My article for Pilgrimage UCC’s December newsletter.  

The week before Thanksgiving was a busy one.  The Saturday before, the Race Discussion group visited the Center for Civil and Human Rights.  The next Thursday several Pilgrimage members attended the Ecumenical Thanksgiving Celebration at Temple Kol Emeth.  The next night a few more of us attended the Transgender Day of Remembrance in Atlanta.

As I reflect on this array of experiences, I realize that a lot of what made each one meaningful was encountering friends.

At the Center for Civil and Human Rights, I saw my friend and fellow UCCer Bette Graves Thomas, who serves the Center as a docent.  Bette shared a little of what it was like growing up African American in the 50s and 60s in Atlanta.  At the interfaith Thanksgiving celebration, I ran into Mahmooda, one of the women from the Ahmadiyya Muslim community that helps us during Family Promise hosting weeks.  Mahmooda’s mother died unexpectedly a few months ago.  We touched base about that and I let her know that we’ve been holding her and her family in prayer.  At the Transgender Day of Remembrance event, I was so proud to see the results of Darlene and Monica’s hard work of the past few months.

In one week, I directly engaged some of the most contentious current social issues:  racism, religious conflict, violence against people deemed “different.”  What deepened each experience for me was meeting my friends.  Racial discrimination isn’t just about what African Americans in general suffer; it’s what happens to my friend Bette.  Hearing a politician suggest that all Muslims should be registered, I immediately think of what that would mean for my friend Mahmooda.  When I hear of increasing violence against transgender people, I think of my own friends who are transgender and pray even more fervently for their safety and wholeness.

During Advent, we celebrate the incarnation, literally, God’s “en-fleshment.”  Ours is not a distant God out in the universe somewhere.  No, our God is one who wanted to get to know us and so became one of us.  Ours is a God of relationship.

As believers in a God of relationship, we too are called to connection with others.  Large scale justice efforts are important.  But the world really starts to change for the better when we befriend others, especially those who are different from us.  Want to create some “peace on earth” this holiday season?  Get to know someone of another faith, another race, another political party.  It’ll be a great way to celebrate God-with-us!

Blessings,

Kim

Today’s reading from Luke 1 is a song John the Baptist’s father sings shortly after John’s birth.  Called the “Benedictus,” it’s sung every morning in monasteries around the world.

And why not?  It speaks of deliverance, of God honoring God’s promises to an oppressed people.  Through whom will this deliverance come?  Through his child, his little baby who will “tell the people how to be saved.”  When this baby grows up and becomes the prophet his father imagines he will be, “God will give light to those who are sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death, and will guide us on the path of peace.”

Isn’t that beautiful?  A father holds his baby on a visit to the Temple and sings this song, dreaming of all the child will become, knowing the future is in the hands of his tiny son.

Now, before you start idealizing old Zechariah and fretting about all the times you don’t see such potential in the children in your life, it might be helpful to hear what happened before Zechariah breaks into song.

One of the Temple priests, the elderly Zechariah, had been chosen by lot to enter the Holy of Holies to offer the annual sacrifice for the Jewish people.  While he’s in there, the angel Gabriel appears and tells Zechariah that Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth will have a son.  They are to name him John.  Through this child, Gabriel says, many people will find hope.

Zechariah and Elizabeth had been praying for a baby for a long time.  They had years, maybe decades of “no’s” in response to their prayer.  So, it makes sense that when the “yes” finally comes, Zechariah has some trouble wrapping his mind around the idea.  “Huh?” he says.  “Elizabeth and I both are pretty old.  How’s that going to happen?”

I confess to finding Gabriel’s response harsh.  For this tiny bit of doubt, Zechariah is struck mute.  Harsh or not, a silent Zechariah emerges from the Holy of Holies, goes home to Elizabeth, and she conceives.  I wonder what that was like for Zechariah, receiving the answer to his decades-old prayer and not being able to share the news with others?

After John is born, according to Jewish custom, his parents take him to the Temple to be circumcised—think baptism, but with lots more drama.  As the family leaves the Temple, the people ask the child’s name.  Elizabeth says “John.”  The people are puzzled, “But you have no relatives named John!  Shouldn’t you name him after Zechariah?”  So, they turn to Zechariah— the text actually says they were “motioning to him” to see what he would say.  The man was mute, not deaf.  Anyway, they ask Zechariah, who asks for a writing tablet then writes:  His name is John.”

As soon as he writes it, “Zechariah’s mouth is opened and his tongue freed, and he begins to speak, praising God. ⁶⁵Fear came over all their neighbors, and all these things were talked about throughout the entire hill country of Judea. ⁶⁶All who heard them pondered them and said, “What then will this child become?”

Zechariah answers the people’s question with the song we heard and sang earlier, the Benedictus:  “And you, child, shall be called the prophet of God, for you will go before the Lord to prepare God’s ways, to give knowledge of salvation to the people by the forgiveness of their sins.  By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

We can learn a lot from Zechariah’s story.  He longed for a child…which was in itself a good thing.  But those nine months of waiting, nine months of no talking, nine months of listening…he used those months to reflect deeply on what having a child would mean, what it would call forth from him and Elizabeth, what it would mean for the world for him to raise this child in ways that honored God’s calling on the child’s life.  The time of waiting prepared Zechariah to be an even better parent than he would have been otherwise.

And if God’s best hopes for the world were to be achieved, if the people were to find salvation, the baby about to be born needed some amazing parents, parents who would love the child for who he was, parents who would raise their child to know God, parents who would teach their child how share God’s love with a hurting world.  Harsh punishment or not, those nine months of silence gave Zechariah the time and space he needed to become the parent his future son needed.

And once the baby was born?  That’s when Zechariah began to listen.  When Zechariah tells his little baby, “And you, child will go before the Lord to prepare God’s ways,” he was acknowledging that he didn’t have all the answers.          So often we like to think–since we’re grown up adults and everything—that we have all the answers and that it’s our responsibility to lead children to those same answers.  But Zechariah’s song suggests instead that wise adults pose questions to children and wait for them to lead us to the better answers.  It is the children who will save us.

I want to share with you the prayer Danielle Cahn wrote for the Interfaith Thanksgiving service a couple weeks ago:  Dear God, Thank you for blessing this world with eager and open-minded youth.  Please help the adults in their lives to teach them to look from every perspective and be an example of tolerance toward every culture, race, and religion.  It is the mission of today’s young people to change the world, but it is their leaders, teachers, and guardians who decide whether that change will be for better or for worse.  In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

As adults, we have the power to empower children to lead us into a better, more hopeful future.  Right?

It’s been another hard week of violence—San Bernadino, Savannah.  I worry about what the world’s children—even the children we know—are learning these days.  You’ve probably heard the statistic that there have been more mass shootings in our country this year than days.  You’ve probably also seen the graphic where the United States far surpasses all other countries when it comes to gun violence deaths.  What are our children learning from the regularity of violence?  What are they growing up to believe about the world?  Who are they becoming?

While I worry about children, in general, I don’t worry so much about the children in our community.  I think we do a great job of teaching our children the way of peace.  I want to share a post Holly Ward Sinquefield made this morning:  Long post ahead, but I hope you will read it. I Heard let there be peace on earth today. I have heard this song millions of times as we sing it at the end of church service every Sunday but today I listened to the words. I thought about the world we live in today, I got sad, I got happy and I can’t get it out of my head. I looked up how the song originated. “They first introduced the song to…The young people were purposefully from different religious, racial, cultural and economic backgrounds, brought together to experiment with creating understanding and friendship through education, discussion groups, and living and working together…” That, that is how I want my world to be. 

We work hard here at Pilgrimage to model extravagant hospitality.  Every conversation I have with the children in our midst I come away impressed all over again with their strong sense of what is right, what is peaceful, what is loving.

But still.  With the internet—even with v-chips and parental controls—all of us, including our children here at Pilgrimage, suffer a constant barrage of violent images.  And because we are forgetting how to talk to one another—really talk to one another— on the whole in our society, we’re losing our ability to keep our emotions in check.  Everybody’s fuses just seem to keep getting shorter and shorter…which means people are exploding more often and more loudly than they used to.

And when I hear stories of what high school can be like these days—bullying, cyber-bullying, mis-use of cellphones—it doesn’t much sound like high school is a place where our kids might learn better ways of peace.  I know– high schools aren’t war zones; a lot of great teaching and community-building happens in them.  But it just seems like our children—and their teachers and parents—have to be on guard all the time.

It’s that guardedness that worries me.  What is that guardedness doing to us?  What is it doing to our humanity?  What is it doing to our children and their humanity?

