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!

Iman Means Faith

This is the answer I gave to our Board of Ordained Ministry about an experience with peace with justice ministries I've had as a pastor. I wanted to write about my experience of Islam to counter the hate-speech that seems to be acceptable today, but, without the time during Advent, I thought I would recycle this:

A group of women from a church were sitting in a restaurant during Advent, and talking about how Mary of Nazareth, Jesus' mother, has been represented across cultures, including an Arabic representation. Mary is revered in some Muslim communities and is mentioned more in the Qu'ran than she is in the Bible. Except in the middle of this conversation,  one of the women said, “Well, if that's true, then it's too bad they [Muslims] all are still so violent.” 

Comments like this, willfully ignorant, incorrect, and even hateful, about Islam are too common in our churches. I have served congregations in Harford County, a largely white county, overwhelmingly Christian, and also woefully illiterate on other faiths. Some Christians do not see why such illiteracy is a problem, but the reality is that illiteracy breeds violence and intolerance. In his book on Christian identity in a multi-faith world, Brian McLaren writes, “Our root problem is the hostility that we often employ to make and keep our identities strong--- and whether those identities are political, economic, philosophical, scientific, or religious.”¹ If I wanted to interrupt the hostility, I would need to engage in peace and justice ministries that fostered interfaith relationships.

My own faith became stronger through my friendship with Muslims who I met through a mission trip to Bosnia and Herzegovina in 2004 (and have returned to visit at least eight times). I have always felt called to interfaith youth work, believing in the South African concept of ubuntu, that we become who we are through relationship with others. I never expected to be about to do interfaith work in homogenous Harford County, but when preparing to teach confirmation, I sought non-Christian congregations to visit, and somehow came into contact with Tasniya Sultana, an organizer for Project Iman, a Muslim Girls youth group. We met, had a great time, and began to plan ways for our youth to get together.

The first year, we met twice, starting by meeting with Project Iman during Ramadan. Their group was much bigger than our own, particularly because only my girls in youth group were invited the first time. I also ended up bringing a few younger girls with my youth (whose pictures ended up in the paper).² Some of the youth went to the same school! We began with a craft where we learned to write our names in Arabic and talked about our favorite holidays. We shared stories, explaining in very basic terms how we walk in the footsteps of many of the same giants of faith, Abraham who they call Ibrahim, or Jesus who they call Isa, for instance. They spoke of Ramadan and the sacrifice of Ishmael (Isaac in the Bible). When our craft was finished, we stood up and got in a circle for a game. One of the leaders of Project Iman read a series of statements and we were supposed to take steps into the circle if the statement was true for us. She deftly included theological and scriptural statements along with statements about our families and favorite foods. And then they prayed. We sat at the tables in our own attitude of prayer while they prayed before breaking their fast. The girls from Presbury were quiet. I didn't see suspicion or self-righteousness or anything our culture teaches us about how Christians should see Muslims; instead, I only saw wonder and openness.

The second time we met was at Presbury. We ate together and painted birdhouses as a craft to go with the scripture I shared, Luke 12:22-29, about how we should not worry for God is with us. Then I had questions about how our faith teaches us to deal with worry and fear. One of the leaders from Project Iman said she loved the scripture! But the most powerful experience of the night was when we moved to the sanctuary and shared about our worship experiences. I told the kids they could ask each other whatever they wanted, but I also asked them questions. It was fascinating to see what kinds of questions they had for us, how they noticed the colors in the sanctuary and asked about their meaning, as well as to see how excited they were when I asked them to tell me about how they worship. It was a safe space where the Muslim girls were asked questions not to put them on the defensive but just out of wonder. And we as Christians were able to model Christ's hospitality.

Rev. Emily Scott, a Lutheran pastor of a dinner church called St. Lydia's in New York, said recently: “Sometimes you are seated next to someone so different, that you don't know how to start a conversation. And then something happens. In that moment, heaven and earth overlap, and God builds a bridge between the world as it is and the world as it should be.”³ The interfaith relationships between Project Iman and Presbury are fostering those moments where God builds a bridge between the world as it is and the world as it should be, a world of peace and justice where Muslims and Christians are more interested in eating, laughing, and sharing together than fighting or using hostility to shore up our identities. Our plans for this ministry are to expand it to all our youth, as there is now a Muslim youth group for boys that Project Iman works with, and to have not just dialogue together, but to work together for justice too. For Ramadan in 2016, we are planning a 30 Hour Famine-type event to raise money and awareness about world hunger. We want to continue to create that overlap between heaven and earth, that glimpse of earth as it should be, in our little corner of Harford County.



1Brian D. McLaren, Why Did Jesus, Moses, the Buddha, and Mohammed Cross the Road? Christian Identity in a Multi-Faith World (New York: Jericho Books, 2012), 63




2See Nimra Nadeem, “Muslim, Christian girls join for interfaith iftar,” The Baltimore Sun, 28 July 2014, accessed 14 July 2015, http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/maryland/harford/fallston-joppa/ph-ag-comm-interfaith-muslim-christian-20140728-story.html.



