my mouth proclaim your love for us, declaring in the words of the Psalmist that, indeed, God has done it! Amen.

A teenage boy, childhood memories undoubtedly filled with images of violence and a constant undercurrent of fear, stands at the border between Greece and Macedonia in a makeshift refugee camp. He holds a plain sign with these words written across it: “sorry for Brussels.” But it is not an apology; it is a gesture of solidarity, for he, too, (better than anyone in Brussels) knows what it's like to be surrounded by bombing, to see the dead in the streets, to live in constant fear. And now he has escaped, only to find himself mired in a camp in which the “living conditions are poor, and children his age are suffering from dysentery, influenza and scabies. Food, proper shelter and clothing are also scarce.”¹ And now he does not only have to worry about his own fear of death, but also that he has suddenly become the object of fear. He can see it in the faces of those on the other side of the border, hear it in the anti-immigrant rhetoric that seeps into the camp.

And I wonder if his words don't echo Jesus': “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
And then someone else somewhere else says the same thing. Maybe it's because they've heard of another terrorist attack, or another innocent gunned down, or another child taken away from abusive parents. Maybe it's because they have heard about another family or community member overdosing. Maybe it's after getting the diagnosis of cancer or depression or Alzheimer's. Or after losing a job or a baby or a spouse. Or maybe they are the sole caretaker of a loved one and are feeling overwhelmed. Or maybe they are facing abuse from a loved one and keep hoping they can fix them. The list goes on, but the sense of abandonment is the same. You have felt it too, being cut off from everyone around you, even if you, like the young boy with his sign, are surrounded by thousands of people. You know what it feels to say, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Jesus' cry on the cross, the last words he says before his death according to the Gospel of Mark, is a familiar one to us, even if we are not familiar with the story of the crucifixion, and even if we aren't familiar with Psalm 22, which is the scripture that Jesus echoes in this cry. Mark's community, and Jesus' as well, would have known Psalm 22. Without reciting the whole psalm, that opening line gives us insight to the anguish Jesus felt. The psalmist goes on to say, “I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast; my mouth is dried up...and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death” (Psalm 22:14-15). This is the depth of despair Jesus felt on that cross. Many times we "theologize" the despair, labeling this as the only moment when Jesus was fully human and not fully divine. For surely God could not be so powerless. Surely God could not be so like us. 
 
Besides, we don't want a God who cries like we do, feels forsaken like we do. We want a God who swoops in to save us, who breaks down the barrier between Macedonia and Greece for that young boy, who flicks away bullets Matrix-style from the bodies of young black men, who cures cancer and rescues the abused. We want an awesome display of power, complete with fireworks, worthy of a big budget action film.

But in that way, we are more like the crowd watching the crucifixion that day than we are like true disciples. We often think of the crowd as being bloodthirsty, wanting to see suffering, wanting to get rid of Jesus and his blasphemy once and for all, but the Gospel of Mark shows a secret desire within the crowd for Jesus to win. “The crowd wanted to 'see' a miracle”--- as someone claims when they say, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.” They wanted to see a God who comes to us, crosses split in two, guns blazing, Roman soldiers and abusive religious leaders scattered in terror. But what they see instead is the Human One, the Word became Flesh.² Oh, we will get triumph and glory--- just you wait and see--- but it will not come as we expect it to come. Instead, Good Friday teaches us that God comes to us broken, feeling everything that we feel, even the very worst feeling any of us has ever had: that is, feeling forsaken by even God. That is incarnation. God does not just sample our emotions when God puts on flesh and dwells among us. God in Jesus feels what it means to be human to the very depths of how awful and frightening and lonely it can be.

So, even when we cry out, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” we are not really forsaken. Our God is beside us, knowing our pain intimately, crying with us, even when we don't realize it. Jesus is holding up that sign with the teenage boy, “Sorry for...” not as an apology for tragedy and hardship but as a reminder that he understands our fear and pain better than anyone.

We still want a God who fixes everything. Who overturns the oppressors, exchanges our pain for pleasure, and keeps the shadows at bay. The story, of course, is incomplete without Easter, in which we do find a kind of triumph and power.³ But for a moment, for tonight, I want us to sit with our incarnate God, God-with-us, and open our hearts to the one who knows our struggle completely. Because the point of Good Friday is not God's power. The point is God's presence. On Good Friday and every day God chooses to love us, no matter how vulnerable that makes God to us. Over and over again, God chooses love. What do we choose?


