Bridges

Genesis 45:1-15 Matthew 15:21-28

Joseph was generous. Joseph was forgiving. Still, Joseph wasn’t a particularly nice guy.

Even when he was being generous and forgiving, he was full of himself, arrogant, convinced of his own importance.

And yet Joseph’s story is a key part of the Hebrew Scriptures. His story forms the link between the story of the Patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – and the story of Moses and the great Exodus which is to follow.

You would think that someone whose story was that important would be a virtuous person, a person worth emulating, a person who would be – in modern terms – a role model for us all.

But the first story about Joseph in the book of Genesis is the story of a brash, bragging, insufferable young man who lords it over ten of his brothers. His father gave him a fancy garment (variously know as a “coat of many colors” or “a coat with long sleeves”) that infuriated his siblings. Joseph himself made a point of telling them dreams in which they bowed down to him. It got so bad that when an opportunity arose, the brothers schemed to kill him, then got greedy themselves and decided to sell him into slavery instead.

When Joseph got to Egypt, his good looks and talents helped him to move up from ordinary slave to the trusted personal assistant to Potiphar, the captain of the Pharaoh’s guard. Those good looks got him into trouble when he tried to avoid the sexual advances of Potiphar’s wife. Spurned, she spitefully accused him of the worst, and he was thrown into prison. But he rose to the top right away there, too, and the jailer put him in charge of the other prisoners. When two members of Pharaoh’s household were thrown in prison, Joseph was kind enough to interpret their dreams for them. One of them, the “cup bearer” was released from prison, and would remember the fellow who predicted his pardon.

Next thing you know, the Pharaoh has a pair of dreams that need interpreting, and his servant (the cup bearer) remembers Joseph. Summoned to the royal presence, Joseph predicts a coming seven-year famine. He is so persuasive that the Pharaoh makes him Governor over all of Egypt.

The famine comes, just as Joseph had predicted, and with it come his brothers to Egypt to try to buy grain to feed their families and their flocks. Joseph doesn’t disclose his identity, and after questioning them rather harshly, he demands that they promise to bring their youngest brother Benjamin to him, or he won’t sell them the grain they have come for. Reluctantly they agree. When they do come back, and buy more grain, Joseph orders his servants to hide a valuable cup in Benjamin’s sack, to falsely incriminate them for theft.

That brings us to the touching story we heard this morning about Joseph revealing himself to his brothers. Taken by itself, it is a wonderful story of reconciliation and forgiveness, albeit with an undertone of Joseph’s bragging and one-up-manship. It is a little less wonderful when you realize that Joseph set up the whole thing and played his brothers along for many months. It is even less wonderful when you hear the continuation of the story: Joseph gets all the money in Egypt, and all the land in Egypt, and all the animals in Egypt, in payment for the grain which he has stored up for Pharaoh. In one way of thinking, he has saved the Egyptians from a terrible famine; in other way of thinking, he has used the famine to steal everything they have.

I am telling the story of Joseph in considerable detail. It is, after all, a complex and fascinating story. The characters are full of human foibles; the plot includes intrigue, crisis, and a great confrontation. More than all of that, though, this is a story that reminds us in dramatic fashion that God uses ordinary people to accomplish divine ends. We noticed two weeks ago that Joseph’s father Jacob was a scoundrel; the son has found his own ways to avoid humility and accumulate wealth.

If you doubt the importance of this story in the biblical history of Israel, consider the words that virtually begin the book of Exodus: “Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.” [Exodus 1:8] The next great narrative of salvation history, the story of Moses and the escape from slavery and the long march to freedom and the promised land, is about to begin.

This divine reliance on ordinary people – flawed people, selfish people, arrogant people, dishonest scheming people – will be told again and again in scripture. I have always been amused by the idea in popular culture that faithful people try to copy the perfect models they find in the Bible. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The reason we are drawn to the characters in the Bible is precisely because they are so much like us: flawed, inconsistent, self-centered, and cowardly. Yet it is their stories, their actions and choices, from which we glean the outline of divine love, of divine intention for reconciliation and forgiveness, of divine intervention into the events of the world, of the divine nature overall.

Joseph, whether we like him or not, is one of these ordinary, flawed people. And his story is one of the major bridges linking the chapters of God’s extraordinary story.

Matthew’s gospel brings us stories of more ordinary, flawed people, and in today’s text one of those people may be Jesus. There are few other passages in the New Testament in which the humanity of Jesus is put so clearly before us.

This story of Jesus’ encounter with the Canaanite woman is curious in many ways. It is the only place in the gospels that I can think of where Jesus makes a comment that is rude (at the least) and probably racist – there is nothing cute, endearing, or teasing about calling someone in a Middle Eastern culture a dog.

It is also the only place in the gospels where he is challenged theologically– by a woman no less – and changes his mind because of that challenge.

The bridge that is built in this story does not connect two stories as much as it does two cultures. On the one hand is the Jewish culture in which Jesus was born and raised, and in which he lives. The woman who comes to him, on the other hand, is identified as a Canaanite. The Canaanites, you will remember, were the people who lived in the “promised land” before the Israelites arrived. She is, then, by definition, an outsider and a historical enemy. For her to ask Jesus to heal her daughter is no small thing. She has walked across a bridge of desperation to bring her request to a Jew.

At first, Jesus does not even acknowledge her appeal; the disciples want her to be sent away – her shouting is disturbing them. Jesus reacts to all of this much as we would with a first-century version of “not my job—” “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” [Matthew 15:24] The woman does not give up. Sounding even more like us, Jesus shifts to the fairness argument: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” [Matthew 15:26] She still does not give up. “Yes Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” [Matthew 15:27]

Hearing that, Jesus crosses the cultural bridge, acknowledges his responsibility for gentiles as well as Jews, and heals her daughter. He was not especially graceful in this crossing; this healing happened at a distance, with no touch but his words.

We, of course, are also not usually very graceful when we face the divide between cultures. We stutter and sputter; we embarrass ourselves and those we are meeting and perhaps welcoming. We may say something clumsy or rude; we may try to wiggle out of our hospitable obligations.

The question for us, as disciples of Jesus, is whether we will, in fact, cross the bridge. Will we accept God’s call to listen when we would rather ignore, to include when we would rather exclude, to respect when we would rather dismiss, to act when we might rather refrain?

I have always imagined that the Canaanite woman (the gospel of Mark calls her a Syrophoenician) was loud, pushy, and annoying – though all the text says is that she was shouting. Whether I am correct about her or not, she is surely another one of the ordinary people whom God has used for an extraordinary purpose.

And that brings us to the “spiritual impact statement” for today. No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are not only welcome here – God may have something in mind that will use your gifts and your shortcomings for a holy purpose. God is all the time building bridges, and what God builds them out of, is us.

Amen.

Prayer for August 17, 2008

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

God of all times and places, we offer our prayers today for our own congregation as we near the anniversary of its founding..

We thank you for the pioneers who came before us and established a church here in your name and in the Congregational tradition. We remember their faithfulness, their determination, and their generosity, and we pray that we may be their spiritual heirs in all of these virtues.

We thank you, too, for the women and men who carried forward these ideals through the years, who invested their talents and energies in the congregation and the community. We are grateful for the bonds they formed with other churches, and for the worship, education, and outreach we have shared with our sisters and brothers. Let our continuing work and support for the church, the community, and the world be a living prayer of thanksgiving for their legacy to us.

And we thank you for calling us, in this century, to be part of the Body of Christ in this place. Inspire us, we pray, to honor the traditions of the past while moving boldly into your future. Help us to speak your word in today’s words, and to follow your way in today’s ways.

But we remember too, O Holy One, that being your church is easy on days of celebration; grant us the courage and stamina to be your church on the ordinary days, the days of challenge and crisis, the days of sorrow and blessing, the days of abundance and of need.

We confess to you our temptation to allow our congregation to be a theological debating club, or a community betterment society, or a social service agency. These are worthy activities, but they are not enough to make us your church. When we are tempted to be less than you call us to be, shake us back into clarity about our vocation as your hands, your voice, your feet, your heart. Interrupt our preoccupation with meetings and events, startle us out of our tired habits of worship, and scuttle our careful plans for the future. Ignite us, instead, with the power of your spirit, that it may fill us with the fire of our love for you and of our longing for the promised world of your Shalom.

All this we pray in the name of the one who lived among us as our brother, and lives among us still as our Risen Savior, even Jesus the Christ, and we pray together now in the words that he taught us ….

Today was also Sandy’s birthday and we celebrated

 with cake and ice cream after worship.

Don’t Look Down

Psalm 105: 1-6, 16-22, 45b; Matthew 14:22-33

Three things have shaped my sermon for today. First are the three cottage meetings we have had so far this summer, where church members and I have shared stories of how we came to be part of this congregation in Northfield. The part of my own story that often provokes questions is the part where I leave my job and my home in Seattle and head for seminary.

How did I decide to do that? I am asked; and it is a remarkably difficult question to answer.

Second is the story of Peter stepping out of the boat that we just heard. I felt a lot like Peter, I think, when I moved to Berkeley to attend Pacific School of Religion – at least I felt like I was jumping out of a boat and into some deep water.

And third is the visit of our Conference Minister, Rev. Karen Smith Sellers, and the celebration of the Leysath award that I was presented at our Annual Meeting back in June. When I accepted the award, I thanked a number of people – past and present – who have shaped and formed me as an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ. Some of them were people who I watched jump out of the boat myself; some of them were people who called me to jump out of the boat; and one or two of them might be described as people who gave me a little shove over the side.

I want to share their names and their stories, very briefly, today. My hope is that hearing me name the boat-jumping people in my life will nudge you into thinking about the people in your life who have done the same thing themselves, called you to do it, and maybe given you a little shove. So, here’s my list.

Among those who were examples of courageous initiative, I will start with Murdale Leysath, about whom Karen Smith Sellers will say more in a few minutes. Murdale was the first woman to serve as a conference minister in the United Church of Christ. Her ministry, and the ministry of other women of her time, was often marginalized, trivialized, or ignored. They were not accorded respect, but they served faithfully anyway.

I also want to tell you about Lulabelle Cassill, who traveled from Chicago to Chewelah, Washington in 1932, because that little church “could not afford a real pastor.” She brought the congregation to life: refurbished their building, perked up the Sunday School, wrote a Christmas pageant that was performed for nearly 40 years, and years later came back to service as interim minister and oversee the groundbreaking for their new building. That congregation, which I served from 1991 to 1997, continues to thrive today, a beacon of compassion and justice in its community.

Among those who called and pushed were the two friends who heard my call to ministry before I could. Lucia Schubert was a member and leader of the church I joined in Seattle, and she invited me to a weekend leaders retreat when I first joined the Christian Education Board. Her hospitality drew me into the life of the church. Katherine Mulhern was a business school student and single mother when I met her, but she increasingly felt a call to ordained ministry. She knew it was impractical for her to go to seminary, but she was convinced that I should. I convinced her that she should. She entered Eden Seminary the same time I went to Pacific School of Religion, and she now serves as pastor of Edwards Congregational UCC in Davenport, Iowa.

Then there were the brilliant and fierce women who were my teachers in seminary. Barbara Brown Zikmund is a distinguished church historian and was dean when I was at PSR. She taught a wonderful course about women in American Protestantism that was probably my favorite class. She has faced two public and significant disappointments – a faculty vote that ended her deanship at PSR, and the withdrawing of her name as a nominee for a national church office – and done so with dignity and grace, finding other venues to continue her service to the church.

Karen Lebacqz (whom some of you will remember from her visit here several years ago) taught ethics at the seminary, and insisted upon a high level of analysis and reflection in her courses. While I was at PSR, Karen decided to be ordained in the United Church of Christ because, as she told me, she wanted to be accountable to her church, and not just to the academy.

Flora Wuellner taught Prayer and Spirituality, and invited her students to find their own spiritual disciplines and prayer styles. She looks like the fair godmother in Cinderella, and I’ll bet there have been many people who failed to recognize the depth and wisdom of her spirit. She taught me that you don’t have to wake up at 5 am and kneel on a hard floor to have a relationship with God …

Deborah Streeter was my field education supervisor, and patiently helped me bridge the gap between classroom learning and pastoral ministry. In the face of her own disappointing experiences in the church, Deborah established her own ministry devoted to the spiritual care of the ocean and shoreline in Big Sur where she lives, and now also serves the Northern California Conference as one of their Associate Conference Ministers.

I want also to mention and thank the clergymen who opened their brotherhood and welcomed me as a sister in Christ. Phil Eisenhower was my first pastor in Seattle. Although he could be gruff, and was known to tell a sexist joke from time to time, he was unfailingly supportive of women leaders in the congregation and the wider church. His Associate Pastor, Todd Wyrick, was the first person who explicitly asked me if I were going to go to seminary, and then wrote me a letter of recommendation so kind that it made me cry. Don McClellan introduced me to computer networking even before anyone knew what the internet was, and visited me regularly while I was in seminary. He offered counsel during the nervous time when I was searching for my first call, and then again during the prolonged time when I was searching for my second. His good friend and colleague Tom Hunter was a wonderful teacher and musician, who taught me much about the ways that singing together can shape the faith of a congregation. Don died about a year ago and Tom this summer, and the church is poorer for it. Finally, there is my buddy Kent Gilbert, who was my seminary co-conspirator on many wonderful schemes, not the least of which involved four cases of very good wine. His first parish was about 200 miles from mine, and we supported each other through those first few years of ministry.

It is hard not to identify the church with the storm-tossed boat in which the disciples were sailing that night long ago. And so I want to name the three United Church of Christ congregations that have shaped me: Magnolia United Church of Christ

in Seattle, where I rediscovered the faith I had not practiced since I was a teenager; Chewelah UCC, whose members nurtured me from a seminary graduate to a working pastor; and, of course, this church. Here’s how I described our congregation at the Annual Meeting: “First UCC in Northfield, which continues its 152 year tradition of generosity and witness, which celebrated its sesquicentennial by giving away more than $50,000, and which celebrated its Open & Affirming Commitment 6 years ago by offering an extravagant welcome to my beloved partner Jean Chagnon.”

So the answer to the question about my leaving Seattle and going to seminary is this: I saw people jump out of the boat – when they got in trouble, sometimes Jesus reached out and pulled them out himself; sometimes he used the hands and voices of other people. [By the way, that’s how I understand the section were heard today from Psalm 105: it retells some of the story of Joseph, who was pushed out of his home and his homeland.] Moreover, there were people in my own life who were the hands and voices of Christ – people who called out and named my gifts, people who encouraged me, and people who goaded me. There were communities of faith – including this one – that invested their love, care, and support in me and in my ministry.

Let me invite you to take a moment of silence now, to recall those moments in your own life when you have felt a call to step out of a safe place into a risky place, and of the hands that have held you when you stumbled. [pause]

And let me invite you to take another moment to listen for the voice that may be calling you – or all of us – into stepping out onto the water again. [pause]

May we be as impetuous and as faithful as our brother Peter.

Amen.

Prayer for August 10, 2008

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

Gracious and Loving God, we bring before you this morning the prayers that we cannot bring ourselves to say aloud.

We pray for ourselves and our loved ones who are tormented by addictions and alcoholism …

We pray for ourselves and our neighbors who are embroiled in conflict, violence, or abuse.

We pray for ourselves and our community in the face of civic controversies and breakdowns in decision making ..

We pray for ourselves and our neighbors who grieve, whether the loss is the death of a loved one, the ending of a dream, the passing of an opportunity, or the hope of a change …

We pray for ourselves and others whose financial situation is precarious …

We pray for ourselves and our neighbors who suffer from despair, anxiety, and depression …

We pray for the leaders of our nation, of whom we expect so much and towards whom we forgive so little ..

And we pray for healing from the secret wounds that only you can see in our hearts.

All these things we pray in the name of the one to whom all hearts are open, even Jesus the Christ, and we pray together now in the words that he taught us ..

But for a growing number of people, church can also be a website called i.ucc.org

There are Bible studies, an online prayer service every evening, educational resources of several kinds, plus many blogs, forums, and other electronic conversations.

Who “attends” i.ucc.org?  Lots of different people: UCC members who want to widen their circle, UCC folk who don’t have a UCC congregation near by, and perhaps most importantly, people without a church connection who have somehow been drawn to the particular ministry of the United Church of Christ:  No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you’re welcome here.

Take a look at this online community, then let us know  what you think about it!  Just click on the title of this post, then scroll down to the comment section.

Scoundrels and Saints

Genesis 32:22-31  Matthew 14:13-21 

The cover of this morning’s bulletin may have been a clue to you about my reflections on the Biblical texts for this week: two illustrations of different styles sitting next to each other, but not really connected. The two stories we just heard – one about Jacob wrestling with God, and one about Jesus feeding a crowd of 5000 people with five loaves and two fish – these stories are remarkably resistant to being woven together into a single sermon. What they do share, curiously enough, is a focus on fear.

The disciples are afraid there will not be enough – not enough food for the great crowd that has followed and listened to hear Jesus. This is not an unreasonable concern, after all, if the Biblical estimate of 5000 men (plus women and children) is at all accurate. There is almost certainly not enough food in the deserted place where he has been teaching.

Before you think that I have chosen this story for today as a comment on the economic uncertainties of our own time, let me assure you that this is the lesson assigned in the lectionary for today. The readings in the Revised Common Lectionary were chosen to follow the church year and the life of Jesus, not to respond to current events – though it is always somewhat unnerving when they do resonate with front page news.

And resonate they do. This week’s news brought reports of a slowdown in home building and home sales, a speed up of home and business foreclosures, an increase in unemployment and a corresponding decrease in the number of jobs available, and financial problems for businesses, retailers, airlines, and nearly everyone else. Just as importantly, confidence is waning, as more and more people worry about money and debts and dreams that will likely go unmet in the future. What can we learn from this narrative of abundance when we are in the throes of growing scarcity?

We can be reminded, first, of the cost that fear of scarcity brings into our lives. When we believe that there is not enough – not enough money, not enough energy or time, not enough love or loyalty – when we believe that there is not enough, we become stingy, cranky, and focused on hoarding whatever we believe is in short supply. Few of us are ennobled by our worries about money. Believing in abundance, on the other hand, does bring out the best in us. It makes us feel grateful, generous, and generally optimistic. A sense of abundance brings people together – even if an objective accounting of assets doesn’t show much wealth. (People who have traveled in the third world – where scarcity is a fact of daily life — almost always report with surprise that they have encountered folks who are remarkably generous with what they do have …) Living with an awareness of God’s good and extravagant creation – as described in the beginning of the book of Genesis – seems to be good for our souls; recognizing abundance, like recognizing love, casts out fear.

Believing in the abundance of God, of course, is not the same as expecting your bank account balance to go up by itself, or your credit card balance to go down. Believing that there is “enough” is a tool that helps us to steward our resources more faithfully and more thoughtfully. The story of the loaves and fishes is not so much a story of magic as it is a story of generosity and hospitality.

Jacob’s fears were of another sort altogether. Jacob really was a scoundrel, and he had come to the moment in his life when he needed to confront his brother, whom he had defrauded many years before.

The story of Jacob is told in the book of Genesis, starting in chapter 25, and I commend the whole tale for your attention. [Here’s a hint: choose an easy-reading translation of the bible when you want to get an overview of the whole story, then go back and read one of the more scholarly versions (like the NRSV) to catch the nuance and detail.] Briefly, here’s what has happened so far: Jacob and his twin brother Esau were rivals even when they still in the womb. Genesis says that Jacob stuck his hand out of the womb even before they were born, as though to establish his claim to superiority. Esau was came first from the womb, but Jacob came out directly afterwards, holding on to his heel. When they became adults, there came a day when Esau came in hungry from the fields, and Jacob used that greedy hunger to trade the birthright of the firstborn for a bowl of lentil stew. And when their father Isaac was coming to the end of his days, he asked Esau the hunter to bring him some meat and prepare to receive the ritual blessing. Jacob, conniving with his mother, disguised himself as his twin and stole that blessing, too. After that, Jacob had fled in fear of Esau’s reprisal.

So in the passage we heard this morning, Jacob has decided to come home after many years away. He returns with his two wives and their two maids (the four women who together have borne 13 children), and with all of their slaves and livestock and belongings. He does not know how he will be received – which may be why he has sent everyone else ahead of him, including servants with generous gifts of livestock for Esau.

We can’t help asking who it is, exactly, that Jacob wrestled with that night on the bank of the Jabbok. The text is tantalizing ambiguous here. At first, it identifies the foe just as “a man,” and we imagine it might be a thief. But when the wrestling match takes all night, we begin to suspect that it might be his own fear and remorse with whom he is grappling. The match is a draw apparently, with neither man able to subdue the other – until suddenly Jacob’s hip is put out of joint. Still, Jacob holds on, and demands – of all things, a blessing from this stranger.

Jacob, who connived to get the blessing of his own father, now demands a blessing from this midnight adversary. The blessing he receives is a new name, Israel, a name that commemorates the struggle he has had, both human and divine. In the words of the stranger, “you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.”

Jacob quickly asks the stranger for his name. He receives no reply, nor does he need one, for he is clear that is God he encountered alone on the bank of the Jabbok. Our lesson for today ends here, but I think it is important for you to know that Jacob’s encounter with Esau turns out to be a peaceful one, in spite of all of his worry and even in spite of all of his precautions.

Just as the two illustrations on the front of the bulletin do not come together easily, these two lessons about fear do not come together easily. Sometimes fear erodes our souls and makes us stingy and the only cure is to push against the worry and act out of generosity and hospitality anyway. Sometimes fear paralyzes us and makes us prepare elaborate defenses, and the only cure is to push inward to struggle with our own history and with the power and mercy of God.

And today, of course, we often stand in just these fearful places. The economic changes swirling around us (whether or not they are of our own making) leave us afraid that there is not enough. The political and social changes swirling around us (not to mention the wars and violence) leave us afraid that we will be attacked. We understand the disciples. We understand Jacob. We understand being afraid.

The question is whether we will hear the voice of Jesus, gently insisting that we feed those who are hungry, and in that act of generosity set aside our fear. The question is whether we will wrestle with the stranger on the riverbank, and in that act of struggle find our new name, and our welcome home. The question is whether we can learn from both the saints and the scoundrels about the weakness of fear and the power of obedience and faithfulness.

Amen.

Prayer for August 3, 2008

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness. [pause]

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love. [pause]

God of all seasons, the summer heat that slows us down leaves us more time to think about our own lives. Instead of taking joyful rest, we find ourselves ruminating over past mistakes, shortcomings both real and imagined, and dreams that have not come true.

Bring your cooling and gentle healing to us, so that we may let go of our fussing and worrying. Sooth our injured feelings, and draw us into a wider perspective that will make it easier to let go of our resentments. Quiet our fears, and fill us courage to meet the challenges of our lives. Reconcile our aspirations with our aptitudes and energies, so that we can know the delights of accomplishment and completion without the burden of exhaustion.

At the same time, Lord, help us to be soulfully quiet so that we can hear your words of correction and direction. Let the slower pace of our summer lives make us better at discernment, and less likely to jump to decisions based on our anxieties. Help us to appreciate the gifts of slowing down and taking time, and to use these gifts to reshape our lives where they bulge with business or warp with weariness.

Do not, we pray, let the languor of this weather decrease our compassion, or dampen our ardor for peace and reconciliation. Teach us, we pray, the ways of summer discipleship.

All this we ask in the name of the one who lived in the heat of the Middle East, and who fed the multitudes with loaves and fishes, even Jesus the Christ, and we pray together now I the words that he taught us: …

First offered July 30, 2006

1

Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33

Starting Small

The prayer hymn we are going to sing when I finish preaching is probably a better sermon than the one you are about to hear. So I’d like to begin by asking you to turn

to hymn #520, and read the first and second stanza with me:

Eternal Spirit of the living Christ,

I know not how to ask or what to say;

I only know my need, as deep as life,

and only you can teach me how to pray.

Come, pray in me the prayer I need this day;

help me to see your purpose and your will,

Where I have failed, what I have done amiss;

held in forgiving love, let me be still.

These are our voices, voicing the thought that begins today’s lesson from the book of Romans: “… for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with signs too deep for words. [Romans 8:26]

Prayers do not always come easily; sometimes they seem not to come at all. In the awkwardness of beginning a discipline of prayer, in the guilt at returning to the practice after a time away, in the clutch of grief or anger or despair, in the excitement of effort and success, in the strangeness of new life circumstances, in the sudden recognition of the audacity of addressing the one with no name but “I AM,” – in all of these moments, we are at a loss for prayer.

I say “a loss for prayer” instead of “a loss for words,” because, of course, prayer is not always a matter of words. Prayers can be made with our wordless longings, our mute emotions, our visual imaginations, our spiritual ears – in very many forms and faces. But sometimes the variety available to us is just another burden in our attempt to make contact with God, to converse or communicate, or just to take some companionable time together.

And so St. Paul (who wrote the letter to the young church in Rome), and Frank von Christierson (who wrote the text of the hymn) gently instruct us in the same way. When we cannot find the prayer that we want to pray, we can ask for one. This is advice that I also often give to people who are beginning in prayer, or whose prayer life has become stale: Pray for a prayer. We believe, after all, that God already knows what is on our hearts; sometimes it is clear that God knows our hearts and our longings far more accurately and compassionately than we know ourselves. And so we place before God our desire to pray.

This is a small start to a life of prayer. But Jesus teaches us that small starts are valuable in spite of their apparent size. The mustard seed, he says, is the smallest of all seeds, but when it is grown it is the greatest of shrubs and even becomes a tree. And a small amount of yeast, he goes on, is enough to leaven three measures of flours. What begins small can surprise us with its final size.

I have always loved both of these parables. I remember as a child being jealous of a friend who had a crystal charm on her charm bracelet that held a single mustard seed. And I used the parable of the leaven and the flour in a job application several years before I came to Northfield, as a way of describing how the United Church of Christ might be a powerful change agent in the world, in spite of its relatively small size.

And because I love them I have to tell you that both of these stories are very odd. The mustard seed, if truth be told, is not the smallest of the seeds. It is small, but by no means the smallest. And when it grows, it becomes a shrub, and not a tree. Moreover, it is not a particularly large tree – certainly not large enough for a bird of any size to make a nest. As for the yeast – well, the Jewish people to whom Jesus was speaking had a feeling about yeast that was at best complex. They ate bread made with yeast, but their bread of ritual, for the Feast of the Passover, was made without leavening in memory of their flight from Egypt. Yeast was often spoken of as a symbol of corruption, or at least of contamination, and homes were cleansed of every bit of leaven before the Seder meal began. Mustard seeds and yeast are, indeed, fine examples of small things that grow large – but the parables about them may have left their first listeners scratching their heads a little bit.

Asking for a prayer is not the only small way to begin a discipline of prayer, however. Another way is to join in the prayers of other people. We do that when we offer a union prayer, as we do each week for our prayer of confession, and often for our prayer of dedication. And we do that when we listen to the prayer requests that are made during the “Joys and Concerns.”

Today, we are going to be more explicit about our practice of praying together about the Joys and Concerns. I will follow my usual practice of repeating the requests that are made, but I will finish each one by saying “.. and we join him/her: …” to which the congregation will reply, “Your prayer is our prayer now.” My partner Jean and I were introduced to this format when we worshipped last April in a small UCC congregation in Tampa Florida. I was struck by how clearly these words expressed our hope that when joys and concerns are shared, they become the prayers of all who are present. I know we may feel awkward the first few times we pray together in this way, but I hope it will also serve to remind us of the ways that we support one another in praying, as well as in prayer.

If St. Paul is any example, our small prayers may lead us to faith that is larger than a tree and more nourishing than bread. He asks, rhetorically, “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril or sword?” [Romans 8:35]

The answer, famously, is “no:”

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Romans 8:38-39]

These are big words. There are few affirmations of faith more lyrical, more persuasive, more powerful than these. Sometimes I think that these should permanently become our closing words on Sunday mornings, so that we would carry their deep conviction in our mouths and our ears when we leave. I often read them as part of funeral services, as a testimony to the strength and endurance of God’s love, even in the midst of terrible grief and loss.

Only a few people of faith come to these big words easily. Most of us circle around these categories, always suspicious that there really is something we could do, something we could be, something we could think or imagine that would make us unlovable in the eyes of God. We hear Words of Assurance after our prayer of confession, but the words sound less potent than the errors we have made, the selfishness and greed we have acted on, and the injustices to which we have been complicit. The truth of God’s mercy is almost too much to bear.

And so in that, too, we would do well to start small. Acknowledge, for today, that there is nothing you can do or say, think or imagine, that will separate you from God. Acknowledge, for today, that your small, tentative, hesitant prayer – perhaps even your half-hearted request for a prayer – will be heard, will be cherished, will be enough.

Amen.

Prayer for July 27, 2008

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of things both seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

God of all our days, this morning we ask for your presence and guidance on our spiritual journeys, our explorations of faith, and our struggles with religion.

You have sent us your Holy Spirit, but it is usually hard for us to hear the whisper of the Spirit in all the noisiness of our lives. Teach us to find the inner quiet that makes it possible to hear your still small voice, and strengthen our discipline to enter that quiet more often and more regularly.

You have sent us prophets to remind us of the dangers of human pride, power, and greed, but it is hard for us to heed them in the midst of a world that rewards these traits more often than it punishes them. Give us the clarity to see with a prophet’s eyes and to recognize the injustices that are around us; give us the prophet’s voice to speak truthfully and forcefully about them; and give us the prophet’s persistence to carry forward the work of peace, justice, and reconciliation.

