reallifepastor

One of the things that started child psychologist Robert Coles on his professional journey was meeting six-year-old Ruby Bridges.  In the early 60s, Ruby was chosen to integrate an elementary school in New Orleans.  For most of that year, she was the only student in the school.  All the other children were kept home by their parents.

            Each day, as she approached the school—always accompanied by U. S. Marshalls…. you’ve probably seen the Norman Rockwell painting of the scene…Each day as Ruby approached the school, she was greeted by an angry mob of adults screaming at her.  She was six.  The thing that struck Robert Coles was just how unfazed Ruby seemed to be by all the hatred coming her way.

            One day, when Coles was at the school, Ruby’s teacher pulled him aside and said that that morning Ruby had stopped and talked to the mob.  The teacher didn’t get very far in her own questioning of Ruby.  Coles said he would talk with Ruby that evening.

            Here’s how Coles describes the conversation.  “Ruby, the teacher told me there was some trouble before you went into the school.”  She said, ‘No.’  I said, ‘Well, apparently you talked to the people in the street and you got them shouting even louder.’  She said, ‘I told the teacher I didn’t talk to those people.’  I said, ‘Well, Ruby, the teacher saw your lips moving, so as to say something.’  She said, ‘Well, I told the teacher I was talking to God…I like to pray.’  Thinking that she was praying for herself, I said, ‘Who are your praying for?’  She replied, ‘I was praying for the people in the street.’

            “I was surprised and unwilling to drop the matter.  I said, ‘Why would you want to pray for those people in the street?’  She looked at me and answered, ‘Well, don’t you think they need praying for?  I always say the same thing.  I always say, ‘Please God, try to forgive these people because they don’t know what they are doing.’”  When Coles asked Ruby why she said those words, Ruby told him her parents and grandmother told her to say them… “Because Jesus said that when there was a mob in front of him.  He prayed for those people, and that is what I am doing.”  (Handing Each Other Along, by Robert Coles.) 

            Well, don’t you think they need praying for?  She was only six, but little Ruby Bridges knew the importance of praying for one’s enemies. 

            As we enter into a time of confession, I invite you to take a moment and bring an enemy of yours to mind.  (Pause)  Now, pray for that person….if you don’t have words, just imagine God’s light surrounding them.  (Pause)

            Let us pray.  Holy One, praying for our enemies is hard– so hard, in fact, that we often avoid doing it.  Honor the halting prayers we offer today.  And give us the courage to keep praying for enemies…just like little Ruby Bridges did.  Amen.

            Has anyone else found these last few sermons annoying?  I sure have. 

So, People are doing everything they’re supposed to do–attending worship, making sacrifices, fasting…They’re following the religious rules faithfully, when some prophetscome along and tell themthat going through the motions isn’t enough.  Micah says, “What does God require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God?”  Isaiah says, “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to let the oppressed go free, to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house?”  Jesus says to refrain from insulting people; to reconcile with our brothers and sisters before we worship. 

            If living faithfully is about following the rules, about checking things off a list, it’s easy to know when you’ve been faithful. Attend worship?  Check.  Offer financial gifts?  Check.  Serve on a committee?  Check.  Read your Bible every day?  Check. 

But the prophets don’t seeminterested in a spiritual scorecard; what they care about is right relationship.  Do justice.  Love kindness.  Feed the hungry.  Clothe the naked.  Tend to your relationships.  Checking things off a list—that’s easy.  Thinking about what we’re doing, especially about how what we do impacts others?  Measuring our righteousness in terms of relationship, in terms of acting others into well-being?  That is annoying. 

            But we haven’t seen anything yet.  Today’s gospel lesson increases the annoyance factor by 10.  It’s so annoying, in fact, that we’re not even dealing with part of it, all that “turn the other cheek” business.  We’ll deal with that someday—I promise.  Trust me–the rest of today’s Gospel lesson is plenty annoying for a single sermon.

            Because today, Jesus gets specific about who precisely we are to act into well-being.  “You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’”  Loving your neighbor is hard enough…but Jesus—as he is want to do—goes on.  “You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.  But I say to you (prepared to be annoyed): ‘Love your enemy.”

            Really?  Love your enemy?  Why not ignore your enemy…or abide your enemy…or, Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do to your enemy?Why “Love your enemy?”

            The question becomes even more pointed when you consider the context in which Jesus’ hearers lived.  Jesus’ words were addressed to first century Jews—people suffering under oppressive Roman rule.  In thepart of the passage we skipped, it mentions “forcing you to go a mile”—Roman soldiers could do that.  And when Jesus says to “pray for those who persecute you,” he means itliterally.  The people he taught were really being persecuted…

….which makes this “love your enemies” business all the more puzzling.  Why would Jesus tell poor, persecuted, and oppressed people to turn the other cheek, to pray for their persecutors, to love—that is, to act into well-being—their enemies?

            On the face of it, it’s easy to see how the powerfuldehumanize the powerless.  What isn’t as obvious is how dehumanizing dehumanization is.  By that I mean that when we see or treat others as less-than-human, it makes us less-than-human, too…Because a key trait— the key trait–of human being is being humane, right?If we aren’t humane, then we’re not quite human.

            So, when Jesus tells this group of oppressed people to act their enemies into well-being, he’s asking them to see their oppressors as human beings; he’s inviting them to help heal their persecutors of their inhumanity.  The cycle of violence and hatred has to end somewhere, right?  As Gandhi said, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”

In the end, we all are God’s children; we’re all human beings created in the image of God; we’re all equally capable of both beauty and evil.  Until we realize that our humanity is bound up with the humanity of others—all others– we really haven’t gotten the God-thing, Jesus is saying.  “If you love those who love you, what reward do you have?  If you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others?”  The world won’t change until we do more than is expected of us.  Oppression won’t end, God’s kin-dom won’t come until every person–every person–is seen and treated as a human being, full of dignity.  The way to live faithfully, the way to true righteousness, the way to please God is to act everyone into well-being–evenour enemies.