1Kathleen Wong, “In Wake of Belgium Bombings, Refugee Child Holds Up Sign That Says, 'Sorry for Brussels,'” 22 March 2016, News.Mic, accessed 23 March 2016, http://mic.com/articles/138647/in-wake-of-belgium-bombings-refugee-child-holds-up-sign-that-says-sorry-for-brussels#.hoNGTwV0t.
2Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark's Story of Jesus, Twentieth Anniversary Edition (Mayknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 2015), 390.
3Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, “Palm Sunday,” The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus's Final Days in Jerusalem ( New York: HarperCollins, 2006), location 2409 of 3342.

The Color of the Wheat Fields

Today would have been the day considered safe to share the good news. Instead, I'm posting this and trying to remember the hope we felt even then.

I read Le Petit Prince to our baby as I miscarried. I read it in French, my tongue awkward with a language that I once studied so closely but now seems to be part of another life. Pétales, I say it in English, pronouncing the s and everything, before I stop and reread it with the accent aigu. I smile. Maybe my French is not so bad after all, I just have to fall into it. Besides, the baby doesn't mind. I'm just trying to let the baby know how much we love it, even though it was only with us eight weeks.

This is the first time I have read to our baby. I have known five weeks of the eight, but I did not really believe it. Even with the transvaginal sonograms--- I certainly felt what the doctor was doing to my body, but I thought I was looking into someone else's uterus, at someone else's baby. I was never sick, though I was tired, and I kept thinking the whole time that this was too good to be true. We had tried and tried to have a baby for over a year, and then finally around Christmas we conceived. We found out right before I was supposed to have surgery for endometriosis, and were ecstatic we could have a baby on our own. The due date was right before my 29th birthday, which also happened to be a good time to take maternity leave from church. It was perfect. But still, I was nervous. I did not touch my belly, did not read to the baby.

Now I believe it, now I whisper names when I am alone, try to figure out a way to make Sullivan-Harrington not seem like the world's longest last name, but it is too late. So I touch my abdomen tentatively as I read, until a cramp collapses my pelvis again. I continue plodding along in French, until my dog, who has been weirded out that I am talking so much but not to her, comes and sits in my lap. Her weight against my aching body feels good, the cramps haven't gotten too strong yet, so I reach over and hold her while I look out the window, letting the book fall to the floor.

I did not read the whole book before I let it fall to the floor. I skipped around, reading about unimaginative grandes personnes, and baobab trees that the Petit Prince does not like but I am obsessed with, and roses to fall in love with, and foxes in need of taming. That's when I start to cry--- reading about the renard:

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields.”

The next day, once we were home from the hospital, once we heard out of the mouths of doctors what my body had already known, Aaron and I held each other. We were angry and frustrated, but we also felt this strange peace. Because even though we never got to really meet our baby, this pregnancy still did us good. Because of the color of the wheat fields--- or, in my case, because of the way Aaron held me so tightly when I woke him up at 3am to show him the positive pregnancy test, and how he held me tightly again weeks later when I woke him up at 3am to take me to the hospital as blood poured out of me. Because of how green Aaron's eyes were when we lay in bed late in the morning and imagined what this baby would be like, and how I couldn't see what color they were when they were filled with tears beside my hospital bed. Because of how easy it was for us to pick our names for the baby, but when we knew we were losing it the only name that came was our Christmas baby. Because of how much we loved this baby, which was only a fetus after all, even when we knew its departure drew near.

Because this baby made us parents.This baby tamed us, not in the sense of stomped out the wild within us, but in the sense that it taught us not to be skittish around possibility. In fact, this baby taught us how to fall in love with possibility the size of a kidney bean, even at the last possible moment. So while we do cry, and will cry harder on the September due date, we are at peace. For this baby has done us good. And, if there is another baby, we will read earlier, believe earlier, and we will not be afraid (at least not too afraid). Because of the color of the wheat fields.

A Little Help from Our Friends

This is the sermon I preached the first Sunday of Lent, after the worst week of my life. However, it was a week that still contained so much beauty, much of which I give thanks to Presbury United Methodist Church (and the God who works through them) for. 

