reallifepastor

I’ve seen numerous calls on Facebook for white Christian pastors to speak out against white supremacy and Nazism.  I suspect the call comes largely out of anger that our President is not speaking out.  Or out of frustration that fundamentalist Christian pastors aren’t speaking out and, in some cases, are offering support of the alt right.

As a white Christian pastor, I hear those cries of “Speak out!” and think, Have we really gotten no farther than this?  Has Christianity gone so far down the rabbit hole that people aren’t sure where the faith of Jesus stands in relation to overt racism, white supremacy, anti-Semitism, and Islamophobia?  Is all people want from Christian pastors that they “speak out?”

So, let me speak out.  Racism is sin.  White supremacy is sin.  Anti-Semitism is sin.  Islamophobia is sin.  

What is sin?  Sin is whatever diminishes human beings or creation, whatever prevents someone or creation from becoming who God is creating them to be.  Sin is whatever ignores or diminishes that bit of God inside every single person and everything God created.

Was marching with torches chanting Nazi slogans sin?  Yes, it was sin.  Was lashing out with violence sin?  Yes, it was sin.  Was intentionally speeding into a crowd of counter-protesters, killing one and injuring 19 sin?  Yes, it was sin.  That act could not be accomplished without seeing the human beings in front of you as less than human.  Is failing to denounce the events in Charlottesville (or to do so consistently) sin?  Yes, it is sin.

In many respects, denouncing the sin of racism is the easy part.  Dealing with it–or seeking to transform it–is a whole other story.

If racism in our country is to be transformed, we’ve got a lot of work to do.  Racism–like all the other “isms”–is systemic.  Each of us changing our individual behavior is important, but focusing only on one’s own behavior is kind of like spitting in the ocean–it feels good to you, but doesn’t really change the ocean at all.  If we are to transform racism in our country, we must work on changing systems.

The first step for white people in working to transform systemic racism is to recognize our complicity in the system.  As a woman, I have struggled hard against systemic sexism.  For most of my life, that struggle has defined me.  In light of that struggle, it’s been difficult to acknowledge my white privilege, to recognize that some things have come to me–or come easily to me–because I am light skinned.  Acknowledging my white privilege floods me with shame.  In truth, it makes me a little sick to my stomach.

In February, I attended a gathering of Muslim scholars and others at Ahmadiyya Muslim Community in Norcross.  One of the speakers–a historian–talked about how Islam came to the United States initially.  It was slaves who brought their faith with them.  Many of those who came were well-educated and tried as best they could to practice their faith in their new circumstances.

The lecturer quoted an African proverb that addressed how important it is for people to know their histories.  He was speaking, of course, to African Americans, helping them to reclaim an uplifting part of their history.

As the great, great, great granddaughter of slave owners, reclaiming my history is not uplifting.  It’s excruciating.  And necessary.  For a time, my family thrived on the backs of human beings they thought they had a right to purchase.  What those family members did in that time would be unthinkable for anyone in my family now…

…but tracing racism from slavery through reconstruction, Jim Crow, and now mass incarcerations (please watch “13th”), I have to ask what it means for me, a 21st century white woman, to be descended from slave owners.  How did the vile practice of slavery shape my family?  What vestiges of that history still reside in my DNA?  

I share a song I wrote while wrestling some with this painful heritage.  It is a first step, only a first step…but the first step all white people must take–locating ourselves in the insidious web of racism.

“You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  That’s what Jesus says to Peter as he hauls him out of the sea during a raging storm.  This, after Peter asked to walk on water, stepped out of the boat, and actually did it.  When his faith faltered, Jesus could have said something like, “Good job, Peter!  That big gust of wind unnerved you a little, but until then?  Man, you were rocking it!”  Instead, Jesus questions Peter’s faith.  “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

Do you like this story?  I’m not a fan.  Faith is hard enough as it is.  Ragging on people because they don’t believe every second of every day… Maybe hearing this story is hard because I suspect my response in the same circumstances would have been similar to Peter’s.  Nobody wants to hear Jesus ask them, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

Tell you what.  Let’s give Peter a rest for a minute and look at the story instead from Jesus’ perspective.  What led Jesus to walk on the water?  What led him to invite Peter to join him on the sea?  What led Jesus to ask Peter, ‘Why did you doubt?’”

Today’s story begins with Jesus sending the disciples away, then heading up a mountainside by himself to pray.  He did the same thing at the beginning of last week’s story about feeding the 5,000…well, he went out in a boat that time, but still, he was seeking solitude.

Why the sudden need for private reflection?

Earlier, Matthew tells us the impetus for Jesus’ sudden search for solitude was the execution of John the Baptist.  As soon as Jesus learns of John’s death, he goes out in a boat by himself.  The crowds come, he teaches them, feeds them, then, the minute they go home, he scurries up the mountain for more private prayer.

What was it about John’s death that propelled Jesus into all this reflection and prayer?  What was he working out?  And how might it relate to his encounter with Peter?

A lot of the relationship between Jesus and John in the Gospel of Matthew has to do with identity.  John is clear from the get-go that he is not the promised one, but the announcer of the promised one, like the prophets of old.  When Jesus comes to John for baptism, John demurs, saying he’s the one who needs to be baptized by Jesus.  Then he relents and baptizes Jesus.

After his baptism, God’s Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness.  Each temptation Jesus experiences in the wilderness helps him get clearer about his identity as Messiah.  He’s not a showman.  He’s not ruler of the world.  He’s not bigger than God.  He is God’s Messiah, the one through whom people will come to know the kindom of God.

By the time Jesus emerges from the wilderness 40 days later, John is in prison.  John’s imprisonment is the impetus for Jesus to begin his public ministry—“When he heard John had been put in prison,” we’re told, “Jesus moved to Galilee,” which became home base for his public ministry.  Jesus picks up where John left off, even preaching the same message, “Repent.  The kindom of heaven has come near.”

The narrative goes along at a good clip with Jesus preaching, teaching, and healing to beat the band until, boom.  He learns of John’s death.  To this point, Jesus’ identity has been explored in conversation with John the Baptist—from John’s insistence that he is not God’s Messiah, to confusion over who should baptize whom, to John’s imprisonment inaugurating Jesus’ ministry.

We don’t know for sure why Jesus needs all that alone time in Matthew 14, but it does make you wonder if John’s death sparked an identity crisis.  Who am I now?  What does it mean for me to be God’s Messiah now that John is gone?  Again, we don’t know for sure, but maybe all that reflecting did the trick.  Like his wilderness reflections after his baptism, maybe Jesus’ time in the boat and up the mountain helped him get clearer about his identity as God’s Messiah in a post-John the Baptist world.

If that’s the case, then the story of Peter walking on–and sinking into–the water isn’t so much about Peter’s lack of faith as it is about Jesus assessing how much work he has to do to convince others he is God’s Messiah.  If Peter is the one on whom Jesus has decided to build the church, if he is the one most deeply rooted in the faith, then as Jesus seeks to continue living into his calling as God’s Messiah post-John the Baptist, doesn’t it make sense that he would want to see where he stood with Peter, to this point, perhaps, the most faithful disciple?

Scripture doesn’t tell us anything about tone of voice when people speak.  In the original manuscripts, you don’t even get punctuation, lowercase letters, or spaces between words.  So, determining tone of voice is a matter of interpretation.

So, here’s what I wonder.  I wonder if Jesus’ statement to Peter isn’t so much a statement of judgment but an honest question.  “Is your faith so fragile?  Why are you doubting?  No, really.  I want to know.  Why has your faith in me faltered just when you need it most?”  To this point, John the Baptist had helped others to see Jesus as God’s Messiah.  But now John was gone; now, Jesus was going to have to do the work of showing himself to be God’s Messiah without him.  And if Peter—the most faithful disciple—could only see Jesus as Messiah up to the point at which things got scary…well, Jesus was going to need to figure out how to help people believe in him all the time, even the scary times.

We aren’t walking on—or sinking into—water this morning.  There is no violent wind blowing…but I suspect all of us are trying to make sense of what’s happened in Charlottesville, Virginia, the past couple of days.  We don’t live in Charlottesville, but images of what transpired there…that happened in our country.  Some of our fellow citizens are so filled with hatred and bigotry they’ve wrapped themselves in symbols and language of Nazism.  When rhetoric dehumanizes whole groups of people, physical violence is never far behind.

I’m not saying that only those on the alt right or neo-Nazi side engaged in violence yesterday.  In a riot situation, I’m sure things get very confusing very fast.  I do believe, though, that any philosophy, any language, that dehumanizes others is in itself violent.  Our thoughts matter…because our thoughts lead to words…our words matter because they lead to actions…

So…we’ve stepped out of the boat.  To this point, our faith has been strong enough to keep us afloat… but now this storm is raging.  What does believing in Jesus as God’s Messiah mean now as we try to make sense of the events in Charlottesville, which is just a microcosm of rampant racism throughout our country?

In Matthew’s Gospel, shortly after Jesus begins his public ministry, he preaches the Sermon on the Mount…that’s Matthew 5-7, if you’d like to read it.  The Sermon on the Mount is pretty much a blueprint for the kindom of God.  In the Gospel of Matthew, believing in Jesus as God’s Messiah, as the one whose job it was to show us God’s hopes for the world means living the Sermon on the Mount.

That means that when the storm rages, we love our neighbor…and our enemy.

When the storm rages, we pray for those who persecute us.

When the storm rages, we do not judge, lest we be judged.

When the storm rages, we tend to the log in our own eye before complaining about the speck in our neighbor’s eye.

When the storm rages, we do to others as we would have them do to us.

When the storm rages, we remember that peacemakers will be called children of God.

When the storm rages, we remember that mercy is granted to those who are merciful.

When the storm rages, we remember that it is the pure in heart who will see God.

When the storm rages, we pray God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

When the storm rages, we remember that we are the salt of the earth.

When the storm rages, we remember that we are the light of the world.

When the storm rages, we turn the other cheek.

When the storm rages, we forgive as we are forgiven.

When the storm rages, we remember that every single person, every single human being is a beloved child of God, fully deserving of respect and dignity and freedom to live without fear.

When the storm rages, we act like the Charlottesville Chief of Police, Al Thomas.

The words he said at yesterday’s news conference were important and necessary.  He gave a rundown of what had transpired, how law enforcement had responded, the casualties incurred, and ongoing plans to keep the city safe.  His words very ably fulfilled his task as Chief of Police.

But his expressions…his voice…the long pauses…the dignity with which he carried himself…all spoke even more loudly a message we all need to hear—hatred has no place here.  A part of what it means to be Americans, to be human beings, is to treat each other with respect and dignity.  Lives should not have been lost here.  People should not have been hurt here.  Violence should not have happened here.

I don’t know if Chief Thomas is a follower of Jesus or if he’s even heard of the Sermon on the Mount…but from what I saw yesterday, he embodied perfectly what I think Jesus was trying to show us about God’s hopes for the world.  In the midst of the storm, Chief Thomas stayed true to what he knows is good and right and true.

When the storm rages—In Charlottesville or anywhere else—when the storm rages, will we do the same?  Will we also stay focused on what is good and right and true?  Will we keep our eyes on Jesus, on the one who shows us best God’s hopes for the world?  When the storm rages, will we work to make God’s dreams come true?

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  ©2017

         Friday night, several of us gathered for supper at South of the Border.  I’d just sat down and was searching for a menu when someone pointedly asked, “Well, Kim.  What are we going to talk about tonight?”  I reached for the drink menu instead.

Thankfully, someone else piped up:  “I’ve been reading some process theology!”  Hmm.  Frozen or on the rocks?  They went on to say they’d found an article online explaining process theology and they’d had to read it 20 times, but they were starting to get the gist of it.

That led to more conversation about how God interacts with the world, the purpose of prayer, whether miracles are real, and whether God speaks in an audible voice.  Y’all, I just wanted to eat my burrito.  But when folks want to talk theology, what’s a pastor to do?

Actually, we had a great time.  In that more relaxed setting, we were able to get below the surface.  Later, Allen asked my assessment of the evening.  I told him it felt like church.

It felt like church, but we weren’t “at church.”  We weren’t here on this property, in this building.  So, what was it about the gathering Friday night that felt like “church?”  And if we can have “church” experiences somewhere else, what’s the point of our property and buildings?   How do this property and these buildings contribute to our being church?

This summer, we’ve been reflecting on how to build a stronger community.  We’ve learned a lot.  First, we discovered that our community has a spiritual life.  We often feel God’s Spirit in the things we do together—praying, serving others, supporting each other at significant life moments, like Mia’s coming out last week…

Recognizing Spirit’s presence among us led next to reflecting on our community’s vocation.  Remember the sermon where you shared your ideas about the one thing to which God has called us?  To a one we named it:  welcoming others in Jesus’ name.

The last three weeks, we’ve considered our community’s financial resources, asking, How might we use our material resources to welcome others in Jesus’ name?

Today we begin exploring one last area–our facility.  Spirit is among us, calling us to  welcome others in Jesus’ name.  We have material resources to use in that work.  Among the material resources we have to use in welcoming others are our property and buildings.  We certainly can have “church” experiences outside this place, but how might we use this property and these buildings to extend an even more radical welcome to others?

To help us reflect on our facility, we’ll look at two stories set in the outdoors:  Jacob wrestling with God and Jesus feeding the 5,000.  Believe it or not, there’s much to learn about our facility from stories that have none…because buildings don’t start with bricks and mortar.

Buildings begin with dreams.  Some of you have been to John and Laurie Moeller’s cabin in Ellijay.  When I met John 20 years ago, he was in the process of buying that land.  He’d been eying it for a while, drinking in the beauty of it, imagining a cabin groups like ours could use for retreats.  His mission was clear:  to provide a place for groups to experience God through being together in creation.  The clarity of the mission paved the way for the dreams to become reality.

Our property was chosen by folks nearly 40 years ago with a vision to create space for a church.  Forty years is a long time…especially for HVAC, fascia, and restrooms.  As we tend to our building’s aging systems, it’s the perfect time to revisit our vision and reflect on how this property and these buildings help us fulfill our mission of welcoming others in Jesus’ name.    But first, a trip to Peniel, the place where Jacob wrestled with God.

As a young man, Jacob had cheated his brother, Esau, out of his birthright.  Understandably upset, Esau vowed to kill Jacob.  Also understandably, Jacob hightailed it out of there.

Today’s scene happens a couple decades later.  Both men have prospered.  Jacob is coming home and is about to cross into his brother’s land.  He’s apprehensive.  Would his brother try to kill him?  Might they reconcile?

The night before crossing the river to meet his brother, Jacob lies down… but sleep eludes him.  In the middle of the night, God shows up and Jacob wrestles with God.  Jacob demands a blessing.  God gives it…just as Jacob’s hip slips out of its socket.

Jacob is renamed “Israel,” which means, “striving with God.”  He then names the place where he did that striving, Peni-el.  Peni—face;  El—God.  The place where I met God face-to-face.  What made that face-to-face encounter possible?  Wrestling—struggling—with God.

Churches do a disservice when they make people feel bad, or wrong, or heretical, for wrestling with God.  Too often, churches penalize people for questioning.  But Jacob’s story suggests the best way to get to know God, the surest way of meeting God face-to-face is to wrestle God.  How can we know God in our depths if we keep God at arms’ length?

Wrestling obliterates pretense, doesn’t it?  I’m not talking about professional wrestling.  That’s pure pretense.  But true wrestling has a way of stripping everything down to its essence.  To ask our deepest questions requires complete authenticity.  And vulnerability.

We did a little wrestling Friday night.  Not literally. J  But because the conversation went below the surface of things, we discovered that we weren’t all on the same page of every issue.   We didn’t debate issues…but we did have some healthy conversation about a few.

One example…Someone said, “I’d like to hear more about what Republicans in our church are thinking,” to which someone at the table responded, “What do you want to know?”  And so, we talked about our different—and similar—thoughts about the state of our country’s politics.  And guess what?  No dishes were broken.  No voices were raised.  We simply wrestled with it for a few minutes then went on.  It was beautiful.  I don’t think anybody changed anybody else’s mind, but simply talking together, wrestling a little over healthcare and immigration….in that brief conversation, it felt like we were meeting each other face-to-face.  No pretense.

I’ve titled this sermon “Tag-Team Wrestling.”  “Tag-Team God-Wrestling” might work better.  The God-wrestling part comes from the Genesis story.  The tag-team part comes from the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000.

Some see this story, not as a miracle of Jesus creating food out of thin air—like Jean-Luc Picard on the Starship Enterprise.  “Computer, a cup of tea.”—but as a miracle of generosity… that the little boy’s gift of his lunch inspires others to share their lunches…that they already had all the resources they needed.  All the people needed was a change of heart, a conscious decision to share their resources—and themselves—with the community.

I think that’s what happened Friday night.  Without taking time to talk with each other, we hoard our deepest selves.  We become stingy with our authenticity, keep things on the surface.  Why?  Because it keeps us safe.  But it also keeps us lonely…and it keeps us from true and deep experiences—face-to-face encounters—with each other and with God.

My favorite question from Friday night was this:  Why do people at Pilgrimage seem so happy?  After a good bit of conversation, we decided that our church’s commitment to radical hospitality, in particular, to members of the LGBT community, is the culprit.  Because we really work hard to accept everyone for who they are, “wherever they are on life’s journey,” we have created a place here that’s safe for everyone to be authentically who they are.  Keeping up pretenses is exhausting, isn’t it?  Hiding in the closet takes the life right out of you.  Being fully who you are?  Being loved for who you are?  How can we not feel joy?

The high point of Friday night’s conversation for me was when someone remembered something from last week’s sermon.  Five days later and they remembered something!  What they remembered was the idea of breathing…that we come to this place each week to breathe in God’s love, to act each other into wellbeing.  Once we have been renewed by our togetherness and by worshiping God, then we leave this place to breathe out God’s love, to act the world into wellbeing.  We did experience God last Friday night at the Mexican restaurant…but we didn’t worship.  It would have been hard to do so at a restaurant, especially on a Friday night.

There’s something about having a dedicated space to come together and worship God that is vital to who we are as a community of Jesus’ followers.  It’s crucial to have a place to call home, a place where we can recharge our batteries and reconnect with the one whose love we leave this place to share.  It’s good that we use our space to house Family Promise families.  But don’t you know those families long for a place to call their own?  A place where they can come at the end of the day, be together, and simply rest before heading back out into the world?

That’s what this place is for us, this property, these buildings.  This is our home.  This is the place we reconnect with each other and with God.  This is the place we remember why we’re doing everything we’re doing out there.  Don’t get me wrong.  We are definitely a party house.  We love inviting people to join us.  And in attempting to upgrade our space, we are seeking to make our property and buildings even more welcoming to the people in the wider community.

At the end of the day, though, this place, this piece of God’s creation, these particular buildings…this is the space in which we wrestle with God and meet God face-to-face.  This is the space where we give generously of our material possessions and ourselves for the good of the community.  This is the place where we breathe in God’s love…so that we can leave this place to breathe out God’s love.  //  This is our place, our home…how shall we tend it?

This summer, we’re looking at what it will take to “build a stronger community.”  After considering our community’s spiritual and vocational lives, the last two weeks we’ve turned our attention to… finances.  Oh, joy!

Have sermons from the last two weeks offended you at all?  I think I’ve offended myself a couple of times. J  Even mentioning money in church seems unseemly…much less asking questions about how our relationships with money and with God are related.

So, why delve into this land-mine of an issue?  Why not just leave it lie and hope for the best when pledge time comes…or when the HVAC dies?

Despite the taboo against talking about money in church, it seems kind of crucial to do it.  Is there anything we spend more time thinking about than money?  How to pay the bills, get ahead, pay for college?  A deep faith touches every aspect of our lives.  So, if we spend all this time thinking about money, doesn’t it make sense to invite our faith into those thoughts?

In the interest of deepening our faith, we’re spending one more sermon of the series reflecting on how our relationships with money and with God are connected. You’re welcome. J

The context for our reflections has been Acts 2:42-47.  Usually, we only look at a few verses.  Today, I invite us to look at the focus passage in the larger context of Acts 1-4.  What might we glean from the longer narrative about our Pilgrimage community’s financial life?

The story begins with the risen Jesus’ followers gathered to see him off as he leaves the scene for good.  After he leaves, the followers disperse.  Then God’s Spirit blows in and brings the community back life!  They “devote themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers, and have all things in common.”  Then, they leave the community to “spend time together in the temple praising God.”  After one foray into the wider community, guess to where Peter and John return?  To the community of believers.

Are you feeling the flow?  Jesus’ followers gather to see him off, then disperse.  God’s Spirit blows in, drawing people back into community, where they work for the goodwill of all, or act each other into wellbeing.  Then they go out into the wider community, where they act others into wellbeing…after which, they return home to their koinonia community.

That flow—koinonia community, wider community, koinonia community, wider community…acting each other into wellbeing, acting the world into wellbeing, acting each other into wellbeing, acting the world into wellbeing…It’s almost like breathing, isn’t it?  Inhale (koinonia community), exhale (wider community), inhale (act each other into wellbing), exhale (act the world into wellbeing).  The narrative shows us what keeps a community vital—breathing in God’s love…breathing out God’s love…breathing in God’s love…breathing out God’s love…

Which is a great image…but where does money fit in?

While he was in seminary, today’s passage from Acts grabbed Clarence Jordan’s imagination.  Eventually, he and a friend searched for farm land in the deep South.  With the help of a benefactor, they purchased 440 acres down near Americus.  Koinonia Farm was born.

At Koinonia, they sought to create the kind of community described in Acts 2.  Koinonia, which means “fellowship,” is the original Greek word used in this passage.  Koinonians lived and ate together… They worked, studied, and prayed together.  They also held a common purse…which presented many opportunities for, um, conversation.  J

That is, perhaps, the most difficult aspect of living as a community of Jesus’ followers—deciding what to do about money.  We don’t want to talk about it, but we need it to function.  And, oh my goodness.  Each of us has our own history of and habits with money.  Trying to get on the same page with everyone else?  The. Hardest. Thing. Ever.  A story related in Dallas Lee’s history of Koinonia Farm explains just how hard committing to a common purse can be.

One day, an old black car “shuddered into the driveway of Koinonia Farm, coughed to a halt, and delivered a quiet, 40-year-old spinster who asked if she could remain for a visit.”

After a couple of days, she “approached Clarence and [expressed] interest in joining.  He explained what Koinonia was striving to be, how one must surrender totally to Christ, including all their earthly possessions.  At Koinonia, he said, they do this by asking everyone to enter the same way:  ‘flat broke.’  Her eyebrows jerked upward in alarm.  She had questions.

“Clarence was perplexed” by the woman’s hesitation.  “‘Jesus said it would be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom, but we’d never [actually] had one apply.’”  Clarence asked her what difficulty there would be with relinquishing her possessions.  She had a fair-size difficulty, somewhere between $80,000 and $90,000.

“Clarence swallowed a couple of times, then reasserted that she would have to dispose of the money to become a part of Koinonia.  How, she asked?  Give it to the poor, he said, give it to your relatives, throw it over a bridge—but you must enter the fellowship without it.

“What about giving it to Koinonia Farm, she asked?  Clarence grinned:  ‘No.  If you put that money in here, we’d quit growing peanuts and start discussing theology.  That wouldn’t be  healthy for us.  And, unless I miss my guess, you’re a very lonely person, and you’re lonely because you think every friend you ever had is after your money.’  She confirmed that judgment.

“Well, if you put that money in here, you’d think we courted you for your money, that we loved you for your money.  You’d get the idea you were God’s guardian angel, that you endowed the rest of us, and that all of us ought to be grateful to you for your beneficence.’  “She was listening; Clarence pressed his point:  ‘Now for your sake and for our sakes, you get rid of that money and come walk this way with us.’  Tearfully, the woman replied:  ‘I can’t do it.’  She packed her old car and left.”  (The Cotton Patch Evidence, 86-87)

This might seem an odd story to tell as we consider our community’s financial life.   Refusing a gift of $90,000?  Well, that’s not smart.  Just think what we could do with $90,000!  We could replace our HVAC system, do all the exterior work, rework our bathrooms, and get a jump on the Next Generation house.  Wait a minute.  Those were 1950 dollars.  Adjusted for inflation, the $90,000 would be worth nearly $900,000 today!  With that much, we could do all the upgrades and replace the Next Generation House with something really nice.

If Koinonia had only been about money, I’m sure they eagerly would have taken the woman’s money.  But Koinonia wasn’t just about money.  At Koinonia, they were trying to establish God’s kin-dom here on earth as it is in heaven…and establishing God’s kindom on earth calls us to look at every single aspect of our lives through the lens of faith.

And when we look through the lens of faith, what do we see?  We see koinonia.  We see community.  We see how we’re connected to each other, both inside the community and outside it.  I don’t think we’re ready to start living in intentional Christian community here at Pilgrimage.  At least, I’m not.  I’m still working on having all things in common with Allen.  And our cats. J

But—thank goodness!—establishing God’s kindom here on earth as it is in heaven doesn’t begin by living literally in community.  Establishing God’s kindom begins with a change of heart….with the recognition that we are all connected and with a commitment to caring for each other and to making sure everyone has what they need to live and to thrive—that’s both in this koinonia community and in the wider community.  And, yes.  That commitment—if it grows out of faith—extends to what we do with our money.

There was a time when I didn’t like talking about money.  But after 20 years of doing church and trying to live the Gospel, especially today’s passage from Acts, now I get excited when we talk about money.  Why?  Because if we’re dealing with money as a matter of faith, if we’re asking questions about how money is spent, keeping in mind the least of these, if we look at what we spend through the lens of community, then we are living our faith deeply here at Pilgrimage.  And that’s kind of the whole point, right?  To live faith deeply?

Lest we get too spiritual about this thing–we still need to replace the HVAC.  If we don’t replace the fascia on the building’s exterior now, we’re going to have even bigger bills later.  And we have a great opportunity to make our bathrooms more accommodating.   And the Next Generation House has served its purpose well…AND it needs to be replaced.  Growing our children, youth, and adult educational ministries depends on it.

So, well, we need money.  If we’re going to accomplish any of these tasks, we’re going to need money.  But I’m not here today to cajole you into parting with your hard-earned cash.  I could do that, but that wouldn’t be much fun for either of us.  That approach also would miss the whole point of koinonia, of the fellowship that is key to being a community of Jesus’ followers.

As a community of Jesus’ followers who have material resources and some specific needs, we have an amazing opportunity right now.  And the opportunity isn’t just to get a new HVAC system, a face lift, new bathrooms, and eventually, a replacement for the Next Generation House, as important as those things are.

The real opportunity before us right now is to come together as a community and through our conversations about raising and spending money, to significantly deepen our faith.  To think as we give—how might my contribution act Pilgrimage into wellbeing?  How might all our contributions help us–as a community– act the world into wellbeing?  How might tending to the gift of this space and our property breathe new life into our community as we breathe in God’s love…breathe out God’s love…breathe in God’s love…breathe out God’s love….

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2017

In a course I taught at Candler in 2000, the final project invited students to express their learnings in a creative way.  We’d been looking at how social dynamics like gender, race, and class shape learning experiences.

One student created a board game.  The game worked as many board games do.  Each team, in turn, rolls the die and moves its playing piece down a game board.  The first team to the end wins.  Simple enough, right?

The game’s designer set up the board, we gathered around the table, eager to play.  Then she handed out our playing pieces.  She handed my group a nice shiny new toy car.  We smiled.  Then she handed a smaller car to the next group.  Looking from our car to theirs, their brows furrowed into question marks.  Then the last group received its car–an old car that had been smashed by a hammer.  Their eyes widened in disbelief.

Once the cars had been distributed, the designer reviewed the rules—roll the die, move from start to finish.  There also were three stacks of “Community Chest” kinds of cards–one stack for the nice car group, one for the okay car group, and one for the beat-up car group.  Oh.  And the nice car group got to multiply each roll of the die by 3.  The older car group multiplied by 2.  The beat-up car group had to go with the number they rolled.

When the game’s designer said, “Are you ready to play?” my team smiled and eagerly nodded our heads.  The second team sighed.  The third team sputtered, “What?  How?  No fair!”

Someone from my team—of course—rolled the die first.  Four.  We drove forward 12 spaces and drew a card that read:  “For your birthday, Grandmother gave you a house.  Move ahead 4 spaces.”  The second group rolled a 3, moved forward 6, and drew a card that read, “You bought a house!  Mortgage payments begin in a month.  Go back one space.”  The third group rolled a one and drew a card that said, “Your landlord sold your building.  Find a new place within a month.  No money for first and last month’s rent and deposits.  Go back 3 spaces and lose your next turn.”  It quickly became clear who was going to win…

…which wasn’t a problem for my team.  The second team stayed in the game because they kept hoping to get a break and catch up with the first team.  By the fourth roll, someone from the third team got frustrated, threw the beat-up car across the room, and yelled, “I quit!”

The game designer got an A on the project….and not just because I got to drive the nice car.  She got an A because the game beautifully demonstrated the economic realities of the world we live in–some people are born into privilege, the privilege of wealth, of access to adequate food, drinkable water, housing, healthcare, and education.  Others, while not born into privilege, do have the means of working to achieve good jobs, nice homes, and financial security.  And some people are born with a beat-up car from the get-go.  They work and work and just can’t seem to accomplish very much for their effort.

These are economic realities we all can understand.  But what do they have to do with faith?  Why talk about these economic issues at church?

In our exploration this summer of what it takes to “build a stronger community,” we’ve considered our community’s spiritual and vocational lives.  Last week, we started the section everyone’s been eagerly anticipating—our community’s financial life. J  For this section, we’re focusing on one Scripture passage–Acts 2:42-47–and looking at it through a different lens each week.  This week’s lens?  Economic justice.

Is that a new term for you?  At its heart, economic justice is about making sure that every person has the material resources they need to live…and flourish.  Those of us who’ve spent time with our Family Promise guests have seen just how hard their lives are.  Moving their children around week after week, eating whatever food is provided, sleeping on thin cot mattresses.  It’s better than the alternative of sleeping in their cars or on the streets, but it’s not easy.  In other communities around the globe, the needs are even more dire–struggling for material resources in places of drought or famine or war.  Have you seen pictures of Aleppo or Mosul?  How can anyone possibly survive in those circumstances…much less thrive?

Last week, we looked briefly at the vow of poverty taken by monastics.  Monks’ poverty is chosen.  Economic justice seekers begin with poverty that is not chosen and ask why it exists.  Why do some people have the material resources they need to live life to the fullest while others struggle and sometimes even die from a lack of resources?

Historically, looking at the distribution of financial resources and asking why disparities exist has not been a popular question.  J  As Dom Helder Camara said of his work with the poor in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro, “When I fed the poor, they called me a saint.  When I asked why they are poor, they called me a Communist.”  Why is it so much easier to praise feeding the poor than asking why they’re poor?

It’s not that complicated, really.  It’s easier to feed the poor than to ask why they are poor because feeding the poor reinforces the narrative that we are good people doing good things.  We like seeing ourselves as good people doing good things.  Asking why the poor are poor requires us to look deeper…and when we look deeper, we have to begin confronting our complicity in social and economic systems that create poverty.  Feeding the poor is easy.  Changing the system that makes them poor is really hard.  Changing our own minds, hearts, and habits is harder still.

There was one part of the game I mentioned earlier that I didn’t tell you about.  By the second or third roll of the die, I started feeling guilty.  Really guilty.  Every time the beat-up car team got sent back another 5 spaces, the knot in my stomach tightened.  I kept a smile on my face, because having all those advantages was supposed to make me happy, but inside I felt so bad.  I wanted to share my wealth so the beat-up car team could get a leg up, but the rules of the game didn’t allow it.  In truth, I was relieved when the beat-up car team member threw their car and got out of the game that had been designed to make them lose.

So, what do we followers of Jesus do about economic disparities?  What can we possibly do to narrow the gap between rich and poor?  How do we assuage our first-world guilt?

If only there was some Scripture passage to guide us on this.  Wait a minute!  Today’s might do nicely!  Again, we see what happened as a result of that first day of Pentecost— Jesus’ followers pray, study, and eat together, and have all things in common.  Right after that, Peter and John hit the streets preaching and healing people, just like Jesus had done.  Also just like Jesus, some people loved them, while others—like religious officials—were less than pleased.

After this first foray into the wider community, Peter and John return to their faith community, where again we’re told the community had one heart and one soul and that no one owned anything apart from the community.  The passage ends with Barnabas selling some property and leaving the proceeds at the feet of the apostles.

On the face of it, today’s readings sound the same.  Reading more closely, though, you see that in Acts 2, “having all things in common” is set within a larger context of study, prayer, fellowship, and communal meals.  In Acts 4, the apostles’ teaching is mentioned, but the passage focuses almost exclusively on people selling their possessions and distributing the proceeds so that “there was not a needy person among them.”   Why the shift in focus?  What happened between Acts 2 and Acts 4 that led to the greater emphasis on this radical sharing of resources?

I wonder if it was going out into the world and actually seeing the gap between the rich and the poor that led to the shift.  Acts 3 begins with Peter and John on their way to the Temple for prayer.  A beggar—someone who hasn’t been able to walk since birth—asks for alms.  That was the only means of employment the social system of the time allowed someone who was otherly-abled.  Peter tells the man he doesn’t have any money.  (He’d already given it to all the community, right?)  Then he tells the man to get up and walk.  Which he does.

The healing is significant, but even more significant, perhaps, is Peter’s quiet indictment of the system that made this man, because of his other-ability, a beggar.  So, maybe by the time Peter and John get back to the community, they realize that what they’re doing there—sharing all their resources—is key to helping establish God’s kindom on earth as it is in heaven.  If everyone is to become fully who God hopes for them to be, they must have the material resources they need to live.  And the best way for people to get the resources they need is for everyone to share.

So, why aren’t we?  Why aren’t we sharing?  Why is the gap between rich and poor in our world widening?  What might it take to get everyone to share?  Just one thing, really.  A change of heart…an internal shift from self-reliance and building up one’s own stature to recognizing just how connected we all are and working to see that every person on the planet has the material resources they need to live…and to thrive.

Here’s an idea.  Let’s create a new game!  We’ll call it, “A Just World for All.”  First off, let’s use just one set of “Community Chest” cards.  Then let’s give everyone cars of the same size and condition.  And don’t you think everyone should move one space per die dot?

If we did these things—if we changed the rules of the game—what might happen?  What might happen to the least of these?  What might happen to the hearts of first world people?  If we changed the rules of the game, might we get a step closer to establishing God’s kindom here on earth as it is in heaven?  What might happen if we changed the rules of the game?  (Roll die.)  Your turn.

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  ©2017

Hi, everybody!  I’ve missed you the last couple of weeks.  Two Sundays ago, I was in Baltimore for the UCC’s national ONA gathering and then for Synod.  Ugena and I will share some of our experiences with you next Sunday after the 10:00 service.  Our interim Conference Minister, Marie Bacchiocchi, also will be with us next week.  She is eager to meet you!  I am grateful to Matthew and Rochelle for preaching the last two Sundays, to Trish Greeves for filling in on pastoral duties, and to the deacons for their consistent good work.  My heart is full.

After Synod, Allen and I took some vacation.  Guess where we went.  Yes.  The monastery. 

Anybody else go to monasteries on your vacations?   If not, you don’t know what you’re missing!  Rooms at reasonable rates, three meals a day, surrounded by 60 people who have committed their lives to receiving everyone as if they are the Christ.  If the point of vacation is rest and relaxation, our experience last week certainly filled the bill.

In addition to rest and relaxation, a stay in the monastery is a mini-immersion into the experience described in today’s Scripture lesson.

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching…

and fellowship…

to the breaking of bread…

and prayers…

All who believed were together and had all things in common… Day by day, they spent much time together in the temple…

and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, 

praising God

and having the goodwill of all the people.

If you’ve been here awhile, this text probably sounds familiar.  Many of our summer themes over the years have focused on what it means to be a community of Jesus’ followers.  This year’s theme of “building a stronger community” continues in the same vein.  Acts 2:42-47 describes the ideal Christian community.

Thus far this summer, we’ve reflected on our community’s spiritual and vocational lives.  Through those reflections, we’ve discovered that, in addition to our individual spiritual lives, we also share a communal spiritual life.  We often experience God’s Spirit when we’re together.

In a sermon I preached a couple weeks ago, I asked what you see as our community’s vocation, the one thing we have grasped so tightly that even death could not separate us from it.  Reading your responses was a holy moment.  Instead of the wide variety of answers I had expected, we heard near unanimity.  In these days of deep division in our country, how heartening to realize that in this place, even in these times, we’re all on the same page about our calling as a community of Jesus’ followers:  we are called to welcome all others in his name.

You’ve been very patient as we’ve explored our spiritual and vocational lives.  Because I know what you’ve really wanted to hear about is the section we begin today:  Our community’s financial life!  Haven’t you eagerly anticipated these next three weeks of sermons?  Did you tell all your friends about it?  Man.  I should have asked Trudy to do a Facebook ad! J

When my colleagues and I talk about preaching about finances, we almost always groan.  Audibly.  I’m not sure why we do that.  Maybe it’s because we feel like we’re supposed to nag—I mean, inspire—people into doing what they really don’t want to do—give some of their hard-earned money to the church.  I wonder, though, if giving to the church goes deeper than that.  I wonder if, like praying and worshiping and serving others, financial stewardship also might be a spiritual practice.  That is, might reflecting on what we do with our financial resources bring us closer to God?

To help us explore this intriguing—okay, perplexing—question, each of the next three weeks, we’re going to look at Acts 2:42-47 through a different lens.  This week, we’ll look through the lens of individual finances; next week, at issues of economic justice; and the last week, at our Pilgrimage community’s finances.  In all our considerations, we’ll ask:  How might our relationship with money draw us closer to God?

So, how might our relationship with money as individuals draw us closer to God?

Initially, what I found most puzzling about monastery life was the vow of poverty.  I didn’t get it.  Everything in our culture is about acquiring, isn’t it?  More money.  Bigger houses.  Fancier vacations.  The more money we have, society tells us, the more successful we are.

But the sisters at the monastery don’t have much of anything that’s their own.  They get $100 a month for personal spending.  Other than that, they share everything—food, cars, accommodations.  While I was there last week, Sr. Luke was preparing a talk on wills to present to a national Benedictine Development gathering.  “What do I know about wills?” she asked. Nuns don’t need wills because they own so little.  (I will say that Sr. Luke likes pretty clothes.  She frequents thrift stores.  Frequently.  Do you know that at Goodwill Outlets you can buy clothes by the pound?)  (Sr. Luke is on the right in the picture below.  She stands with Sr. Mary Ann.)

Sr. Luke with Sr. Betty Jean…

Here’s the thing about most monks I know:  They possess very little AND they seem to be very happy.  They “have all things in common, sell their possessions and goods (They do that when they enter the community) and distribute the proceeds to all, as any has need.  Day by day, as they spend much time together in the chapel, they break bread and eat their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.”  (Hmm.  Maybe that’s where Sr. Luke gets her inspiration for shopping.  J)

So, what is this connection between taking a vow of poverty—remember, this is poverty that is chosen.  Poverty that is not chosen is a whole different animal.  What is the connection between taking a vow of poverty and the generosity and joy I experience among the nuns?

Let’s look again at that first day of Pentecost.  Have you ever imagined what it was like?   To have been through the trauma of Jesus’ death, the unexpected joy of his resurrection, then the puzzlement over his departure again after 40 days?  To have spent ten days after his second departure wondering what was next?  Then, at a gathering with other followers just as much at sea as you, to have experienced another wonderful-puzzling thing?  Wind!  Fire!  God’s Spirit!  Understanding everything that’s said, even when spoken in languages you don’t know!  Thousands of people joining the community after hearing Peter preach!

What a whirlwind (literally)!  From the crucifixion to the day of Pentecost, 50+ days of riding an emotional roller coaster.  You might not be able to explain much of what has happened, but you know what’s happened is significant…significant enough that you want it to continue.  But how do you do that?  How do you keep the powerful experience of Pentecost going?

You begin by spending time with people who’ve had the same experiences as you.  That’s what you want to do when someone dies or moves on, isn’t it?  You feel drawn to sit around and talk about the loved one, remembering things they said, and figuring out—together—how to begin living into the new reality.

So that’s what you do after Pentecost.  You spend time with others who also knew Jesus.  You talk about all the things Jesus did while he was there, you pray together, study together, and eat together.  All of that makes sense.  But why do you sell everything and “distribute the proceeds to all as any had need?”  And why did sharing everything lead to living with glad and generous hearts?  Maybe it’s because when you own a lot of things, if you’re not careful, they can start to own you.  Sometimes not having feels freer than having.

That’s exactly what Millard Fuller, founder of Habitat for Humanity, figured out in the mid-1960s.  From an early age, Millard had wanted to make $1 million.  In 1964, four years after graduating from law school, Millard made his million.  Just as he was readjusting his goal to $10 million, his wife Linda announced that she was leaving the kids with him for a few days.  She needed some time to think about whether or not she wanted to continue in the marriage.

That was the moment Millard began looking at what earning that $1 million had cost him.  It had cost him time with his family, connection with his faith, and it was about to cost him his marriage.  He found someone to stay with the kids, then flew to New York, where Linda had gone.  They talked.  They wept.  They realized that the only way for them to find their way back to happiness and joy was to get rid of most of what they owned.

They flew back to Montgomery where they lived, began selling off houses, horses, farms, boats, cars, and their half-interest in Millard’s law firm, then headed to Florida for a badly-needed vacation.  On the way home, they stopped by Koinonia Farm in south Georgia to see an old friend, Al Henry, who at one time had pastored Pilgrim Congregational Church in Birmingham.  While there, they met Clarence Jordan, founder of Koinonia…and their planned two-hour visit turned into a month-long stay.  Millard and Linda soon moved to Sumter County and Millard found his new purpose in life—serving others.  He felt freer than he’d ever felt.

(Millard Fuller and Clarence Jordan)

Is having a lot of money and owning a lot of nice things bad?  Absolutely not.  Does wealth inherently drive a wedge between us and God?  Of course not.  The problem comes when what we own begins to own us.  When our commitment to wealth or possessions–or debt– becomes the most consuming thing in our lives, we are not able to worship God or follow Jesus with our whole selves.  And worshiping God and following Jesus with our whole selves— this is what the sisters have taught me—that is the deepest sort of joy we can experience.

So, as we begin this consideration of our community’s financial life, maybe the most important question to ask isn’t, How much do we have?  Maybe the more important question to ask is, In light of our financial resources, how happy are we?  How joyful?  How free?

How happy are you?  How free are you?  In silence, we reflect.  (Silence)

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2017

Weasels are wild.  As wild creatures, weasels do what nature has designed them to do–they hunt prey.  Here’s how they do it.  Disclaimer–this will be momentarily icky, but stay with me.  The point will be well-made.  I promise.  Here’s how nature has designed weasels to kill their prey–they bite them (rabbits, mice, birds) on the neck and don’t let go until they’ve dragged the carcass back to their nest.

In an essay titled, “Living Like Weasels,” Annie Dillard tells of a man “who shot an eagle out of the sky.  The man examined the eagle and found the dry skull of a weasel fixed by the jaws to his throat.  The supposition is that the eagle had pounced on the weasel and the weasel swiveled and bit as instinct taught him, tooth to neck, and nearly won.”  There’s no telling how long that skull had been dangling from the eagle’s throat.

Dillard finds in the weasel’s single-minded focus inspiration for her own life.  “We can live any way we want,” she writes.  “People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience–even of silence–by choice.  The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse.”

“I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure,” she says, “to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you.  Then even death, where you’re going no matter how you live, cannot you part.”  (Dillard, Annie.  “Living Like Weasels,” Teaching a Stone to Talk:  Expeditions and Encounters, 65-70.)

Stalk our calling…now there’s an image.  What in your life have you dug your teeth into completely, single-mindedly?  Into what have we as a community dug our metaphorical teeth?

This summer, we’re looking at ways to build a stronger community here at Pilgrimage in four areas of our community’s life:  spiritual, vocational, financial, and facility.  Today, we begin our reflections on our vocational life.

We don’t often talk about a community’s vocation, at least not among Protestant churches.  Catholic religious communities do, though.  Monks in those communities have their own individual vocations or callings.  But the communities also have vocations.  For Jesuits, it’s scholarship.  For Benedictines, it’s hospitality.  For other orders it’s hospital ministries, or ministries with the poor.  The order of Fr. Gabe at St. Anne’s Church is committed to ecumenism… which is why he welcomed me, a Protestant clergywoman, to receive communion at Bob Donahue’s memorial service.  A community’s vocation gives it focus.  The community then uses that focus to guide its efforts to act the world into wellbeing in Jesus’ name.

So.  What is our community’s vocation?  On what one thing are we focused?  What one “necessity” guides us as we seek to act the world into wellbeing in Jesus’ name?  To what mission have we grabbed on so tightly that even death cannot part us from it?

I invite you to write down your answer to that question.  This is a gut-reaction kind of thing.  What is our Pilgrimage community’s one-thing?  To what one thing are we called as a community of Jesus’ followers?  Don’t think about it.  Just write.  As soon as you’re done, pass it to the center aisles and the ushers will take them up.  Then I’ll read them.  [2 min. of silence]  

Are you ready to hear the responses?  If they’re all the same, then good news!  The sermon will be done!  If they’re not all the same, we’ll need to spend a little more time with it.  Ready?  (Read responses.)  Hmm.  No early lunch for us, I’m afraid.  🙂

How do we figure this out?  How do we become clearer about our community’s vocation?  What will it take to “stalk our calling?”

Today’s Gospel lesson might help us.  Or not.  This is one of those passages that gives you whiplash on the first reading.  Don’t fear those who can destroy the body; do fear the one who can destroy body and soul–that’s God, right?  But then it says NOT to be afraid, that God knows intimately every sparrow that falls to the ground.  God knows the number of hairs on every person’s head—a count that changes daily for some of us.  Others of us, I see, have graciously given God a rest from all that counting.  I’m sure God thanks you.

We’re way more valuable than sparrows, Jesus tells us.  Then immediately, Jesus says if we acknowledge him on earth, God will acknowledge us in heaven.  What joy!  On the other hand, if we don’t acknowledge Jesus on earth, God won’t acknowledge us in heaven.  Gulp.  Jesus hasn’t come to bring peace on earth?  Really?   And what about this hating the family business?  Was that a real thing, or was Jesus just projecting his own family issues onto the disciples?  (It happens. )  We’re of more value than sparrows and yet, if we don’t take up the cross, we aren’t worthy of Jesus?  And the most confusing part–how can we lose our lives by finding them or find them by losing them?

See what I mean by “whiplash?”  Is this passage supposed to comfort us, challenge us, or confuse us?  What insight, if any, might it lend our work of stalking our community’s calling?

This passage raises enough questions for us to be answering them until the cows come home.  Why must we love God more than family?  If God is a God of grace and love, what is all this talk of unworthiness?  And the most pressing question of all:  Did the heavenly accounting department have to restructure after Propecia came on the market?  J

In the few minutes we have left, I invite us to focus on only one line from this passage, the one that talks about taking up our cross and following Jesus…

Was Jesus calling on his disciples to take up literal crosses?  Was he calling them to live in such a way that the powers that be would take action to silence them?  Does taking up our cross mean to become literal martyrs, to give our flesh-and-blood lives for the sake of the Gospel?  Some certainly have taken this verse to mean exactly that.  Books are filled with stories of people who gave their lives for the sake of others in Jesus’ name—Oscar Romero, Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  Are we all called to put our literal lives on the line like these people did?

If we focus only on the flesh-and-blood of this passage, I fear we’ll miss the larger point Jesus is trying to make.  Like he says earlier in the passage—don’t fear those who can destroy your body.  Rather fear the one who has dominion over both body and soul.  God isn’t concerned only with physical reality.  God is interested in the entire package—body and soul.  It’s true that others have the power to destroy our bodies, but no one can take our spirits without us handing them over.

So when Jesus implores us to “take up our cross,” he’s telling us to “stalk our calling,” to latch onto it with such ferocity that not even death can separate us from it.

Why take up our cross?  Why stalk our calling?  Because living out our calling, our vocation, clinging to it with a weasel’s intensity, is the best means we have of finding our lives.  Martin Luther King, Jr.—who knew early on that his calling likely would get him killed—said this:  “No one really knows why they are alive until they know what they’d die for.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer died fully alive.  A doctor at Flossenburg, where Bonhoeffer was executed for his role in a plot to kill Adolph Hitler wrote this about Dietrich’s final minutes.

“On the morning of that day between five and six o’clock the prisoners…were taken from their cells, and the verdicts of the court martial read out to them.  Through a half-open door … I saw Pastor Bonhoeffer, before taking off his prison garb, kneeling on the floor praying fervently to his God.  I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer.  At the place of execution, he again said a short prayer, then climbed the steps to the gallows, brave and composed.  His death ensued after a few seconds.  In the almost 50 years that I worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.”  (Metaxas, Bonhoeffer, K10076)

I’m not suggesting by telling Bonhoeffer’s story—or the weasel’s—that we are called to actual martyrdom.  I do think, though, that we have much to learn from their examples, especially from their single-minded commitment to their callings, callings from which even death could not part them.

To what one thing is this community called?  Of what one mission are we so certain, we’ll sink our teeth into it and not let go?  What one thing will guide us as we seek to act the world into wellbeing in Jesus’ name?

(Silence)

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2017

The last two years, June has been a rough month.  Two years ago, on June 15^th, a lone gunman opened fire at a Bible study at Mother Emanuel AME church in Charleston, SC, killing 9.  June 12^th of last year, another lone gunman shot and killed 49 people at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando.  This past Wednesday—June 14^th—a third gunman opened fire at an early morning baseball practice of Republican members of Congress.

What’s going on?  Why are people turning on each other with such ferocity?

Sociologists and historians will have to explain the broader contexts that are giving rise to the greater violence.  Looking at violent acts through my pastor’s eyes, though, I see a common thread–an unwillingness to see other people in their full humanity.  Violence can occur only when the target of that violence is dehumanized.  The shooter at Wednesday’s baseball practice didn’t see human beings on the field; he saw enemies.  The same was true of the shooters in Charleston and Orlando.  Violence begins by failing to see the full humanity of the other.

Where does the failure to see others in their full humanity begin?  I believe it begins in our thoughts, in discounting someone else because of who we think they are.  Thoughts lead eventually to words.  Do you ever listen to the words coming out of your mouth…or your social media feeds?  If so, what do you hear?  Do all your words acknowledge the full humanity of other people?  Most of us don’t allow our thoughts or words to escalate into physical violence… but for those who are more psychologically fragile?  It doesn’t take much for them to cross that line.  I am convinced that increasing physical violence in our country has its roots in increasing verbal violence.  Rhetoric matters.  Words matter.  (Pause)  Kindness matters.

We’ve been struggling a little here at Pilgrimage here of late.  A couple of months ago in Christian Century, Craig Barnes, President of Princeton Theological Seminary, wrote that, in the current political climate, he’s not worried about pastors of congregations mostly on the left or mostly on the right.  The pastors he’s worried about are the ones serving congregations with significant political diversity.  He didn’t have any answers for those pastors; he just said he was worried.  Thanks, President Barnes. 🙂  I guess we’ll have to figure this out on our own.

Because of the increasing number of people who are coming to me distressed about politics–and how it’s talked about in our own church community–I’ve come to realize that it’s important to set some boundaries around talk of politics.  For some folks, faith and politics are completely separate categories.  For others, being engaged in social and political systems is a key part of their faith.  How do we do community when we’re in such different places?  How do we–as a community–follow Jesus in the midst of our political diversity?

I don’t think there’s any program or secret formula for how to do this.  Even if there were a secret formula, we’d still have to figure out how to make it work here at Pilgrimage.  Our focus this summer is building a stronger community.  Our community will become stronger only to the extent that we can figure out how to disagree on some things and, even in the midst of that disagreement, still remain connected to each other.  As St. Augustine said in the 4^th century:  “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.”  Remember, “that they may all be one” isn’t about ideas or opinions or consensus.  “That they may all be one” is about seeing each other in our full humanity in the midst of our differences and diversity.

Last week, we began an experiment.  Instead of offering prayers for political issues in worship, we’re going to have a specific time of prayer for those issues after 10:00 worship.  As I explained it last week at 10:00, I reminded those gathered that this community is safe only to the extent that we make it safe for each other.

So, how do we make Pilgrimage safer for each other?  As we work together to figure all this out, the Apostle Paul will be a good guide.

The book of Romans was written about 20 years into the growth of the Jesus movement.  The question of whether the Way of Jesus was a subset of Judaism or something else altogether was still being worked out….which means the tension between Jews and Gentiles was high.  Those who saw the Way as a subset of Judaism strongly believed Gentiles should become Jews before joining churches.  Others—like Peter and Paul—didn’t see a need for that.

One of the issues being fought over was whether it was okay to eat meat that had been offered to idols.  Jewish law was clear on the issue—absolutely not.  Paul understood the faith of Jesus to allow the eating of such meat.  He ‘knows and is persuaded’ that nothing is unclean.  For some people, though, that very thing is unclean; it’s forbidden.  That being the case, Paul says, why partake if you know it’s going to offend a fellow believer?  ¹⁵If your brother or sister is being injured by what you eat, Paul writes, you are no longer walking in love.

The political landscape in our country has changed drastically in the last year….not so much in terms of how each party understands the issues.  What seems very different is the way we talk to each other.  In fact, it seems like we’re no longer talking about issues so much as we’re assuming the character of people based on whether they’re Democrats or Republicans. Once we know the label, we presume to know the person.  That’s stereotyping at its worst.  It is an insidious form of dehumanizing the other, of refusing to see his or her full humanity.

The shooter on Wednesday, based on what I’ve read so far, didn’t see human beings on that baseball field; he saw only Republicans.  To be sure, he had to be psychologically fragile to do what he did.  Lots of folks have been and are very angry about politics right now and, as angry as they are, they will never—would never—engage in physical violence.

But what about verbal violence?  What about violence in our thoughts?  Have we dehumanized others in our thinking, in our conversing about people holding ideas with which we disagree?  I’ll answer for all of us—Yes.  The answer is yes.  We’ve all done it…because we’re angry.  And frustrated.  And frightened.  And weary.

So, what do we do?  What do we do as followers of Jesus?  What do we do as followers of Jesus in this community of faith?  I’m going to say something I’ve never said before:  As we seek to create safety for each other, we might do well to act like members of Congress.

I thought Paul Ryan did a terrific job addressing Congress on Wednesday.  He spoke of all we have in common.  He spoke about Democrats at their baseball practice stopping to pray for their Republican colleagues.  Then Nancy Pelosi introduced her remarks by saying, essentially, “What Paul Ryan said.”

The most poignant thing I saw on Wednesday was an interview with team captains, Reps. Joe Barton and Mike Doyle.  At one point, Mr. Barton–whose two sons were there the morning of the shooting–teared up, overcome with emotion.  Mr. Doyle gently put his hand on Mr. Barton’s arm and let him cry.  It was the most hopeful thing I’ve seen in Washington in a good long while.

We create safety for each other, first, by seeing each other in our full humanity.  How we vote is not who we are.  While it might be perfectly fine for us to say one thing or another at church gatherings—including worship—if what we say is hurtful or disrespectful to others, then why do it?  If our words cause our sisters or brothers to stumble, then the way to act them and our community into wellbeing might be to think twice about how we say something before we speak.  Hear me well.  This isn’t a matter of silencing ourselves or anyone else.  It’s a matter of making decisions about what to say to each other a spiritual practice.  It’s about making wise decisions about what to say where and when.  It’s about thinking about the impact of our words on our brothers and sisters in this community before we utter them.  The Apostle Paul said it well in today’s Epistle Lesson:  Let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding.

Want to know what that looks like?  We need look no further than Bono and George W Bush.  Bob Hammitt of Portland, OR, made this Facebook post a couple of weeks ago the day after Bono visited George at his ranch in Crawford, Texas:

At U2 concerts in the early 90’s, he wrote, a regular part of the show featured criticism of George H.W. Bush.  In fact, front man Bono used to call the White House in the middle of the concert to try to get a chance to speak to the 41st President.

When George H.W. Bush’s son George W. Bush became President in 2001, Bono was also a critic of his. 

George W. Bush didn’t go to war with [his] critic… Instead he invited him to talk about something they had a common passion for, saving lives in Africa. They had lunch together in the White House Mess hall, then Bush took him to the oval office. For 40 minutes they discussed A.I.D.S., malaria, and debt relief.

After the meeting, in 2003, Bush started a program in Africa known as PEPFAR (US President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief, http://www.pepfar.gov), which 14 years later is credited with saving over 11 million lives.

Yesterday (May 26), Bono was in Texas as part of the current U2 tour, and paid a visit to his old friend.  It is amazing what can be accomplished when mature people find common ground for the good of all.

If Bono and W can do it, we can, too, don’t you think?  We who—together—believe in Jesus?  We who—together—seek only and always to act the world into wellbeing?  We who—together—worship the same loving, wholeness-hoping, justice-seeking, still-speaking God?  Let’s take a minute to check in with the still-speaking God about how we might contribute to the mutual upbuilding of this community.  (Silence)

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2017  

A few weeks ago on Easter Sunday morning, a clergy friend went in to wake up her three year old daughter:  “It’s Easter!  Let’s rise and shine like Jesus!”  The child lay there unmoving and said, “I’m dead Jesus, Mama.  Bye.”

How easy it is to appropriate only the parts of the Christian story that support our self- serving goals.  We’ve all done it.  For me, it’s usually the Spirit who gets blamed.  Emails to Lynne with late changes to the bulletin often begin with, “The Spirit has been chatty this week!”

Don’t get me wrong.  I try to remain open to the moving of God’s Spirit…but only listening for the Spirit the couple days before Sunday?  The Spirit has so much more to offer us than late-in-the-week tweaks to the Call to Worship.  Or convenient parking spaces.  Or a win for our team.  Don’t you think?

This summer, we’re reflecting on how to build a stronger community here at Pilgrimage.  We’ll spend three weeks each looking at four areas of our life together:  spiritual, vocational, financial, and our facility.

Today is the third Sunday of looking at our spiritual life.  Two weeks ago, we considered whether or not our church as a whole has a spirituality.  Certainly, as individuals, each of us has a personal relationship with God, but does our community have a relationship with God?  After sharing together all the times we, as a community, have experienced God’s Spirit–in healing rituals, in serving MUST lunch or Family Promise guests, in singing, in creating the mosaic cross, in last Wednesday’s Praise service–we decided that, yes.  Our community does have a relationship with God; our community does experience God’s Spirit together.

Last week, we celebrated the gift of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the church at Pentecost and looked at the close relationship between ministry and administration.  We considered how everything we do–down to the tiniest administrative detail–can be an opportunity to create a space where people might meet God.  How do we tune in to God’s Spirit so that we can create those welcoming spaces? We pray. Sometimes with words; often in silence.

So, we are a Spirit-led community…and as a Spirit-led community, through prayer, we create spaces where people might meet God.

What might today’s lesson from Matthew add to our understanding of our community’s spiritual life?  Let’s listen again…

Jesus said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. ¹⁹Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of [Abba God] and of the [Only Begotten] and of the Holy Spirit, ²⁰and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.  And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Growing up in a fundamentalist tradition, I always read these verses as a command to  convert every person in the world to Christianity.  The impetus for doing that was a combination of compassion and terror.  Compassion–for all the people in the world who would die and go to hell because they weren’t Christians.  Terror–of being sent to hell myself for not saving more souls.  I wouldn’t exactly call my faith-life growing up fun.  Or healthy.  Or sustainable.

Which is probably why I worked so hard to learn to see God in other ways.  I mean, there had to be another way, right?  Didn’t the Apostle John tell us over and over that “God is love?”  God.  Is.  Love.  Sending people to hell just because they’d never become a Christian—that doesn’t sound very loving to me.

So what happens when we read these verses beginning with the assumption that God is love?  If it’s not about going out and saving every soul on the planet, what does it mean?

The key, I think, is one word—“Therefore.”  “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me,” Jesus says.  Go, therefore…”   Jesus receives authority, it’s safe to assume, from God.  And it’s not just a little authority.  It’s ALL authority in heaven and on earth.  And what is that authority or power?  Is it not love?  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength and your neighbor as yourself.”  That’s how Jesus summed up faith.  Doesn’t it make sense, then, that the authority or power Jesus has been given is love?

And if Jesus has been given ALL authority in heaven and on earth, and if the content of “all authority” is love, then Jesus’ disciples also are “authorized” or empowered by love.  If Jesus came to teach love, then—unless he was a lousy teacher—love is what his disciples learned.  They learned not only about love, but also how to love.  They learned from Jesus that love extends to every person, to every circumstance on the planet.  There is no person, no process on earth out of reach of God’s love.  If they learned nothing else following Jesus, the disciples learned love.

“All authority in heaven and on earth” has been given to Jesus.  The content of that authority is love.  So, if we give Jesus authority in our lives, it logically follows that (“therefore”) we’re going to want share that love with others.  And a funny thing happens when we share God’s love with others—they start sharing God’s love, too.  Making disciples isn’t some complicated theological formula.  It doesn’t come from putting people in classes or giving them a list of rules to follow.  It’s actually very simple.  We make disciples by loving people, by acting them into wellbeing in Jesus’ name.

As church life continues to be pushed to the margins of society, anxiety about shrinking attendance and dwindling membership grows.  People just don’t seem to attend or give with the consistency they used to.

Those fears are real and well-founded.  Even so, even in our increasingly un-churched culture, some congregations are thriving and growing.  I heard about a couple this weekend at the Southeast Conference Annual Meeting.  So, what’s up with that?  What’s the difference between churches that thrive and churches that struggle?

Here’s what I wonder.  I wonder if struggling churches focus more on numbers and not so much on mission.  And maybe thriving churches—while attentive to attendance, membership, and finance numbers—focus more on living the Great Commission, these departing words of Jesus at the end of Matthew’s Gospel.  Maybe thriving congregations seek only and always to make disciples by loving people, by acting them into wellbeing.  Maybe it’s not programming or phenomenal worship or shiny new buildings that draw people in, though those things are important.  Maybe the thing that draws people to churches in our un-churched culture is living authentically as disciples of Jesus…which means, loving people for all we’re worth.

Curious about whether some of my wonderings are valid, I asked the folks who are joining today what convinced them to buck the societal trend and actually join with a church community.  Here are a few of their responses.

I am joining Pilgrimage because it’s a community that welcomes you- whoever you are, there’s a spot for you. Whatever resources, time, talents and gifts you have to share are welcome and there’s no expectation of doing more than you can. That’s why I love the Pilgrimage family.

I’m so glad to be joining a faith community that gives away 700 books to children for summer reading, addresses climate change, eats hot dogs, confirms youth with intention and grace, and shows the love of God most especially in being open and affirming. Plus Steve already joined, cause he knew this, too.  Victoria

My Will.

I want to come to church // Without reservation.

A church that does not expect // Anything in return.

A place where I feel safe, // Safe from hate,

Away from anger, // Acceptance.

Words are my gift, // I talk easily.

Expressions might resist, // My prayer is silently.

People are who they are.

You are who you are.

I am who I am.

No blame.

I want to come to church to listen, // To learn.

Listening to words // Without hesitation.

My wife took my hand,

She led the way.

Sat in church on no grandstand,

Among people sharing the Lord’s day.

No fear

Did I hear.

People are sincere.

A church for me,

Embracing my desire.

Thank you, Meggie,

You are my inspirer.      (Braam DuPloy)

Within the first few minutes of stepping foot into this place, I knew there was something special here. So many people greeted me with smiles, handshakes, and genuine kindness. The worship, singing, sharing, and compassion for others expressed during service literally brought me to tears. What might have seemed like a regular old Sunday to some was a spiritual life changer for me. You all made me feel like I was already a part of a family and that I, too, am worthy of the unconditional love of Christ. I am grateful to you all for making a difference and look forward to joining you in worship and in serving those in need.

How do we grow stronger as a community?  How do we make disciples?  How do we continue to thrive?  We love people.  We love people.  We love people.

Let us join together in silence to reflect on and experience once again the love of the One who is only, always love.  Let us pray.   [1:30 of silence]

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2017

What a story.  The crowd!  Rushing wind!  A riot of languages.  And fire!  Lots of fire!

Filled with God’s Spirit, Peter preaches.  He quotes the prophet Joel, who quotes God:

I will pour out my Spirit on all humankind.  Your daughters and sons will prophesy, your young people will see visions, and your elders will dream dreams. 

That first Pentecost was so powerful, 3,000 people joined the church.  And from that day,

they devoted themselves to the apostles’ instructions and the communal life, to the breaking of bread and prayers.  A reverent fear overtook them all, for many wonders and signs were being performed by the apostles.  Those who believed lived together and shared all things in common; they would sell their property and goods, sharing the proceeds with one another as each had need.  They met in the Temple and broke bread together in their homes every day.  With joyful and sincere hearts they took their meals in common, praising God and winning the approval of all the people.  Day by day, God added to their number.   (Acts 2:42-47)

What a story!  Birthday of the church, we call it.  Pentecost is where it all began!

Right?

Hmm.  Let’s think about it.  You’ve been following Jesus for a year or two.  Fifty days ago at the Passover celebration in Jerusalem, he was executed by the Romans….which devastated you and the rest of Jesus’ followers.  Now what were you going to do?

Then, three days later, Jesus appeared!  He hung around for 40 days, reassuring you and the rest of his followers, reminding you of everything he’d taught.  Then, just as you were getting used to his being around again, Jesus vanished.  Again.  Right into heaven.  This time, he stayed.

So.  How do you get from Jesus leaving the scene again to the day of Pentecost?  What happened in those 50 days?  Did the Spirit just chill for 50 days, then jump out of a box and shout “Surprise!”?  Or did something happen that created space for Spirit’s arrival?

I’m completely open to possibility that God’s Spirit can show up whenever she wants.  She can create her own soundtrack and special effects.  She can go as big as she wants whenever she wants.  God’s Spirit is God’s Spirit.  It can’t be pinned down.

I do suspect, though, that we become aware of God’s Spirit when we cultivate spaces for its arrival.  The more we prepare ourselves to welcome God’s Spirit, the more we actually experience God’s Spirit.

So, how do we do that?  How do we prepare ourselves to welcome God’s Spirit?  Let’s see what Jesus’ followers did after he left the scene for good.

Right before he leaves the scene for good, Jesus tells his followers to return to Jerusalem, where they will receive the Holy Spirit.  So, that’s what they do.  They go back to Jerusalem…

…and hold a Council meeting.  Judas, you’ll recall, overcome with the grief of betraying Jesus, had taken his own life.  Peter reminds everyone of Judas…and of the need to fill his position on Council, I mean, with the 12 apostles.

They nominate two people, then pray, “‘O God, you know the hearts of people.  Show us which of these two you have chosen for this apostolic ministry.’  Then they draw lots and Matthias” becomes one of the 12.  The next thing Luke reports is the day of Pentecost.

So, the book of Acts begins with Jesus dramatically flying off to heaven.  Then a few verses later, in even more dramatic fashion, Pentecost happens—with its mighty wind, raucous linguistics, fire, and 3,000 converts.  And sandwiched between these two fantastic events is….a Council meeting.  The Nominating Committee proposes two names to fill the vacancy created by Judas’ death, the group prays, draws lots, then welcomes Matthias to the group of 12.

Seems like a mundane thing to include in such an energized, powerful narrative.  Jesus disappears–again!  The Holy Spirit swoops in and 3,000 people join the church!  And in between–The Council quietly fills a vacancy.

Is the inclusion of this tiny administrative detail superfluous?  Should the editor of Acts have made one more trip through the text with her blue pencil?  Or is the placement of this quiet administrative task intentional?

A year and a half ago at a Council retreat, we created some norms by which we try to live.  At the beginning of each meeting, we pray, then read the norms aloud.  The first line of the first norm reads:  We will remember that our work is a part of our spiritual leadership of our congregation.  A little thrill goes through me every time I hear that line.  It reminds us that ministry and administration aren’t mutually exclusive categories.  Effective ministry happens when we attend well to administrative details.

I learned this lesson well at the church I attended during seminary.  The congregation gathered Wednesday nights for a community meal and Bible study.  To make sure there was enough food, they asked that people make reservations.  I eagerly signed up.

When I got to the door to pay for supper that first Wednesday, my name wasn’t on the list.  Having an overactive superego, I couldn’t bring myself to go in and eat anyway.  My name wasn’t on the list, I wasn’t going to eat.  I didn’t want to take someone else’s food.

The next week, I called again to sign up.  When I arrived with my $5 bill in hand, the cashier again couldn’t find my name on the list.  I gave the church one more try.  You guessed it—again, my name wasn’t on the list.  I’m sure I would have been welcome to eat anyway…but being forgotten by my church three times in a row?  I never signed up for another dinner.

Now, administrative slip-ups happen from time to time.  They’re inevitable.  Sometimes things just fall through cracks.  My experience at my seminary church, though, taught me just how closely linked administration and ministry are.  Indeed, both words come from the same roots in Latin and Greek.  In Latin, the word is ministerium; in Greek, it’s diakonia.  Both words translate as “service.”

It’s easy to see and live as if administration and ministry are separate categories, to see ministry as fun and touchy-feely and administration as dull, but necessary.

But the story between Jesus’ ascension and the day of Pentecost, this report of the 11’s quiet meeting to replace Judas, suggests that ministry and administration are two sides of the same coin.  One informs the other; each needs the other.  Ministry without administration isn’t effective.  Deacons couldn’t do the ministry they do so well without being organized.  This coming Wednesday, we’ll have another Praise Service.  I anticipate a wonderful time of the moving of God’s Spirit, a holy time.  In order to prepare for that service, though, we’ve had one meeting and three rehearsals.  Without those meetings and rehearsals, Wednesday night would be a mish-mash.  Ministry needs administration.

By the same token, administrative processes that are imbued with prayer create spaces for people to meet God.  Everything we do on Council, every list created by Parish Life or Worship or Properties, every financial report created by our Treasurer or Financial Secretary, every note taken by our Clerk—every single administrative task we attend to is an opportunity to create space for all of us to meet God…which is kind of the whole point of being a church, right?

Do you know who embodies everything I’ve been saying?  Who best, in this community, embodies the mutual and dynamic relationship between ministry and administration?  Our Administrative Assistant, Lynne Buell.  I’ve never seen anyone move so easily between the worlds of administration and ministry.  Need a report produced?  She’s on it.  In the hospital and need a visit?  She’ll visit you.  Need help on formatting the bulletin—she is so good at that!  Need a day-brightening devotion?  She writes those, too.

In Lynne, it’s impossible to tell where administration ends and ministry begins.  That’s because for Lynne, they’re pretty much the same thing.  Everything we do is an opportunity to create a space for people to meet God.

As we seek to “build a stronger community” this summer, I encourage us all to be like Lynne—to attend equally to ministry and administration, to see everything we do as an opportunity to create a space where people might meet God.

What might help us to do that?  Practice.  We learn to see God in the world by opening ourselves and actively looking for God.  Consistent practice leads to healthy habits.  And here’s the thing.   Once we get in the habit of looking for God, God seems to show up more frequently.

So, how do we practice looking for God?  Two things might help.  The first is an introduction to opening and learning that Victoria Owens will be leading called “Practicing the Presence of God.”  From the earliest days of our faith, people have been dreaming up all kinds of practices that prepare them to meet God—various forms of prayer, mandala coloring, labyrinth walking.  The sessions Victoria will lead will help participants explore some of those practices.

The second thing that will help us—as a community—to tune in to and welcome God’s Spirit is to pray together.  A lot.  Way more than we do now.  Get ready!  Every gathering I’m present for, we’re going to pray.  As your spiritual leader, that’s the practice I’m committing to.  Sometimes the prayers will be spoken; other times we’ll simply sit quietly and in the silence become aware—together—of God’s presence with us.  When the apostles had a position to fill, what did they do?  They prayed over it.  Then look what happened!  Pentecost!  And 3,000 people joined the church that day.

If prayer worked for the 12, might it also work for us?  Let’s give it a try.  One minute of silence.  Let us open ourselves to an awareness of God’s Spirit.  Let us pray.  Silence.

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.

Kimberleigh Buchanan ©2017