            Izzeldin Abuelaisha is a doctor who once lived in Gaza and worked at a hospital in Tel Aviv.  If you’ve never read about the lives of Palestinians, especially those living in Gaza, I encourage you to do so.  Simply getting in and out of Gaza can be an arduous process.  As Izzeldin says:  “Traveling has become such a miserable experience that no Palestinian does it, except those who absolutely have to,” (158).  Because of the strict rules—and arbitrary closures of the borders with Egypt and Israel– basic supplies often are wanting in Gaza.  There is a hospital in Gaza, but it provides only basic care.  People with medical complications have to be taken to an Israeli hospital…which works, if you’re able to get a pass into Israel. 

            Life for Gazans is difficult.  Even so, Izzeldin has long been an advocate for the coexistence of Israelis and Palestinians.  Working in an Israeli hospital was a way to live out his belief in the possibility–andnecessity— of living together in peace.

            Which is why what happened on January 16, 2009, was so tragic.  In September 2008, Izzeldin’s beloved wife Nadia had died of acute leukemia, leaving him and his 8 children grieving and trying to pick up the pieces.  He applied to hospitals around the globe; he wanted to get his children out of the powder keg of Gaza.  In early January, a teaching hospital in Toronto invited Izzeldin to join their staff.

            You might recall that in 2008, the Palestinian group Hamas became the governing power for Palestinians.  As you might imagine, Hamas’ rise put Israel on full alert…especially since Hamas had been shooting missiles into Israel from Gaza for years.

            In retaliation—and perhaps as a show of power to Hamas—on December 27, Israel began a military assault on Gaza.  The siege lasted 23 days.  Twenty three days of bombs, helicopters, tanksdecimating home after home after home.  Twenty three days with ten people crowded into Izzeldin’s apartment.  (One of Izzeldin’s daughters was at her aunt’s house when the shelling began; other extended family members had gotten caught at Izzeldin’s home.)  During the shelling, they had no electricity, no gas, no way to buy food or supplies.  It was a time of terror.

            Terror turned to tragedy on the 21^st day of the siege, January 16, 2009.  Three of Izzeldin’s daughters, Shatha, Mayar and Aya, along with their cousin Noor were in the girl’s bedroom.  Izzeldin and the rest of the family were in the dining room when they heard and felt the explosion.  It came from the girls’ bedroom.  Izzeldin went to check on the girls.  Mayar, Aya, and Noor were dead.  Shatha was gravely wounded.  The shelling continued.  Another daughter, Bessan, was killed in the follow-up shelling.

            The assault on Izzeldin’s house was a mistake, a tragic error, an error with inconceivable consequences.  It would be hard to blame someone in Izzeldin’s circumstances for becoming bitter.  Miraculously, he has not.

            The title of thebook describing his harrowing experience is telling:  I Shall Not Hate:  A Gaza Doctor’s Journey on the Road to Peace and Human Dignity.In this season of Epiphany—what we Christians call the season of light—Izzeldin’s response to the tragedy is especially apt. 

“From the moment we got home—with smashed buildings, collapsed bridges, and rubble all around us—I realized I had two options:  I could take the path of darkness [hatred and revenge] or the path of light [the future and my surviving children],” (193).

            “My three precious daughters and my niece are dead.  Revenge … won’t get them back for me.  It is important to feel anger in the wake of events like this; anger that signals that you do not accept what has happened, that spurs you to make a difference.  But you have to choose not to spiral into hate. All the desire for revenge and hatred does is drive away wisdom, increase sorrow, and prolong strife.  The potential good that could come out of this soul-searing bad is that together we might bridge the factious divide that has kept us apart for six decades.

            “This catastrophe of the deaths of my daughters and niece has strengthened my thinking, deepened my belief about how to bridge the divide…There’s only one way to [do it]:  “we have to find the light to guide us to our goal.  I’m not talking about the light of religious faith here, but light as a symbol of truth.  The light that allows you to see, to clear away the fog—to find wisdom.  To find the light of truth, you have to talk to, listen to, and respect each other.  Instead of wasting energy on hatred, use it to open your eyes and see what’s really going on.  Surely, if we can see the truth, we can live side by side.”  (196)

            “You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I say to you, ‘Love your enemy.’”  Annoying?  Perhaps.  Necessary to building God’s kin-dom?  Afraid so.  Thank goodness we have people like our Muslim brother Izzeldin Abuelaish to show us the way.

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  ©  2014

Matthew 5:38-48  (NRSV)

                Wouldn’t it be nice if we got a controversial Scripture lesson every now and then?  J  We do get a good one today…  “If you insult^* a brother or sister,^* you will be liable to the council.”  (FYI: Our Council meets this Thursday at 7:00 p.m.)  ^*  “If you look at someone with lust, you’ve committed adultery.”  “If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out.” ^**

I suspect a literal interpretation of these verses has caused some people to leave Christian faith.  On a first reading, Jesus’ words do sound harsh.  Cut out your eye?  Chop off your hand?  Lusting makes you an adulterer?  Marrying a divorced woman makes you make her an adulterer?  

This is a tough passage.  So, what are we to do with it?  Is it one of those texts we discard as “not Scripture for us,” words that had meaning 2,000 years ago, but not today?  Was this bit from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount written in a cultural context so far removed from our own that it’s lost power for us?  Or might digging a little deeper reveal some spiritual truth, even for us? 

The last two weeks, we’ve heard from prophets Micah and Isaiah.  Through them, God invites people to think beyond their worship practices to the intent behind them.  In Micah, the practice questioned is offerings.  “What do you want from us?” the people ask.  God responds with familiar words:  “What does God require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God?”  Offer all the sacrifices you want, God says, but true righteousness is measured in relationship, by how you relate to other people and to God. 

Last week, the people to whom Isaiah writes wonder why God isn’t pleased with their practice of fasting.  To those people God says, “Look.  You only fast to draw attention to yourselves.  Is not this the fast I choose:  to loose the bonds of injustice, to let the oppressed go free, to share your bread with the hungry, to bring the homeless poor into your house?” 