Lent Focus Scripture: Mark 8:34-35 (NRSV)

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

Sunday's Scripture: Mark 2:1-12 (NRSV)

When he returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them. Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, “Why does this fellow speak in this way? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?” At once Jesus perceived in his spirit that they were discussing these questions among themselves; and he said to them, “Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and take your mat and walk’? But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins” —he said to the paralytic— “I say to you, stand up, take your mat and go to your home.” And he stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this!”

Sermon:

Let us pray:

Patient teacher, we give you thanks for this season of Lent, a season set aside for helping us turn back to you. This Lent, we will study in particular how to take up our cross and follow you. So through the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts, speak truth anew to us, and inspire us to follow you. Amen.

On Wednesday, I had planned to put us all at ease by joking about how uplifting the Gospel of Mark can be. And then today, our story is actually pretty uplifting--- literally, right? But let's revisit that passage from the eighth chapter of Mark. Here's Jesus, talking about denying ourselves, about how only if we want to lose our life, we will keep it. The passage from the eighth chapter of Mark is a hard one, that illustrates that Jesus is not always interested in making us feel better. Instead, sometimes Jesus wants us to be better. He insists: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Almost everything I have read says that to take up your cross means to take up suffering and death. Jesus himself explains that we have to deny ourselves, and that taking up our crosses has to do with losing our lives. Again, the Gospel of Mark doesn't really make my job easy, for me. This Gospel message isn't exactly what I would call good. Except, in the same way that Jesus is not concerned about making us comfortable, he is not interested in promoting doormat theology either.¹ Doormat theology is when we think God wants us to be doormats, so sweet that we just let people walk all over us, or a kind of robot theology, where we think God wants to erase everything about us that makes us unique and different and reprogram us to be mindless, submissive robots. Taking up our crosses, denying ourselves, losing ourselves is not about turning us into doormats or robots. Instead, it is about love.

That's why we are going back in the Gospel of Mark this morning, all the way back to the second chapter, to this story of five friends. This story is more uplifting that the passage about taking up our crosses. But it is one of the passages that most embodies taking up our crosses, I think. It is fairly literal after all. The four friends are taking up the physical burden of their fifth friend. But it also links taking up our crosses with love.

We don't know much about these five friends. We don't know if they grew up together, we don't know if the one friend has always been paralyzed or if not how he became paralyzed. Later, when Jesus tells him his sins are forgiven, we don't know what sins Jesus is talking about. We just don't know. But we do know that at least four of the five friends, the four who carried the fifth, have great faith. That's what Jesus sees when the fifth man is lowered before him: four friends, itching and dusty from digging through the thatched roof, arms aching from carrying the fifth friend so far and then so high, but four friends with faces full of expectant certainty. Jesus saw faith in these faces. And I think we can also see in those four friends the faces of those who have taken up their crosses.

You see, “To deny yourself and take up your cross invites us into what the cross can also mean--- not just death and suffering, but God choosing human relationships.” We see the cross, and we think blood for our sins. But that's not all the cross means. “The cross represents God’s commitment to humanity.” Through prophets for years, God tried to reconcile God's people, tried to draw us close to God, show us the right way to live. And over and over again, humanity ignored God, or botched the message somehow. “The cross represents what we do when we are not in relationship with the other and think only for ourselves.” That is the death of the cross--- the cross is the desolation of disconnection. But God followed us even there. And so, for us to take up our crosses is not to take up needless suffering, but to choose connection in spite of suffering. To choose relationships--- with God and with one another.² Those four friends entered into the suffering of the fifth, and chose to love him, to be in relationship with him, and to seek healing with him, just as Jesus did for all of us when he took up his cross.

And just as you have done for me and Aaron this week. They often say that you aren't supposed to be open about miscarriages and fertility issues because it makes people uncomfortable. They don't know what to say. Well, we don't know what to say to someone with cancer, either. So I burdened all of you with the suffering Aaron and I endured this week, and still with which we still struggle. I don't think that our loss is a cross we have to bear though. The cross that I have seen people take up this week with our struggle is the cross that those four friends took up for their paralytic friend. I have seen people enter into our suffering, as uncomfortable as it is, to be ears to listen to me recount what happened, or to bring cake for Aaron's birthday, or to sing Adele songs really loud and off-key to make us laugh, or to lift us up in prayer daily and wrap us in hugs. Many of you have called to check on me, or offered to pick up something I was supposed to pick up, or meet with someone I was supposed to meet just to ensure I could stay at home and rest. You have lifted us up, pointed us to God's love in a situation where we are more likely to feel only absence. Though we have felt strangely hopeful and at peace, you and our family and friends have been digging through the roof with us to help get us to Jesus' healing presence.

