Do Not Fear, Only Believe

Okay, so even though I had a huge list of stuff I wanted to write about but only wrote about two of those things, here we are moving on. This is my first sermon for my first appointment, Deer Creek and Mt. Tabor United Methodist Churches.

Before even getting to the sermon, I need to write what probably should be its own post of gratitude. I was welcomed with countless hugs and good food by the congregation. My dad came out to support me in worship, as did my almost brother-in-law David Harrington. Aaron turns out to be an amazing preacher's husband, so I am even more excited to have him as my partner in ministry. At Deer Creek, Ruthanna Hipley, a woman who watched me grow up at St. Paul, came in to see me preach. At Mt. Tabor, Caitlin Katrinic, who went to high school with me and Aaron, showed up and sang beautifully. And on top of all this was the surprise appearance of Carolyn and Wendel Thompson, friends who went to Bosnia with us in 2004! I am so filled with joy and honored to be beginning this new part of my ministry journey at Deer Creek and Mt. Tabor!

Scripture: Mark 5:21-43 1

When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live."

So he went with him. And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well." Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, "Who touched my clothes?" And his disciples said to him, "You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, 'Who touched me?'" He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?" But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, "Do not fear, only believe." He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, "Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping." And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, "Talitha cum," which means, "Little girl, get up!" And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

Sermon: Do Not Fear, Only Believe

I am so blessed to be here this morning as your pastor. Bonnie and I knew each other before we knew I would be coming here, and she used to brag about you a lot. So that good recommendation on top of being home is really exciting. Aaron, my fiancé, and I graduated from North Harford, and we always said we were going to move to the city or someplace and not come back; yet here we are, seven years later, and we could not be happier to be home. We keep talking about how beautiful Harford County is, and now, of course, we have one of the most beautiful views in the county from our own front porch!

But this is still a scary time for us, as I'm sure on some level some of you may be scared or at least nervous. Change, no matter how many times you go through it, always comes with some level of uncertainty that can be unsettling. When I passed my first ordination exam, we were excited for half a second but then we were afraid we would be placed far away--- Aaron works at APG--- because we thought there were no appointments available in Harford County, and lo and behold, we end up right down the road from where we grew up! But we are still scared, still trying to figure out what this part of our ministry journey will look like.

And so all this is what's going on in my mind when I read the scripture for this week. It's no surprise that Jesus' instruction to Jairus in our Gospel lesson this morning jumped out at me: Do Not Fear, Only Believe.

So will you pray with me?

Patient Teacher, Gracious Healer,
we come to you this morning, uncertain, but reaching out to you.
May we feel you reaching back to us, lifting us up,
as we look to your life this morning to learn how we are to live. Amen.

Jairus was afraid. He probably had watched his little girl slowly fade away, sitting by her bed without sleep, his own face mirroring her sickly one just from the sheer exhaustion of worry. Because what else can you do when your child is sick and you are no healer? He sits. He worries. He waits. Until he heard about Jesus.

So too, the unnamed woman interrupting Jairus' story this morning was also afraid. You see blood means life. "Blood was such a sacred, precious, and dangerous force in Jewish belief and practice because it was what God said constituted the very life of a being," according to one of the commentaries I read in preparation for today.2 So the unnamed woman is watching her life seep out of her day after day for twelve years. She has been to see physicians, she has tried everything. And still she bleeds. There is nothing left to do. Until she hears about Jesus.

Femme Touchant Jesus by Corinne Vonaesch

But hearing about Jesus doesn't even end the fear there for either of them. Jesus' presence doesn't even end the fear. Jairus knows there is no time left. He tells Jesus, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live." Jesus is his last hope. When Jesus agrees, I can still feel the anxiety within Jairus as he scrambles through the crowd, praying for a few more minutes. You can see on the image of our bulletin today how Jairus is pulling Jesus and all the people pressing in around Jesus, Jairus, and the woman.

The woman sees there are too many people pressing in, too many needing healing--- why would Jesus stop for her? She's a nobody, certainly not a synagogue leader like Jairus. She's a woman, first of all, and maybe she's heard that Jesus does have women followers, but still she must doubt his acceptance of her. Besides that, she could touch him and render him unclean under Jewish purity laws; but even beyond that, how is she supposed to explain to a man what is wrong with her? Even today, two thousand years later, there is such a taboo about women bleeding! She fears his rejection. And yet she presses ahead through the mass of people, arm outstretched as far as she could reach.

It is at these anxious moments when I can really relate to Jairus and the woman. I knew as soon as I got the call about this charge that the Holy Spirit was in the room with the bishop and the cabinet, sending me where I needed to be. I am confident, as Jairus and the woman who was bleeding were confident of Jesus' healing power. But there is still so much uncertainty, so much about which to be anxious.

But Jairus and the woman turned their fear into boldness.

The woman in particular. She had two moments of boldness, the first being when she reached out to touch Jesus. She grasped that one thought in her mind: "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well." That's all well and good, a simple solution, right? In Mark's Gospel, Jesus is constantly surrounded by crowds. He is always amidst all these sweaty, needy people. I don't know if any of you have seen Jesus Christ Superstar before, but there is a scene in which a crowd of people almost crawl over the stage and chant/sing, "Won't you touch, will you heal me Christ?" all while reaching out to Jesus, pulling on his clothes. It is overwhelming. This bleeding woman in this story is like one of those people. She must see that. Surely she fears never getting to him, never being healed, and yet she boldly pushes forward, herself crushed beneath the mass of people.

And then--- the moment of wholeness. She was healed, but she barely processes the thought before yet again, she must be bold. Jesus turns around and asks who touched him, looking around him, searching faces for some sign of who he healed.

This moment really must be frightening for the woman. Did she go through all that only to have her healing taken from her? But, she must have felt no choice but to act boldly again. If she has the faith to know that just brushing against Jesus would bring healing, perhaps she would know Jesus could recognize her. And so, it is out of this fear that she comes forward to reveal the truth. In Mark's gospel, the term truth is only used to describe Jesus' teaching, yet here it is used to describe the unnamed woman.3 Despite her fear, through her trembling, she speaks boldly. And Jesus blesses her, telling her to go in peace, healed.

Now, Jairus' boldness was in his ability to continue to move forward. Can you imagine the turmoil inside him when the people came from his house to say that his daughter was dead? He has watched her fade away, sat beside her, only to leave her to finally find help. But it was too late. Instead of succumbing to grief, though, he put one foot in front of the other, supported by Jesus' words, "Do not fear, only believe."