So, here’s the good news for today.  I don’t have to come up with the answer to violence in our world all by myself.  In fact, if Zechariah’s song to his baby son John has it right, then the best thing I can do–the best thing any adult can do–to find the way to peace is to build relationships with children and young people.  Get to know them.  Take actions in the world that keep their welfare in mind.  Create safe spaces for children…so their imaginations can roam free.  Because it is their imaginations that will dream up new ways of saving us.

I want to share two things with you in closing.  The first is a piece written by Dorothy Law Nolte called “Children Learn What They Live.”  The second is a song by Cynthia Clawson called, “What about the Children?”  May each give you insight into how to “respond to the words” of today’s Scripture so that, for you, they might become the word of the living God.

Children Learn What They Live

If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.
If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive.
If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves.
If children live with ridicule, they learn to feel shy.
If children live with jealousy, they learn to feel envy.
If children live with shame, they learn to feel guilty.

If children live with encouragement, they learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance, they learn patience.
If children live with praise, they learn appreciation.
If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.
If children live with approval, they learn to like themselves.
If children live with recognition, they learn it is good to have a goal.
If children live with sharing, they learn generosity.
If children live with honesty, they learn truthfulness.
If children live with fairness, they learn justice.
If children live with kindness and consideration, they learn respect.
If children live with security, they learn to have faith in themselves and in those about them.
If children live with friendliness, they learn the world is a nice place in which to live.

http://www.empowermentresources.com/info2/childrenlearn-long_version.html

Cynthia Clawson singing “What About the Children” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8a2KKlJnsU

In the name of our God, who creates us, redeems us, sustains us, and hopes for our wholeness.  Amen.  (c) 2015

(“Don’t Worry, Be Happy”)  Does anyone else find that song annoying?  A life-long worrier, I’m annoyed when people tell me not to worry.  Any worriers out there?  Does telling you not to worry help you not to worry?  If you’re like me, when I’m worried and someone tells me not to worry, then I just start worrying about being a worrier.

And please don’t order me to be happy.  I’ll be happy when I’m good and well ready to be happy!  Tell you what.  You worry about your happiness and I’ll worry about mine…. because, apparently, I’m very good at worrying!

A quick look at the news and you’ll see PLENTY to worry about–Paris, Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Mali, hunger, thirst, poverty, ecological devastation, ever-widening gap between the rich and poor, racial tensions, discrimination…not to mention trying to make ends meet, trying to stay healthy, trying to raise thoughtful, caring children in a world gone mad.

I’m going to write a new song.  “Be worried!  Be terrified!  The world is a scary place!”

What was Jesus thinking telling those folks 2,000 years ago not to worry?  The world must have been a safer, less frightening place back then.

Except that it wasn’t.  The people Jesus taught were oppressed by a ruthless, militaristic regime, they were exploited by their own religious leaders, and they lived every day with the threat of arbitrary imprisonment or execution.  I suspect people—especially Jewish people—in 1^st century Palestine had even more to worry about than we do.

So, why does Jesus tell them NOT to worry?

This might sound strange, but maybe Jesus tells his followers not to worry because they were oppressed, exploited, and living under the threat of arbitrary punishment and execution.  Jesus’ whole thing was showing people how to establish God’s kindom “here on earth as it is in heaven”—a place where the hungry are fed and the thirsty are given drink, where strangers are welcomed and the naked are clothed, where the sick are cared-for and the imprisoned are visited.  How were Jesus’ followers going to do any of that if they were off in a corner somewhere wringing their hands?

The Greek word for “worry” is merimna, literally– “a part, as opposed to the whole,” or “divided into parts.”  You might even say to worry is to “go to pieces”–because you feel pulled apart in different directions.  A worried person is a distracted person, a person who can’t see the whole picture.  (http://biblehub.com/greek/3309.htm)

…Like me this past Thursday night.  Eight hundred people of many faiths gathered for a Thanksgiving Celebration at Temple Kol Emeth.  Our theme for the night was “Teach Your Children Well about Other Religions.”  As part of the planning committee, I enlisted our interfaith success story for the evening.  Pamela Perkins Carn, Coordinator for Interfaith Children’s Movement, had agreed to speak.  She was supposed to arrive between 5:00 and 5:15.  By 6:25, she still wasn’t there.  The program started at 7:00 p.m.

I confess, I was worried.  Here I’d talked the planning committee into inviting Pamela and she wasn’t there!  Completely panicked, I found Hal, chair of the planning committee, and told him Pamela was a no-show.  Hal looked me in the eyes and said, “I appreciate the worry.  Really, I do.  But what are we going to do?  Can you talk about the organization?”  Can I talk about Interfaith Children’s Movement to 800 people with only 30 minutes to prepare?  Yeah.  That didn’t help my anxiety at all.

Still worried, I found a quiet corner, pulled out my phone, and read everything I could on the ICM website.  Happily, Pamela arrived about 6:40, a victim of terrible Atlanta traffic.  (There’s a redundancy if I’ve ever heard one.)  As soon as she arrived, my anxiety dissipated.

In truth, before Hal’s “I appreciate the worry, but what are we going to do?” comment, I wasn’t aware of how anxious I was.  When Hal—ever so gently—pointed it out to me, I saw how much my anxiety was causing me to miss:  greeting several friends, enjoying the drumming  and other music, deciding what to do if Pamela didn’t show up….I was missing it all because I was worried.  Because I was able to focus only on one thing, I wasn’t able to see the whole picture of this beautiful gathering with our neighbors of other faiths.  Thank goodness Hal did see the whole picture and that he helped me see it, too.

That’s what worry does.  It distracts us.  It divides us.  It pulls us apart into pieces.  Worried people are fragmented people; they’re so focused on one thing (or a million tiny things), they can’t see the whole picture.  Jesus knew that fulfilling God’s hopes for the world was going to take undistracted, 100% committed followers who could see the whole picture…so he told them not to worry.  He said it, not to annoy them, but to empower them, to help them pull themselves back together so they could commit themselves fully to the vital work of establishing God’s kindom here on earth.

But how do you do that?  How do you stop worrying?  Anxiety is a powerful force.  It feeds on itself.  It grows exponentially and really fast.  How do you interrupt the worry process?  How do you get refocused on the larger picture?

Medication can help. J  Jesus offers another way.  “Look at the birds of the air,” he says.  “They neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet God feeds them…. Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin,  yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.”  How do we stop worrying?  One way is by paying attention to the natural world.

Allen and I live with two inhabitants of the natural world (that we know of).  Here’s what I’ve observed:  Gracie and Dayo are 100% cats.  It’s true that Gracie likes to play catch and Dayo has been known to bark or chirp on occasion, but they are cats through and through.  When they sleep, they sleep.  When they eat, they eat.  When you throw an object, they run for it.  When you dangle a string, they bat at it.  Gracie will bat at a dangling string even when I can tell she doesn’t want to.  She never wins that fight with herself.  As a cat, she’s born to bat at dangling strings.  So she does.

I wonder if that’s why immersing ourselves in nature is so calming—because every other created thing besides human beings is simply itself.  Every animal, every bug, every sparrow, every lily…every created thing does what it was created to do, is what it was created to be.  It doesn’t worry about what it has or hasn’t accomplished.  It doesn’t try to keep up with purebreds or the show dogs.  It doesn’t worry about whether guest speakers are going to show up or not.  And, despite all those cute “I was a bad puppy” photos on Facebook, non-human creatures don’t worry about their reputations.  They are simply themselves.

Could it be that what makes us most anxious is trying to be something or someone we are not created to be?  Is that why Jesus invites worriers to contemplate the natural world?  To remind us that the most anxiety-reducing, the holiest thing we ever can do is simply to be ourselves?

When talking about what gets her through difficult days, a speaker at Friday’s Transgender Day of Remembrance event said this:  “When I get anxious, the only thing that helps is to remember who I am.”  Perhaps that’s what Jesus is saying, too.  Don’t be anxious about your life, don’t try to be someone you’re not.  Simply be who you are.

Do you know the source of the words “Don’t worry, be happy?”  They come from 20^th century Indian mystic Meher Baba.  “He often used the expression “Don’t worry, be happy” when cabling his followers in the West.”  (Wikipedia)  Sometimes he’d use this longer version:  “Do your best. Then, don’t worry; be happy in My love. I will help you.”

Meher Baba was, of course, referring to himself.  When I imagine the words to be spoken by Jesus, I find that I’m no longer annoyed by Bobby McFerrin’s song, but actually find great comfort in it.  “Do your best.  Be your best self.  Be who I created you to be.  THEN don’t worry.  Be happy in my love.  I will help you.”

What better words to take with us as we gather with extended family this Thanksgiving week?  (What?  Your anxiety doesn’t go up when you’re with extended family?  When you’re traveling long distances in the car with grumpy children?  When you’re sitting still on the interstate hours on end because of all the traffic?)  When things get worrisome for you this coming week, remember those words as if they were spoken by Jesus:  “Do your best.  Be yourself.  Then don’t worry.  Be happy in my love.  I will help you.”