In both instances, the people had gotten so rigid about their religious practices they had lost sight of the intent of those practices.  The intent of religious practices was—and is— to draw us closer to God.  The closer we draw to God, the more we start seeing things as God sees them, the more we start seeing people as God sees them.  How does God see people?  God loves them.  God hopes for their wholeness.  God acts them into well-being.  And when we participate in religious practices in ways that draw us closer to God, when we start seeing people the way God sees them, we, too, will love them, hope for their wholeness, and act them into well-being. 

And when we participate in religious practices, not  to draw closer to God, but to draw attention to ourselves, we’ve missed the point….which was Micah and Isaiah’s point exactly. 

It’s also Jesus’ point in today’s Gospel lesson.  As a faithful Jew, Jesus knew the writings of the prophets.  They were part of his Bible.  And based on how often he quotes them, he seems to have identified with them…right down to using the go-to prophetic M.O.:  challenging people to think about their religious practices and to see the intent behind them:  drawing closer to God and becoming more like God, especially in actively hoping for the wholeness of others. 

So, when Jesus says, “You have heard it said… but I say to you….” he’s preaching like a prophet.  Like Micah and Isaiah, he’s inviting folks to think about their religious rules, to look beyond the letter of the law to its intent:  getting closer to God & acting others into well-being. 

Sometimes, the best way to get people’s attention is to startle them with comical exaggeration.  Remember a couple of weeks ago when the people cried, “Will you be happy with thousands of rams, with tens of thousands of rivers of oil?”  Comical exaggeration.  That’s the rhetorical device Jesus is using in today’s Gospel lesson.  “If your eye causes you to sin, cut it out.”  Jesus would sigh deeply and perhaps question our sanity if we were to take that bit literally.  He’s simply trying to make a point through the use of exaggeration.

And what is his point?  It’s this:  Only and always to do that which will act every creature of God into well-being.  That’s why it’s not only murder that is sinful, but anger and insult—anything that causes us to look at others as less-than-human.  That’s why “lusting in one’s heart” is on a par with committing actual adultery—because lust turns a human being into an object, which is by definition less-than-human.  The law said a man could divorce his wife by saying, “I divorce you.”  Women didn’t have the same legal right.  In fact, women had few legal rights in ancient Palestine.  So, Jesus invites people to look at that divorce law through an ethical lens–he invites them to think about what divorcing one’s wife does to her.  Jesus was inviting people to look past the letter of religious laws to the impact those laws had on human beings.  The law was fine, Jesus said, if you don’t lose sight of its purpose:  to act all of creation into well-being.

Recently, I came across a quote by Martin Luther King, Jr. that summarizes this dynamic well.  In a speech he made to an integrated group of students in Washington, D.C., in 1959 he said:  “Make a career of humanity.”  Make a career of humanity…that is, make it your job to see every person as a human being, to treat every person with dignity, to see every person as God sees him or her, to hope actively for the wholeness of every person.

Our country has come a long way in its attempts to ensure that all people—no matter their race—are treated equally under the law.  Does that mean true equality actually exists?  One need only look at the ranks of the impoverished and the rosters of the incarcerated to see that there is still much work to do on the racism front.  It is true to say, though, that we have made some progress, especially since 1959. 

One place where the full dignity of people isn’t yet fully recognized is in the area of equal rights for people who identify as something other than heterosexual.  Many members of this community have had to go to other states to have their marriages legally recognized.  The number of states that recognize same-gender marriages is increasing by the year—which is great!  But, as a country, we’re definitely still in process when it comes to equal rights for LGBT folks.

Just this week, a federal judge declared the Kentucky ban on same-sex marriage unconstitutional.  While there likely will be an appeal, the gist of the decision is that now the State of Kentucky must recognize as legal same-sex marriages that are performed in other states. 

Some of you will remember Rachel Small and Leslie Stokes, now Rachel and Leslie Small-Stokes.  Rachel and Leslie attended Pilgrimage while they were in seminary.  They lived in New York for several years—where they were legally married—and have lived in Berea, Kentucky for the last year and a half.  I asked Leslie and Rachel what the ruling means to them.   

Rachel said that not having legal rights made her feel “less-than” and angry.  “It invites everyone into our bedroom in ways that other married couples don’t have to deal with.”  “Pastors tell their congregants that we are to be feared.  You never know who you’re talking to and what their reaction will be [when they learn you’re gay].  People feel like they have a right to make a judgment on your life.”  Rachel’s words resonate with another line from Dr. King’s 1959 speech:  “The denial of the vote not only deprives the Negro of his constitutional rights but what is even worse-it degrades him as a human being.”  When I read that quote to Rachel, she said, “Yes!”

With the ruling comes an inherent sense of safety she didn’t have a couple of days ago, Rachel acknowledged.  Because of the ruling, “we no longer have to be dependent on the kindness of strangers,” Rachel said.  “If I’m in the hospital about to die, I don’t have to hope hospital staff will communicate that to Leslie.  And if Leslie becomes pregnant, we don’t have to hope we get a judge who will approve me as the child’s second parent.   Now, it will be assumed by law that when one of us dies, the other will inherit our estate.   Now, we will have the same rights as every other married couple.  ”

Leslie added that, even when Kentucky didn’t recognize their marriage, there were people who DID recognize it.  “Knowing that people in other states and countries have our backs gives me more courage,” she said.  Leslie also confessed to being surprised by how the ruling affected her emotionally.  “I didn’t think having our marriage legally recognized would change how I feel about our relationship, but it does.  In a state that doesn’t recognize your marriage, you can’t get divorced.  Suddenly, I’m more invested in the marriage now because I can’t just get up and leave.  Living as a legally married couple…if problems arise, you work them out.  [Since the ruling] my love for Rachel has grown; I didn’t know that was possible.  ” 

What we do here matters.  Participating in worship as a means of drawing closer to God… learning to see people as God sees them…reorienting our hearts toward all God’s children to the end that we do what we can to act them into well-being, to prevent them from feeling “less-than,” to help them know deep down with every fiber of their being that they are worthy because we see them as worthy?  Yes, what we here do matters.  It matters a lot.  May God give us the grace, energy, and love to keep doing it.