We have all come to points in our lives when we are grieving, or afraid, and yet must keep moving. That time for you may not be having a new pastor. One of your church's great gifts is forming pastors for ministry. Yet there is still uncertainty, and you are still grieving Bonnie, who just blossomed under your care. And, as you have done in the past, and as I am learning to do, we step through that grief, that uncertainty, to act boldly. To believe, as Jesus told Jairus not to fear, only to believe.

I learned the importance of believing in spite of fear, of acting boldly, when I served as a student chaplain in a hospital in New Jersey, particularly from my friend Lauren who was also a student chaplain in our first week at the hospital. Lauren is not afraid of much. She is one of those people who exudes confidence about her ministry. When we divided up floors in the hospital to serve as chaplains, though, she specifically asked not to be on the oncology floor. Now, most of us have been to the oncology floor of hospitals before--- very few of us have not been touched by cancer in our families or friends. So we know that it is a very hard place to be for patients and caretakers alike. But it was more than that for Lauren. She had lived with a family in college and the man of the house had become in those years a second father to her. In her last year of college, he died after a long, protracted battle with cancer. She was still grieving and didn't think she could face situations so similar to her own so soon.

But the end of our first week, the Spirit had other ideas. We were sitting in the break room, packing up to leave and debriefing, when a patient advocate walked in needing a chaplain. Apparently a family in oncology had been asking for a priest for two hours for their mother on hospice care and could not get through and the patient advocate was desperate. Lauren and I just looked at each other. We went down to the oncology floor with the patient advocate and met the family. They still really wanted a priest, so I, rather cowardly, volunteered to find the priest, telling the family I would be back when I contacted him--- though I tried for almost an hour before I could go back to them with the priest.

Lauren took a deep breath and then began to talk to the family about their mother. Initially, the nurses told the family they still had a few hours left, but while Lauren was in the room, they realized it was only a few minutes. Lauren arranged the family around the bed and they listened to the mother's favorite music in silence for a few minutes as the mother passed away. Then the daughter asked Lauren to say something. Lauren read Psalm 121.

I lift up my eyes to the hills— from where will my help come?
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber.
He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade at your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore.4

This is a beautiful Psalm. One of comfort, one that reminds us of the peace that the mother of this family now has, and one that reminds us of God's constant presence with us, even when we don't feel it.

Lauren's hands were still shaking when I found her in the hallway, bringing the priest in too late behind me. But the family thanked her for her presence, telling her it had been a perfect death which confused Lauren who had been so scared throughout the situation. Yet the family was at peace.

This experience for Lauren was difficult, even ugly in a way because of the way it sneaked up on her. But she believed. She had faith. This is not to say that she had faith that everything would turn out all right in the end. Faith, as one of my seminary professors has said, is not about certainty but about courage.5 Lauren's faith in this story was not about certainty, it, like that of the woman and Jairus, was about courage. Lauren was uncertain what would happen in that room. She was dealing with her own fear, her own grief, her nerves, her confusion in that room. She had no idea how she would react to the situation, how the family would react...but she was courageous through her fear, believing the God was present with her and being witness to that presence with that family.

The woman who came to Jesus for healing was courageous when she spoke the truth, believing God was present with her. She wasn't certain what would happen if she spoke up, but she had the courage to do what she thought she had to do. So too, Jairus was courageous when he continued to lead Jesus to his home, though he must have been breaking apart inside at the news of his daughter's death. These are people who do not let uncertainty or fear stop them, but rather they have the faith to act towards wholeness, to bring in miracles.

May we also in this time of transition in the life of this church act with boldness. May we act out a faith not of certainty but of courage as we begin this journey together. Amen.

Movement, movement, movement...and repose

Jesus said, "If they say to you, 'Where did you come from?' say to them, 'We came from the light, the place where light comes into being on its own accord and established [itself] and became manifest through their image.' If they say to you, 'Is it you?' say, 'We are its children and we are the elect of the living father.' If they ask you, 'What is the sign of the father in you?' say to them, 'It is movement and repose.'"

-From the Gospel of Thomas, translated by Bart D. Ehrman

Movement and repose. There are songs that haunt you, that get in your head and play out as you try to go about your daily business. When I served as a chaplain this past fall, I had mewithoutYou's cover of Nirvana's "In Bloom" (listen here). In my old age, the more mellow sound of mewithoutYou really hit me, but I really felt those lyrics, that I didn't know what "it" means, what anything meant, and I really did feel in bloom. This, of course, did not change between fall and spring semester, but another song began to resonate within me. One
that spoke to me not just about my continued learning but that articulated a liminal space I was in. A space of movement and repose.

I am not someone who is good at repose, which is perhaps why this song, using the Gospel of Thomas passage, catches me off-guard and seeps under my skin. The song is another mewithoutYou song (to get another glimpse of my obsession with this band [blame David Hosey], read this) called "Paper Hanger:"*



I love this music video because as the music builds and Aaron Weiss screams movement, he is flailing his arms about with joyful abandon. That is partially why I am so drawn to this song. I want to exhibit some of that joyful abandon, at least once in a while. This is the first meaning of movement and repose to me: movement and repose is about this ability to be free and whole, to dance.

Many of us are the kinds of people who are constantly moving. Aaron, my partner, always kind of reproaches me for it, telling me I don't know how to relax. This is true. Whenever I try to do nothing, I usually end up falling asleep! This is not what mewithoutYou or the author of the Gospel of Thomas mean by movement and repose. It isn't even about the ability to relax in the midst of working all the time. Instead, Aaron Weiss' dancing is closer to a definition of what movement and repose means: a state of joyful abandon in which we can be moving to the rhythms of the call God has placed on us and still live sabbath.

The reason why this song has pulled me in, even now when I spend most of my days napping, reading, and talking to our bird Teddy, is because my last semester of seminary, even though I needed one class to graduate, I took five classes, worked two jobs, underwent ordination exams, and went to General Conference. I had that movement part down, but I had no idea the meaning of repose. But what we learn from the concept of movement and repose is that you can't do just one. Jesus says that if they ask you for the sign of the father, tell them it is movement and repose. It is the interaction of the two that is wholeness and fullness.

There is nuance to movement and repose I am still mulling over, but I needed to write something for myself about how this little phrase has gotten under my skin, not least because as I become a pastor for the Deer Creek Charge, I want to enact movement and repose as a kind of spiritual discipline. To be a pastor whose life looks like Aaron Weiss' dancing.

Our lives are not our own;
even the wind lays still,
our essence was fire and cold
and movement, movement.
If they ask you for a sign of the Father,
tell them it's movement, movement

and repose.

Belated General Conference Reflections

Continuing in the vein in which I have operated all semester, I am belatedly offering my General Conference reflections. These particular reflections come from my journal entries for the first and last day of conference (April 24-May 4). For more reflections from more folks, see the OnFire blog.