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2015

Matthew 6:19-34

¹⁹“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; ²⁰but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. ²¹For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. ²²“The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light; ²³but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness! ²⁴“No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.

²⁵“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? ²⁶Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? ²⁷And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? ²⁸And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, ²⁹yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. ³⁰But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? ³¹Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ ³²For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. ³³But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

Yesterday, a few of us visited the Center for Civil and Human Rights.  In one room, you’re invited to sit at a lunch counter.  You put on some headphones then hear the vitriol spewed by white segregationists.  The seats even shake at a couple of points.  It makes the lunch counter experience very real.  And frightening.

The lunch counter movement in the 1960s—and the courage of all the young people who tried to integrate them—reminds us of just how prophetic simply eating together can be.

Jesus knew that.  We’re about to enter a new liturgical year, the year of Luke.  All through Luke, Jesus keeps eating with all the wrong people—and gets berated by the religious authorities for doing so.

But Jesus knew—and tried to show the rest of us—that when we eat together, something holy happens.  The playing field is leveled.  Sharing the same food, the same drink, we know, we believe that we all are created in the image of God and that each of us is deeply loved by God.

So, let’s do this prophetic thing together:  Let’s share a meal together.

Jesus took bread, and after giving thanks to God, broke it, and gave it to the disciples, saying:  ‘This is my body which is for you.  Do this in remembrance of me.”

In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying:  “This cup is the new covenant in my blood.  Do this as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

Let us pray.

Holy One, how easy it is for us to come to this table—we simply walk a few steps from our seats, stand in a circle, and receive the elements as they are passed.  We have no fear, no shred of doubt as to whether we will be served.  As we share the bread and the cup today, remind us of all who do not come to this meal so easily.  And reignite in us a passion to share this meal, which is to say, your love with everyone we meet.  In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

In his book A Call to Action:  Women, Religion, Violence, and Power, Jimmy Carter identifies “the most serious and unaddressed worldwide challenge as the deprivation and abuse of women and girls,” (3).

Carter calls achieving rights for women “the human and civil rights struggle of our time.”  His commitment to seeking equal rights for the world’s women comes from decades of circling the globe working to eradicate poverty.  In his travels, Carter has seen it again and again:  the vast majority of the world’s poor are women.

It’s an insight Jesus was tuned into.  A case in point is today’s story of the widow’s mite.  We heard the story a couple of weeks ago on Consecration Sunday.  Matthew chose the text for his sermon that day and used it to help us reflect on our own stories of giving.

As with most Bible stories, there are as many ways to interpret them as there are interpreters.  Today, I invite us to look at the story of the widow’s mite through another lens, the one President Carter looked through in his book:  the lens of impoverished women.

The scene comes after a series of encounters between Jesus and the religious authorities in Jerusalem.  If you were here last week, some of this will sound familiar.  Jesus upends the tables of the moneychangers in the Temple, enraged at their exploitation of the poor.  When the religious authorities ask the source of Jesus’ authority to do such a thing, he refuses to answer.  When they ask about paying taxes, he says, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.”  Another non-answer.  When the Saducees ask about the resurrection, he pretty much buries them.

The only word of praise Jesus offers anyone in Mark 12 is the teacher who asks about the greatest commandment.  Jesus says to love God and love your neighbor, then tells the guy he’s not far from the kindom of God.  After that, remember, no one dared ask him any question.

Which I’m sure is a big relief to Jesus.  Now that people aren’t interrupting him with all their questions, he’s able to get some actual teaching done.  The lesson just before this scene?  ‘Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!  They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers.”

And as soon as he says it—boom!  Who should show up to pay her Temple fees, but a destitute widow, who, amidst all the rich folks putting in their large sums, quietly slips in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.”  Jesus sees the widow, then invites the disciples to see her, too:  “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance;  but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

So…what do you think Jesus is doing here?  Is he using the widow as a role model for sacrificial giving?  “If this poor woman is giving everything she has, why aren’t you giving more?”  If we looked only at the one scene with Jesus and the disciples observing the widow, it might make sense to interpret it that way.

But looking at the scene in light of everything that’s gone before, that interpretation doesn’t make as much sense.  Remember, the price-gouging of the moneychangers at the Temple enraged Jesus.  He dismissed several questions about Jewish law before he announced that the entire law could be summed up by loving God and loving neighbor.  Then we get that part where he warns people to beware of the religious authorities, who “devour widows’ houses.”

Which begs the question:  Is Jesus drawing the disciples’ attention to the widow because she’s doing everything right?  Or is he inviting them to question a religious system that’s got it dead wrong?  What kind of system would require a widow to give “everything she had to live on” to the Temple?  I’m reminded of the words of Dom Helder Camara of Recife, Brazil, who said, “When I fed the poor, they called me a saint.  When I asked why they were poor, they called me a communist.”  Might Jesus be inviting the disciples to ask why the poor are poor, to question the social and religious systems that created poverty and exploited the impoverished?

Though Jesus doesn’t explicitly refer to the woman’s gender, her poverty is no doubt directly related to her gender.  In first century Palestine, women without men had nothing, no social standing, no safety net, no income.

The same is true for many women around the globe in the 21^st century.  It wouldn’t be a stretch to call poverty a form of what Jimmy Carter has named “gender abuse.”  In an open letter to Pope Francis in September, Sr. Joan Chittister made the connection between women and poverty explicit.

“Dear Pope Francis:  Your visit to the United States is important to us all.  We have watched you make the papacy a model of pastoral listening. You have become for us a powerful reminder of Jesus, who walked among the crowds listening to them, loving them–healing them.

“Your commitment to poverty and mercy, to the lives of the poor and the spiritual suffering of many–however secure they may feel materially–gives us new hope in the integrity and holiness of the Church itself.  A church that is more about sin than the suffering of those who bear the burdens of the world is a puny church, indeed.  In the face of the Jesus who consorted with the most wounded, the most outcast of society, all the time judging only the judgers, your insistence is the lesson of a lifetime for the self-righteous and the professionally religious.

“It is with this awareness that we raise two issues here:  The first is the dire poverty to which you draw our attention ceaselessly.  You refuse to allow us to forget the inhumanity of the barrios everywhere, the homeless on bank steps in our own society, the overworked, the underpaid, the enslaved, the migrant, the vulnerable and those invisible to the mighty of this era.

“You make the world see what we have forgotten.  You call us to do more, to do something, to provide the jobs, the food, the homes, the education, the voice, the visibility that bring dignity, decency and full development.

“But there is a second issue lurking under the first that you yourself may need to give new and serious attention to as well.  The truth is that women are the poorest of the poor.  Men have paid jobs; few women in the world do.  Men have clear civil, legal and religious rights in marriage; few women in the world do.  Men take education for granted; few women in the world can expect the same.  Men are allowed positions of power and authority outside the home; few women in the world can hope for the same.  Men have the right to ownership and property; most of the women of the world are denied these things by law, by custom, by religious tradition.  Women are owned, beaten, raped and enslaved regularly simply because they are female.  And worst of all, perhaps, they are ignored–rejected–as full human beings, as genuine disciples, by their churches, including our own.

“It is impossible, Holy Father, to be serious about doing anything for the poor and at the same time do little or nothing for women.

“I implore you to do for the women of the world and the church what Jesus did for Mary who bore him, for the women of Jerusalem who made his ministry possible, for Mary of Bethany and Martha to whom he taught theology, for the Samaritan Woman who was the first to recognize Jesus as the Messiah, for Mary of Magdala who is called the Apostle to the Apostles, and for the deaconesses and leaders of the house churches of the early church.  Until then, Holy Father, nothing can really change for their hungry children and their inhuman living conditions.

“We’re glad you are here to speak to these things.  We trust you to change them, starting with the Church itself.”

Strong words, insightful words, and yes, prophetic words.  The role of prophets is to draw attention to injustice, speak truth to power, and then show us how to live in new ways, ways more in keeping with God’s hopes for every person in the world—ways of justice, ways of well-being, ways of love.

I don’t think we’d have much debate about whether or not to call Sr. Joan Chittister a prophet.  One commentator also has called the widow in today’s Gospel lesson a prophet, “the widowed prophet,” she names her.  This preacher suggests that by dropping her last two coins—all she had to live on—into the Temple coffers, the widow was drawing attention to injustice, her action spoke truth to power; and all who witnessed her action were invited to live in new, more just and more loving ways.

Hear today’s Gospel story one more time.  See if it might say to you something you’ve never heard before.  Listen carefully and see what prophetic words this 1^st century widow might be speaking to us 21^st century people.

“He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury.  Many rich people put in large sums.  A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.  Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

If you respond to these words, then for you they have become the word of the living God.  Thanks be to God!