Something similar is happening throughout the county in the wake of the horrible tragedy just next door in Abingdon. People are reaching out to one another, as those friends reached out to the one in need of healing--- just as the Officer Daily reached out to the shooter before he was murdered. Not only to the families of those suffering such horrible losses. But there was a story posted to the Harford County Emergency Facebook page that goes like this:

I wanted to share something beautiful that happened to the husband of one of our coworkers here at the 911 Center.

Her husband and his friend (who are both officers from a local Maryland law enforcement agency) went into a local business yesterday.

They were approached by a young boy and his mom who shook their hands and said how grateful they are for what they do. They also presented them with this gift card.³

There was a picture of the gift card to Dunkin Donuts lying on top of a beautiful handmade card that said, “Thank you for all that you do.” Here a young boy and his mother reached out to a complete stranger, adding a little love in the world. He was doing his part to get us a little closer to Jesus' healing presence.

Let us not forget that the instruction is not just to take up our crosses, but to take up our cross and follow Jesus, to follow the Messiah. This is the center of the Gospel of Mark, perhaps the declaration and response on which the whole Gospel turns. If Jesus is the Messiah, then we must follow him. The five friends know this, and their faith directs them, guides them. Lent is the time of year that we too return to this journey.

I am passing out crosses today, a physical reminder of the direction Jesus has given us. But this Lent, I ask that you don't sit at home alone, holding the cross in your hands and praying. Yes, prayer is integral to our Lentan journey. But so is relationship. I want this cross to be a physical reminder for you to take up your cross. I want you to pray, certainly, but I want you--- I want us--- to take up our crosses by reaching out to one another in our need. Who are you being called to be a friend to, to take up your cross for? Who has taken up their cross for you? In what ways can our church take up our cross for the community? I invite us now to reflect on these questions in a time of prayer. 

 

1David Lose writes: “Here I should be clear. I’m not taking about – and I’m quite confident Jesus isn’t talking about – a kind of doormat theology where we are to ignore our genuine human needs altogether or see ourselves as not deserving of love, dignity, and respect. And so there is no justification here for enduring abusive relationships or tolerating injustice. Rather, I’m talking about giving of ourselves in love – which is of course quite different than having others take from us. And that giving in love almost always includes sacrifice, denying ourselves and our immediate gratification so as to meet another’s needs.” http://www.davidlose.net/2015/02/lent-2-b/

2The quotes in this paragraph are from Karoline Lewis, “A Different Kind of Denial,” Dear Working Preacher, 22 February 2015, Working Preacher, accessed 10 February 2016, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=3542.

3Posted on the Harford Emergency Management Services Facebook page 12 February 2016, accessed 13 February 2016, https://www.facebook.com/HarfordCoEM/photos/a.426143164142866.1073741825.346613205429196/964900593600451/?type=3&theater

This is why we fail

This is my Christmas Eve sermon for Presbury United Methodist Church.

Let us pray:

Patient teacher, on this most holy night, or perhaps better, this most impossible night, we glorify you and praise you for all we have heard and seen, as the shepherds did. But may we all continue to ponder this story in our hearts so that it can continue to change us, so that we live as though we know you are Emmanuel, which means, God is with us. Amen.

Every year, we come back to this story. We read the same scriptures, we sing the same songs, and we light the same candles. And yet, we are not the same. We come to this story differently every year, hopefully a little older and wiser and healthier and happier, but maybe just a little older and a little poorer or a little more lonely or a little more sad. And so, while the story doesn't change, we can read it differently, ponder it in our hearts differently, see ourselves positioned within it differently than before. Understand who God is in a new and different way.

Except that's not usually what happens. What usually happens is that we have heard the story of Jesus' birth so many times that it takes on this nice, sweet, fairy-tale like feel to it. Rather than remembering the intense awe and fear Mary and Joseph experienced in the presence of the angels, or the ostracism that they must have experienced at the hands of family and neighbors, we see them only as happy new parents. Rather than smelling the musk of the animals, and worrying about their unpredictability around a baby, we smell only pine trees and see animals like the ones in Snow White or Cinderella who help clean the house. Rather than recognizing parallels between the shepherd in Jesus' story and the working poor in our own world, we clean them up in our minds, make them more respectable.