You have sent us saints to provide models of healthy piety and holy lives, but it is hard for us to follow them in a world that makes light of things that cannot be seen or heard, bought or sold, won or lost. And so we pray for the courage to live simple and prayerful lives, celebrating the sacredness of the creation around us and the blessedness of the people around us. Grant us the grace of unselfconscious faith – faith that is expressed without apology but also without arrogance or haughtiness.

You have called us into your church, but it is hard to maintain a community of faith without becoming just another club or organization. Fill us with a passion for the Good News of the Gospel so that it infuses life into all that we do, and fill us with humility for all of the errors and omissions that we make along the way.

All these things we pray in the name of the one who invites us on the journey of faith, and whose life shows us the way of humility, compassion, and peace, even Jesus Christ, and we pray together now in the words that he taught us …

I have been trying to find a spiritual message in all of that .. and what I keep returning to is the remarkable focus that is displayed.  Most obvious is the intense concentration of the leading riders, but behind each of those leaders is a team of supporting riders, and they are as intensely focused as the leaders are.  Behind each of the teams of riders is another team of support persons — mechanics, trainers, coaches, exercise physiologists, whoever.

I find myself somewhat ambivalent about all of this.  On the one hand, I deeply admire the enthusiasm, discipline, and persistence that are displayed.  On the other hand, this is, after all, a bicycle race, and it is not difficult to think of more weighty needs in the world that might be served by all of that enthusiasm, discipline,and persistence.  Plus the Tour is plagued by all of the hazards of professional sports: too much money, too much press attention, too many drugs.

Still, I have chosen to love the Tour.  There is enough human energy to have a great bicycle race and address the problems of our times; there are enough people who love racing to outnumber those who are exploiting the sport.  And there are few enough events in the world that are beautiful, challenging, exciting, and fun.  Vive le Tour.

Stone Pillow

Genesis 28:10-19a; Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24

Several years ago a sociologist of religion, Kirk Hadaway, wrote a book called Rerouting the Protestant Mainstream about the qualities of congregations that were thriving in spite of the overall drop in membership and attendance in Protestant churches. One of those qualities that has stayed with me was this: in a thriving church, people expect God to be present in worship.

I thought of this observation when I read the words of Jacob in today’s lesson:

“Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!” How often we are like Jacob, and only recognize the presence of God once in a while, when something in particular has brought it to our attention. This story of Jacob sleeping in the wilderness is a kind of case study of how we wake up – as he did – to the presence of God in our midst.

To begin, Jacob is in trouble. His twin brother Esau is angry because he stole his birthright, and so Jacob is on the move. His mother Rebekah has sent him to her brother Laban, where he will soon find a wife (in fact, two wives), but for now he is just on the road.

I am going to guess that Jacob was traveling without many luxuries, and that that is why he chooses to use a stone for a pillow. I am also going to guess that it wasn’t especially comfortable (though I know there are places in the world where it is common to use something hard as a headrest at night).

It is sad, I think, that being in trouble and uncomfortable are so often helpful in recognizing the presence of God. I would personally prefer to be aware of the divine when I am comfortable, well rested, and serene. That is our stereotype of a pious or holy person, I think – someone who is generally sweet, tranquil, and vaguely ethereal. Stereotypes aside, our own experience is probably closer to Jacob’s: our God-detectors are more sensitive when we are worried, afraid, and uncertain than when we are confident, brave, and sure.

So Jacob is in the wilderness, asleep with his head on a stone, when he has this remarkable dream: “…there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.” [Genesis 28:12] The Hebrew word that is translated as “ladder” might refer to something more like a staircase, but either way, this is a striking image of the connection between our everyday world and the kingdom of God. The angels are ascending and descending on it – moving back and forth between the earthly and the divine.

This closeness between human life and the divine realm has been expressed in many ways through the ages. Some of you will remember New Testament scholar Marcus Borg, when he spoke here five or six years ago, talking about “thin places.”
These are the moments and circumstances in which we suddenly and dramatically feel close to God – as though the divide between our own lives and the divine has become nearly transparent.

Whether we imagine ladders, staircases, or thin places, the lesson is the same: God is close at hand, and the space between God’s kingdom and our everyday lives is less than we usually think.

As the dream continues, Jacob hears the voice of God – a voice that comes with extravagant promises of two kinds. First are the promises of land and offspring – a reprise of the promises made to Abraham and to Isaac. Second are the promises of divine presence: God promises to go with Jacob and keep him, and to bring him back to this land.

The promise of land has significantly different meaning for us in the twenty-first century than it did for Jacob. He was a wanderer, searching for a home. He did not, as we do, look back on centuries of unrest, turmoil, and conflict in the Middle East. He did not have to deal with the modern realities of politics, weapons, and petroleum which shape our understanding of the land which God promised to him. Because we have such a dramatically different perspective, this may be a time when it is helpful to hear this passage in a less concrete and literal way.

In this deeper and more symbolic sense, I think the words of God to Jacob can be heard as a promise of a place. There is, I believe, a deep human longing for a sense of place, a physical location that we can name as being “our place,” a place of safety and refreshment, a place of affection and connection, a place of identity. God promised Jacob that there would always be such a place for him.

In a similar way, we need to be careful about how we hear God’s promise of offspring to Jacob. Twenty-first century life makes us wary of increasing populations, so that a vow to give so many descendants that they will seem like dust on earth sounds a little ominous. The key phrase here is this: “all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring.” [Genesis 28:14] God promised Jacob that there would be a future, a future of blessing, in which his family would play a part.

The second set of promises, however, speaks to us clearly through the centuries: “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” [Genesis 28:15] This is not, I suppose, exactly the promise we are most wanting to hear. The promise we are most wanting to hear is the pledge that we will be protected by our faith, that we and our loved ones will be immunized against suffering and tragedy. We want to hear that loving and trusting God will make our lives easier, happier, and prosperous.

God pointedly does not make any of those promises – not to Jacob and not to us. God’s vow to us is not for protection or promotion, but for presence. We are assured of a companion, not of a rescuer.

That wakes up Jacob, and it should wake us up, too. That makes Jacob say, “Surely the Lord is in this place..” and it might move us to say so, too.

We enact something of Jacob’s story each time we are gathered here for worship. It is no accident that early in our service we offer a prayer of confession. That prayer is our way of acknowledging that we are in trouble – perhaps not the same trouble as Jacob found himself in, but trouble with living honorably, faithfully, and justly in this world. The shortcomings that we confess are the stones on which we are trying to rest. Our prayer is followed by words of assurance – a brief reminder of God’s promises of mercy and new life.

Each week we also share something of Jacob’s dream as we connect the words of scripture with the realities of our everyday lives. The sermon often does that, but so does the work of the people and the shared joys and concerns. All of these are ways through which we strengthen our understanding of the ways that God is alive – and speaking – in our church, in our community, and in the world.

And each week we hear, sing, and speak words that reiterate God’s faithful presence with us through all of our journeys, God’s companionship with us through our joys and trials, our delights and our despairs. That is why we close our service with words of scripture that we read together, and with a benediction, literally “good words,” to carry with us through the coming week.

Nothing could have been farther from Jacob’s mind than the worship style of a twenty-first century Christian congregation. All the same, he turns out to be a good – if unintentional – teacher for us, and a gentle reminder that God often comes to us in times of trouble and wandering, when we have nothing but a stone for a pillow.

Amen.

Prayer for July 20, 2008

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

God of our hearts and minds, this morning we offer our prayers for those circumstances in our lives that we cannot usually bring ourselves to say aloud. Help us to name before you and one another the disappointments, shames, sorrows, and shortcomings that eat away at our faith and our well being.

We pray for everyone who has been betrayed, cheated, or defrauded.

We pray for those who have lost their employment, or who are employed at work that is demeaning, dangerous, or disheartening

We pray this morning for those who live with addictions and alcoholism.

We pray for our relationships that are conflicted, dispirited, and unfulfilling.

We pray for those who are troubled about their sexuality, and about their intimate relationships.

We pray for ourselves and our loved ones who live with mental illness.

We pray for those in financial difficulties, whether of their own making or the result of unexpected events

We pray for those with whom we are in conflict, disagreement, or from whom we are estranged.

We pray for ourselves and our loved ones who live with chronic health conditions.

.And we pray for the secrets of our hearts that we can speak only to you.

All of these things we pray in the name of the one who listens with loving attention to all of our sorrows, and who bears them with us, even Jesus the Christ, and we pray together now in the words that he taught us …

We have yet to find a real ‘cottage’ in Northfield , but reminiscent of a relaxed summer at the lake, one group has already met, outdoors on a deck, and 3 more are planned for August.

Our first one was a real success–just the right number of people:  11 plus Sandy and 2 hosting Woehrlins. We had a combination of “oldtimers” plus very committed relative newcomers and 3 very new attenders. We used “What is your church history and how have you arrived at First UCC?” as the question for the circle which led to an interesting focus for two new parents (different families) had rejected the Catholic Church because they had a lesbian daughter and were looking for a welcoming congregation.  Two other sets of parents present had gay children, so we had a very interesting conversation on that subject.  Sandy shined, as usual, told a lot about herself, the process of her coming out to the congregation and some history of ‘open and affirming’ in the denomination.  At that time the focus was on peace and justice and equality issues not the ‘moral’ issue that the national debate has evolved into.  A lot of honesty was present.

 Next meetings with Pastor Sandy:

§ Saturday August 2^nd, 9:30-11:00 a.m. at the home of Matt and Sarah Forster (408 E. 2^nd St.) Childcare available.  Reservations with number and age of children especially important! 

§ Tuesday August 5^th, 3:00 p.m. at the home of Liz and Jerry Hankins (2004 Park Pointe Court)

§ Tuesday August 19^th, 7:00 p.m. at the home of Bobbie Peterson  (514 Union Street - Bobbie has recently moved to the home her Jacobson grandparents lived in)

Alas, the Fighting Saints baseball game gathering didn’t work out because of scheduling conflicts…another summer!