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2015

Mark 12:38-44

How’s it going?  Did you catch yesterday’s game?  How do you feel about the outcome? What’d you just read on Facebook?

So.  Let’s take a minute and analyze the sermon thus far.  I’ve just asked four questions.  The first was a simple ice breaker.  I am interested in how things are going for you, but I’m not expecting you actually to respond to the question.  The second and third questions sound innocent, but if you know me, you know precisely to which game I refer AND you know that as an avid Gator fan, there’s only one acceptable response to the question.  J  Then there’s the fourth question, which sounds like a question, but is really a statement, right?  By asking what you just read on Facebook at the beginning of the sermon, I’m really saying:  Put down your phone and listen!

People say all kinds of things with the questions they ask, don’t they?  Some questions are honest; they’re asked to obtain information or to deepen understanding.  Other questions are, oh, let’s call them strategic.  Strategic questions are asked to make a point, or to put someone on the spot… or to manipulate poll numbers.  Have you watched the political debates?

As soon as Jesus enters Jerusalem for the High Holy days, the religious authorities begin pelting him with questions.  Admittedly, Jesus invites some questioning when he upends the tables of the money changers in the Temple and yells:  “My house will be called a house of prayer for all the peoples.  But you have turned it into a den of thieves!”

The chief priests and religious scholars didn’t question Jesus then, but Mark tells us that when they heard about what Jesus had done, they “began looking for a way to destroy him.”  Mark also says “they were fearful because the whole crowd was under the spell of his teaching.”

Now because the crowd was “under the spell of Jesus’ teaching,” the religious authorities couldn’t confront Jesus outright.  They had to be sneaky about it.  So they pulled out the rabbi’s biggest asset:  a question.  “On what authority are you doing these things?”

Like “What did you just read on Facebook?” this question isn’t actually a question, but a statement offered in the form of a question.  They aren’t so much asking who gave Jesus authority as declaring:  We have NOT given you authority!  How does Jesus respond?  With a strategic question of his own.  “Tell me, was John’s baptism of divine origin, or merely human?”

From the moment he asks the question, the religious leaders know they’ve been had.  “If we say ‘divine’ he will ask, ‘Then why did you not put faith in it?’  But can we say ‘merely human’?”  You see, they had reason to fear the people, who regarded John as a true prophet.  So their answer to Jesus was, ‘We do not know.’”  In turn, Jesus said to them, “Then neither will I tell you on what authority I do the things I do.”

This is the opening gambit in a public struggle between Jesus and the religious leaders.  The first point goes to Jesus.  The second point, too, when he tells a parable that leaves the religious leaders destroyed or cast into outer darkness, or banned from Facebook or something.  Mark tells us that “at these words they wanted to arrest Jesus, but they had reason to fear the crowd.  They knew well enough that the parable was directed at them.  Finally they went away.”

Since the first team struck out, the authorities send in the second team.  “Some Pharisees, another group of religious leaders, and Herodians, Jewish leaders who answered to the Roman government, were sent after Jesus to catch him in his speech.  The two groups approached Jesus and said, ‘Teacher, we know you are truthful and unconcerned about the opinion of others (mostly ours).  It is evident you aren’t swayed by another’s rank (especially ours), but teach God’s way of life sincerely (ish).  So:  is it lawful to pay tax to the emperor or not?”

Another manipulative question.   If Jesus said, “Don’t pay taxes,” it would get him in hot water with the Roman authorities.  If he said, “Do pay taxes,” it would diminish him in the eyes of the people, who were unduly oppressed by taxation.  How did Jesus respond?

“Knowing their hypocrisy, he said to them, “Why are you trying to trick me?  Let me see a coin.”  When they handed him one, he said: “Whose image and inscription do you see here?”

“Caesar’s,” they answered.  Jesus said, ‘Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.”  This reply took them completely by surprise.”

Third point—again goes to Jesus.  Thus far, the chief priests, religious scholars, elders, Pharisees, and Herodians have struck out with Jesus.  They all came bearing manipulative questions trying to put Jesus in his place, and every time, he turns their questions back on them.

Enter the Saducees.  Mark lets us know from the get-go that the Saducees’ question is insincere.  They ask Jesus a technical question about the resurrection when they don’t even believe in resurrection.  “Teacher,”—the insincerity begins with the first word!—“Teacher,  Moses wrote that if anyone dies leaving a wife but no child, his brother must marry the wife and produce offspring.  So let’s say there were seven brothers.  The eldest married a woman and died leaving no children.  The second married her, and he too died childless.  The same happened to the third; in fact, none of the seven left any children behind.  Last of all, the woman also died.  At the resurrection (which they don’t even believe in), when they all come back to life, whose wife will she be?  All seven married her.”

Again, Jesus wins the point when he questions the question.  “God is the God of the living, not of the dead.  You are very much mistaken.”

From the minute Jesus enters Jerusalem, he’s hounded by questions from every religious authority imaginable–the priests, scholars, and elders, the Pharisees, Herodians, and Saducees.  And in every encounter, with every question, Jesus turns the manipulations back on the manipulators.  I’m not going to play your games, Jesus says.  I’m not going to pretend that  you understand the working of God in the world because you just don’t get it.

Now we come to today’s focal text.  We meet a religious scholar who’s been following Jesus around, observing all the interchanges between Jesus and the other religious leaders.  In his estimation, Jesus has answered well.  So this man asks Jesus a question of his own:  “Which is the greatest commandment?”

To this point, when responding to the questions of the religious leaders, Jesus gives each a dose of their own medicine—he answers their manipulative questions with equally manipulative questions of his own, he calls them on their hypocrisy, he tells them flat out they just don’t get it.

This time, Jesus offers no commentary.  The question is direct; Jesus’ response is direct.    “This is the greatest:  ‘Hear, O Israel:  God, our God, is one.  You must love the Most High God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.”   The second is this:  “You must love your neighbor as yourself–this is far more important than any burnt offering or sacrifice.’”

The scholar says to Jesus, “Well spoken, Teacher!  What you have said is true:  The Most High is one and there is no other.  To love God with all your heart, with all your understanding and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself–this is far more important than any burnt offering or sacrifice.”

“Jesus, seeing how wisely this scholar had spoken, said, ‘You are not far from the kindom of God.”  And after that no one dared to question Jesus anymore.”

This question goes to the heart of what faith is all about.  It’s not about what earthly body gives you authority or whether or not to pay taxes or how you work out the minutiae of religious laws.  It’s about loving God and loving neighbor and loving ourselves.  Maybe no one dared question Jesus anymore because this interchange showed the people that he saw through any hypocrisy.  This last teacher’s question invited Jesus to sum up all religious truth.  And he did it so succinctly, so clearly, that the people knew that any question that didn’t lead to the truth he spoke would be inauthentic, manipulative, wrong.

Love God.  Love your neighbor.  So, how are we doing?  How is Christianity in general doing?  We talked about this a few weeks ago in Sunday School.  In that conversation, one person wisely said, “You know, if the Christian church just focused on those two things, we wouldn’t get the grief we get now.”  Indeed.

Today is All Saints Sunday, the day when we celebrate those people in our lives and throughout history who have pointed us to the truth of the Gospel–loving God and loving neighbor.

In a minute, we’ll have a time of remembrance to honor our own personal saints.  For now, let’s focus on those people who over the centuries taught the Christian church how to love God with all our hearts, minds, souls, and strength and our neighbors as ourselves.

I invite you to be creative in your responses.  Last night on Facebook, I posted a couple things from St. Gregory Episcopal Church in San Francisco.  The walls of St. Gregory’s sanctuary are adorned with brightly-colored Dancing Saint ikons.  While choosing to have all the saints joined together in dance already pushes the envelope, some of the “saints” they’ve selected obliterates it all together.  In addition to Teresa of Avila, St. Francis, and, of course, Gregory of Nyssa, other “saints” include:  Sojourner Truth, John Coltrane, Anne Frank, Charles Darwin, Eleanor Roosevelt, Desmond Tutu, Abraham Joshua Heschel, Martha Graham, Gandhi.

In the spirit of the Dancing Saints, who would you say has taught the Christian church how to love God with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength, and our neighbors as ourselves?

[Responses]

May we live up to all these wise, faithful people have taught us.

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2015

Mark 12:28-34

Sermon preached by Matthew Alexander for Consecration Sunday.

Giving Meaning to Our Giving

He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury.  Many rich people put in large sums.  A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.  Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.’ Mark 12:41-44

Consecration Sunday.  What a day to come up here and speak to you all!  I’ve got to admit it certainly makes sense to get me to speak about tithing.  I am a Baptist after all and most Baptist do love money.  We love our building projects, mission trips, and showing our success as both a minister and as a servant of God by seeing how much money we can raise.  A few of us Baptist out there love to show just how successful they have done their job by showing off their wealth as a sign of God’s blessing on them.  And I’m pretty sure, although there is no evidence for certain, that it was a Baptist that came up with the idea of a money tree.