We are left with a story that comforts us in its familiarity, and maybe even one that inspires us in its simple beauty. And we need that--- we need comfort and inspiration. But we have limited the story if that is all it is for us, we have tamed it. When we hear the angels in the story say, “Do not be afraid,” we do not hear them speaking to us. When we see the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger, we do not see our children. We may treasure the story the way we treasure an ornament that was our grandmother's, but we do not ponder it in our heart. We do not put ourselves beside the manger year after year, and let the story change us.

The past month, I have been using Star Wars to illustrate and inspire us as we prepare for the coming of the Christ child. I was going to try and be a little less geeky for Christmas Eve, but I can't. Because what Yoda says to Luke seems to tap into the trouble we have with limiting the story of Jesus' birth. Yoda is this little green alien who is a powerful Jedi master, and he is teaching Luke Skywalker, the hero of the original trilogy, how to become a Jedi himself. Yoda tells him that he must unlearn what he has learned, explaining to him that with the power of the Force, nothing is too heavy or too big to lift. Luke isn't really getting it, and sulks off, saying “You want the impossible.” And then Yoda lifts a giant x-wing out of the swamp with the Force. Luke rushes over too see for himself before stuttering, “I don't believe it!” To which Yoda responds, “That is why you fail.”

We read the scriptures, sing the songs, and light the candles, but sometimes we don't believe it. We find comfort in it, usually, maybe we even enjoy it, but sometimes we don't believe it. We don't believe that God has done the impossible, broken all those impossible barriers of time and space--- no, I'm not talking about outer space this time--- and come to us. God, the Creator of the Universe for whom we use such authoritative names as King and Lord, God chose to become a human just like us. And God did not choose to be born a king or a jedi master or even just a nice middle-class boy, God chose to become a poor, brown peasant born to unwed parents in a town under occupation by the Roman Empire. We forget these parts of the story when we let the familiarity of the words lull us to a sense of comfort. When we read the story more closely, when we ponder it in our hearts, we find ourselves declaring, “That's impossible!”

Sometimes, we don't believe God would become incarnate, that God would put on flesh and dwell among us. And that is why we fail. According to scripture, we were made in the image of God, but there was a break, and that image has been corrupted. If we need to wonder about that corruption, we can look to the news from this year alone from the rampant terrorism of groups like ISIS and Boko Haram massacring innocents in Nigeria and Lebanon and France to the terrorism of racists that claimed lives at Emanuel church in Charleston, from the horrifying rhetoric of politicians particularly concerning refugees and Muslims to greedy men raising the price of important HIV/AIDS medications. And the list goes on. The list goes on in our own lives as well, as we count broken relationships and missed opportunities. Our failures stemming from our incredulity at God's presence in ourselves and our neighbors are apparent. But Christ's birth is the reconciliation of that image, the act of taking us back, making us at-one-with-God (atonement) again. In Christ's birth, God shows us that nothing is impossible. That God can be incarnated in our neighbors, in ourselves. And that we are not too far gone for reconciliation.

So tonight, as we read scripture, as we sing, as we light candles, and as we come to the table for communion, I pray that we believe in this impossible story. And that we allow our belief in our incarnated God to change us so that we may see possibility everywhere. The possibility of the transforming love of God.

There Has Been an Awakening: A Star Wars Themed Christmas Pageant

I am such a huge nerd, I subjected Presbury United Methodist Church to a Christmas pageant written using scripture and dialogue from the Star Wars franchise. Enjoy!

Introduction: NARRATOR, PS, and SCRIPTURE READER

(PASTOR SHANNON putting on jacket like she’s going to leave.)

NARRATOR: Hey Pastor Shannon, where are you going?  

PS: I'm going to see the new Star Wars movie!

NARRATOR: Oh yeah. I almost forgot how big a geek you are.

PS: Whatever NARRATOR. It is a classic battle of good and evil! Plus it takes place in space!

NARRATOR: Well, you should stick around here because number one, it's your job. And number two, we are talking about the ultimate battle of good over evil today in worship.

PS: Wait--- do you mean Easter, when God defeats death and Jesus rises from the dead? I thought that was the ultimate battle of good over evil. But we celebrate that in the spring, and it is cold outside now, and plus I don't see any chocolate Easter eggs anywhere.