Portions of this reflection are crossposted on OnFire.

So General Conference was overwhelming.

I got up early on the first day, April 24, realized I forgot a bunch of important stuff, finally got to Tampa, dropped off my bags, and didn't see the hotel room again for a long time after that. Now, of course, there are people who don't sleep at all during General Conference, so I should not complain, but just the running around without having any clue what is going on is pretty tiring. When I got home from Conference, I slept several 10 hour nights to make up for this and was still tired.

But the thing about any big United Methodist event is that no matter how boring voting on whether we should end at 9 or 9:30 or at the discretion of the committee chair is, no matter how tired you are, and no matter how stressful the day has been, there are these moments of intense, beautiful connection, like when I was standing in the airport and jumped into a conversation with random people because I noticed one of them was wearing UM swag. When a friend I hadn't seen in a while jumped out of nowhere and gave me a hug--- oh and there have been so many hugs from so many people! When a person I had met five minutes before bought me coffee because I was already looking frazzled. When I got a text message courtesy of one of those mass text-messaging organizing tools following a proposed rule to outlaw protests because people know how powerful our demonstrations were before and just how close we are to making the church a more just place. So that last one was a crazy run on sentence, but you get the idea. When me and some seminary friends skipped down the river walk and just breathed in the salty air.

There was a commissioning service for Common Witness Volunteers in the evening that first day in what's called the tabernacle--- a big tent across from the convention center. In it we sang a song by Holly Near:

I am open and I am willing
for to be hopeless would seem so strange
it dishonors those who go before us
so lift me up to the light of change.

These moments of connection lifted me up to the light of change. It reminded me through all the stress and through the fear--- frankly, fear that the church won't change or that it will for the worse--- that we can do beautiful things together. Lifting each other up to the light of change. This is the connectionalism I wrote about when I wrote about why I am a United Methodist.

But.

General Conference was ugly. I have seen Annual Conference before; I know that "holy conferencing" is 99 percent of the time bullshit. But the degree to which we were not church was staggering. Every vote was 60-40, every single one in favor of the status quo. Even after moving speeches from Garlinda Burton and Erin Hawkins of the General Commission on the Status and Role of Women and on the General Commission on Religion and Race among so many others, the votes were the same. Delegates were not open to the movement of the Holy Spirit at all. Their minds were made up, votes bought and paid for, no returns.

But around 4pm that last day there was an explosion.The General Conference secretary announced that the Judicial Council ruled Plan UMC unconstitutional.

Plan UMC was the attempt to salvage the restructuring plan proposed by the Connectional Table that failed in committee. It was created by an ad hoc group that included IOT folks and Plan B, another restructuring plan. These plans were not goof for women, minorities, or anyone in the Central Conferences, a theme of General Conference 2012. Fed by fear-mongering over the USAmerican church decline and urges to cut spending, though, Plan UMC was narrowly voted through and was to become our restructuring plan, despite the fact that there were major issues around protecting the rights of women and people of color. When the General Council on Financial Administration reported back on it, they swore that the restructuring plan could be implemented within budget. And with a sinking feeling, I thought we were done for. Nice try justice voices in The UMC. The only thing that was to come out of General Conference 2012 would be an institutional move further away from the kindom of God.

But then the secretary of General Conference announced that the Judicial Council ruled Plan UMC unconstitutional.

There was this intense feeling of release, release into chaos maybe, but release. The tension that had been present all of conference over everything, sexuality included, finally exploded as every person breathed out together, whether or not they were pleased by the announcement. I called my roommate and texted my TA for the General Conference class and started to feel this strange giddy sensation of hope. Someone called for a time to caucus, and it was granted, but the bishops themselves were so disoriented the break was extended into dinner time. The General Conference secretary left us with the words (in reference to the rushed creation of the Connectional Table?), "And remember when we come back after dinner that we should be working for quality not quantity..."

Giddy, exhausted, nervous. But I wasn't the only one who felt weird. When I got back to the conference center everyone was weird. People were not making any sense whatsoever, until finally Rev. Laura Easto from Baltimore Washington stood up to chastise everyone. She said she felt the Holy Spirit move with the judicial council decision and the fact that we were still talking about that restructure plan was ridiculous. She called us instead to repentance. It was powerful and effectively ended conversation on restructure and moved us to other items of business. Finally Joey Lopez, my hero, moved to end General Conference, so we did! With a short worship service and hugs from everyone. So General Conference did not end on this horrible note, but we left with hope.

One of the problems lamented by everyone at the beginning of conference was a lack of trust. I myself felt a huge distrust of delegates and the whole process. There was no movement of the spirit (except for in the judicial council decision), no holy conferencing. But I leave the conference with a little bit of trust budding, trust in young people, including myself, WAKING UP. We are going to change the church, even if we have to drag it kicking and screaming.

Taking back the communion table May 3; photo from UMNS

Apologies

Apologies again. I try to put something up on the blog at least once a month so you don't forget about me, but this semester has been absolutely insane. But I have a few reflections in the works to be published when possible:

• Reflecting on General Conference, which is the only body that speaks for The United Methodist Church and meets every four years. I will be going with a seminary class and volunteering with OnFire, the young adult chapter of MFSA.
• Celebrating the powerful experience that was praising orgasms and reclaiming our vaginas and declaring "I'm so over rape" under the cross in Craig Chapel at Drew Theological School for our seminary performance of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues.
• Naming the conflict for me that is loving this community at Drew Theological School and knowing my real home is with Aaron and the rest of my family. I have felt the pull with Bosnia as well. So I really want to meditate on the meaning of home a bit as I look forward to sleeping in the same bed for a whole year when I move into my parsonnage.
• Exploring the meaning of movement and repose...

So stay tuned. In the meantime, here is a photo I took on a sunset flight with Aaron over the Chesapeake Bay. We all need the peace of sunset sometimes.

You Got a Beautiful Taste

I schedule people to bake bread for our Thursday communion service at the Drew Theological School chapel service. So this year, we had a service on the Spirituality of Bread Baking. Amanda Rohrs-Dodge and I put together the liturgy as well. It was a fun service and very uplifting for me. The following is my written reflection, the order of worship, and the video from the service.

Often, our communion bread for Thursday eucharist is home-baked by Theo school students. In this service of word, music, readings and communion, our bakers will describe their spiritual and theological approach to providing this most sacred element to our worship life.