I certainly fit the mold on paper. I‘ve heard the messages about faith and money and know the language. Therefore, I should be telling you how much God needs your money and that giving anything less than 10 % is a sin against God.  I should encourage you to commend those who give as a result of their loving obedience to God.  I should also make believe that money comes from an endless source and is easy to come by.  The only problem is that while I am Baptist, I don’t fit, as some of you may know by now, into that familiar Baptist mold.   In addition, it is not the message I get from the scriptures when I read them.

I come at the scriptures in a different light.  I have a long history of reading and studying the Bible.  Most of that history of reading the text comes in connection with the pain and struggles I have had throughout my life.  As a result, I have discovered real and meaningful ways the text gives me courage, hope, and strength in this life.  I hold many texts close to my heart and pull them out when I need them.  One of my favorites includes Jesus sleeping on a boat during a storm only to be awakened by his frightened disciples to calm it.  You all know the story.  Somebody that can still find rest in the middle of a storm, and speak with enough confidence to calm it when others are frightened, is my kind of person.  It’s somebody I’d follow anywhere.

Not all texts are created equal for me though.  The scripture of the poor widow found in Mark is one of those texts for me.  I have mostly disliked it to be honest with you.  The image of the poor widow walking up to the treasury and dropping everything she had into the treasury seems impossible for anyone to actually do, this is especially true for me as I have grown older and have accumulated things and have a family to care for.  How could I possibly give everything I have away? It would be foolish and even negligent on my part to do this.  So over the years I have just ignored it and focused on those scriptures that I can make work more easily with my lifestyle like the story of Jesus calming the storm.

My strategy had worked for so long and so well until I got an email from Gabriela asking me to speak on this Sunday, Consecration Sunday.  Granted the subject of giving is not my favorite one but I had confidence I could come up with something to say.  My confidence was shaken though when I started reflecting on what I wanted to say and the only scripture I could come up with was the story of the poor widow giving everything she had.

My perspective of tithing, in case you didn’t pick up on my cynicism in the beginning, is not the most positive view.  Even to this day, I find myself getting restless and anxious when the tithes and offerings portion of the service happens.  I go from a quiet still presence to a squirming paranoid existence; and at times indifferent to the whole event.  It is the one part of the service I have a hard time staying connected with what is going.  It’s the part of the service I get disconnected from God.  Most people I seek counsel from on this subject say its God stirring the pot within me and I would agree.  God has definitely being the stirring the pot recently with me on this subject.  Mostly, I have been reflecting on why I am indifferent and disconnected from tithing.

I grew up in the Methodist church and can remember just like it was yesterday one particular preacher we had who loved to talk about money and tithing.  Every sermon he preached seemed to somehow tie into the need to give to the church. He seemed to master the art of doing this.  Even as a young teenager, I was listening to him and was aware of how he connected God and money together.  I remember being fascinated and waiting for the end of the sermon to come to see how he would make the connection.  I may have been young, about 14, but I was paying attention to his words.

“If you are having problems in your life, it’s because you need more faith,” I remember him preaching on more than one occasion.

Another of his favorites was, “Have more faith that God will take care of you, and give your tithes to the church.”

As an adolescent who had his share of pain, suffering, confusion over the constant torment going on inside my head, I welcomed the possibility of an escape, of a deliverer.  So, I trusted what the preacher was telling me, I trusted that God would become my deliverer and I started to give.  At first, it was just a little, a portion of my weekly allowance, which was $20 a week (I know I was making some money but trust me I worked hard for that money).  I would put in a couple of dollars here and there then I would wait.  I would wait to see if my faith in God would pay off.  To my disappointment, it didn’t pay off.  I still had hurt, I still had pain, and my thoughts tormented me.  So, I gave more of my allowance.  And I waited.  Nothing.  I continued to give more until I was giving my entire allowance every week, all $20 of it.  I went without the latest Nintendo game, without the latest brand name clothes and without any new baseball cards (which was a really big deal because I loved collecting baseball cards).  I sacrificed it all; all those things that made the life of a teenager a little more bearable.  I sacrificed it all to give to the church, to God, to show my faith so that the pain I was feeling inside could find relief.  But it never came.

I have always been stubborn, so I didn’t give up.  With the pastor’s words playing in my head on repeat, “have faith, give of your money and God will take care of you,” I decided I must be doing it wrong.  In a final attempt to show just how strong my faith was, I saved up my weekly allowance, $20 a week for 5 weeks.  On the fifth week, I put $100 in the offering plate.  Then, I waited.  I waited for God to show up and tell me well done, be free now of your pain.  But nothing happened.  I waited a little longer.  I waited for God to wake up and pay attention to my great act of faith and deliver me, but nothing happened.  I still did not find relief.  So I prayed again, desperate for God to show up and take notice.  I begged to God because I had no more money to give.  Everything I had was put into the offering plate my money, my trust in the church, my faith, and my trust in God.  With patience, I waited for God to show up, to recognize what I had done, show his pleasure for me, and grant me peace.  But nothing happened.

Well, I take that back, something did eventually happen.  I received a giving statement from the church that showed the over $500 I had given to the church that year along with envelopes with my name on them so that I could continue to give in the coming year.

I was so mad.  I raged against God and the church.  All the time and energy I had put into a promise from a preacher that I would be delivered from my problems if I had faith and honored God with my tithes was really more than I could take.  I didn’t want a piece of paper that told me how much I gave or silly envelopes, I wanted relief.  I wanted peace.  I wanted the hurt to stop.  My money and my faith didn’t get me any of that.  It caused me to break, sending my life spiraling into a crisis of faith that I am still recovering from.

When I received those envelopes and my giving statement, I hoped I would receive that peace I was looking for based on what I thought the preacher was telling me to do.  I hoped someone would notice what I had done and make note of it.  I became jealous of the poor widow woman.  I became disconnected from God, from the church, and, ultimately, an important part of myself.  I must confess I have held onto this story and belief for much too long.

So when I hear my fellow Baptist preach on the subject of money and say that how much we give directly correlates with our faith, I don’t get excited.  I am indifferent to their words and any of their attempts to get me to give money to them.  My sense is that not trusting every preacher I hear talk about money is a good attribute to have, but I know that because of my story I have become suspicious of any one or any church that ask for my money.

I know the problem I face with trust with whatever type of giving we want to offer, whether it is with our time or money, is a problem that many face.  I know for a fact there are many people sitting at home this morning because they feel like they have nothing to offer.  And the sad part about it all is that many churches feel the same way.  I had a woman tell me once, “I was a member of the church my whole life, gave my tithes every week, and now that I am sick and can’t give they don’t come see me or talk to me anymore.”  It’s sad that for most of us our self-worth is based on what we give or don’t give.  It’s sad that most churches teach that your faith is measured on how much you are able to give.  It’s tragedy when our giving determines how much love we get from one another.

Consecration Sunday should be a day of celebration and excitement for us, but the reality for most is the hope that it will come and go quickly.  We just don’t want to be bothered by it.  Not because we don’t want to give but because we just don’t want to be reminded of what we don’t have to give.  My story is full of disappointment, anger, and distrust.  I have leaned on it as crutch, giving me an excuse to not give when it is not convenient for me.   I understand why I have disliked this story of the poor widow for so long.  I have focused on how she put everything she had into the plate and how Jesus took notice of her.  It caused me to carry feelings of jealousy around for a long time.

What then are we, what am I, to do with a story that plays such a major role in how I feel and approach church each and every week? How are we to get beyond our beliefs that who we are is not enough? For too long, my experience of coming and giving to the church has been jaded by what I thought a preacher was telling me to do and my jealousy over a woman I never met.  It has led to so much distrust.  How do I reconcile and restore my relationship with God and with the church so that I can trust again?

A good place to start is by learning what meaning we give to stories and events in our life.  Giving meaning to something gives it a special purpose.  Whether that be with our stories or with how we approach church each week or whether that it is with our tithes.  Most of us already do this whether we know it or not.  Of course, if we are to remain life giving creatures, then there comes a time in our life when we need to reevaluate our stories and the meaning we give to them.  If I am ever going to come to church and sit through the tithes portion of the service without squirming and getting disconnected from God, then I am going to have to reshape the meaning I give to that portion of the service.

I believe we all can learn to do this by learning to retell our stories in a way that sheds new light on things we have never seen before.  Instead of telling the story the same way over and over again, we have the capacity to look at them again and maybe find something new.  During seminary, I first became familiar with this idea.  I had a New Testament professor that constantly encouraged us to revisit the text and try to notice things we had never seen before.  Because of what I learned, I started to imagine all the texts in the Bible like a piece of artwork.  You can look at the same piece for a long time and see the same thing but one day you walk by it, see it from a different angle, and it changes.  You notice something you never seen before.