NARRATOR: Ok, Easter is the ultimate battle of good over evil. But so is Christmas! God became human! Listen to this passage from the Gospel of John:

SCRIPTURE READER: John 1:1-14a (NRSV)

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us...

PS: Oh, yes, that is one of my favorite scriptures!

NARRATOR: Of course it is. But what it is saying is that in Jesus, God put on flesh and lived among us! This mighty, powerful God, who brought all things into being just by speaking; this God of light who cannot be overcome by darkness--- this God became a weak, suffering human, to live in solidarity with us.

PS: Yes, God didn't just reconcile us to God's self through sacrificing Jesus, but by becoming Jesus. God came to walk with us, and showed us a new way to live. And that Love God showed by becoming human is a lot like how Obi Wan Kenobi explains the Force: “it surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together.” It is a pretty cool story. But it doesn't take place in space.

NARRATOR: No it doesn't, but I think you'll like our re-imagining of the story. (to church) Pastor Shannon and Presbury United Methodist Church, sit back and enjoy our Christmas Pageant!

ACT 1: NARRATOR, ANGEL, MARY, and JOSEPH

NARRATOR: A long time ago in the days of King Herod of Judea, in a galaxy not so far away...

(Star Wars theme song plays.)

NARRATOR: Turmoil engulfed Palestine at that time, much like turmoil still engulfs us today. So God sent angels to bring a message of peace and justice, or good news of great joy, to settle the conflict, and prepare the way of the Lord.

(ANGEL and MARY are standing in front of the wreath.)

ANGEL: Be not afraid! The Lord is with you!

MARY: Aren't you a little short for an angel?

ANGEL: Size matters not. Judge me by my size, do you? Well you should not. For my ally is the God, and a powerful ally God is. God is your ally as well! And now you will conceive and bear and child, and you will name him Jesus. The Force will be strong with him, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.

MARY: How can this be since I am a virgin?

ANGEL: 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.

MARY: Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.

(MARY steps to the center of the stage. ANGEL steps back into the background.)

MARY: My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior! For I am a poor young woman from Nazareth, the town furthest from the bright center of the universe, but God chose me! Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever. Help us today, God! You are our only hope!

(MARY exits.)

NARRATOR: There was unrest at home, however, specifically in Joseph's home. Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but here she is, found pregnant. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to declare his intentions to leave her, he receives a visitor.

ANGEL: Joseph! I find your lack of faith disturbing!
JOSEPH: What? Who are you?! What are you doing here?

ANGEL: No, I'm just kidding about the lack of faith thing--- don't be afraid! You are actually a righteous man. So do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus.

(ANGEL and Joseph shake hands.)

ACT 2: NARRATOR, MARY, JOSEPH, DONKEY (no lines), ANGEL, SHEPHERD 1, SHEPHERD 2, and SHEEP (no lines)

NARRATOR: A long time ago, in a galaxy not so far away...

(Star Wars theme song plays.)

NARRATOR: A decree went out from Emperor Palpatine...I mean, Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. Pursued by the Roman Empire's sinister agents, well, kinda anyway, Joseph and Mary journeyed from Nazareth to Bethlehem where Mary would give birth to a baby who can save all people and restore freedom to the galaxy and bring balance to the Force.

(MARY and JOSEPH appear with DONKEY. They walk back and forth.)

MARY: Joseph, we need to find a place to stay now.

JOSEPH: Cool it, your worshipfulness, but no one seems to have any extra room for us anywhere.

MARY: Well, someone has to save our skins. Into the barn, flyboy.

(All the ANIMALS come onstage. C-3PO brings in the manger.)

JOSEPH: (holding his nose) What an incredible smell you've discovered!

MARY: Well we will make it work. I'll have the baby here and we'll wrap him in swaddling clothes and lay him in the manger.

(C3PO brings a baby out to MARY.)

NARRATOR: Now, in that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

(SHEPHERDS and SHEEP enter. ANGEL appears. All SHEPHERDS cover their faces.)

ANGEL: Do not be afraid! Fear is the path to the Dark side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering! What I am here to share with you today is good news of great joy for all people!

SHEPHERD 1: Well if there's nothing to fear, why give me a heart attack like that. Sheesh!

SHEPHERD 2: Seriously, me and this stuck up, scruffy looking, half-witted nerfherder here are just trying to mind our own business!

SHEPHERD 1: Who's scruffy looking?