Service of Word and Table
Thursday, February 9, 2011
Craig Chapel, Drew University
Spirituality of Bread Baking

Prelude Prelude in G Major J.S. Bach

*Call to Worship:
ONE: This bread which we will break is the new manna in the desert. It nourishes and sustains us on our journey. This bread of life will be ours to bless, break and share. Let us pray to the Creator:
ALL: Give us this day our daily bread.
ONE: When we are led into the desert, and our spirits wither like grass
ALL: Give us this day our daily bread.
ONE: When the fire of love dies down within us,
ALL: Give us this day our daily bread.
ONE: When we forget your promise, God,
ALL: Give us this day our daily bread.
ONE: When we are tempted to turn our faces and look away from brothers and sisters in need
ALL: Give us this day our daily bread.
ONE: When we drift from this table of fellowship
ALL: Give us this day our daily bread.
ONE: This bread symbolizes the hope and the help that is always available to children of God.
ALL: Give us this day our daily bread. Amen.

*Opening Prayer
Gracious and loving God, we come before you this day to honor and praise you, and to remember the ways in which you are present in our lives. Like a baker that kneads sticky dough into smooth loaves, you blend this community together, each one of our unique gifts an artisanal ingredient. Let us be bread, blessed by your Word, that we may go out and feed the world. Amen.

*Hymn of Praise
O magnify the Lord, for God is worthy to be praised!
Hosanna, blessed be the rock,
Blessed be the rock of my salvation! (repeat)

Scripture:
Exodus 16:14-15 When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, "What is it?" For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, "It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat."

Reflection: Jessica and Sandy Stenstrom [baking together]

Scripture:
Matthew 13:33 The kin-dom of heaven is like yeast, that a woman took and mixed in with the measures of flour until all of it was leavened.

Reflection: Theresa Ellis [sourdough]

Sung Scripture: Light of the World from the musical “Godspell”
Matthew 5:13 You are the salt of the earth.

Reflection: Amanda Rohrs-Dodge [ingredients and method of breakmaking]

Scripture:
Acts 2:46 Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts...

Reflection: Betty Gannon [the mess]

Sung Scripture: Taste and See FWS 2267
Psalm 34:8 O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him.

Reflection: Shannon Sullivan
Jesus should taste good. I am not confident of too much else we can say of Jesus, but I know that Jesus tastes good. That is part of why I feel compelled to bake bread for communion in the first place--- I wanted to make some good Jesus. Taste is not often a sense that we experience in worship; more often we are assaulted by flat pita bread or stale cubed bread convenient to serve to the congregation without getting too messy. But we are a people who believe that God is in bodies, bodies with taste buds. We follow this guy who was accused of being a glutton for all the partying and eating he did (Matthew 5, Luke 6), and yet we walk up to the communion table very solemnly and come away from the table bored.

When you bake bread, you feel the stickiness of the dough turn smooth under your kneading fingers, the air slowly becomes heavier with the smell of baked bread, and when you take the bread out of the oven and gloss the browned and warm bread with butter that melts as it touches the crust, it is a full sensory experience, and it just makes me hungry describing it. But making bread makes me feel so alive, so in tune with my senses, that I can't just walk up to the table solemnly, and to leave the table bored would feel like blasphemy. No, I want to remember at the table using all my senses that the Lord is good. I want to taste and see that the Lord is good. And my prayer for you today in this community is that you do.

Communion

Invitation
Christ our Lord, the Bread of Life, calls all who love him to his table, inviting us to never be hungry. As people who seek to live in the abundance of Christ’s love, let us confess those times we have fallen short and remain hungry.

Confession and Pardon
Merciful God,
we confess that we have not lived into the abundance you provide for us.
We have failed to feed our neighbors,
and we often deny our own spiritual hunger.
We close our ears to the sounds of rumbling tummies,
and instead live out of fear of scarcity.
Forgive us, we pray.
Free us from our fear so that we may truly live in joyful abundance
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Taste and see that the Lord is good!
In the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven.
In the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven!
Glory to God! Amen.

The Passing of the Peace

Choir Anthem Truly Yours Zelman/Miller

The Great Thanksgiving:
The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them up to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give our thanks and praise.

We praise you, Master Artisan, who from the very beginning created new things with your hands. You shaped humanity from the dust of the earth, and breathed into us the warm breath of life. When Pharaoh enslaved your people in Egypt, you brought them out of slavery and into the desert. You provided them with manna covering the surface of the wilderness, a fine, flaky substance that sustained your people as they journeyed to the Promised Land. The exodus is remembered through the breaking of unleavened bread, and together with all your people we remember these works and praise your name.
Sanctus FWS 2257b

Just as you fed your people in the wilderness, so too your Son fed thousands by the sea of Galilee, and promises that all who come to him will never hunger or thirst, for he is the bread of life.
Some found this teaching difficult and turned away, shutting their minds to the vision of a world where none are hungry or thirsty. For some it was easier to wash their hands of his teaching, and so they gave him up.
At his last supper with his friends, Jesus took everyday bread, formed by human hands, blessed it, broke it, and shared it with all around the table, saying “Taste, and see.”
When supper was over he took the cup, ordinary grapes crushed by ordinary people, blessed it, and shared it with all around the table, saying, “Take, and drink. As often as you do this, remember me.”
And so we remember these mighty, yet ordinary life-giving acts in Jesus Christ, and we offer ourselves, ordinary people capable of extraordinary things in union with Christ’s offering for us, as we proclaim the mystery of our faith:
Memorial Acclamation FWS 2257c

Pour out your Spirit on us gathered here, and on these gifts of bread and wine.
By your Spirit, knead us together as one bread, one body in Christ, that we may be bread for the world, making Christ known to one another in the simple act of breaking bread together until Christ comes and we feast at his heavenly table.
Through your Son, the Bread of Life, with your Holy Spirit among us today, all honor and glory is yours, Master Artisan, loving and sustaining God, now and forever. Amen.

The Lord’s Prayer W&S 3071

Breaking the Bread

Giving of the Bread and Cup

Songs during Communion
Let Us Be Bread
One Bread, One Body

Benediction

Closing Song We Are Called FWS 2172

Worship Notes:
Call to worship adapted from Bread Breaking Prayers at http://emmauscommunity.net/
Opening Prayer and Communion Liturgy by Amanda Rohrs-Dodge and Shannon Sullivan, 2012.
Many thanks to all who have shared in the ministry of baking bread.

Video of the service after the jump.

Seeing God within the Khaki Uniforms of Incarcerated Women

Crossposted at OnFire.