3Emily Scott, from a talk at the ELCA's national youth gathering posted by Nadia Boltz-Weber on Facebook, 18 July 2015, https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xft1/v/t1.0-9/11752340_859677020806230_5199339091003344713_n.jpg?oh=0222e446a363352940c43655630e7477&oe=56155FCB.

Backsliding into Bad Theology: On a Journey of Infertility

As a pastor, it is embarrassing to me how quickly I revert back to bad theological understandings of God. On Sundays I preach about a God who is with us, inviting us to be co-workers, a God who lures us to love. But really, at least today, I want a God who, like Santa Claus, rewards me for being good by giving me everything on my wishlist. I want a God who understands fairness. Or, I'd take a God who has a better sense of timing, my sense of timing; like a Wedding Planner on a bluetooth headset ready to make perfection happen on my schedule.

You see, a year ago, my husband and I were taking pictures in the park where we got married, as we try to do every year on our anniversary. We brought our puppy with us, and I remember thinking, "Next year in this picture, there will be a baby."

But there isn't.

Now, I hadn't totally won Aaron over to my way of thinking while we were taking pictures that day. He is a very practical person, knew we have plenty of time, and just wanted to have fun. I agreed with him--- holding off my desire for children at bay at least until I went on my big blow out vacation to Bosnia and Herzegovina last year. But while in Bosnia, there was this particular moment when one of my friends was sitting drinking coffee with me and her three-year-old came over acting silly. My friend, who was pregnant and so exhausted she struggled to stay awake during our visits, shook her head at her daughter and said to me, “Are you sure you want kids?” Before I could respond, her beautiful little girl, who was upside down at this point, looked up at me with her huge brown eyes and said, “Ok!” She had been repeating things I said the whole day, but this time both her mother and I almost fell over laughing. I knew in that instant I wanted to start trying to have a baby.

I have wanted children all my life. The desire has gotten softer in some ways as I work through my social programming to want children and as I watch people ignore their other callings in order to be mothers, but I have always wanted to hold my baby in my lap, reading When God Was a Little Girl in our big noisy house. When Aaron and I got married, we knew there wasn't a rush; we wanted to settle down, enjoy one another. I would still often find myself jealous when friends announced pregnancies--- after all Aaron and I had been together longer than the rest of them had and from the time I was young I was the "mother" type in my groups of friends. Even friends who were vehemently opposed to having children themselves at the time, even they would say, "Well, I'll just play auntie/uncle to Shannon's pack of kids." So when we were still holding off and they weren't, I would get a little jealous. But then one day, one of my friends told me she was pregnant and I was genuinely happy for her. And I was so happy for my sister, even though she is younger than I am, because I knew she and her partner were ready for kids before we were. I thought the lack of jealousy was another sign of readiness. That I was growing up or something. Cue that be-bluetoothed God on the phone making stuff happen.

But then. Aaron and I started trying, and nothing happened. Christmas came and I was unable to enact my hilarious birth announcement plan for my family and actually had to buy them gifts. But it was still early yet. And then, we went on a vacation to visit family and friends in which I had envisioned myself pregnant when we first planned the trip, only I still wasn't. And then it was April and I realized that I would not have a baby in 2015. And then my beautiful nephew was born, and my sister and I had not been pregnant together.

At first, I was upset but my husband kept saying, "It takes a while for most people, don't worry." And my best friend said, "Stop being stupid. You will have a baby when you have a baby." [She's sweet like that, but it really was comforting.] Many of you reading this may even think trying for a year is nothing, but the comparison with those who have tried for years does not lessen my own pain. I reminded myself that these empty months meant I could go on mission trips and did not have to worry about ordination interviews during maternity leave. I reminded myself that for as many stories I hear about getting pregnant on the first try, there are many too of struggles, even if only for a few months. And I reminded myself that it was not worth it to me to have a baby but not a loving supportive partner (Aaron is really worth more to me than ten sons).

But here's the thing about infertility: it is a huge betrayal by your body, especially when you are unused to not “succeeding” at something. And it is a huge betrayal by God. Ultimately, any rational, well-meaning thoughts cannot stand up to the desperation and disappointment endured month after month. Every month I feel my period coming on and I know I'm not pregnant, but I still have that tiny hope until my period comes.

I am angry, and I am tired. That first day of the month when I realize I am not pregnant--- that first day I spend crying on the couch as much as I can, raging at the unfairness of it all to my Santa Claus God. When people ask, "So when are you going to have a baby?" I want to stop answering, "well, I want to get ordained first," or "oh, I haven't gotten rid of that pesky travel bug yet" (and I really never will at that), and just say, "I'm not sure I can," giving them a glimpse of the disappointment I face month after month as I ask myself the same question. Except I don't want pity or to hear remarks like, "stop being so negative," either.