I decided to try and “walk a mile” in the poor widow’s shoes to see if I could find something different.  I closed my eyes and wondered what her day must have been like.  Since she probably didn’t have a home, she probably carried everything she had with her.  In her pocket, her last two coins clinked around.  Maybe they were for food for later or maybe she was saving them for a desperate moment.  She was drawn to the treasury to give because everything she had tried to be delivered from her current condition had not worked.

Alone, lost, and desperate she made her way.  She was an outcast living in a society that rejected woman, that rejected the poor, and that rejected the widow.  Her hands must have been shaking, palms sweaty, her heart racing, and her breathing shallow.  Maybe even a tear as she made her way.  Then, she arrives.  Maybe she hesitates but then in one great act of faith, she held out her hand, let go and dropped everything she had and made it an offering to God.  She must have begged, “Please let this be enough to end my suffering.”

When I recall the poor widow’s story in this way, I find new meaning in the story, which helps to change my story.  Instead of being disconnected from the poor widow, I am more connected.  I imagine that she and I could have related on some level.  I believe that we were both desperate for relief from our current condition.  Out of this desperation, we were willing to give all that we had for a chance at that peace.  Instead of being jealous, which has caused me to be disconnected from her story and from God I can resolve myself to the fact that the poor widow and I are a lot more alike than different.  Learning to trust this story and find new meaning in it goes a long way in my restoration.  In fact, I can even feel the smile growing in the part of my being where the disappointment and jealous have lingered for so long.

Each of us has a story to tell that causes us to give or not give.  I wonder what your story is.  Is there a chance that your story can be reconciled in a way that will allow you to give your gift in a meaningful way? Are there places that need to be reconciled? Now is a great time to start. Is it possible that when you make your offering pledge or discern how you want to share yourself with this community that it can become a symbol of your reconciliation with God, with the church, with others, or with yourself? Is it possible that when you do make your offering that you can do it with the mindset of hope, reconciliation, and healing in my mind? What will it take for you to hold out everything you have been holding on to so tightly and let go?

Today is consecration Sunday.  It is exciting day.  It’s the day when we have the opportunity to review our gifts and how we can offer them freely back to the church.  It’s the one Sunday set aside from all the rest where we can decide to something different with our offerings.  To take a risk, make what we give meaningful, and allow it to change our experience with God.

I know Wikipedia says that consecration means to set aside something for a special purpose, but I don’t always trust Wikipedia (o.k., maybe I need to learn to retell that story as well) but I prefer the definition of consecration to mean to turn something ordinary into something holy.  When we are able to reflect on our stories of disappointment and distrust and find the courage to give them new meaning, we free ourselves to trust again.  We stop worrying whether who we are or what we have is enough.  We turn what was once an ordinary act into something holy.  We bring ourselves to the altar, all our struggles and joys, and trust that it will be enough.  There is something remarkable to be said about the willingness to look at our lives, where we have been hurt and be willing to retell the story in a way that brings us hope and reconciliation.

I would be remised if I did not tell you of one more possibility.  I thought about the story of the poor widow again.  I wanted to see if there was something I was missing, something I still needed to see and sure enough I did miss something.  I thought what if the poor widow had already reconciled her hurt and disappointment before ever coming to the treasury.  Maybe she already had seen Jesus, and knew what Jesus was about.  Maybe she had been in one of the crowds and already knew that Jesus’ message was about God’s love for all.  Perhaps upon hearing the message, her world changed and she found a new hope.  Maybe she was given a different story to tell, one of reconciliation instead of disappointment and distrust.  Then the outcome, when she stood over that treasury to drop her last two coins in, would have been for a different purpose.  Instead of hoping for what may happen she was able to open her hand, drop everything she had in, and say, “we’re good now, here I am,” restoring her faith and trust in God.  Now this version brings a smile to my face.  I know now, there is still hope if I can continue to learn to trust God with everything I have.  I want this story of the poor widow to be my story.  What about you?

If only we could find some way to let go of what holds us back.  I know that when I make my pledge and my offering I will do it with my story and my hope for restoration of complete trust in God in mind.  I pray that I will recover the spirit of that teenage boy that was willing to give everything he had.  I hope I will continue to find myself drawing closer to the spirit of the poor widow whose story was reconciled completely.  Each time I give, I will give with the intention of drawing closer to God.

My prayer is that you will find something that will give meaning to your gift, and allow it to change you each and every time you bring it into this place of worship.  For I believe that when we do this the ordinary will become holy.  Our tithes will change us each and every time we give.  Our pieces of paper will become true offerings to God.  When we offer our time and energy, we will use our time and energy into creating this church.  We will be changed by it, making us vessels of our Creator.  It will make this room not just a room but a sanctuary for God to dwell in.

May God bless and keep each one of you on this journey.

Gotta love the classics.  And what better song to usher in the season of Consecration?  J

Did you know that the first line actually came from a poem written by Michael McClure?  A friend of Janis’ quoted the line while they were playing pool at a bar in New York in August, 1970.  Janis liked the line and quickly wrote the song.  She sang it that night at a concert.

A few months later in a recording studio, on October 1, Janis returned from a break and told the producer to roll tape.  She sang “Mercedes Benz.”  That’s what we just heard.

By October 4^th, Janis Joplin was dead of a heroin overdose.  She was 27.  The car parked outside her motel room?  A customized Porsche.

The song itself is fun.  It’s social satire at its best.  The story behind the song demonstrates just how seductive and, yes, addictive, wealth and privilege can be.  A self-described “middle class white chick from Port Arthur, Texas,” Janis didn’t want to be addicted to drugs and to things, but in the end the pull was too great.  What she consumed consumed her.

The young man who comes to Jesus in today’s Gospel lesson is facing a similar struggle.  Running up to Jesus, he says:  “Good Teacher, What must I do to inherit eternal life?”  The first thing Jesus does is call the man on his obsequious flattery:  “Why do you call me good?  No one is good—except God alone.”  In that one line, Jesus invites the man to a deeper—and more authentic—level of communication.

Then he reminds him of key Jewish laws—don’t murder, steal, commit adultery, lie, or defraud.  Honor the ‘rents.  The man assures Jesus he’s kept all the law since he was a boy.

Then, Mark tells us:  “Jesus looked at him and loved him.”  Jesus saw the man’s eagerness and loved him for it.  He wanted to act that young man into well-being.  Knowing what it would take for this man to *get* the God-thing, Jesus told him:  “You lack one thing.  Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.  Then come, follow me.”  Mark tells us “the man went away sad, because he had great wealth.”

When Jesus explained to the disciples how hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kin-dom of God, it must have sounded strange.  They’d been raised with the belief that the richer you were, the closer to God you were.  So, for Jesus to say that having wealth actually made it more difficult to get into the kin-dom?  It didn’t compute.  No wonder they ask, “Who then can be saved?”

At this point, Peter reminds Jesus that, “We have left everything to follow you!”  Jesus assures Peter that the disciples’ many sacrifices no doubt will result in blessings in this world and the next…“But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”

You don’t have to read far in the Gospels to see that Jesus loved turning everything on its head.  The thing he’s turning on its head now is the conventional wisdom that one’s worth in God’s eyes equals one’s net worth.  But are the wealthy—by virtue of their wealth—first in God’s eyes?  That’s the question Jesus invites the disciples and us to ponder.

So what do you think?  Does God love the wealthy more than others?  Our first response, I’m sure, would be, Of course not!  God loves us all equally!  Some might even say God has a preference for the poor.  But do we really believe that?  Or do we believe–deep down—that God blesses some more than others and you can tell who is who by checking out their net worth?

I’m not making any judgments here.  I’m just saying that as middle class folks in one of the wealthiest countries of the world, the rich man’s dilemma resonates.  It’s so easy living in a consumerist society like ours to equate wealth with God’s blessing.  Separating out the American Dream from the kin-dom of God can get tricky.  It takes a lot of work.  In fact, it takes conversion.

Rochelle and I are reading a book together for her Pathways work.  In the book, the authors offer a new way of understanding religious conversion.  For them, conversion isn’t about “getting saved.”  For them, conversion is about seeing the basic structure of reality as God created it.  And what is the basic structure of reality?  You’re going to love this!  The basic structure of reality as God created it is koinonia!  Which means that everything is connected.

So, for these authors, conversion is what happens when you finally *get* that everything is connected.  You’re able to see God’s kin-dom, to enter it, to “inherit” it, as the rich young man asked of Jesus, only when you grasp that every thing, every person, every creature, every created thing is connected to every other thing, person, creature, and bit of creation.