This semester I was to be taking my second PREP course at Drew Theological School. PREP stants for Partnership in Religion and Education in Prisons. It is a class taken, for women, at Edna Mahan Correctional Facility, the only women's prison in New Jersey, in which half of the students are "outside" students from Drew and half of the students are "inside" students, inmates at the prison. I had hoped to write more about the class I took last year, Race, Ethics, and Women's Lives with Dr. Traci West. What follows is a reflection on my experience last year in observance of Black History Month and in honor of the the class I was supposed to take this semester, Our Earth/Land is God's (Property, Nation, Environment) with Dr. Otto Maduro, which has been canceled due to Dr. Maduro's health. I pray for blessings on him and those women at Edna Mahan who I will miss this semester.

These are my first impressions from my first day at Edna Mahan Correctional Facility:

beautiful women. So welcoming and warm. Dark, sure, but in a khaki kind of way. Ok, so that may not make sense: I just mean I was expecting dim lighting and heavy gates and stuff, not a minimum security, mundane-looking sort of education building, and these khaki uniforms. Dark in a sterile, beige kind of way.

A woman at the gate saying, "Sharing isn't caring here," reminding one of the women not to share her skittles. My fear that I had forgotten to wear a bra without underwire that they would make me leave in the car during class.

And then sitting in this room, going around the circle, getting to know one another. Just feeling so overwhelmed with the feeling of awe of these women, and pain that I would be leaving to go outside and they wouldn't. They told us how they do work but usually don't get paid more than eighty some cents a day, and they have to pay for shampoo, and even good quality pads and tampons (they are given pads, but they are so bad that instead of Always, they call them Nevers). And then going to sit down next to one of the women and seeing pictures of her children. Oh God.

This kind of random journal entry is the one I keep coming back to when I try to articulate my experience taking a class in Edna Mahan Correctional Facility. The words are scattered, but the entry is followed by a list of names I cannot include here for confidentiality. And those names make me remember the faces of those women, the sound of their voices, their jokes, the taste of the juice boxes and off-brand cookies (the kinds your find in senior centers, hospitals, and food banks)they would share with the "outside" students.

One week, we talked about breast cancer and heard a story from an inside woman about her friend. In Edna Mahan, there is a maximum side and a minimum side secuirty to the prison. Our class was in minimum security, but each woman serves almost half her sentence, no matter what she has been convicted of, in max. This particular woman had already served her time in max, but heard one of her friends had cancer. She cried when she told us. She wondered if anyone was taking care of her friend, and revealed a plan to do something bad so she would get sent back to max. Her mother begged her not to, she said, but you could hear the desperation in her voice, the pain. The helplessness.

We talked about intimate partner violence and heard story after story from inside and outside women about violence they had faced. And then the woman sitting next to me spoke up. She was the first woman in New Jersey to use the battered woman's defense in court, having killed her partner when he threatened her son. She must have been pregnant at the time of her trial, given the age of her daughter and the amount of time she had been imprisoned. And again, there was pain, helplessness, violent frustration in her voice. But there was also survival there, too: the firece strength of being alive.

There is so much emotion that comes up for me when I try to write about this experience, which is why it has taken me almost a year to write about it, and even now I would not, not yet, but I want to be a part of this conversation on the prison system in the USA. The church does not talk about it enough, despite the fact that so many of our communities, particularly poor communities, immigrant communities, and communities of color, are torn apart by it. One in three black men will be incarcerated. Prisons are built based on the number of third grade-age boys of color in particular communities. We live in a country in which bankers can steal people's homes from them with impunity but people can get life in prison for nonviolent drug crimes (see this Democracy Now! interview focusing on a new documentary about the so-called war on drugs). And these women who I sat next to in class, these beautiful people...

At the beginning of January, The United Methodist Board of Pensions and Health Benefits announced it would divest from "companies that derive more than 10 percent of revenue from the management and operation of prison facilities" (which OnFire and UM Kairos Response's Emily McNeill touched on in an important blog post here). This is an important start to the conversation around the prison industrial complex, but it falls short. We need a critical United Methodist voice for prison abolition, for alternatives to caging women like those I met in class in whose faces I saw Christ as they shared their orange juice boxes and cookies as though they were serving communion.

So, the first step in raising this voice is educating yourselves and your faith communities. For more information on the Prison Industrial Complex, start at Critical Resistance, "a national grassroots organizion committed to ending society's use of prisons and policing as an answer to social problems." And important books to start with are Angela Davis' classic Are Prisons Obsolete? and Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness.

"I like to pray like this"

An Advent Reflection.

When we prayed, she pressed her palms together tight.

"Comforting God," I begin.

"Is it okay if I pray like this?" she asks, holding her hands up to show me, fingers straight, pressed together. "I like to pray like this because then my palms feel warm."

I wanted to cry. Of course, I told her, it is ok to pray like that. Your body knows how you need to pray. And I could not think of any more beautiful reason to pray in any particular way than it makes your palms warm. In a place where there is so much cold isolation, seeking the warmth of your own body that comes as you pray to the One Who Loves You just seemed so absolutely essential to me in that moment. I unkinked my fingers and pressed my palms together too, feeling my palms get warm.

On the day of this conversation, my third with this woman, she was feeling some sunlight breaking through the fog, and she thought by speaking with a chaplain, she could continue to nurture that breaking through. She felt prayer was a tool that could help strengthen her, which is why she focused so intently on how to pray when we talked.

For myself, I could not get over how excited I was to see such a huge improvement in her. The last time I spoke with her she cried the entire time. Every interaction I had had with her made me anxious because it took so long for her to respond to me, as though my words to her got stuck in that fog around her, moving as though through molassas and so taking forever to get to her ears. But despite this anxiety, I feel very close to her. Part of the reason probably is our ages; we are only two years apart. But part of my connection to her too is I feel that deeply spiritual Spanish-speaking patients I had talked with before charged me with her spiritual care. For them, she was someone I was to actively seek out and be actively praying for. And so I was.

And yet, I learned far more from her than I provided for her. She was just so innocent but so knowledgeable at the same time. It reminded me of a poem I liked a lot in high school (printed below) that I still feel drawn to at the same time I find some of its language clumsy. This is what I want for this young woman. I want her to feel that God says yes to her, that God calls her sweetcakes. I want her to feel her belovedness. And I want to feel it too.

God Says Yes to Me 1
by Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

This poem is so joyous, which is again what I want for this patient, but the joy is also what I felt when I saw how much better she was doing. I felt that God was saying yes to her.

I talk about our belovedness a lot, and I talk about hope a lot, but too often the hope I am talking about is the sad hope in something like, to borrow my friend David's words from one of his Advent blog posts, "10-year old children somehow thinking they can oppose militarism and religious fundamentalism just by walking to school."2 There is a hardness to that kind of hope at times, I think. It is hope that if we keep running into the wall at top speeds, we will make a crack in the wall until evenutally it crumbles. And I am the kind of person who gets swept into focusing on that kind of hope, being content with being sad because I am working for change, for something better, never mind if I am miserable now.