Because the next day, the day after the crying and the raging, I get up, take a breath, and remember a God who does not open and close wombs based on some kind of a reward system, who does not work on my schedule or anyone else's for that matter but who does not require my pain to teach me a lesson either (ahem to all of you who say "well, it's just God's plan you don't have a baby yet"). Instead, I reach out to a God who was crying and raging with me just the day before on that couch. I lean on a God who is lending me the strength now to try to find the abundance even in the emptiness. I turn to a God who is showing me how to create family in a different way. 

Because there is so much beauty even on this journey of infertility. I have had the most amazing conversations with my youth when I am driving a bunch of them around in my tiny Toyota Corolla; I wouldn't be able to fit them all in if I had a carseat to accommodate as well. And I have taken up writing again, which would be much more difficult if I were spending a lot of time pumping. And I can stay up late with the love of my life watching funny videos and sleep in without worry the next day. I can sing leftie church hymns and read radical children's books with my nephew all day as though we are the only two people in the world (well, besides my dog Stella who also appears in many of our adventures). These are moments of abundance in the midst of disappointment and emptiness. They are moments that might still exist with a baby, but they might not, and they are moments to be treasured. Because they are enough. And I am enough.

And God, that God who is beside bearing all my disappointment with me and still helping me find joy--- God is enough.

God of Action Communion Liturgy

The Cokesbury Vacation Bible School Curriculum for 2015 was G-Force, about God's love in action. I wrote this more interactive communion liturgy for our Vacation Bible School kickoff worship service at Presbury United Methodist Church.

The primary scripture for this service was Acts 17:22-31.

Communion:

Invitation/Confession/Pardon/Passing the Peace

L: Because our God is a God of action, God calls us to move to the Table, to come and receive grace. But too often we find ourselves stuck, unable or unwilling to hear God's direction to love. So let us confess our stuck-ness before God together:

P: Living, loving God, we know that you have called us to be your love in action. But that can be so hard! We give you so many excuses, find and put up so many barriers to keep us from living as you have taught us. Forgive us for all those times we do not care for our neighbors and all those times we don't follow your lead.

(A time of silent confession.)

L: Do not be afraid! Our God is not unknown but is indeed not far from any of us, with arms outstretched ready to welcome us whenever we ask for forgiveness!

P: God's forgiveness propels us forward to show the world the immensity of God's love!

The Great Thanksgiving

L: In God we live and move and have our being!

P: Thanks be to God!

L: God is so mighty that God cannot be contained! God made the world and everything in it, even each of us, breathing into us the breath of life. What kinds of things did God make?

(Share your own responses at this time.)

L: God made so many things, and we are so thankful. But God was not alone in God's work. God chose us to help! We messed up more often than not, but there were some of us who did amazing things for and with God! In Vacation Bible School we will learn about people who helped God, people like Jochebed, Miriam, the Egyptian princess, and Moses. They played a part in bringing us, God's people, to freedom! And we will learn about Solomon, who took action to honor God by building a temple! Who are other people who helped do God's work?

(Share your own responses at this time.)

L: Of course, Jesus also helped do God's work. Jesus was God in human form, and he healed people who were hurting and ate with people who were always alone. And he taught us a lot. What kinds of things did Jesus teach us?

(Share your own responses at this time.)

L: But the love Jesus showed us, God's love in action, was so radical that people were afraid. So they plotted to kill Jesus. Jesus knew he would die, so he gathered his friends together to teach them about love one more time. He brought them together for a simple meal of bread and wine. He took bread, thanked God for it, and shared it with his friends, saying,

P: “Take, eat; this is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

L: When the supper was over, he took the cup, gave thanks to you, gave it to his friends, and said:

P: “Drink from this, all of you; this is my blood of the new covenant, poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

L: And so now, we remember Jesus – all that he did on earth to show love and all that he does for us now to care for us. And to say thank you for all this love, we should love one another and care for those in need. Let us pray:

Pour out your Holy Spirit on us gathered here, and on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ, that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed by his blood. By your Spirit help us to put your love into action, caring for our neighbors, following your teaching, and sharing about your love everywhere we go. Amen.

And now, with the confidence of the children of God, let us pray the prayer Jesus taught us: THE LORD'S PRAYER

BREAKING THE BREAD

The bread of life.

The cup that saves us, and sets us free.

GIVING THE BREAD AND THE CUP

The table is set and all are invited. In the United Methodist Church, we practice an open table. This means you don't have to be a member, you don't even have to be baptized, you don't even have to be fully awake this morning. You are invited to come and know that no matter who you are, you are a beloved child of God and God's grace is sufficient.

We will be taking communion by intinction, meaning I will give you a piece of bread and you can dip it in the cup. Now come and eat.

Giving the Bread and Cup/Prayer after Receiving

P: Living, loving God, we thank you for this holy mystery in which we have searched for you and found that you are not far from us. Thank you that your move among us and through us to do your work and spread your love here on earth! Amen.