It was out of that koinonial spirit that Jesus invited the young man to experience conversion.  Turn from this self-centered focus—I’ve kept the laws; I want eternal life, I have great wealth…I, I, I…  Sell what you have and give to the poor, that is, look at the relationship between your wealth and the poverty of others and take action to bridge the gap.  Use the power of your privilege to create God’s kin-dom here on earth.

Despite his professed eagerness to inherit God’s kin-dom, the man goes away sad because he’s unable to grasp this different version of the kin-dom Jesus presents.  A kin-dom not achieved by personal effort?  A kin-dom built by recognizing the inter-connectedness of all people and all creation?  That didn’t compute.  It made no sense.  The man wanted God’s kin-dom, but not the way Jesus was describing it.  What he didn’t understand was that God’s kin-dom isn’t something we inherit or achieve; it’s something we create.

Do you ever feel guilty about your privilege?  I’ve been thinking a lot about privilege recently, mostly about white privilege…which, of course, is closely linked with economic privilege.  A lot of really thoughtful, progressive Christians do feel guilty for having so much more than other people in the world.  Unlike the young man in today’s Gospel lesson, we have experienced conversion; we do know that everything is connected.  We also understand that consumption practices in the developed world create severe hardships for the world’s poor…

Knowing all that, we tend to do what we’re really good at—we beat ourselves up and feel guilty about what we have.

But here’s the thing.  Jesus didn’t rain down judgment on the young man because he was wealthy.  He didn’t ask, How many religious laws did you have to break to make all that dough?  No.  Jesus looked at the young man, loved him, and invited him to use his wealth to help others.

That, I think, is the opportunity privilege gives us.  It’s important—vital—to reflect on how our own personal consumption patterns and, especially, the consumption patterns of our country, create hardships for others in communities throughout the world.  But if we get paralyzed by guilt, we’re not going to be able to do anything to change the world.  Changing the world requires action.  Changing the world requires the just action of people with privilege.

Hear the story of the Edna Aden Maternity Hospital in Hargeisa, Somaliland.  Though raised by a progressive physician father, Edna grew up in a culture that didn’t see her worth.  She attended elementary school, but there were no high schools for girls.  Edna parents did allow her to eavesdrop on her brothers’ tutoring sessions in their home, which she hungrily absorbed.

Thanks to her father’s advocacy, Edna was allowed to sit for a test to see whether she might attend further schooling in Britain.  She had to sit in a separate room from the boys who took the test, but she passed it.  Edna became the first Somali girl to attend school in Britain.  She studied midwifery and hospital management.   //  After graduating, Edna went back to Somaliland.  Eventually, she married the man who became president.  After divorcing her husband, Edna was recruited by the World Health Organization.  “She lived the good life of a UN official and was posted around the world.  But she dreamed of starting a hospital in her homeland, and in the early 1980s she began building her own private hospital in Somalia’s capital, Mogadishu.  When war broke out, the project had to be abandoned.

“In the UN, Edna rose to be the top WHO official in Djibouti, with a lovely office and a—wait for it—Mercedes Benz.  But she didn’t want her legacy to be a Mercedes; she wanted it to be a hospital.  The dream nagged at her, and she felt unfulfilled.  She knew that Somaliland has one of the highest maternal mortality rates in the world…So when Edna retired from WHO in 1997, she sold her Mercedes, took the proceeds—along with her savings and pension—to build a hospital in the town of Hargeisa.”  (Half the Sky, by Kristof and Wudunn)

The Lord gave Edna a Mercedes Benz // She sold it for money, shocking her friends

The Lord gave Edna a Mercedes Benz  //  Now women have healthcare; everyone wins.

Edna used her wealth and privilege to build a maternity hospital.  Because of Edna’s willingness to use her privilege and share her wealth, now women with difficult pregnancies have a place to go; midwives and physicians are being trained.  The maternal mortality rate in Somaliland has plummeted.

I don’t know Edna’s faith background, but I do know that she has experienced the conversion to which Jesus invited the young man in today’s Gospel Lesson.  Edna knows that we all are connected.  Edna *gets* that the things we have been given, any wealth we have is an opportunity to share with others, a chance to make the world a better place.  Amassing wealth is fine, but using that wealth to improve the lives others?  That is the way to find true happiness.  That is the way to find fulfillment.  That is the way to enter God’s kin-dom.  That is the way to inherit eternal life.

Edna had a Mercedes.  She sold it made and her little corner of the world a little better.  What do you have that you might use to make your little corner of the world a little better?  What do you have that you might use to help create God’s kin-dom here on earth?

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

(C) 2015  Kimberleigh Buchanan

       At Pilgrimage, we believe strongly in what’s called “the priesthood of all believers.”  What that means, in part, is that on any given day God’s Spirit can speak to anyone.  Sometimes that someone is me; sometimes it’s someone else.  Part of my job is knowing when to step aside because someone else’s word is more powerful and poignant than mine.  Today is one of those days.

            We’ve already heard an important word about “letting the children come” to Jesus, to worship, to the table.  How blessed we are to have Miss Janet working with our children.  I don’t speak those words lightly.  I worked for a while in Children’s Ministry.  I’ve worked with lots of Children’s CE workers.  I’ve never met anyone who cares so deeply about the children and gives them such high quality religious education.  So, I’m going to say it again:  Miss Janet, your presence and work among us, especially with our children, blesses us deeply.

            We’re also blessed by the presence of Carol Reed.  You might know that Carol is the daughter of missionaries.  She did most of her growing up in Pakistan.  Often during Joys and Concerns Carol keeps the needs of the wider world community before us.  That is a gift to this community.

            In preparation for today’s service, the Worship Committee asked Carol to bring some items from her collection that might remind us of Christians from around the globe who are gathering at the table today.  We were thinking “meaningful decorations.”

            Happily, Carol brought her treasures….then she told us the stories behind them.  When I read Carol’s email that described what each object meant, I realized that on this World Communion Sunday, nothing I could say would speak half as well as hearing the stories behind some of these objects.

            So, I’ve invited Carol to tell us a little about the items she brought today.  Carol

Carol’s World Communion Celebration Message Oct 4, 2015

Thank you Kim.

When Ugena and Sarah asked me to bring in a few items to help decorate, I was a little overwhelmed. I had no idea what to choose.  When I look around my home, I am surrounded by pieces from around the world.  Each one tells a story and is a part of my history, and the history of the world that I grew up in. Thank you for allowing me to share a few of these pieces with you today and the stories behind them. Thank you also to the members of the congregation and of the choir who are wearing clothing from around the world. It is a joy to see all of the colors and patterns, and at least symbolically, it brings more of the world to our table today.  This morning I am wearing a beautiful Indian sari very uncomfortably.  Not because the sari itself is uncomfortable, but because it is a clear reminder of my privilege. This sari cost about 100 times the average daily income of a one of the village families that I grew up with.

My parents were missionaries that followed God’s calling to serve the poor, first in Greece, then in Pakistan. They were not preachers, but teachers in a sense. Their focus was rural development. They dug wells and built irrigation ditches, introduced new farming techniques and crops to improve yields, started village schools for boys AND girls, trained midwives, improved child nutrition, worked to reduce infant mortality and provide family planning.

The poor women in the villages where my parents worked often had 12 or more children, many of whom never reached their second birthday due to malnutrition or treatable and preventable diseases like diarrhea. A few weeks before I was born, my sister brought home a little baby girl.  She had received her in trade for a goat from the child’s mother. While this may seem crazy to you, this mother had already given birth to something like 18 children (if memory serves me right).  She had too many to feed already and had watched too many die. The milk from the goat would be valuable nourishment for her other children, and she hoped her precious child would have a better life with us. Of course, my mother made my sister take the baby back, so I didn’t have the joy of a twin, but that story has never left me.

In the villages I saw how hard people worked to get the staple of life, bread that we take for granted every day. The men and women ploughed, planted, and harvested the wheat by hand. Those who were blessed enough to have an ox, a water buffalo, or a donkey to help with the labor were the lucky ones. The grains, gathered by hand with a scythe, were piled on the threshing floor where a village animal, usually an ox, was tethered to a stake in the center.  It walked around in circles to trample the grain and crush it.  Only when the grains are broken open from their protective husk can you take the precious kernels and grind them to make bread.  This basket was used to separate the wheat from the chaff.

Life in much of the world is incredibly hard.  But it can be beautiful. From the waste of wheat, the little pieces of straw leftover, beauty emerges. Rough jute fibers used to make sacks to hold grain are reused to create beauty. And amongst the poor, I have seen incredible artists and musicians.  But perhaps the most striking thing is the beauty of spirit.

In most of the world, guests are treated with honor, eat first, and are served from the nicest dishes the family has or can borrow. Today our abundant communion feast is spread out on a cloth woven in Greece, served in dishes from Pakistan, India, and Kenya.