Beautiful art by He Qi of Ruth and Naomi.*

This young woman's visible change, the way she so broke through the fog around her to teach me about prayer helped me to feel hope differently, to feel hope as impossibly happy, to feel God saying Yes Yes Yes.

This is what Advent is for me this year: a time of healing and listening for Christmas, a season when God says yes to us.

---

1 Kaylin Haught, "God Says Yes to Me," from Steve Kowit, In the Palm of Your Hand: The Poet's Portable Workshop (Tilbury House Publishers, 2003).

2 David Hosey, "What is foolish in the world," City of..., 18 December 2011, http://hoseyblog.blog.com/2011/12/18/what-is-foolish-in-the-world/

*This picture is of Ruth and Naomi (a romanticization of the story that I will be learning about in my January class on Ruth), but, more than that, to me it is about prayer. About finding that closeness, that warmth wrapped up in God. Also check out more of He Qi's work here. He came to visit Drew last semester and is amazing!

To See Every Bush Afire

After a long and crazy semester, I will be posting a couple stories about my experience in Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE), a fancy way of saying I have been a student chaplain in a hospital near Drew Theological School, taking classes and working as a chaplain on a geriatric floor and the behavioral health unit, as well as everywhere else in the hospital when I am on-call. It has been a difficult experience for me, but also one in which I have seen God in so many beautiful ways. A reflection from the beginning of my experience is posted here, and in sermon form here.

There is something I find strangely comforting about sitting in the midst of people speaking a foreign language. The quick pace of it, the strange sounds, the occasional familiar word that grabs at your ears and forces you to again try to make sense of these sounds. Okay, maybe that description does not sound comforting at all, but it is to me. It takes me back to places like Bosnia and Herzegovina and Venezuela, where I was able to sit and be in community with others at the same time I could step back and let this foreignness wash over me. I was expected to do nothing but absorb the sounds, watch the way bodies moved to the music of their own words, and in that you find often that words are unnecessary tools of communication.

I found myself again relaxing into this game of uncovering what is said in a foreign language, but this time the setting was far different than smokey kitchens in Bosnia or greenhouses in the side of mountains in Venezuela. This time I sat in the behavioral health unit in the hospital in which I am a chaplain. The unit is really nice, lots of natural light coming in from the windows, more light wood than white walls, and cushy furniture. But for all its attempt at trying to be like home, it is still...not.

I was sitting with three women, one of whom was my roommate and fellow chaplain Lauren, and one man. I had noticed earlier that day that we had at least two people coming to spiritual events on the floor who spoke only Spanish, and I felt it terribly isolating for us not to try and care for their spiritual needs. So I grabbed my roommate, who speaks Spanish, and drug her up the stairs to a floor that generally makes her feel very uncomfortable with the promise that I would stay with her.

Lauren began by asking each person, one a beautiful dynamic mother of three, one a sweet older man who had been taken under the first woman's wing, and a woman who was also older and funny but who also hallucinated, what happened. Trying to get them to share a little of their stories. As I watched, I heard the first woman speak of her babies who were not in the USA yet and give their ages, I heard the man speak of a tumor and a great loneliness, and the third spoke of lost love. And so, they told their stories, but the first woman, the dynamic one who broke into the others' stories to explain something they said, turned the conversation away from their lives. Instead, what concerned them, was another young woman on the unit.

This young woman was one I had met before. She was in a lot of pain, and speaking to her was off-putting as it took her several seconds to respond to you, as though your words had a distance to travel before they got to her. She was certainly a sweet woman, but--- and I made Lauren ask them to double check--- she was not Spanish-speaking at all.

But it was a really beautiful moment for me, the way that these patients were so concerned about another patient. I guess it is even more beautiful because in Spirituality Group we talk about how depression (which is what two of the three were seeking treatment for) is such an inward-focusing disease. That it is so isolating. And here, people were breaking out of that isolation that had wrapped them up so tightly to love a young woman who could not even speak their language.

Throughout scripture there are continually stories of how God chooses to reveal Godself in the "least of these" (to use language from Matthew 25), and yet because I come from a culture that is so hierarchical and oppressive I am always surprised when I see God in these places so clearly. When I hear God in these strange sounds that I do not understand so clearly by looking at the concern on one of the women's faces, concern not for herself but for another young woman, one she saw as needing someone to talk to, someone who had something to say and was not getting the help she needed from doctors.

Burning Bush by Seth Weaver

Earlier last week, I prayed a prayer with some of my classmates:


"now, not next time, now is the occasion to take off my shoes, to see every bush afire"1
This prayer disarmed me when I prayed it, took away from me the to do list I was agonizing over in my head and forced me to see these bushes afire all around me. I sat listening, watching, even though I don't know Spanish, rather than letting my mind wander back to all the things I have to get done before Christmas. Instead I heard Christ in the music of a language I do not know, I saw Christ in the concern for a young woman struggling for healing in the midst of inward struggles for their own healing.

And so I was reminded to take off my shoes and let God in.

---

1 Ted Loder Guerrillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle (Innisfree Press, 1984).

Clothing Christ

This sermon was preached at Verona United Methodist Church in Verona, NJ, for a celebration of their knitting ministry. We dedicated 92 hand-made scarves, hats, and mittens that were knitted and sewn for the needy in Irvington, NJ. The items will be taken down to the community center on Saturday, November 19, when this church serves a home-cooked Thanksgiving feast. It is not my best sermon, and many of you will have read the story about my experience as a chaplain in the behavioral health unit before, but I wanted to post the sermon because it was just a great experience to be in that church! Hopefully once this semester is over, I will be posting more often and maybe not all sermons! We'll see, though...

Scripture: Matthew 25:31-46 1

I am reading from the Cotton Patch Gospel this morning, which is a modern paraphrase of the bible with a “Southern accent,” written by Clarence Jordan, a Greek scholar and organic farmer who helped inspire the creation of Habitat for Humanity. I figured many of us have heard this scripture many times before, so I thought it might be refreshing to read it in a new way.

"When the son of man starts his revolution with all his band around him, then he will assume authority. And all the nations will be assembled before him, and he will sort them out, like a farmer separating his cows from his hogs, penning the cows on the right and the hogs on the left. Then the Leader of the Movement will say to those on his right, 'Come you pride of my Father, share in the Movement that was set up for you since creation; for I was hungry and you shared your food with me, I was thirsty and you shared your water with me; I was a stranger and you welcomed me, ragged and you clothed me, sick and you nursed me; I was in jail, and you stood by me.' Then the people of justice will answer, 'Sir, when did we see you hungry and share our food, or thirsty and share our water? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or ragged and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in jail, and stand by you?' And the Leader of the Movement will reply, 'When you did it to one of these humblest brothers [and sisters] of mine, you did it to me.'

"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Get away from me, you fallen skunks, and into the flaming hell reserved for the Confuser and his crowd. For I was hungry and you shared nothing with me; I was thirsty and you gave me no water; I was a stranger and you didn't welcome me, ragged and you didn't clothe me, sick and in jail, and you didn't stand by me.' Then these too will ask, 'Sir, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or ragged or sick or in jail, and do nothing about your needs?' Then he'll answer, 'When you failed one of these humblest people you failed me.' These will take an awful beating, while the just ones will have the joy of living."

Sermon: Clothing Christ

I just want to let all of you know that I am honored to be here with you this morning in this absolutely gorgeous sanctuary and on such a special day in the life of your church. I am deeply appreciative of your welcome to me this morning.

So will you pray with me?

Patient Teacher,
you who have knit us together as one Body, grant that this morning we may see that connection between us, that you may speak to us through this scripture, the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all our hearts, so we might better live out your teachings. Amen.

One of my best friends since high school, Laura, decided to take up knitting probably five years or so ago. Her first project was to knit me a scarf. To this day, it is my favorite scarf--- and I have a ton of scarves, let me tell you. But this one, this one that Laura made, is the warmest scarf I own, it is a beautiful color purple, it is soft--- and there is magic, I think, in something that a friend's hand makes for you. When I put on this scarf, I know that someone loves me enough to keep me warm; and when the sting of winter wind hits me so hard I can't breathe, I duck down my mouth under my scarf, tuck it tighter into my coat, and thank God for that reminder of love. And I'm sure Laura has no idea that that little scarf, the first one she knit for anybody, means that much to me. So when I heard about the work that your church does with its knitting ministry, I was touched. How beautiful, I thought, this is a tangible reminder of the warmth of God's love.

See, we live in a world today where that warmth is not easily accessible to so many of us. Our Gospel lesson this morning puts in stark contrast two world views, the way of justice and the way of injustice. Now I know I may have lost some of you here. We were just talking about warmth and love and then I start talking about justice? Some people might think it strange to talk about justice, when the word often conjures up images of the criminal justice system with scary courtrooms and stern-faced judges, hand in hand with the word love as rather strange. Even though we think about justice as a good thing, we certainly don't think about it as love. But as American philosopher and Civil Rights activist Cornell West points out, "Justice is what love looks like in public." And that is what this morning's gospel lesson is getting at. Jesus names those on his right, the sheep, or as Clarence Jordan paraphrases it, the cows, as people of justice.

See justice dictates that we are to share food with the hungry, drink with the thirsty, we are to welcome the stranger, clothe the ragged, care for the sick; and we are to support those in prison. Injustice obscures our connections to one another and focuses on greed and self-preservation, trying to keep the warmth of our love to ourselves as Rainbow Fish in our children's story this morning tried to keep his scales to himself.

So one important piece in this gospel lesson this morning is that desire to reach out with the warmth of God's love is what separates the sheep from the goats, or, as Clarence Jordan paraphrases it, the cows from the hogs. These specific acts of sharing, standing up with, welcoming, are acts of love towards our neighbor, warmth poured out of us. These public acts of love like knitting scarves and placing them over the necks of those without homes in Irvington is a public act that says, we care about you and God does too, and so we are going to do something to change your situation. There is a power in that similar to but way more powerful then the magic that I see in the scarf my friend knit for me.

I don't know if you noticed this morning, but Clarence Jordan instead of talking about a king as it is usually translated, refers to Jesus as the Leader of a Movement. Aaron, my partner, did not like this paraphrase, and maybe you don't either, but hear me out. The word Movement is Clarence Jordan's translation of the kingdom of heaven. I really like that because I think it reminds us that it is these little things like knitting scarves to clothe the ragged and serving at soup kitchens to feed the hungry are little actions that can build up this Movement that is the kingdom of God, moving us all towards a different way of living that God is calling us to live and that is described in the scripture we read this morning.

Christ in our gospel lesson today does not talk about love and warmth. He does not even talk about how when we act with love towards our neighbors we are in fact channeling God's love, being agents of God's love. I have read that into the scripture using my own experience to understand how the physicality of making scarves to clothe the ragged is such a powerful act of love. What Christ focuses on in the telling of this story is not the love, though; he focuses, rather on how when you clothe the ragged, you are clothing Christ. You may be acting with God's love, but what Christ wants to highlight in his story is not whose love you are acting with but that the person who you are loving is Christ. "When you did it to one of these humblest brothers [and sisters] of mine, you did it to me."

I work with Pastor Sharon in the student chaplaincy program at Overlook hospital in Summit, which is how I come to you now this morning, and it is there that I have learned a lot about seeing Christ in others. One of the floors where I serve as chaplain is the psyche ward, the behavioral health unit. This is an important ministry to me because even though all of our families are touched in some way by mental health issues, too often we look upon those people who are sick as weak, as scary, as worthless. To love them then becomes an important public statement that we see all people as beloved of God.

My first day in the behavioral health unit, though, I struggled with realizing this love because I was so nervous. I had stopped in, one of the nurses asked who wanted to speak with me, and everyone responded with resounding no's. So, instead of sitting with folks and being for a few moments, I escaped easily, promising half-heartedly to return later. When I did, I did not announce myself, I just said hi to folks watching the TV, wandered down the hallway, and just when I was about to leave again, decided to first go through the dining room/game room area. A young man was in there, and we greeted each other. He was collecting board game pieces, monopoly money, Life cards, and so I assumed he was manic, unable to sit still, and probably not capable of holding a conversation. I wrote him off.

But I smiled at him, said hello, and started to walk away, and then he asked me where I was from. I turned back and sat down next to him. He proceeded to tell me about himself, where he was from, what he studied, a little of what brought him to the behavioral health unit. He was, in fact, bipolar, and a recovering alcoholic, and he spoke plainly to me about the program and how much of its merit to him was that he saw examples of what he did not want to become. I was shamed for walking by him without seeing him as a valuable person--- even though this is my job, right?---, but apparently I was not shamed enough. When I was leaving I asked him if he would mind if I kept him in prayer. He said of course he wouldn't mind, and as I got up to leave and started to turn my back he said that he would be keeping me in prayer as well.

Here I was on the behavioral health unit surrounded by what Clarence Jordan calls one of these humblest brothers [and sisters] of Christ, and what many of you may know as “the least of these,” people struggling with mental health issues, often abandoned by family and friends and seen as bad people or even lepers in a way. I was trying so hard to bring the warmth of God's love to these people, but as is apparent from this story I missed the mark completely. Instead this young man in the behavioral health unit was Christ to me. He was witness to Christ's of healing, forgiveness, renewal, all wrapped into one stark sentence, "I'll be praying for you too."