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2014

Matthew 5:21-37   (NRSV)

Here’s the Cotton Patch version of today’s Gospel lesson:

            You all are the earth’s salt.  But now if you just sit there and don’t salt, how will the world ever get salted?  You’ll be so worthless that [you’ll] be thrown out and trampled on by the rest of society.  You all are the world’s light; you are a city on a hill that cannot be hid.  Have you ever heard of anybody turning on a light and then covering it up?  Don’t you fix it so that it will light up the whole room?  Well, then, since you are God’s light… go ahead and shine so clearly that when your conduct is observed it will plainly be the work of [God].

            In a sermon Cotton Patch translator, Clarence Jordan, preached on these verses in the midst of the Civil Rights Movement, he said this:   “This is something which it seems to me the Christian fellowship really needs to get through its thick hide.  I don’t know of anything that has caused me more real suffering and real anxiety than to see the Christian Church sit in this great social revolution(the Civil Rights Movement)…as though nothing were transpiring, keeping God’s salt in a saltcellar that we call the sanctuary.  …I had a preacher friend tell me not too long ago, ‘Clarence, we’ve just got to lay low on this thing, and let it all blow over, and when it all blows over, then you can afford to take a stand on it.”  (Substance of Faith, 65.)

            I want to tell you about some Atlanta pastors who did not wait for the Civil Rights Movement to “blow over” before they took a stand. 

Here’s a copy of an ad that appeared in both Atlanta papers on November 3, 1957.  The headline read:  80 Atlanta Pastors Sign Manifesto on Racial Beliefs.  I first learned about the Manifesto when I served on the Board of the Regional Council of Churches of Atlanta.  In 2007, we celebrated the 50^th anniversary of the courageous stand these 80 pastors took.

            Retired Methodist Bishop Bevel Jones—who also served on the Board—was one of the 80 signers.  He told us how frightening it was to put his name on that document.  Remember—this was only 3 years after Brown vs. Board of Education.  The prospect of integrating schools was creating significant tension, especially in the South.  Lots of Christian pastors were taking the tack of the one Clarence mentions in his sermon:  Let everything work itself out first then take a stand.  These 80 pastors would not wait.  The Bishop said that, to ensure that names of the signers didn’t get out prematurely, the Manifesto was taped to a table in the basement of one of the churches.  Each pastor surreptitiously scheduled a time to go and sign his name.

            This document makes me very proud.  Southerners—southern Christians, in particular—often are portrayed as close-minded, backward, mean.  It’s true that the South—like every other region of the country—is home to its share of bigots.  But bigotry isn’t the South’s only story line.  This [Manifesto] also is part of our story.  And I mean that literally.  As I read back over the names this week, I saw a familiar one:  Emmet Floyd.  Emmet served as an interim pastor here at Pilgrimage in the late 80s.  Cool, huh?

            So….What Manifesto might be signed today?  What statement would be so radical that it would have to be taped to a table in a church basement?  Those 80 “salty” pastors in 1957 let their lights shine when they signed the Manifesto of Racial Beliefs.  What Manifesto might we “salty” people of faith sign in 2014 that would help our lights shine?

            As part of a denomination that’s firmly committed to social justice, there are tons of causes we can and do support with our time and financial gifts—Lost and Found, MUST Ministries, Family Promise, the Human Rights Campaign, Amnesty International, PETA, Georgia Interfaith Power and Light, organizations advocating for immigration reform, groups advocating for common sense gun legislation…. 

            These days, there are many causes to support—many ways to let our lights shine.  But today, I invite us to focus on one…the one on which the prophet Isaiah focuses.

            When you heard today’s passage from Isaiah, you probably got a twinge of déjà vu.  It’s similar to the verses we heard from Micah last week.  Like the Micah passage, the conversation begins by the people asking why God isn’t pleased with their worship practices.  Last week, God asked the people to look at their worship practices through the lens of “doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God.” 

This week, when the people complain:  “Why do we fast, but you do not see?  Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?’  God says this:  “Look, you serve your own interest on your fast-day, and oppress all your workers. You fast only to quarrel and to fight…Such fasting as you do today”—that is, fasting as a means of  showing off and proving who was most holy—“Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high.  Is such the fast that I choose, a day to “humble” oneself?  Is it to bow down the head…and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?  Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?”

“Is not this the fast that I choose:  to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?  Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,” (You’ve got to wonder if Jesus was thinking of this passage when he said, “Let your light shine and later when he talks about caring for the “least of these.”) 

“If you remove the yoke from among you—That is, if you stop focusing on religious laws in legalistic ways, like the laws on fasting—If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry—Huh.  Did you hear that?  It’s not just “offer food to the hungry,” but “offer YOUR food to the hungry”….“If you offer YOUR food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.”

How do we let our lights shine?  According to Isaiah, our lights shine when we act the poor into well-being….and not just when we give to the poor out of our abundance, our disposable income.  Our lights shine when we recognize the relationship between our abundance and the poor’s poverty.  “If you offer YOUR food to the hungry…your light shall rise,” the prophet says.  Our lights shine when we recognize the connection between our abundance and the poor’s poverty and try to bridge the gap between us.  A couple of verses later, Isaiah says, “You shall be called repairer of the breach”…bridger of the gap, builder of the bridge.  “When you offer YOUR food to the hungry, your light shall rise….and you will be healed.”

If Isaiah were writing a manifesto today, it probably would be titled something like:  People of Faith Sign Manifesto on Eradication of Poverty.  

The 1957 Manifesto contains 3 sections.  In the first section, the authors identify themselves and acknowledge their own participation in racial inequality.  In the second section, they name the current circumstances that have contributed to ongoing racial injustice throughout the country.  The third section contains commitments the group was making…commitments to free speech, to an equitable school system, to the human dignity of every person.

So….if we were to write a Manifesto on the Eradication of Poverty, what might we include in its three sections?  How would we identify ourselves and confess our participation in economic inequities in the world?  How would we describe current circumstances that contribute to the impoverishment of so many people in the world?  What commitments might we make to work actively to eradicate poverty?

On a table in the Fellowship Hall is a big piece of paper and some markers.  You are invited to begin drafting a Manifesto on the Eradication of Poverty.  No doubt, the 1957 Manifesto wasn’t written in one sitting.  It emerged only after LOTS of conversation, lots of going back and forth, lots of listening to each other.  If we decide at some point to formalize our manifesto, it’ll take a LOT more work, maybe even months.  Today’s invitation is simply to brainstorm.  We’ll leave the paper posted for a couple of weeks.  Feel free to keep adding to it.

In your bulletins, you’ll find an 8.5” X 11” handout that gives you a place to jot down your initial thoughts.  As David plays, you’re invited to think, pray, confess, brainstorm, dream.  “If you offer YOUR food to the hungry….your light shall rise and you will be healed.”  [David plays, “They Will Know We are Christians By Our Love”…all four verses.]

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2014

          When she considered what prevented her from seeing Christ in people who were homeless, Phyllis realized it was personal experience…or lack of it.  Living comfortably with her college professor husband and healthy teenage son in the suburbs, she was far removed from the streets of downtown Columbus, Ohio.  As she reflected on and prayed about the wall that existed between her and people who were homeless, Phyllis felt a call—she felt called to live on the streets.

          When she shared the call with her friend James, he was intrigued…and asked if he might join her.  They decided to live on the streets from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday 1999.  Have you ever thought of giving up your home for Lent?

          Why did Phyllis and James undertake such an experience?  In the book that chronicles their time on the streets, The Emptiness of Our Hands, they write this:  “We went out for one primary reason:  to be as present as possible to everyone we met—homeless person, volunteer, university president, cop.  In other words, we set out, in our own way, to love our neighbor as ourselves, with eyes open, minds open, hearts open, hands open as wide as they could be, not ignoring potential risks but not looking for trouble either.  **Doing so, we were reminded just how difficult the practice of compassion can be, not only because of external obstacles and distractions, or physical hardships, but even more because of our own judgments, assumptions, fears and desires, all of which harden our regard for and behavior toward other people” (xv).

          In today’s Scripture lesson, we eavesdrop on a spat between God and God’s people.  God is put out with the people.  They’ve grown lazy in living their faith.  They’ve come to focus so much on their worship practices, they’ve lost touch with the purpose of those practices.  God is so put out with the people, in fact, God takes them to court.  Can you imagine?  Sued by God!

          “Hear what God says,” the prophet writes.  This is like that person who stands outside the People’s Court and introduces the case.  “Rise, plead your case before the mountains:  For God has a controversy with the people.”

          First, God offers testimony:  “’O my people, what have I done to you?  In what have I wearied you?  Answer me!  For I brought you up from the land of Egypt, and redeemed you from the house of slavery; and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam.”  The evidence continues with more stories of God’s faithfulness to the people.

          Then it’s time for the people’s defense.  “’With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God on high?  Shall I come with burnt-offerings, with calves a year old?”  This refers to their worship practices.  We’re coming to worship!  We’re offering sacrifices!  “Will God be pleased with thousands of rams, with tens of thousands of rivers of oil?”  Absurd exaggeration to make a point….like this next one: “Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?’”

          Let’s see….how to contemporize this?  “With what shall I come before the Lord?  Shall I come with multiple pledge cards and frequent worship attendance, like, once a month, or something?  Will God be pleased with service on many committees and presence at several church-wide workdays?  Shall we give up our Super Bowl celebrations to atone for all the church we’ve missed to attend other games?”

          Whether addressed to ancient Israelites or to 21^st century disciples, God’s closing argument is the same:  “God has told you, O mortal, what is good:  What does God require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God?”

Okay.  So when the people ask why God isn’t pleased with their worship offerings, why does God start talking about justice, love, and humility? Is God saying that worship isn’t important, that they should be focusing instead on social justice and missions work?   Is God asking the people to ditch their liturgy?

Or is God trying to help them to understand their liturgy in a new light?  Maybe it’s not an either/or kind of thing—either worship God (like the people were doing) OR serve others (like God is saying).  Maybe God is inviting the people to look at their worship practices through the lens of doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God.

What would that do?  What happens to worship practices when we look at them through the lens of doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God? 

When you look closely at doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God, you see that all three of those actions begin and end with one thing:  the full human dignity of every person.  Working for justice requires us to see all people as fully human.  And acting someone into well-being with loving kindness doesn’t happen if that person’s human dignity isn’t valued.  And when we live authentically, we grant ourselves full human worth. 

          So, maybe God is inviting the faithful to reflect on their worship practices in light of human dignity.  Maybe the people had gotten off track.  Maybe they’d lost sight of what worship is really for—contributing to the human flourishing of every person.  Maybe when God responds to the people’s question “With what shall I come before the Lord?” by telling them to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God, God isn’t asking them to stop worshiping.  Maybe instead God is inviting them to start looking at worship as a means to an end—the end of contributing to the full human dignity of every person. 

Maybe God isn’t asking the people to ditch their liturgy; maybe instead God is asking them to live it.

Living your liturgy….

Do you live your liturgy?  Every week in worship we hear:  “Wherever you are on life’s journey, you are welcome.”  In your everyday life—outside this place–is everyone welcome?  Every week we hear:  “One fact remains that does not change:  God has loved you, loves you now, and will always love you.”  Do you live as if God has, does, and will always love you?  Every week, we ask that God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven.  Do you work Monday through Saturday to make God’s hopes real in the world?  Every week we join hands and sing, “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.”  Do you?  Do you live that part of our liturgy?

Every Sunday during their time on the streets, Phyllis and James attended a Christian worship service.  And every day at noon, they visited a statue titled “Peace” for prayer and meditation.  These times of worship were meant to ground their experience of homelessness in the context of their faith lives. It reminded them that liturgy isn’t just something you do once a week or once a day.  It’s something you live every minute of every day no matter where you are.  And the point of living it is to look at every person as a beloved child of God, to see Christ in them, and to join God in hoping for their wholeness.

One of the most painful experiences for James and Phyllis during their time on the streets was becoming invisible.  In multiple layers of shabby clothing, with dark circles under their eyes and acrid scents emanating from their unwashed bodies… in line to receive food at a soup kitchen, carefully counting out dimes for a bus ride, sitting in the library to get warm and maybe a little sleep…wherever they went, whatever they did, very few people saw Phyllis and James.  When they became homeless, they became invisible.  And when they did become visible to others—especially if they were in close proximity—it wasn’t with an eye that saw them as beloved children of God.  It usually was an eye that exuded scorn….like the man sitting in the pew in front of them at worship one Sunday who frowned and turned away when James extended his hand to pass the peace.

What we do in this place matters.  It matters a lot….but not just for what happens between these four walls.  Our liturgy might be beautiful, thought-provoking, even stimulating on occasion –in fact, I hope it is, since that’s my job.  But…If what we do here doesn’t connect with what we do outside these walls…If the words we say in this space, the prayers we pray, the songs we sing, the grace we experience….If what happens in here doesn’t translate out there into working for equality for all people, acting people into well-being, living our lives in complete authenticity and honoring the dignity of every person…. If we don’t live our liturgy, then our liturgy is dead.  It has no meaning.  We’re doing nothing more than going through the motions. 

So, in this moment of worship, I prayerfully offer these words:  “God has told us what is good:  to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God.”  If we respond to these words, then—and only then—for us, 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  ©  2014

Today, as a refrain for the pastoral prayer, the congregation sang together the refrain to “It Is Well with My Soul.”  Horatio Spafford wrote the hymn in 1873 not long after his four daughters died in a shipwreck.  Philip Bliss wrote music for the hymn in 1876.  Knowing the story behind its composition and hearing its beautiful music make singing this hymn a deeply moving experience for me.  Every time I sing it, I wonder again, How can someone in so much grief sing “it is well with my soul?”  In similar circumstances, could I do the same?

The other thing about singing this hymn is just how much more meaningful it is to sing it with others.  Today, we sang it unaccompanied (the BEST way to sing it!).  The call and response–especially when sung in parts–is…I’ve already used the words “holy” and “beautiful.”  Anyway, it’s really, really great. 

The thing that struck me today–in addition to the comforting harmonies and words–was the way the congregation started breathing together.  Without the sound of the piano to lean on, we had to listen to each other.  And when we listened to each other, we slowed down our singing….and we started taking our breaths together.  It was an intimate, peace-filled, calming experience.  I know there were many people present who are struggling right now…all of us are dealing with something we’d rather not be dealing with…somehow, though, singing together, breathing together, made the words real…”It is well with my soul.  It is well, it is well with my soul.”

Thanks be to God!

Shortly after 9/11, a few of us attended a Cobb County Zoning Board meeting.  We were there to get a variance so we could build our sign out by the road.  It was the first meeting after the terrorist attacks; I didn’t envy the woman who was leading the opening prayer.  As a new pastor, I had been struggling to find words to share with the congregation since the towers had fallen.  What do you say in such circumstances?  What can be said?  I waited eagerly to hear what words that pastor would offer.

            She approached the microphone, Bible in hand, opened it and began to read: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?  The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”  Since the attacks, I had been afraid.  Very afraid.  Like most of us, I felt lost, at sea, ungrounded.  The world was spinning out of control; nothing felt familiar. 

            Then, into the chaos came these words that were familiar:  “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?  The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”  I was still afraid, to be sure, but those words grounded me.  They were the first thing since the attacks to break through my confusion, fear, and dread.  As the pastor read, I relaxed into the familiar rhythms of Psalm 27; I took heart in its hopeful images. 

            By the Psalm’s final words–“I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!” …by the end of the reading I knew, I just knew that somehow we’d get through it.

            The book of Psalms is one of the great gifts of Scripture.  In other biblical books we get history, maxims, letters, and some really great stories….but the Psalms give us language to express our feelings—both the joys of the mountaintops and the valleys of despair.  And—a few—help us express our anger, even our rage.

            For that meeting on that day so soon after the terrorist attacks, the pastor’s choice of Psalm 27 was perfect.  The circumstances in which the psalmist was writing were similar to our own—the author, too, had experienced a trauma, one that set the world spinning and left chaos and fear in its wake.  As a way to deal with overwhelming emotions, the poet put pen to paper—or quill to papyrus, or chisel to stone—and got the feelings out.

            Psalm 27 is a Psalm of lament.  There are a few psalms of lament in the Bible that do only that—lament.  But most of the lament psalms begin and end with declarations of confidence and trust in God.  It’s kind of wild when you read these psalms.  You start to wonder if the writers are schizophrenic or something.  “I love the Lord with all my heart!” the poet will say, then in the next phrase, “Where have you gone, God?  Why have you abandoned me?”  Then the psalm ends with something like, “Thank you, God, for saving me!” 

            This movement from trust to lament to trust…while it seems a little nutty at first, starts to make sense when you think about it.  In the midst of dark times—times when it feels like God has abandoned us—it can help to remind ourselves of God’s promise to be with us.  Once we have invoked God’s name and presence, then it helps to name what’s going on with us—how beset we feel by our enemies, how angry we are, how frightened.  Once we’ve expressed all our feelings about what’s happening, then it helps once again to remind ourselves of our trust in God…even if we’re not feeling it yet.  It might help to think of these declarations of trust in God in the midst of difficult circumstances as a “fake it ‘till you make it” kind of thing.  If we say the words enough when we don’t feel them, eventually we might just feel them for real.

            I once declared to some colleagues that I didn’t think the Psalms were appropriate material for preaching.  They are songs, I said.  We should sing them, not preach about them.

            Despite the fact that I’m preaching on a Psalm today, I still agree with that earlier declaration….because, while studying Psalms with our intellects is helpful, fully grasping them requires more than an intellectual engagement.  To experience the Psalms in their fullness, we have to open our hearts to them, as well.  We have to hear them in the context of our own lives, to accept their invitation to express our emotions—all of them—with utter honesty. 

It’s the difference between saying, “God is light,” and declaring that “God is MY light.”  Try that.  Say “God is light.”  [God is light.]  Now say, “God is MY light.”  [God is MY light.]  Feels different, doesn’t it?  “God is light,” is a statement we make with our intellects.  To say “God is MY light” requires a commitment of our whole selves.

            So, how about we engage this psalm with our whole selves?  Here’s how I propose we do it.  First, I invite you to think about something that’s causing you worry or fear right now.  It might be something very personal that’s confronting you or your family; it might be something related to your job;  it might be a social justice issue;  it might relate to the environment or some other global issue.  Take a minute and identify a situation that currently is causing you some distress.  [Silence.]

            Now, I invite us to read Psalm 27 together.  We’re not going to fly through this thing.  We’re going to take our time with it.  We’re going to give ourselves a chance to hear the words, to feel the words, to let them sink in.  (You can find Psalm 27 on p.   in your pew Bible.) 

At the monastery, when the community reads a Psalm together, the leader reads the first line, then everyone joins in on the second.  Because I think that first line is key, I’m going to read the first line, then we’ll all read the first line together and go from there.  Ready?

¹ The Lord is my light and my salvation;
   whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold^* of my life;
   of whom shall I be afraid?

² When evildoers assail me
   to devour my flesh—
my adversaries and foes—
   they shall stumble and fall.

³ Though an army encamp against me,
   my heart shall not fear;
though war rise up against me,
   yet I will be confident.

⁴ One thing I asked of the Lord,
   that will I seek after:
to live in the house of the Lord
   all the days of my life,
to behold the beauty of the Lord,
   and to inquire in his temple.

⁵ For he will hide me in his shelter
   in the day of trouble;
he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;
   he will set me high on a rock.

⁶ Now my head is lifted up
   above my enemies all around me,
and I will offer in his tent
   sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing and make melody to the Lord.

⁷ Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud,
   be gracious to me and answer me!
⁸ ‘Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek his face!’
   Your face, Lord, do I seek.
⁹   Do not hide your face from me.

Do not turn your servant away in anger,
   you who have been my help.
Do not cast me off, do not forsake me,
   O God of my salvation!
¹⁰ If my father and mother forsake me,
   the Lord will take me up.

¹¹ Teach me your way, O Lord,
   and lead me on a level path
   because of my enemies.
¹² Do not give me up to the will of my adversaries,
   for false witnesses have risen against me,
   and they are breathing out violence.

¹³ I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord
   in the land of the living.
¹⁴ Wait for the Lord;
   be strong, and let your heart take courage;
   wait for the Lord!

Believe that you shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage;  Wait for the Lord!

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  ©  2014

Folks are starting to get curious about my sabbatical…which begins four months, 13 days from now (but who’s counting?)!  As I’m able, I’ll fill you in on what I’ll be doing during sabbatical.  To learn what the CHURCH (Pilgrimage United Church of Christ in Marietta, GA) will be doing during sabbatical, you’ll need to contact the sabbatical task force….because I don’t have a clue!  (Which is as it should be.  🙂

Several people have asked about the trip to Ireland.  Here’s a link to info on the tour part of the Ireland trip.   Kate Campbell is one of my favorite folk singers.  Spending time with her exploring Ireland and experiencing it music?  I’ve been dreaming about this trip for several years now!  An added bonus:  Allen will be joining me on the trip.  I can’t wait!   http://www.katecampbell.com/ireland/

On the second Sunday of January each year, we hear a different Gospel writer’s take on Jesus’ baptism.  This year, it’s Matthew’s turn.

Unique to Matthew’s version is this little dance that goes on between Jesus and John the Baptist.  So, John’s out there baptizing people in the Jordan River, telling them about one who is coming “who is more powerful than me.”  Then—before he’s finished his sentence—Jesus shows up and asks John to baptize him.  Let the dancing begin!  John says, “No!  I need to be baptized by you!”  Jesus says, “Baptize me.”  John says, “No!”  Jesus says:  (CHOIR:  ‘Take me to the water to be baptized.’)  So, John baptizes Jesus….

…which is a beautiful thing.  Jesus—the special, holy, powerful one—Jesus asks John to baptize him.  His request empowers John.  In asking to be baptized, Jesus identifies with everyone else coming for baptism.  Jesus needs to be reminded of God’s love for him—just like everyone else.  Jesus needs to be reminded that he’s part of something bigger—just like everyone else.  Jesus needs to commit himself to living God’s love in the world—just like everyone else.

In giving John power to baptize him, Jesus also signals that, when it comes to doing God’s work, the leader doesn’t have all the answers.  In fact, sometimes, the best leadership comes from the led.

A case in point.  As we debated what to put on the bulletin cover this week, I had a stroke of insight.  “I know!” I said to Lynne.  “Let’s immerse all the bulletins in water and let them dry.  Then when everyone sees and feels them all crinkly from the water, they’ll think about baptism!”  I thought it was a creative idea.  Lynne wasn’t so sure.

After immersing a bulletin and setting it out to dry, Lynne came back into my office and said, “It might be nice to put a picture of the new wall art on the cover of the bulletin.”  I didn’t yet understand that she was trying to steer me away from the baptized bulletins idea.  So, I said, “Sure!  Let’s see what it looks like.”  It looked nice.

THEN Geoff Heilhecker dropped by.  When he saw the black and white bulletin, he said we should try it in color.  We did.  What you have in your hands is the stunning result.

By this point, the baptized bulletin had dried.  So, we compared.  Mine.  (baptized bulletin)  Lynne and Geoff’s.  ( artwork bulletin.)  See what I mean?  Leaders don’t always have the best ideas.  J

In allowing himself to be baptized, Jesus sends a strong message:  we all need baptism.  We all need to be reminded of God’s deep and abiding love for us.  We all need to be reminded that we are part of something bigger.  We all need to remember to take the love we have experienced and share it with others in the world. 

In a moment, we’ll have the chance to renew our baptismal vows.  After the Music for Reflection, you’ll be invited to come forward, touch the water in the font, then come to me for a blessing.  It will be a way to remember your baptism, a way to recall God’s love for you, a way to recommit to living your baptismal vows out in the world.

Before we begin the Ritual of Renewal, I want to share two stories.  The first speaks to the part of baptism where we’re claimed by God as beloved children.  The second demonstrates one way to live one’s baptism in the world.

There’s a restaurant my mom frequents in Gainesville, Florida.  At supper one night last month, we were served by a person I hadn’t met before, a woman named Sunday.  Yes, that’s S-U-N-D-A-Y.  Sunday.  I asked her how she got her name. 

She said her grandmother had named her.  Until she was 15, she didn’t know why she’d been named Sunday.  Until then, all she knew was that it was a dreadful name, one that kept her in the principal’s office because of her aggressive responses to the teasing of other children.  When she was old enough, she started going by her middle name, Denise.

Finally, when she was 15 and her grandmother was near death, the teenager asked, “Gram?  Why in the world did you name me Sunday?”  Her grandmother smiled.  “I named you Sunday because, as the Sabbath is sacred to God, so are you sacred to me.”  “From that day to this,” our server said, “I’ve been Sunday.”  She paused, tearing up.  “I love my name.”

Our baptisms remind us that—regardless of what we do—we are sacred to God.  (David sings:  “You Are Mine.”)

Our baptisms also remind us that—because all people are sacred to God—we have a calling to share God’s love with others.  That familiar definition of love as “acting others into well-being” works especially well in the context of living our baptismal vows. 

What are our “baptismal vows?”  In addition to affirming that we believe in God and a few other things, our baptismal vows ask that we affirm these two promises: 

“Do you promise, by the grace of God, to be Christ’s disciple, to follow in the way of our Savior, to resist oppression and evil, to show love and justice, and to witness to the work and word of Jesus Christ as best you are able?” 

And:  “Do you promise, according to the grace given you, to grow in the Christian faith and to be a faithful member of the church of Jesus Christ, celebrating Christ’s presence and furthering Christ’s mission in all the world?”

Here’s a story about taking these baptismal vows seriously.

A couple of years ago, a woman named Pat Bradbury dropped by to introduce me to a program called Family Promise.  Pat lives in North Carolina.  She believes in Family Promise so much that she’s spending her retirement talking with leaders of congregations in areas where they’re thinking of starting a Family Promise affiliate.

When Pat introduced the program to me, I thought it was terrific.  Using the buildings of congregations that are virtually empty during the week to house families who are homeless?  A no-brainer, right?  Here’s what I told Pat.  “The Pilgrimage folks would be all over this idea…. but we’re so small.  I just don’t know whether we’ll have the number of volunteers it takes to participate.”  Great salesperson that she is, Pat said, “Don’t decide right now.  If you decide right now, you’ll say no.  Just give it some thought.”  Then she left some brochures and a video for me to peruse at my leisure.

After that meeting, I did give some thought to our participating in Family Promise….then promptly threw the materials away.  Yes, it seemed like a great program, but I just didn’t see a way for us to make it happen.  I thought we were simply too small. 

Then—about a month later—Janet Derby came to me….said she’d been talking with Julie Binney and some other folks about a program called Family Promise.  Had I heard of it?  As the Jetsons’ dog Astro used to say:  “Ru Roe.” 

I told Janet about meeting with Pat—and my subsequent session with “File 13.”  Then I said, “It’s a great program.  If the church can make a go of it, I’ll support it…but the church is really going to have to step up to the plate.”  And step up to the plate you have.  In spades!  Pastor’s idea (baptized bulletin).  Church members’ idea (other bulletin).

Fast forward to this past Tuesday night.  Tuesday night, Camilla Worrell, Coordinator for Cobb County Family Promise, offered a training session for volunteers.  When I introduced myself after the session, Camilla said:  “Pilgrimage!  You all are rock stars!”  When I asked what she meant, she told me that when she first saw the long list of Family Promise volunteers from Pilgrimage, she assumed that “Pilgrimage was one of those mega-churches.”  When someone told her that, in fact, we were a small church, she was stunned.  “You must have 60% of your congregation participating in Family Promise!”  she said.  I’ve never been more proud to be your pastor….proud, but not surprised.  Because the Pilgrimage community has a long history of taking its baptismal vows seriously and living them in the world.  Family Promise is just one example of that.  (Choir:  Go Make a Difference!) 

This year, we have an added aid to our baptism reflections—this beautiful artwork.  Back in November when we dedicated the sculpture, I preached on the symbolism in the piece– the colors, the figure emerging from the water, the multiple meanings of the water/tear drops.  I thought I’d pretty much “drained” the meaning out of it for you.

Then Kathleen McNulty came up to me after the service and said—“Those ripples going out…what beautiful symbolism!”  I had missed that completely.  She was so right…both artistically and theologically.  What happens in baptism—believing in and receiving God’s deep love for and acceptance of us—does create a ripple effect into the world.  Once we know we are loved by God, that experience translates into our actions in the world.

As we renew our baptismal vows today, the invitation is to receive God’s love and acceptance…then, imagine how that love might ripple out into the world.  It’s what Jesus did.  It’s what all those folks baptized by John in the Jordan River did.  It’s what we in this room, with this font, with that beautiful artwork can do, too—remember our baptism, receive God’s love, then share it with others in the world.

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

Kimberleigh Buchanan  © 2014

Matthew 3:13-17