ANGEL: Hey cut it out guys. I'm trying to give you good news, ok? Anyway, to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.

SHEPHERD 2: A Savior! Sounds like somebody's having delusions of grandeur.

ANGEL: Not at all, actually. This shall be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in swaddling cloths and laying in a manger.

SHEPHERD 1: A manger? Like where animals eat?

SHEPHERD 2: Doesn't the poor guy have a crib?

SHEPHERD 1: That can' be comfortable. But speaking of mangers--- hey, are you hungry?

ANGEL: Ok, it seems I'm dealing with some real laserbrains here.

SHEEP: (laugh)

SHEPHERD 2: Laugh it up, fuzzballs!

ANGEL: Enough, enough. God has chosen you, humble shepherds though you are, to witness God's own self in human form. God didn't choose Herod, or the Emperor, or some rich dude. God chose you! You are important to God.

SHEPHERD 2: Wow, that does sound pretty awesome.

SHEPHERD 1: Yeah, I feel kinda special now!

SHEPHERD 2: Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place!

(SHEPHERDS and SHEEP move to the side, and MARY and JOSEPH and Jesus set up. SHEPHERDS kneel around the altar.)

(ANGEL moves to the center.)

ANGEL: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth, may the Force be with us all!

ACT 3: NARRATOR, HEROD, MAGI 1, MAGI 2, and MAGI 3

NARRATOR: A long time ago in a galaxy not so far, far away...

(Star Wars theme song plays.)

NARRATOR: Wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, seeking a child they learned of in their studies of the night sky. The evil puppet king Herod, obsessed with maintaining power, invited these wise people into his palace for a secret meeting...

(Imperial Death March plays.)

HEROD: Hello wise men from the East. I hear you are searching for something very interesting.

MAGI 1: Oh yes, we have been reading the work of prophets around the world because we have noticed changes in the night sky. A star rising over Judea.

MAGI 2: It has been written: And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rules of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.

MAGI 3: We understand this prophecy and the star to be connected. That the shepherd ruler of Israel was born at the star's rising.

HEROD: WHAT?! A king to replace me? A Messiah to be anointed over me? I must find the child!

MAGI 1: (to MAGI 2) I've got a bad feeling about this.

HEROD: Oh, sorry for my outburst. I am only excited because I, too, have been searching for this Messiah. To pay my respects, of course.

MAGI 2: (waves hand) Um, I'm sure he's not the Messiah you are looking for.

MAGI 3: (waves hand) You don't need to see where he was born. We can go about our business. Move along.

HEROD: Those Jedi mind tricks don't work on me! Now go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word.

(HEROD exits.)

MAGI 1: I've got a bad feeling about this.

MAGI 2: Me too.

MAGI 3: When it is time to go home again, let us leave for our country by another road.

(MAGI walk down the aisle and back up. Meanwhile MARY, JOSEPH, and JESUS set up.)

MAGI 1: (pointing) Look! The star has stopped.

MAGI 2: We did it! We made it! Let us go see this child that makes kings quake and stars rise.

MAGI 3: Let us worship the newborn king!

(MAGI kneel at the manger.)
(ANGEL steps back into center stage.)

ANGEL: And so the people who sat in great darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and the shadow of death, light has dawned. There has been an awakening. Have you felt it?

Closing: PS, NARRATOR, and SCRIPTURE READER

PS: Wow, you were right! That story really is an epic battle where good triumphs over evil. I feel like we should celebrate with a party the way they do at the end of Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi when the Death Star is destroyed---

NARRATOR: Ok, Pastor Shannon, I think we've indulged your geekiness enough for one day. Remember, we need to be preparing our hearts for the coming of the Christ child all over again. The Gospel of Mark, which does not have a story about Jesus' birth, still leaves us with an important message as we celebrate Christmas this week.

SCRIPTURE READER: Mark 1: 7-8 (NRSV)

“The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

NARRATOR: We aren't just talking about a nice sweet little baby we can hand back to his mom and dad when he gets fussy when we are talking about baby Jesus. We are talking about power, the power of the presence of God within a human being. This power may have been most complete in Jesus, but it is in each of us as well. Like the angel said at the end of the last act--- we are talking about an awakening. So let us leave from this place preparing our hearts for the power of the Holy Spirit to wake us up!

PS: That's a pretty good message to end on. And remember, no matter how sleepy you may end up feeling, the Force will be with you always.

NARRATOR: And also with you!