This is why the justice work of sharing food and drink, welcoming the stranger, clothing the ragged, caring for the sick, and standing with those in prison is so important. It is more than just that we should show others the love of God through out justice work, it is that we are showing God our love and leaving ourselves vulnerable to learning from God through people society sees as worthless. I connected with that young man, gave him the opportunity to reflect aloud about how he was healing over his time in the behavioral health unit, reminded him of his own worth just by talking with him after I got over my initial culturally enforced response to ignore him, and I still pray for him. But all of that work I did did not come close to the gift he gave me of his prayers. I knew Christ in him.

When you give your scarves to people in Irvington, do you know Christ in them? When I told my roommate, also a seminarian, about your ministry of clothing the ragged with beautiful, hand-knit scarves, she immediately began to think about what else cloths are used for in the bible and thought of the swaddling cloths that baby Jesus was wrapped in. I thought that was a beautiful image to think about as we come into Advent in a few weeks. Have you ever thought about how these scarves are dressing Christ as those swaddling cloths did in the manger on that first Christmas? It is a question that maybe we should consider as we dedicate these scarves later this morning.

Seeing ourselves as serving the Christ in all people may be a daunting prospect though. As a young person, I have often been taught to understand what the church values to be the boring, the chaste, the goody-two-shoes thing to do. That is unfortunately the way my generation characterizes Christian work. Many of you from other generations may more easily see the joy inherent in this work, but that is sadly not common among people my age. For me, though, I don't think you can read this mandate to share food and drink, welcome the stranger, clothe the ragged, care for the sick, and stand with those in prison and think of it as boring work. Instead, and many of you may agree with this even if we aren't from the same generation, this is scary work. Seeing Christ in everyone means getting dirty, it means owning up to your own prejudices as I had to after I tried to walk past the young man in the behavioral health unit. But ultimately, and Clarence Jordan catches this in his paraphrase of the last verse of our Gospel reading this morning: the just ones will have the joy of living. The work of seeing the Christ in everyone may be scary, but it will move us towards a better way of living, a more abundant way of living.

The kingdom of God, the Movement with a capital M that Clarence Jordan writes of, is not about giving us this checklist: yes, my church has a soup kitchen so we feed the hungry and give water to the thirsty; yes, my church is very friendly, we welcome new people; yes, we knit scarves so we clothe the ragged; yes, our own minister serves as a chaplain at the hospital so we care for the sick; and sure, there are some folks in prison we love and support. We can't just check those things off, say we followed the rules, and call it a day. No, this passage points to a way of living that is so abundant that we can't not knit scarves and think with love of those people who will receive them as Christ in our lives. It is about loving big and opening ourselves even bigger to the mystery that is God's love in our lives.

Let us pray,

Holy One,
We ask that you help us keep our eyes ever open for your presence among us. Especially today, we ask that we remember as we dedicate these scarves that we are a people who are clothing Christ among us. And help us to live into this Movement of abundant love to which you have called us. In the name of the Leader of that Movement, Amen.

1Clarence Jordan, The Cotton Patch Version of Matthew and John, (Koinonia Publication 1970), 84-85.

Melting Our Golden Calf

YHWH said to Moses, "Go down now! The people whom you led out of Egypt have corrupted themselves! In such a short time, they have turned away from the way that I have given them and made themselves a molten calf. Then they worshiped it and sacrificed to it saying, 'Israel, here is your God who brought you up from the land of Egypt.'" (Exodus 32:7-8, The Inclusive Bible Translation)

There is nothing quite like reading this scripture standing before the statue of the Charging Bull on Bowling Green. Since the beginning of Occupy Wall Street, the bull has been roped off, a sacred object protected from those animals, you know the ones, tattooed, leftie, unwashed. The Charging Bull is indeed a symbol of capitalism, charging in what is the center of the capitalist system: Wall Street. Hours after being there before the statue, I still cannot shake that eerie feeling of reading that scripture depicting the evil that was the creation of the Golden Calf while standing in front of, not a calf, but a full grown Bull. The people whom you led out of Egypt have corrupted themselves.

My excursion to Manhattan's Financial District on this day was through a field trip for my Christian Ethics class with Dr. Traci West. We went on a Poverty Scholar's Tour of Wall Street, led by John Wessel-McCoy from the Poverty Initiative. It is a tour designed to open our eyes to the current and historic realities of how the system of capitalism has so oppressed us. We asked the question, "Should people serve the economy, or should the economy serve the people?"

It is a historic moment to be asking such questions. We visited the Wall Street Occupation at Liberty Plaza, which was flanked by massive numbers of police officers, though folks on the plaza looked tired but impassioned, many resting, many talking, and many dancing and playing music. They are a people "gathered together in solidarity to express a feeling of mass injustice," as they explain in their first official statement. And who can deny that feeling of mass injustice? Please take the time to read some of those examples of injustice in their statement. I am sure that even good folks who are just working hard and don't want to cause any trouble cannot help but feel in their guts that something just isn't right: "They [the symbolic Wall Street] determine economic policy, despite the catastrophic failures their policies have produced and continue to produce." Yet that Golden Bull on Bowling Green has such a pull on us that to protest seems, well, blasphemous.

We walked down to the intersection of Water and Wall Streets where the Royal African Trading Company sold and rented slaves beginning 1711. New York did not outlaw slavery until 1827. This is one of the many dirty little secrets of the financial district--- this wealth is dirty money. It was accumulated through the blood of slaves then, it is accumulated on the backs of the poor and even middle class now. And, like so many of those dirty little secrets, there is no monument decrying this site where human beings were bought and sold as slaves. It would interfere with that myth that we tell ourselves of the sacredness of capitalism as embodied in the financial district. And so we sang "Amazing Grace," to honor those bodies that were dehumanized in that spot, and perhaps to remind ourselves of our work to rehumanize still today.

At one point, we were heckled by a man who yelled at us, "Don't listen to him [meaning John, our tour guide]! He is full of shit!" to which Dr. West shouted back, "We want to listen!" I thought that was a strange response until I realized that the lie of the holiness of capitalism has prevented us from listening, yet some of us were breaking through that lie to listen to the Truth.

The people at the Poverty Initiative here in New York, the folks sleeping in Liberty Square, those in solidarity in Boston and LA and Austin and DC and everywhere, are like Moses for us. They are coming down the mountain at God's direction to confront our corrupted selves and throw that Bull into the fire to melt it.