Where I grew up, even the poorest of the poor would honor a guest with generosity and graciousness. Even at the cost of feeding themselves or their family, guests would be served the very best. It is a culturally expected form of radical hospitality. While I did not always understand this as a child, the food that I was given was often at the expense of the women and children of the family who were already malnourished.

Most of the Christian villagers I grew up with were originally Hindu from the untouchable caste. They were devastatingly poor and had for generations been the outcasts. Auntie Eva and Auntie Alice were spinster missionary ladies who served in the Punjab of India prior to partition in the 1940’s and in Pakistan afterwards. They welcomed my parents to Pakistan in the 60’s

A letter addressed simply to “Ant Alice, India” was actually delivered to her in Pakistan. Anyone who has any concept of how enormous the subcontinent is and how miserable the mail delivery service was at the time, would know that is astounding. This letter found her because these missionaries were widely known and beloved. They had a heart for service.  Each Christmas, Auntie Alice and Auntie Eva would host a tea party. The tea was chai, beautifully and lovingly served from the finest English bone china and accompanied by a feast.  The guests of honor were the village women, the outcasts, the sweepers, the untouchables. Sometimes the act of serving one another, and of sharing a meal together at the table, is in and of itself a sacrament.

This red, hand woven, hand embroidered wedding shawl covering the pulpit came from those missionary Aunties. I felt it was especially appropriate to share this shawl’s story on World Communion Day.  It is red, color of communion wine. Red the traditional color for weddings in India. It is also the color of blood, and its story is marred with that as well.

At the time of partition when Pakistan and India separated in 1947, millions of refugees fled Pakistan to escape to India in fear of their lives (and the other way as well).  Wikipedia reports that: “In the riots which preceded the partition in the Punjab region, between 200,000 and 500,000 people were killed in the retributive genocide between the religions.^[2][3] UNHCR estimates 14 million Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims were displaced during the partition; it was the largest mass migration in human history^.”  Hindu and Sikh families fled to India.  Muslim families to Pakistan. A majority of Christian converts were from the untouchable caste from the Hindu religion. They were in danger, both on account of their chosen faith, and of their cultural affiliation as Hindus in the newly formed Pakistan.   Most had to leave everything behind and if they were lucky enough to survive, start again from nothing in a new place.  This wedding shawl was given for safe keeping to the Missionary “Aunties” by one of those families who were fleeing for their lives. It was very likely the family’s most valuable possession.

It was never reclaimed.

Generations later, we are still watching men, women, and children fleeing for their lives as a result of war, religious conflicts extremism, and desperate poverty. Poverty like that desperate mother in the village willing to give up her precious child in hopes of saving its life. Mothers and fathers would not put their precious babies on those boats if the boats were not safer than the land they came from.

This has been going on for far too long!  I try to understand why this keeps happening and I just cannot make sense of it.  My sister tells me it is because there is sin in this world. I will agree with her. The sins of greed, disregard for human life, violence, and injustice are overwhelming. I think we must follow Christ’s teachings and love the Lord our God with all our hearts and love our neighbor as ourselves.

But I am not a theologian.  So I look to the words of others to help me understand. In the radio program “On Being” entitled: Until the Heart Stays Open…guest speaker Laura Fanucci quoted Hazrat Inayat Khan as saying    “God breaks the heart again and again until it stays open.”

Laura went on to explain that: “You have two choices when you feel it happening……You can let your heart stretch to the point of ripping open to the beauty and agony of living in this mortal world……. Or you can pull the protective shield back over the vulnerable center. You can break or you can burrow. I have done both.       Only one gives life.”

The individual and collective stories of the refugees are heartbreaking…..  Perhaps they are meant to be. Perhaps our hearts, like kernels of wheat, can only be useful when they are open.

I want to share the story of an Afghan women I was honored to meet.  She was a well-educated, intelligent, and highly respected woman before she came to this country.  She was the headmistress of a large girl’s school in Kabul. She was forced to leave her home, her family, her career… everything behind. The only work she could get here in America was as a cleaning woman in a hospital.  She explained that it was devastating to her sense of self-worth, not because of the work, but because of how she was treated.  “I cried every single day for 3 years” She told me.  “No one looked at me, spoke to me, acknowledged me.  I was just the cleaning woman.”  As a nurse in a rehab hospital I worked alongside many who were physicians, nurses, and educators from around the world. Yet in this country they found work only as cleaners, nurse’s aides, and other menial jobs.

On this celebration of world communion, I want each of us to truly recognize people as human beings.  They are God’s precious children, each and every one of them.  They deserve peace.  They deserve hope. They deserve respect. And they deserve a future where they can work, raise their children, and worship their creator without daily fear of bombs, bullets, torture, rape, and persecution.

Each one of us needs to search our hearts and find a way to be of service.  We can all pray.  Some of us can share financial gifts to help those in need.  We can urge our representatives to help bring peace to the homelands of these refugees.  We can vow to open our eyes, be welcoming to the strangers in our midst and treat them with honor and respect. If we are to be God’s hands and feet, we would do well to start with God’s word as our inspiration:  I know we already read the scriptures today, but I ask that you humor me and look at two more.

 Leviticus 19: 33-34. “³When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”

 And now one of my mother’s favorite passages: Matthew 25:-34-40 :

“Then the King will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

Both of these passages give us a clear mandate to lovingly serve our brothers and sisters in need.

This wooden carving that holds this basket is carved of one piece of wood. Each individual piece is powerless on its own, but when the interlocked pieces work together, they can accomplish the work of holding up this dish. We as individuals are all God’s children. All by ourselves it can be daunting to tackle huge challenges like poverty, violence, and injustice. But when we, as the body of Christ, come together and are interconnected… we work together to form a sacred space.  We can work together as God’s hands and feet to do God’s work.

So today I invite you to let the lavishness of God’s grace and this loving community at God’s table nourish you. But as you enjoy the beauty and bounty before you I ask you to remember those who are going without. Without the comfort and nourishment of food, safety, or the spiritual sense of peace and belonging that comes from a supportive community. The refugees and migrants are coming and will continue to come as long as there is war, poverty, and injustice. There are 4 million refugees from Syria alone that need placement. That doesn’t even touch on the crisis in Sudan and elsewhere. Nor does it address the problem of extreme poverty that is so prevalent throughout the world. Instead of building walls, I ask that we build bigger tables. Instead of begrudging those in need the leftovers and crumbs, I ask that we embrace the tradition of radical hospitality and offer them our first fruits and a seat of honor at God’s table. And if you are so called, perhaps you can help to fill this basket with a special love offering to help the refugees.

Thank you.

The last time I saw Betty was the day the charred skeleton of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was imploded — May 24, 1995.  Terrorists had bombed the building April 19, 1995, leaving 168 dead, 800+ injured, and a nation stunned at what some of our own citizens could do to each other.  After a month of investigation, it was time for the remains of the Federal Building to come down.

The night before the implosion we stayed with Betty.   (It was her turn to meet the boyfriend. J)   Betty asked if we’d like to visit the site.  In truth, I wasn’t sure I did.  I worried I would become overwhelmed.  But it was Mrs. Woodward—my teacher—who asked.  So we went.

We drove into Oklahoma City from Shawnee, shared a meal together, then made our way to the Federal Building.  Just a month out from the bombing, the entire area still resembled a war zone—dozens of buildings around the Federal Building were damaged.  Shattered glass blanketed the streets.  The building itself—such sorrow, such silence, evidence of such evil.

Twenty years later, I confess that I don’t have a visual in my mind of what the building looked like that night.  What I do remember is the crunch of broken glass as we walked, the gaping hole in the ground created by the blast, and the chain link fence circling the building that mourners had turned into a memorial.

I also remember having to take my turn to peek through the chain link fence at the ruins.  Hundreds of people had gathered—hundreds of live people, standing together mourning the dead.  And somehow in the midst of it, among those other quiet, reverent human beings, I felt something I hadn’t expected to feel—hope.  I felt hope.

I don’t know why Betty invited us to visit the Federal Building its last night standing.  I suspect part of it was to share with us what so many of my friends had been experiencing, what she had been experiencing, the last month.  Or maybe she wanted to visit the site herself and simply wanted company.

Or maybe it was the last of many lessons she taught me—the lesson about how, when life falls apart, when nothing remains but shards of glass and burned wreckage, it might not be the end.  The lesson about how sometimes dead structures need to come down to make way for new life.  The lesson about how visiting the devastating places with friends makes the journey easier.

As I type this, my heart aches with the loss of Betty.  But as the learnings continue unfolding from this last lesson she taught me, I know her death isn’t the end.  Life goes on…and the journey through loss—even the loss of Betty Woodward—will be eased by inviting friends along for the journey.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTtiooVUlmY