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Sermons

“The Value of Mountaintops” based on Exodus 34:29-34 and Luke…

  • February 8, 2016February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

The story of the Transfiguration, as the Gospel lesson is called, comes up every year the Sunday before Ash Wednesday. Conveniently, it is found in each of the synoptic Gospels, so there is a different version for every year. Basically, I’m saying that this is the 10th year in a row that I’ve preached on this story, and I’m sort of amazed that there are new things to notice in it.

The first thing came from this line, “Just as [Moses and Elijah] were leaving Jesus, Peter said to Jesus “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” – not knowing what he said.” It is easy to assume that this is just another story of Peter being an idiot, because if you pay attention to the Gospels that’s a major theme. I’ve suggested that in the past, and talked about how human it is to want to hold on to a moment and memorialize it in physical space. I’ve talked about Peter talking because he is anxious, and not even listening to himself, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Another possibility occurred to me this week. I thought to ask, “where is the mountaintop” and while the particular mountain isn’t definitive, the answer is that it is somewhere in Galilee. That answer is enough. One of the major theological splits between the Southern Kingdom (Judah) and the Northern Kingdom (Israel) was over the correct place to worship YHWH. The Temple was in the South, and the Southerners claimed that the Temple had special significance as a worship center. They dismissed the Northerners as “just worshiping in high places” as if that was heathen.

In fact, the Northerners often DID worship in high places. They built altars and worship spaces on mountaintops and (you’d hope) had pretty great worship experiences there. There really is something profound about being on a mountaintop and the closeness to God experienced there. Perhaps it is the view. Perhaps it is the starkness. Perhaps it is the journey required to get there. Perhaps it is the wind, and the clouds, and the experience of exposure. Perhaps it is the oxygen deprivation. (Really, the mountains in Israel are like the medium sized Catskill mountains. It wasn’t oxygen deprivation.) In any case, the people in the North had been settling up worship sites on mountains for many centuries, while the people in the South had decried it as heresy.

Galilee (in the North), in the time of Jesus, was resettled by Judeans (Southern) who were reclaiming it as a Jewish space. It may be that Peter’s seemingly simple/idiotic ramblings reflected a pretty serious cultural clash in the region they were in. The Gospel of John presents Jesus talking to the Samaritan woman by the well and claiming that God can be worshiped ANYWHERE. The Synoptics don’t have that story. The Gospel of John was written well after the fall of the Temple, while the Synoptic were written in the more immediate aftermath of the fall. I think Peter MAY have been expressing a natural human tendency to want to build a space to give thanks to God on that mountaintop. And I think it may have been heard as heresy!! In fact, I think the story may truncate there because the early Jesus followers weren’t quite sure what do to with the heresy.

Of course, the Northerners weren’t the only ones to have mountaintop experiences. The Hebrew Bible reading tells of Moses coming back down off the mountain where he’d been “conversing with God” and he was so strongly transformed by it that he had a freaky glow to him. There IS something about mountaintops. Sometimes the people who go up them come back quite a bit different.

The second thing that emerged from the gospel reading today came from a colleague in my lectionary group who said, “Hey, isn’t the voice of God literally in the feminine?” I had no idea, but I looked it up and it is! “Voice of God” in Hebrew is bat(h) kol which is literally “daughter of a voice.” Apparently, no matter how wonderful Morgan Freedman is at “playing God,” his voice is all wrong! I’ve been at so many plays and skits and movies where God’s voice has been presumed to be a bass, and yet the words “voice of God” connotes the feminine.

It was at that point that I realized that even in the lesson Gospel I’d always heard the voice of God as male. How is it different if it really is just “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!“ without assuming that me saying it is a little bit wrong? Similarly, how different is it to consider that Moses might have been up the mountain for 40 days hearing a feminine voice telling him all sorts of wisdom and giving guidance?

Now, of course, I’m NOT suggesting that God has a gender, and I’m NOT suggesting that God really speaks like a human and therefore I’m certainly NOT suggesting that God speaks like a girl or woman. I am suggesting that projecting a masculine tone onto God’s voice is inaccurate to Hebrew, and that should keep us all on our toes.

Today is “Camp Sunday,” specially designed to try to get everyone excited about camp and the great things that happen there. It is more toned down than last year because… well, you can’t go big every year. So really, this means that the songs are camp favorites and I get to talk about camp. It has turned out to be remarkably helpful that it is also transfiguration Sunday, as the mountaintop experience of God thing is basically what I’m talking about.

Now, camp is definitely for kids, but it isn’t JUST for kids. As a church, we put down a deposit for the weekend BEFORE Labor Day at Sky Lake for an All Church Retreat with Sabine O’Hara. That’s an experience designed for all ages. All of the Upper New York Camps are also retreat centers, and that’s a great gift for anyone needing to get away. Yet, they started as camps, and that’s important too. For some of you, this is a subtle invitation to consider volunteer counseling. For some of you, this is a mostly irrelevant set of (hopefully uplifting stories). For some of you, this is the motivation you’ve been needing to talk to a kid in your life about camp. But best of all, for some of you, this is an invitation to get yourself to CAMP.

I’ve been thinking this week about what camp was like for me as a camper. At first, it was scary. Simply being away in an unknown environment was overwhelming. Luckily, the first time I went to camp, my pastor’s wife was my counselor and one of my church friends was my cabin mate. My brother and his best friend from church were also at camp, and that made for an easy transition. After that first year, I didn’t care who was there, because I’d realized that at camp I was welcome and liked for who I was.

That may not sound like much, but it was to me. I was a really socially awkward kid, and I got picked on a lot at school. I hadn’t experienced social success in my life until I went to camp. Being in the naturally supportive environment, with an emphasis on cooperation and fun, I was able to thrive and make real connections. I was included, and a part of the group, friends with my cabin mates and family group. I “fit.”

The experience of being welcome, included, and connected changed the way I saw myself, maybe a bit like Moses looking different to others when he came down the mountain. I began to believe it was possible that I could be likable, and that was amazing!

Of course, the way that it all happens at camp is sort of mysterious. Having done 61 weeks at Sky Lake, I still don’t quite know how it works. The components don’t seem like they should be able to add up to the whole. There are meals, some of them cooked over a campfire. There are songs, some of them about God. There is time to swim and boat, to hike and do crafts. There is Bible Study, and there are games. There is usually a dance and often a talent show. Ice cream is usually made, tie die is created, and personal hygiene is occasionally cared for. There is a lot of silliness: water ballet, mud hikes, wacky outfits, kumbaya marathons, belly flop contests (ow!), exceptionally loud praying, and/or ridiculous songs. There is a lot of sacredness: fog on the water, the call of birds, quiet stillness, deep friendships, cooperation and support, laughter, tears, healing, worship, and nature. And somehow, each and every week ends up being a mountaintop experience.

Sometimes I get curious about it. How does it ALWAYS work? What are the component parts that make it work? Why does it work just as well when it is cold and raining as when it is warm and beautiful or miserably hot? Why is it just as great with all ages and ability levels? Why is it always the same and always different?

Why does Christian camping share God’s love so well?? Why are people able to be so much more authentic and supportive at camp than anywhere else? Why is it OK to be who you are at camp when it isn’t at home? How does it WORK? It is a mystery, but it always works. Not every camper (or counselor) has a good week every week, but every week amazing and beautiful things happen and people leave transformed. Camp isn’t for everyone – or so I hear – but for many people it is the most loving (and fun!) place they’ll ever go.

Ever since I first went to camp I’ve been trying to figure out how to make the world more like camp. Eventually I learned the language for kin-dom of God and realized that it IS the world as camp (yet somehow with less bugs for those who need less bugs to have a good time). Mountaintops are very important – both physically and metaphorically – because they help us gain a vision of what IS and what can be. Sometimes the descent is rough and the transition back into “real life” is challenging, but the lessons learned on a mountain can change a whole life, and sometimes a whole society (Moses) or the whole world (the disciples). May it ever be so. Amen

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

February 7, 2016

Sermons

“Chosen from Many” Jeremiah 1:4-10 and Luke 4:21-30

  • January 31, 2016February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

Last weekend the Al-Hidaya Islamic Community Center of Troy and Latham had an open house in their new facility in Latham. It is beautiful space. They’ve been thoughtful about everything. The intersections of ancient symbolism and modern convenience were pretty astounding. In the large gathering space that serves as an entrance to the worship space there are 5 pillars holding up the ceiling to represent the 5 pillars of Islam. There are archways with circles and half circles showing the phases of the moon. The doorways into the worship space are intricately designed with 99 distinct wooden pieces, a reminder of the 99 names of Allah in the Qur’an. Because people enter the holy space without their shoes on, the heat radiates from the floor. There is one of those cool water fountains that exists only to refill reusable water bottles and a nifty machine for making donations to the facility with your credit or debit card.

While at the open house a friend and I were approached by two young women willing to answer any questions we had. So, we asked! Somehow we ended up with the undivided attention of 6 young women, I believe they were all between 16 and 22. I asked them who among them wore the hijab every day, and half of them did. So I asked them why and why not.

Their answers struck me as being remarkably similar to the language of “call” that gets used as part of the ordination process that I know. They spoke about wanting to be visible as representatives of their faith and of reminding themselves and others God’s desire for human kindness. They discussed with each other the issue between wanting to be “good enough Muslim” before wearing the hijab, and wearing it without feeling like their faith was enough but as a process of becoming a more faithful person. They spoke about fitting in – or not – and about norms of behavior in their families. They talked about how their families felt about their choices, and yet how certain they were that the decision was between them and God. They were thoughtful and articulate and incredibly committed to their faith.

Through it all, I was struck by how similar their language was to how I’ve heard clergy speak in Christianity. As I’ve experienced it, the “culture of call” suggests that God particularly picks out people to be clergy and lets them know – usually through a mystical experience, sometimes through the affirmations of others. The call is then assessed through multiple levels of church structure. It is assessed first for a sense of validity and then to see if the “call” lines up with a person’s gifts and graces. At every stage of the process toward ordination there is a conversation about call.

In addition to those young women who got me re-obsessed with call, there are the scriptures this week. The passage from Jeremiah is Jeremiah’s call story. The passage from Luke is Jesus claiming his call, and has Jesus talking about others who were particularly chosen for tasks from God. It seems that the church is justified in its assumptions about call, as they’re well established in the Bible. If God wants a person do to work, God calls that person… or at least that’s how it works in the church… or at least that’s the way the culture of call talks about it.

Having had enough time to move past my naivete with call, here are my concerns about how I’ve heard the church talk about call, particularly with regard to ordination:

  1. It assumes that God has a “plan” for each of us. Or perhaps, only the clergy ;). But I don’t really believe God has a plan, or at least not a stagnant one. We change as we go through life and God adapts to where we are. I don’t believe that God sets us on one particular path in expectation that 30 years later we’ll land somewhere particular. Rather, I suspect that God looks at us where we are and notes where our gifts and skills might be of use, and nudges us towards those places if we listen.
  2. It elevates clergy as somehow “above” laity. To be particular, it suggests that the highest form of faithfulness to God is to become clergy. No experience I’ve had supports this. The church exists because of the faithfulness and commitment of the laity.
  3. It suggests that God cares more about clergy than any other means of building up the kin-dom of God. That is, we usually only talk about call when we are talking about church work. There are A LOT of jobs that need to be done in order to bring in the kin-dom. This whole Jesus-following thing would be useless if all anyone ever did was preach and run churches. If there is such a thing as call it must apply as much to teaching fields, medical fields, administration, sanitation, art, music, caregiving, legislation, supportive work, retail, etc.! The world and the world’s needs are incredibly diverse. God’s work with all people may be to help us find the ways that we can build the kin-dom, but it doesn’t seem reasonable that this happens differently for clergy.
  4. It all sorts of mucks up the difference between God and church. If serving God is about being ordained by the church, that’s a disaster. As amazing as this church is, I’ve always found that when I conflate God and the church I get annoyed with God. Churches are imperfect, struggling, and often beautiful organizations trying to work together to build the kin-dom. But they’re fallible, and they are institutions. Clergy are functionally CEOs of non-profits. God is much bigger and better than that. And, just as a reminder, I suspect that if God does “call” people, the vast majority of those called are called to work outside of churches.
  5. It assumes that God has a “will,” a defined preference for how things go, and our goal is to “discern” it and then “obey” it. This is probably the biggest issue I have with call language. Earlier in my life I believed this, and I’ve struggled to find my way out of it. (#ThanksChrysalis #Sarcastic) These days because I believe that God is present in all places and with all people I believe that God is WITH all of us. Then, the way to access Divine Wisdom is through bodies. Sometimes I access Divine Wisdom through myself (body, mind, and emotions) sometimes through others. If I want to find the “right” or “best” way to act, I need to get quiet enough to listen to my inner wisdom, and trust that God is working in me. This is harder, I think, than it was to externalize the divine. Yet, when I trust that God is at work WITH and IN us as humans, the I’m able to take us more seriously.  When the goal was to conform to an external will, then what I cared about was irrelevant. When the goal is to listen to the deepest whispers in myself and remember they are the intersections of God and myself, I become relevant – and you do too.

Now, to be honest, I have a “call story” and I think it is pretty good! It seems only fair to tell you the story that I told hundreds of times on the way to ordination so you can judge it for yourself. It may be shocking, but it was at Sky Lake. I was 13 years old, I had just finished 8th grade, and I was at music camp. I feel the need to tell you, as I’ve told many others, that I didn’t realize when I went to music camp that EVERYONE was supposed to sing. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have gone. (I’ve done music camp 7 times.) The first night of camp we sat by the lakeshore and the director led a footwashing service. She talked about how Jesus was a different kind of leader than any other leader in history. She talked about how usually important people get served, and how Jesus was the important person who served others. I wanted to be a part of THAT. I wanted to turn the world upside down and redefine what “important” and “leader” meant too. Both the director and the woman she’d invited to wash feet with her were clergy. I therefore assumed, without having language for it, that foot-washing was a sacrament and you had to be ordained to do it.

That’s the point where I’ve traditionally made a joke about God “using my ignorance against me.” Anyway, I had this really intense internal conversation about wanting to be a part of the Jesus foot-washing thing, and not wanting to give up my dreams of being a scientist like my mother and owning my own house. That was the first time it occurred to me that I might want to be clergy.

Well, music camp sang at the ordination service of Annual Conference in those days, so nearly a year later I was present when the Bishop did an altar call at the end of the ordination service inviting people forward to respond to the call to ordained ministry. I felt a strong almost magnetic pull toward that altar, and I remembered that night by the lakeshore, but I wasn’t an impulsive sort of teenager. I decided that I’d wait another year, think about things, come back to Annual Conference, and if I still felt that pull, I’d respond THEN.

I talked to my pastor – but only about my desire to go to Annual Conference, and we set it up. The following year at the ordination service I sat with my friends and felt a magnetic pull to the altar. I was crying, and trying to hide it. The hymns were listed in the order of worship, and I knew when the last one ended. I said to myself (or maybe to God… I’ve usually told this story as if I was talking to God), “Oh well, too late, maybe next year.” Bishop Susan Morrison said, “Its not too late.”

So, I responded, making public and visible the experience I’d had of wanting to be a part of the turning the world upside down Jesus movement, one that I’d been privately contemplating for nearly 2 years. At that point I was sure, and I defined my life based on my experience of call. Sometimes I’ve told the addendum. 8 years after that first lakeside foot washing experience I was back at music camp as a pretty senior staff member at Sky Lake. The same clergy women were there. The director was sick that summer, and after she’d washed feet for a while she asked me to help her stand so she could take a break.

Then she asked me to take her place. I was the only staff member invited to wash feet, and it was the first time music camp had done a footwashing in the intervening years. By that point I was ready to apply to seminary. I loved washing feet in that service, I love it every time I get to do it. As wonderful as that experience was though, I knew in those moments that the call which had started as a desire to wash feet and ordination had been a means to an end had become a desire to serve God as a clergy person. Oh, and the director – she had NO idea that my call to ministry had been set in place in the last footwashing service. She just needed a break.

It’s a good story, right? I suspect if you’d spent years perfecting it, many of you could tell one just as good about your profession.

I have wondered if the idea of call comes out of a deep human need to be special. One of my college professors once pointed out that all fairy tales exist in the struggle between the human need to be special and the human need to fit in. It may be that call is exactly the place that fits that need: all are called (to something and usually many things), but all are called uniquely. We are, after all, all uniquely gifted in the world. And God is willing to work with us all to build the kin-dom. The more of us listen to those subtle whisperings within, the faster the work will be done. So, beloved, I believe YOU are called to build the kin-dom. And thanks be to God for that! Amen

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

http://fumcschenectady.org/

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

January 31, 2016

Sermons

“Holy, Joy, Sharing”based on  Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10 and Luke…

  • January 24, 2016February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

It strikes me as likely that most of you don’t know anything about Nehemiah. In fact, I would guess that the MORE Biblically knowledgeable among you would be fairly likely to assume that Nehemiah is one of the minor prophets. (This assumes Biblical knowledge, clearly, in understanding what the Minor Prophets are. Minor prophets are the prophets whose books are shorter. That’s all.)

Nehemiah is a book of history. It is bound up with the book of Ezra – apparently they were one book for the first 2000 years or so, but now are considered two. They are books about the return from Exile. Those of you who are here all the time may be getting sick of hearing me explain the Exile, but I don’t want to leave anyone behind. So, hold onto your seats, I’m about to review Basic Biblical history and catch everyone up. I’ll try to be informative without being boring. Wish me luck.

This is a story that starts with Abraham. Abraham heard the call of God to leave the land of his ancestors and start a new life. God made promises to Abraham that he’d be the father of a multitude, and that his descendants were specially blessed to be a blessing to the world. He was married to Sarah, who may or may not have been his half sister. She was barren for a LOOOOOOOONG time, and to make it sound simpler than it was, she eventually had a kid named Issac.

Issac married Rebecca (whose father AND grandfather were Issac’s first cousins), and they were barren for a mere LOONG time and then had twins named Esau and Jacob. Esau was the older twin, but Jacob was the one whom Rebecca and God favored. Jacob was a bit of a trickster, but no more so than his uncle Laban, his mother Rebecca’s brother. He went to live with Laban for a few decades and when he returned he had two wives, two concubines, 12 sons, an unknown number of daughters, and a lot of wealth. Those 12 sons would become the fathers of the 12 tribes.

Jacob’s two favorite sons were Joseph and Benjamin, the sons of Rachel, his favorite wife. (Did I forget to mention that both of Jacob’s wives were his first cousins?) The older of the two was so obnoxious in his status as his father’s favorite that the rest of the sons sold him to slavery in Egypt. The Bible suggests that God favored him, so Joseph eventually became the right hand to the Pharaoh. He instituted a pretty severe taxation system that involved Egypt having great stores of food and the poor people not having any. Meanwhile there was a famine in Israel (which happens in desert climates). The brothers came down to buy grain so they wouldn’t die, it was all sorts of dramatic, but eventually everyone moved down to Egypt.

Then there was a new ruler, the family stopped being in favor, and they became slaves. Then there was Moses, they say about 400 years later. Or, rather, we should say, then there were two very wise, caring,and manipulative midwives who refused direct orders and helped Moses come into the world. His mother and sister were also wise, caring, and manipulative, and Moses (who was supposed to be killed upon his birth because that’s what they were doing to Hebrew babies) got raised as the adoptive grandson of the current Pharaoh.

Then there are some parts you’ve likely heard about: Moses had compassion for his people, but then he killed a guy, so he had to go away; he went into the desert; he had an experience of God initiated by a burning bush, God sent him to be the leader of the people; he whined about his stammer, Aaron got to help; there were conversations, there were plagues, the people were freed; the Pharaoh changed his mind, and the army died in the sea. Or, at least, that’s one of the versions the Bible tells.

Then the people wander in the desert for a few generations. Afterward, Joshua leads them into the land, and after his death for about 300 hundred years, random leaders emerged when the people needed them and otherwise they just settled in. Then the people wanted a King, and they got Saul, and Saul was crazy (maybe), so they got David, and David was a jerk (for sure) and after he died they got Solomon who was really not a whole lot better than Pharaoh. Which is likely why after the death of Solomon there was a civil war and the North seceded from the South. The North gets called Israel, the South is called Judah.

A little over 200 years later the North – Israel – is defeated by the Assyrian empire, goes into exile, and never returns. That’s 722 BCE. About 150 years after that, the South – Judah – gets defeated by the Babylonian Empire (587/586 BCE) and goes into exile. Then in 539 the Persian Empire lead by Cyrus beats out the Babylonian Empire and the exiles are free to go home.

Except a lot of them didn’t. Some went home. They started rebuilding the Temple. But a lot stayed put. About 100 years later a Jewish man named Nehemiah was the cupbearer to the King, and he he heard a report from men from Judah of the terrible lives being led there. It took him to prayer and prayer brought him before the King asking for a favor – to be sent to Judah to rebuild the walls of the city. He was appointed the governor of Judah.

The walls had been down for nearly 150 years. ALL IT TOOK was for someone to organize – the people COULD do it, the issue was that unless everyone did it t the same time it wouldn’t really matter. With Nehemiah’s hope, vision, and money, it worked. Some organized and rebuilt the gates, and then each family rebuilt the part of the wall that was next to their house (or, more likely) a part of their house. It wasn’t that anyone had that much work to do. It is just that unless your neighbors rebuilt too it wouldn’t really help – invaders could still come in.

It took 12 years for Nehemiah to work with the people, to face down the opposition, and to get the walls back up. That’s where our lesson for today comes in – right after the walls were complete. It seems that the people who gathered at the Water Gate hadn’t heard the whole story, all put together, either. The Water Gate was an interesting choice of location for this event, because the Temple had been rebuild. But the Temple didn’t have space for EVERYONE – for men AND women AND children. So they gathered where they could all fit, and they heard their own story from start to finish. (I’d guess that what was read was an early version of the Torah.)

It seems reasonable that the people would weep after hearing it. It is a good story! Furthermore, the story is intentionally designed to bring the past into the present, and for the people who just completed the restoration of Jerusalem, that would be incredibly powerful. They were hearing their stories within the gates and the walls of the city for the first time in 7 generations.

But the command they’re given doesn’t give them time to live in their weeping. They’re told not to weep – not for the 7 generations that missed this chance – not for anything. They’re supposed to PARTY. (I don’t make up the Lectionary. Therefore I don’t make up the PARTY theme. It is in the Bible.) Nor do I make up the theme that the whole deal is that we get to enjoy life as long as we share the joy. Nehemiah told the people, “Go your way, eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions of them to those for whom nothing is prepared, for this day is holy to our LORD; and do not be grieved, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.”

Eat the GOOD stuff. Savor the wonder of it all. And share. Because it is holy, and that’s how it works. From the time of Abraham the idea is “blessed to be a blessing.” When you are able to feast on the richest food there is you should enjoy it, and SHARE. Wow. I really do love the story of Nehemiah. It is the story of what can be done when the people work together. And this passage is the story of the transformative power of worship and the stories of God. The whole book is the story of what can happen when one person’s heart is opened to the blight of others, and it is the story of the restoration. Nehemiah doesn’t just talk about the “good stuff” of life, the book of Nehemiah is some of the good stuff.

Thematically, the Gospel lesson and Nehemiah seem like kindred spirits. The Gospel tells of Jesus at his home synagogue reading the lesson from Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because (God) has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. (God) has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.“ The other synoptic gospels put this later in Jesus’s ministry, but Luke seems intentional in putting it right in the beginning. For Luke, this is Jesus’s mission statement. Or maybe this is Luke’s thesis statement.

The words would have already been known to be connected to the Messianic expectation. (Which by the way is also all about the Exile, but I can leave that for another day.) They’re words we still use in our formal Communion liturgy. They are powerful words. They are words of restoration. They are words that reflect God’s care for all of God’s people, and not just the ones that societies tend to think are of value.

God wants a message brought to the poor – and it is good news for them.

God sends a message to the captives – and it is release of their captivity for them.

God messenger is to bring sight to the blind.

God’s work is to let the oppressed become free again.

God’s story is the proclamation of the jubilee.

The Jubilee is another Hebrew Bible idea that doesn’t get enough press. It is the Torah law that says that every 49 years all the fields are to lay fallow, all debts are to be forgiven, and all land is to be returned to its original owners. Jubilee is one of the ways that God’s vision for community in the Torah prevents cycles of poverty. For Jesus to read this passage is to connect his life with the care for the poor, the sick, and the oppressed, and the incarcerated.

Luke put this story at the beginning of his Gospel because he thought this was the point. The life of Jesus participated in God’s work of freedom, healing, and transformation. To be poor in Jesus’s time was similar to being poor today and being poor in the time of Nehemiah – it increased the chance you would die young after having struggled mightily. God isn’t interested in leaving people in those conditions.

Which means that for Luke, the work of the Body of Christ (US!) is that vision from Isaiah. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon us, because God has anointed us to bring good news to the poor. God has sent is to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Or, maybe we like it from Nehemiah, “Go your way, eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions of them to those for whom nothing is prepared…”

We are to care for each other, and enjoy the goodness of life, and work toward a more just world. Let’s get back to it! Amen

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
http://fumcschenectady.org/

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

January 24, 2016

Sermons

“My Delight Is in Her” based on Isaiah 62:1-5 and…

  • January 17, 2016February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

This strange story, unique to the Gospel of John, is traditionally connected with the Epiphany. It is only relatively recently that it got pushed out the second Sunday after the Epiphany, and is now only included every three years. I’m grateful that this is not a text that comes up every year. It is a story that leads to a whole lot more questions than answers.

Perhaps you didn’t come up with that many questions. Allow me to share with you some of the questions I have about this strange story:

  1. Why were the disciples invited to this wedding? They’ve been “the disciples” for 1-2 days.
  2. Why did Mary ignore Jesus’s rejection of her request?
  3. Why did Jesus do what he tells his mother he won’t do?
  4. Why was Mary sticking her nose into this wine issue anyway?
  5. Who was getting married?
  6. Why did they have 6 ritual cleansing pots at their house? Why were they empty?
  7. How did they fill the pots? Was it from a well? How far away was it and how long did it take?
  8. We know that people drank wine instead of water because of disease at that time, was “really good wine” watered down to 30% potency like the rest of it?

But more so than any of these, the big question is:

WHY ON EARTH IS THIS PRESENTED AS THE FIRST MIRACLE IN JOHN?

Some commentators do some beautiful work trying to justify this story. Before we even get started on that, let me articulate my biggest issue with preaching about “The First Miracle”: addictions exist, they’re real, and alcoholism is a big deal. It is hard to talk about this passage without waxing poetic about “good wine” and yet it is hard to wax poetic about “good wine” while being truly pastoral to people struck with the disease of alcoholism.

I think that is very important to remember that without water purification technology, in settled communities in the ancient world, no one drank water. People drank wine because the fermentation killed the bacteria that would otherwise kill them – although they didn’t know that. They just knew that they died from water and not from wine. Furthermore, people seemed to enjoy drinking. It shows up early and often in the Bible, and there isn’t condemnation of it. That’s cool, and sometimes fun, for those who don’t have drinking problems. Its hard for those who do. Perhaps it is useful to remember that just as the ancient people didn’t know about bacteria, they didn’t know about alcoholism. Therefore, the Bible seems to assume that wine is equally good for everyone. We know it isn’t.

OK, so now that we acknowledged all that, one commentator that I read this week talked about how great it is that Jesus’s first miracle was for the sake of joy and fun. He wrote, “Sometimes the church has forgotten that our Lord once attended a wedding feast and said yes to gladness and joy.”1 He continued on describing “a God who loves to hear the laugher of people.”2 I like this take on the miracle. I think it has some validity. I’ve been around lots of churches, and church people, who take the entire enterprise way too seriously. The whole idea of connecting to a God of love, and communing with God’s beloved people is that it is supposed to be awesome. There is goodness in God, in worship, in prayer, in study, in sharing God’s love in the world. It is FUN. If you don’t believe me, stay for communion. Communities that don’t enjoy each other and have fun are missing something really important about life with God. This isn’t a competition about who can sacrifice the most. This is about sharing and enjoying life! The presentation of Jesus as someone who cared enough about parties to make sure that they kept having the wine flowing surely does remind us that life with God is GOOD.

There are many reasons to believe that Jesus was a bit of a party-boy. There are lots of passages in the Bible that suggest that God wants us to live life, and live it abundantly, and ENJOY the time we have on this beautiful planet. However, they live in completion with the reminder that we’re supposed to enjoy life AND make sure that others get to as well.

This story, taken seriously, challenges us to receive and then share this extravagant generosity and grace. If we consider God to be interested in people enjoying each other at good parties, it follows that understand a God who really cares about the joy of life. Then we get to wonder about how well we’re receiving it: God who is generous and loving and wants us to enjoy the gift of life offers us opportunities for love, connection, play, and laughter. Sometimes we’re “too busy” or “too serious” to take them. We might want to rethink priorities! Furthermore, this is a great set up to consider the Genesis line “blessed to be a blessing.” How can we follow the example of Jesus in offering extravagant generosity and opportunities for great joy to others? When are we giving things to others for the pure joy of watching their disbelief? This angle on the story is productive and interesting, but it doesn’t really explain why this story comes FIRST.

Many have suggested that this is a post-Easter perspective of Jesus. That’s viable, since John was the last of the gospels to be written, this story only shows up in John, and it has the capacity to be understood has highly metaphorical. John is into poetry. So, if John were working with a story to try to explain Jesus, this could sound like something he might create. From that perspective, we would do well to take note that there are two highly visible, detailed miracles in John. One is this one, and the other is the feeding of the 5000. That one is pretty excessive as well. If the two most visible miracles about about WINE and BREAD, it might be reasonable to assume that there is an intentional theme of Communion underlying them.

Jesus provides wine in radical abundance. Jesus feeds all who come to him. Yeah. That works. It still doesn’t explain why this story comes FIRST, in fact, it would work better right after the feeding, right??

This week my reading pointed me to two verses in the minor prophet section of the Hebrew Bible. The verses are Amos 9:13 and Joel 3:18 and they read:

The time is surely coming, says the Lord,
  when the one who ploughs shall overtake the one who reaps,
  and the treader of grapes the one who sows the seed;
the mountains shall drip sweet wine,
  and all the hills shall flow with it. (Amos 9:13)

On that day
the mountains shall drip sweet wine,
  the hills shall flow with milk,
and all the stream beds of Judah
  shall flow with water;
a fountain shall come forth from the house of the Lord
  and water the Wadi Shittim. (Joel 3:18)

That is, in the Hebrew Bible, “an abundance of good wine is an eschatological symbol, a sign of the joyous arrival of God’s new age.”3 I suspect that THIS is the most likely reason for the inclusion of this “first miracle” story in the Gospel of John. John doesn’t have a birth narrative. He starts with the poetry about the Word becoming flesh, transitions to talking about John the Baptist, and then jumps right into Jesus calling the disciples.

This story comes next. Jesus calls a bunch of disciples one day, he calls a bunch more the next day, and on the third day (yes, people suspect that’s intentional too), Jesus and the disciples go to this wedding. It is, at least as told in John, the very first thing they do as Jesus’s disciples. And then Jesus preforms a miracle that is a sign of the joyous arrival of God’s new age. It is “a rich symbol in the biblical tradition inferring prosperity, abundance, good times; the wine will overflow the water pots.”4 The abundance of God’s goodness is expressed in the abundance of the wine. The new age begins here, and it is declared in a way that the ancients can understand. (Apparently, many ancients – not just the Jewish ones. The same commentator wrote, “A miraculous supply of wine as a sign of the presence of a god is a common motif in Greek folklore.”5 She warns us not to take this too seriously. I find it worth mentioning.)

I’m so grateful for this connection to the symbolism that the first hearers of this story would have understood. It makes a lot of sense if this is a symbol that would have been understood as the declaration of a new age of God’s work in the world. In fact, this functions much like Matthew and Luke’s Christmas stories function in their gospels.

Now, to take a step further backward, the setting of this narrative at a wedding is likely not trivial either. The metaphor of marriage as a way of understanding God’s relationship to Israel was longstanding. The prophets played with it extensively. Our Hebrew Bible passage draws the prior narratives to bring a new one to light. The idea of God and Israel as married was old. The prophets who spoke of the coming exile talked about God’s right to divorce Israel. The prophets of the exile talked about God’s abandonment of God’s wife Israel. And then, in this passage, God restores Israel to her status as wife. Dr. Rick Nutt, chair of the department of Religion and Philosophy at Muskingum University in Ohio writes:

“God’s liberating action grows out of God’s covenant promise to Israel – for marriage always evokes ideas of covenant. The gods of the ancient world were often capricious, one could not know when favor or disfavor might be forthcoming. YHWH, on the other hand, imposed limits on God’s freedom to exercise power. In the covenant, God promised steadfast love – hesed – as the basis of the relationship with the people, and in return the people promised to love and serve God. Judgement may come, but it will always be on the basis of the covenant – and because of the covenant, restoration will always follow. Liberation renews Israel’s relationship with God to wholeness, because God will be true to covenant.”6

I believe that the writer of the Gospel of John was a smart man, well versed in the scriptures of his day. He knew what he was doing, when placing this story at a wedding feast. He was intentionally invoking the concept of God as a loving spouse, even if only as a underlying theme. The words “My Delight is in Her” from Isaiah end up as one of the backgrounds that set the scene for Jesus. The writer was intentionally developing the idea of wine as a symbol of life, and of God’s presence, and of a new age in the history of God’s work among the people. The incredible excess of the story: the presence of SIX empty water jars, their large size, the water filled to the brim and nearly over flowing, and the goodness of the wine serve as symbols of the abundance of God’s love – hesed– in this new age.

There are still plenty of questions, but this story is not accidental. Thanks be to God for reminders of life, abundance, and goodness.  May we learn to live fully into life, abundance, and goodness. Amen

___

Sermon Talkback Questions

  1. What are your questions about this passage?
  2. Which interpretation was most interesting to you?
  3. What are the problems, and powers, of the metaphor of marriage for God and “the people”?
  4. What else can wine symbolize?
  5. In what ways did Jesus usher in a “new age”? In what ways are we still waiting for one?
  6. What is your general opinion of the Gospel of John?
  7. What might be good alternatives to discussing the rich wonder of WINE?
  8. What do you take from this passage today?

—

1Robert B. Brearley, “Pastoral Perspective on John 2:1-11” in Feasting on the Word Year C Volume 1 edited by Barbara Brown Taylor and David Bartlett (Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville Kentucky, 2009) page 262.

2Ibid.

3Gail O’Day, “John” in New Interpreter’s Study Bible, vol. 9 (Nashville: Abingdon, 1995), 538

4Linda McKinnish Bridges, “Exegetical Perspective on John 2:1-11” in Feasting on the Word Year C Volume 1 edited by Barbara Brown Taylor and David Bartlett (Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville Kentucky, 2009) page 265.

5Ibid

6Rick Nutt, “Theological Perspective on Isaiah 61:1-5” in Feasting on the Word Year C Volume 1 edited by Barbara Brown Taylor and David Bartlett (Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville Kentucky, 2009) page 246.

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

January 17, 2016

Sermons

“A Do’” based on Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3:15-22

  • January 10, 2016February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

A
long time ago, before I had realized the wisdom of reading novellas
to children for Children’s Time, I had prepared a Children’s Time on
baptism.  This was when I was serving the Morris United Methodist
Church, and it turned out we had a baptism that day.  When Children’s
Time began there were two children present: an infant and a two year
old.  This wasn’t going to make my work particularly easy.  

At
the Morris United Methodist Church, they do baptisms in the back of
the sanctuary.  The font is in the center of aisle right in the back,
against the wall.  A baptismal banner hangs above it.  They do this
on purpose.  Their idea is that baptism is the entrance to the church
family, so it makes sense to have it in the area they enter from.
When the time in the service came to do baptisms everyone would stand
up and turn to watch.  That is, everyone who could.  There was one
man in the church who couldn’t stand: the pastor emeritus who was in
a wheelchair.  The space where the pew had been cut out was all the
way in the back row, so he just got turned around in his wheelchair.
As time when on, we got smart, and when babies were being baptized I
would put them in his arms while I baptized them so we got to do it
together.  

In
that church I was responsible for the creation of the bulletin (which
meant that there was a game entitled “who can find one of Sara’s
typos first”) and I would pick images for the font cover of the
bulletin.  That week I’d taken a picture of the front doors of the
church and made it the image on the cover of the bulletin.  As
planned, I asked the kids what was on the cover of the bulletin.  The
two year old cheerfully responded, “a do’”.  At this point, I was
in trouble.  The response “a do’” was entirely correct, but I
couldn’t do much more with it.  Somehow, and it felt as amazing then
as it does now in telling it, at that point a 10 year old showed up
and joined children’s time.   So I asked, “why would I have a
picture of doors on the cover of the bulletin.”  The 10 old rolled
his eyes at the stupidness of my question and responded, “Because
you are doing a baptism today, and those are the church doors, and
baptism is an entrance to the church family like the doors are the
entrance to the church.”  The adults responded with an enthusiastic
“oh!” and accused me of prepping the kid ahead of time.  (I
didn’t!  I swear.  He was just that smart.  And he thought it was so
obvious as to be beneath him.)

I’ve
always appreciated the wisdom of the Morris United Methodist Church,
and their understanding of baptism as an entrance.  There are many
good ways to think of baptism, and that’s certainly one of them.
Martin Luther King Jr. was known to speak of the Beloved Community,
an idea that sounds like another name for the kin-dom of God to me.
According to the King Center,

“For
Dr. King, The Beloved Community was not a lofty utopian goal to be
confused with the rapturous image of the Peaceable Kingdom, in which
lions and lambs coexist in idyllic harmony. Rather, The Beloved
Community was for him a realistic, achievable goal that could be
attained by a critical mass of people committed to and trained in the
philosophy and methods of nonviolence.

Dr.
King’s Beloved Community is a global vision, in which all people
can share in the wealth of the earth. In the Beloved Community,
poverty, hunger and homelessness will not be tolerated because
international standards of human decency will not allow it. Racism
and all forms of discrimination, bigotry and prejudice will be
replaced by an all-inclusive spirit of sisterhood and brotherhood. In
the Beloved Community, international disputes will be resolved by
peaceful conflict-resolution and reconciliation of adversaries,
instead of military power. Love and trust will triumph over fear and
hatred. Peace with justice will prevail over war and military
conflict.”1

Rev.
Dr. King’s wording is a smooth fit with the gospel lesson.  In Luke
the Divine message doesn’t show up until after Jesus has been
baptized and is praying.  The language is similar in each of the
gospels, the Divine message says, “You
are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.“ (Luke
3:22b, NRSV)  Luke is one one of the gospel writers to suggest that
Jesus had to wait in line like the rest of the crowd to be baptized.
He was one of many.

It
has always seemed to me that the words of that came at Jesus’ baptism
are the words intended for every baptism.  “This is my Child, the
Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  It suggests that each
baptized person has been named as God’s beloved in that experience,
and that the community of baptized people IS the Beloved Community.
Of course, to fit King’s vision we need more training in nonviolence
and peaceful conflict-resolution, but if you keep paying attention to
the Children’s Time novella, that may count!

Now,
baptism is a sacrament.  Most people agree that a sacrament is an
outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.  Or, a
“sign-act” which is an action that also has words to go along
with it.  The other sacrament that we acknowledge as United
Methodists is communion.  I think it is important to note that God’s
love is available to us at all times in our lives.  The sacraments
are simply times when it is easier for us to remember that!  God
doesn’t change.  We are more attentive to God in those moments.

We
accept baptism and communion as sacraments because the Bible tells us
that Jesus participated in them and instructed other to do so a well!
In baptism, the grace that is offered is the
initiating act of a covenant.  Baptism is the covenantal act of
acknowledging the love of God and the way that it is expressed by
family, sponsors, clergy, and church community.  The acceptance of
the covenant is an act of inclusion into the Church, the community
that is aware of God’s grace.  The candidate for baptism has two
primary responsibilities.  The first is to be open to the experience
of being loved, both in the ritual of baptism throughout the rest of
life.  The second is to complete the covenant, to seek always to love
God and love neighbors as the response to God’s love.

God’s
grace is available at all times, and thus is available at baptism;
the ritual cannot exist without God’s grace.  Baptism is a public
act of accepting God’s love, but God’s love exists for each
person with or without baptism.  The
covenant is eternal, even if the person ignores it.  God does not
stop loving.  The water is symbolic, and as such its efficacy is not
based on its quantity.  That is a baptism is real whether the water
is poured or sprinkled over a person OR they are dunked!

I
haven’t ever done a baptism where a person is dunked, although I was
trained in it in seminary.  I suspect that symbolism of new life is
more tangible in those baptisms.  When I was in college one of the
churches in town left the doors to its sanctuary open at all times.
I would often go there to pray, and to ponder.  The entrance to that
sanctuary was though two sets of solid wooden doors.  The first set
connected the church to outside.  The second set connected the
entrance to the sanctuary.  The space between them was pretty small,
and there were no windows or lights.  (This was in New Hampshire, I’m
pretty sure the design was intended to keep the cold out.)  I usually
paused in that space between the sets of doors.  I didn’t yet know
the word “liminal,” but I  knew that I liked the in-betweenness
of that space.  Between the sets of doors I was not in the outside
world, nor was I in the sanctuary.  I was in the middle, in nowhere.
Young adulthood often felt disorienting, and being in a physical
space that reflected that no-whereness brought it some peace.

I
suspect that for those who undergo full immersion baptism, the moment
under the water might be the the space between the doors.  The person
is, symbolically, dead to their old life and yet not yet alive in
their new one.  I’ve worried, at times, about the pressure a person
might feel under if they understood baptism that way.  What happens
the first time that they are cranky, or tempted, or mean!  Do they
worry that the baptism didn’t work?  Do they feel unworthy?

I
hope that baptism is a reminder that we are Beloved, and that when we
participate in the baptisms of others we remember the covenant also
applies to us!  God’s grace is exceptionally powerful stuff.  It
counters any argument that suggests that we are not enough, that we
have to work harder or have more in order to be sufficient.  It
reminds us that our bodies, minds, emotions, and spirits are beloved
JUST AS THEY ARE, and that we need not earn our way into God’s favor.

It
does occur to me at times that believing in God’s grace is much more
radical than simply believing in God.  As odds would have it, I
figure that God’s existence is a 50/50.  It can’t be proven either
way.  (Or, perhaps, the existence of God is equivalent to Schroeder’s
cat.  On a strictly logical level, God both is and isn’t!  Please
take that idea lightly.)  On the other hand, the premise that the God
who exists is benevolent, that the One who Created cares, that the
Energy and Connector of All that Is is by nature Grace – all of
that is much less logical.  

Anyone
looking at the injustices and evils of the world could easily
conclude that a Higher Power simply doesn’t care.  Because, they
would conclude, if a Higher Power exists AND cares, then why are
there such awful realities?  Therefore, a logical person might
conclude, one of 3 things must be true:

God
doesn’t exist.

God
doesn’t care.

God
doesn’t have the power to change things.

To
be fair, I’ve heard people suggest that there is a 4th
option, that God’s ways are not like our ways and that what we see as
injustice is OK with God, but that’s such a lousy argument that I
refuse to work with it.

My
training has been in a theology that turns to #3, “God doesn’t have
the power to change things.”  Process theology argues over whether
God CAN’T interfere with human will or simply WON’T, but admits that
if you want to understand God as existing and loving, you are forced
by logic to concede that God does not stop us from doing each other
harm.  Instead, Process Theology says, God works with all of us all
the time.  God “whispers” to us suggestions of how we might act
in the most loving of ways.  God works with us where we are and
offers us the possibility of turning in good directions.  However, we
are truly free to ignore God’s whispers, hopes, and suggestions and
do the opposite.  Whether this is because God simply refuses to treat
us as slaves or because creation itself won’t allow the violation of
imposed will, we are free to do good and we are free to do harm, and
we do both.

And
yet, we are Beloved.  We are Beloved when we live out God’s love to
the fullest and share love with all we meet.  We are Beloved when we
are simply awful, and do profound and lasting damage to others.
God’s love comes from God’s nature, not from our earning it.  It may
not be logical, the way we see things.  God’s existence is fair game.
God’s GRACE, God’s LOVE, God’s desire for goodness isn’t something
we can derive from pure logic.  We find it scripture.  We hear about
in tradition and from those we know in the Body of Christ.  We can
experience it in our bodies, and we can learn about it through a
variety of fields of research if we look with the right lenses.  But
it is a matter of faith to believe in a God of love.

And
yet, the do’ is open to all.

Thanks
be to God.  Amen

1http://www.thekingcenter.org/king-philosophy#sub4

Sermons

Untitled

  • January 3, 2016February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

While Luke places the announcement of the birth of Jesus in the hills around Bethlehem with the lowly shepherds, Matthew brings in the wise men from the east. It works pretty well both thematically and as foreshadowing. Matthew ends with “the great commissioning” telling the disciples go “go and make disciples of all nations.” The premise here is that the those with authority within the religious structure misread what is going on in their midst, and yet those who are paying attention – even those from outside of Judaism – are able to see. Jesus’s life was more expansive than anyone could have dreamed, and Matthew sets up this truth from the very beginning.

The magi also play an interesting role in engaging with the political power of the day – dropping by on King Herod and raising his fears about remaining “the king of the Jews.” In Matthew, this is the title under which Jesus is crucified. The words of the magi are terrifying to King Herod. They represent his worst fears, even the rumor of such a thing as what they are saying – that a new King of the Jews has been born – could end his rule. Herod plays it wisely, seeking ever more information, and inviting the magi back to tell him what they have found.

The magi “having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod,” go home to “their own country by another road.” All week I’ve been hearing the Robert Frost poem “The Road Not Taken in my head.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

I first came to know Frost’s poem when I was a teenager at Sky Lake’s music camp and we sang Randall Thomas’ arrangement of it. The words were engraved in my mind at that point, and the beauty of the music and the words have stayed with me. Scholars debate about whether or not Frost’s poem is satirical, and I recognize that it may well be satire, or at least partially self-effacing. The last stanza, starting with “I shall be telling this with a sigh” seems a bit overdramatic not to have SOME irony in it. Yet it also contains some deep truths.

This week, considering the journey home of the magi, their journey kept being informed by “The Road Not Taken.” What would have happened if they had gone back by the same road? How were their lives, and the lives of those around them, changed by their choice to change course? I guess, even more than that, it occurs to me that to take the story seriously to ask how their lives were impacted by their earlier choice to “follow the star.” Their entire journey was “The Road Less Traveled.” They left their country, their homes, their language and customs in order to follow a hunch. Theirs was a unique journey.

The text says that they were overwhelmed with joy when they saw that the star had stopped. It implies that the joy was related to actually getting to see the new-born king of the Jews. The experience seems to have mattered to the magi. While we don’t know much about them, we have heard that they are course-changers. They were willing to travel to follow a hunch, and they were willing to change course on the way home based on another one.

I find myself wondering what happened AFTER this story in their lives. Symbolically, their presence in the Gospel is powerful. They stand in for the importance of Jesus, they foreshadows the breadth of the meaning of his life, they condemn both the political and the religious power structures of the day. But what about THEM?

Now, I’d say that “we don’t know” because the story doesn’t tell us, but even that isn’t entirely true. I think the story of the magi is unlikely to be based in historical fact. However, as John Dominic Crossan is often saying, “Emmaus never happened, Emmaus always happens.” So, let’s go with that. “The Magi never came, the Magi are always arriving AND departing.”

I guess my question, at its core, is: What would it have mattered to magi from the east to see a baby with his mother somewhere in Judea or Galilee? This is, to be frank, not a particularly unusual sight. Most of societies through most of history can offer an opportunity to see a mother with her child. Would it have been special because of the expectations around it? Are we meant to believe it was special because of the parties involved? If so, how would a 18 month old Jesus be different from another 18 month out? (I’m making up months here, we have no idea how long the travel took, but historically it is believed to be more than a year and less than two.)

Actually, I really love that question! What would we expect from a toddling baby who would as a man utter some of the great wisdom of the world? Would he be particularly gregarious? Or rather shy? Would he be absorbing all the information coming at him, or would he be a little bit sleepy at that point in the day? Would he be cranky? Sometimes 18 month olds are cranky. Would he be wandering around, putting everything in sight in his mouth? Would that include the gold, frankincense and myrrh? If we want to think of Jesus as the most perfect human ever to be (and if I had to guess, I’d guess some of you do and some of you don’t), what would that look like in an 18 month old? And furthermore, what does that tell us about what we believe perfection looks like and what we’re trying to be???

These magi met a baby and his mother in some nondescript location. And, for the sake of the story, let’s say that it was an amazing and miraculous experience. I mean, I feel that way about babies EVERY SINGLE TIME, so I can guess that if someone was looking for a miracle and hanging out with a baby, they could leave with the impression they’d had one.

Then what? Were the magi people who tended to travel around the world looking for curious experiences and new wonders? If so, how did they manage to have such expensive gifts to offer? If not, what drew them that time? I think it makes more sense to assume that this was an unusual experience for them. What would their lives have been like afterward? Unlike the disciples, or even the would-be disciples we hear about later in the Gospels who had the chance to talk with Jesus, hear his teachings, experience his healing, and turn around their lives, the magi met a babbling baby.

Did they go home from their journey west and start seeking out the stories of the Jewish people and reading up about their messianic expectations? Did they go home still overwhelmed with joy and wonder, and ponder these things in their hearts like Luke tells us Mary did? Did they go home and eventually forget?

Was it hard to get home after a journey like that, where everything changed, and find that home was still very much the same? Sometimes in the church we talk about mountaintop experiences, moments like the transfiguration where there is clarity and wonder and connection all at once. At the end of the transfiguration, the disciples go back down the mountain. At the end of this time with Jesus, the magi go home.

Coming down from mountaintop experiences for me is usually quiet and sad. Instead of being continually lifted up by the highs I’ve experienced, coming back down after them is jarring and often painful. A friend this year had “post-wedding depression.” All of the hopes and dreams she had, and all of the work she’d gone through (and all of the Pinterest projects she’d completed) gave her life focus and meaning. The day itself was amazing! Everything came into place, everyone was together, and the party went on and on. Even the next day there was brunch and laughter. But after that, there was packing the car, and going home, and unpacking the car and figuring out what to eat for dinner. (The honeymoon did not immediately follow the wedding.)

And it was hard. Her descriptions of the lostness that came after the wedding had such resonance in my life. After intense focus on a project, or after an experience that I’ve been looking forward to for a while, or – let’s be real here – after I finish a book I really really like, I wander around a little bit lost for a while, not quite able to figure out what way to turn or what I’m really wanting to DO next.

If they magi existed, and if they followed an errant star, and if they came to Bethlehem and met Mary and Jesus, and if they were filled with joy and wonder, and warned in a dream to go home by another route – then what happened when they got home? Was it a bit anticlimactic after the journey? Was it a tiny bit boring? What were they going to do NEXT? Did they find themselves wishing they’d gone back to Herod just for the excitement of finding out what would have happened? Did they wander again, following another hunch, soon thereafter, in hopes of finding something meaningful again?

I think perhaps the ebbs and flows of life are meant to include some aimlessness, some post-project depression, some sadness when something is complete and intense focus dissipates. It feels natural. Life isn’t a really really long marathon! There are down times, and in those we are subconsciously deciding on the next course we’ll follow. We don’t thrive with constant intensity (although some of us seek it anyway!) As humans we do best when something REALLY draws us in – and then lets us go so that something else can. We need the thrill of the intensity and the let-down that comes afterward.

Two roads diverge often. We end up at crossroad’s well never get to come back to, regularly. May we be wise enough to stand in them from time to time, even in melancholy, and consider the next stages of our journey. Perhaps we’ll decide to follow another road.

Perhaps it will make a difference. And if not, at least the moment of looking and wondering will serve to steady us on the roads we choose and give us a chance to listen to the whisperings of the Divine. Thanks be to God for that. Amen

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

January 3, 2016

Sermons

Christmas Dawn Meditation

  • December 25, 2015February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

I know its early, and I know it is Christmas, so I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to say this, but I’m really sick of this story.  By my rough estimations I’ve read it about 500 times, and maybe 100 of those out-loud.  It isn’t really that good.  Frankly, of the whole story we’re given only 2 verses that really have anything to do with Jesus being born and they’re pretty anticlimactic.     But, again, I know it is early and I know it is Christmas and none of you got out of bed this morning to hear me whine about the Lukan birth narrative.  I’m not sure any of you got out of bed to listen to me do exegesis either, but oh well 😉     As sick as I am of this story, these 14 verses still have surprises left in them.  This year it is the geography that jumped out at me.  It is only in the past few years that I’ve really understood Galilee and Judea.  To be direct about it, Judea, the Southern Kingdom, that came back from exile in 538 BCE was the land of the “Jews.”  That is, the word Jew comes from Judah who was the primary ancestor of the Southern Kingdom.     The Northern Kingdom – Israel – which went into exile first in 722 BCE, never returned.  The “10 lost tribes” did not regain their previous existence as a country.  This tends to become relevant when we’re talking about the Good Samaritan or the Samaritan Woman at the well, because the Samaritans were the hated Northern neighbors of Judea, the place where people who had once been followers of the same God had deviated and intermarried and not got it all WRONG.  

The weird thing is that Galilee is NORTH of Samaria.  So all the things that we say about Samaria should be true of Galilee.  Galilee should be an area of outcasts who don’t follow God correctly, but it isn’t!  The difference was a policital one.  
Judean leaders decided to colonize Galilee as an outpost of Jewish thought and culture, and they had!  The Galilean backwater was an experiment in exporting the “true faith” of the Judeans up into the north.  The three areas were then very different.  Judea with Jerusalem – and Bethlehem – was the center of Jewish life.  Samaria, directly to the north, was distinct enemy territory (which is really dumb since the Empire was the real problem, but that’s how humans work, right?).  To the north of Samaria was Galilee, the backwater colony of Jewish thought and life, a place to go if your family couldn’t make it in Judea.  
Mary and Joseph were from Nazarath, a TINY town in Galilee.  Jesus was from Nazareth.  It is one of the few facts about Jesus that can be even a little bit historically validified.  Jesus, the Nazarean – that’s how he was KNOWN.  
And yet both Matthew and Luke go through great pains to explain how Jesus – known as a Nazarene –  was ACTUALLY born in Bethlehem.  They come up with two very different answers.  Matthew suggests that the family was originally from Bethlehem but after the Magi left, Joseph had a dream and they went off to Egypt to hide away for a few years and then when they moved back they moved to Nazareth.  Luke comes up with the census narrative, which is cute, but has no historical basis.  And even if there was a census, NO census makes you go to the land of your ancestors.  EVERY country wants you to register according to where you live (and pay taxes.)  
But David was born in Bethlehem, and David was the great king.  The awaited Messiah was supposed to be a New David.  And the Gospel writers wanted to make their points abundantly clear.  The new King was, also, like David, born in Bethlehem.  It is where Jacob’s wife Rachel died.  It is where Ruth the Moabite settled.  The great kingS were born there.  

Bethlehem is a 100 mile walk from Nazareth, and that’s without the struggle of getting around Samaria.  Bethlehem is near enough to Jerusalem (about 17 miles).  Jesus, whose ministry centered around the Galilean backwater, is said to be born and die in the same places as King David.    

If the Gospel writers do so much creative work to connect Jesus to David, there must be theological significance for them in it.  Luke also does a lot of work to place Jesus in the political context of the day.  Throughout the first two chapters Luke reminds us again and again who the power players were in the Empire.  This poor boy was born into a world that already had rich, famous, and extraordinarily powerful men in it.  And he was born in the city of the King.  

And then, Luke, tells us that the announcement of the birth of Jesus was made the SHEPHERDS.  Shepherds were despised at the time of Jesus, they were seen as thieves of a sort – because they were always grazing their sheep on other people’s land.  (Which happens when all the land is privately owned.)  They were USELESS.  But after telling us about the Men who Ran the Empire, after doing all that work to put Jesus in Bethlehem, Luke goes on to describe in explicit detail an interaction between the angels of God and the shepherds up in the hills.  

Now, to be fair, David was a shepherd.  So maybe Luke was just going over his point again.  The more I study Luke, the more I can believe it.  Of all the Gospel writers, he is the smartest and the best story teller.  He’d weave something like that in on purpose.  But he also choose to talk about shepherds.  Matthew talks about Magi.  Luke’s shepherds IMMEDIATELY differentiate the sort of King that Jesus is going to be.  

He’s born in the City of David.  He’ll ride triumphant into Jerusalem and die there like David did.  But his kingship isn’t going to look anything like David’s.  He isn’t going to take the throne.  He isn’t going to lead an army.  He isn’t going to go through political machinations to increase his power.  Jesus is going to be the one who pays attention to the poor, the sick, the women and children, the powerless, the refugees, and gives them ways to help each other.  He is going to call the powerful away from their power.  He is going turn the world upside down, and wash his disciples’ feet, and change what even power means.  He’s the son of a backwater carpenter and a teenage mother.  And while we’ve all but forgotten the other great man whose names appear in his birth story – other than their appearance in his birth story – we’re still getting out of bed before Dawn to celebrate the wonder of the one who brought peace to earth and purpose to our lives.  Born in the City of David, but from Nazareth.  Isn’t that everything all at once?  Jesus wasn’t a part of the power structure of Judea, but he changed the world more than any of them did.  All the contrasts, conflicts and wonders of Jesus!  Isn’t it great?   Merry Christmas!  Amen   

– 

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
 http://fumcschenectady.org/

December 25, 2015

Sermons

“Rejoice!?”based on  Luke 3:7-18

  • December 13, 2015February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

In
the book Debt:
The First 5,000 Years,
David Graeber writes,

“If
one is on sociable terms with someone, it’s hard to completely ignore
their situation.  Merchants often reduce prices for the needy.  This
is one of the main reasons why shopkeepers in poor neighborhoods are
almost never of the same ethnic group as their customers; it would be
almost impossible for a merchant who grew up in the neighborhood to
make money, as they would be under constant pressure to give
financial breaks, or at least easy credit terms, to their
impoverished relatives and school chums.”1

What
intrigues me about the “good news” of the John the Baptist is
that he completely ignores this universal reality.  He speaks with
the same expectations and demand to everyone, regardless of their
relationships to each other.  He is calling people back into
community, and they aren’t even community!  

He
starts out being sort of nasty, I tried to wiggle out of preaching
this text because I rather dislike the brood of vipers language, but
upon examination he is saying radically loving things.  (I have come,
rather despite myself, to really like John the Baptism.  It turns out
most of my assumptions about him have proven entirely untrue.)  John
calls on all the people to change their lives, he doesn’t just ask it
of the leaders or of the wealthy.  He makes the same demands on
everyone who comes.

To
the crowds who have gathered, he demands a morality of sharing.  No
one should have two coats while anyone has none.  This is a standard
that makes a lot of sense, right?  It isn’t trivial though.  The
person who has two coats may feel as if they’ve2
earned them, or they really like them, or they are aware of the
differing fashion needs they respond to!!  They may feel that they
aren’t their brother’s keeper, or that there are too many people
without coats to have the coatless be their responsibility.  

That
is, they may not experience the other person as an extension of
themselves.  In functional families, it would not go that way.  If
there were 4 people and 4 coats, the distribution would not be such
that 2 people and 2 coats and 2 people had no coats.  In a functional
family, 4 coats for 4 people would be distributed 1 coat per person.
Calling on people to give away extra coats, and extra food, is
calling on them to take each other’s well-being as extensions of
their own.  That is something we naturally do for people we love and
are in relationship to.  John calls for the extension of that
community.  (This is the problem I have with trying to dislike John.
He sounds like Jesus.)  He calls for it to extend without limit.  

To
the tax collectors, John also extended a challenge.  His words are
deceptively simple.

“Collect
no more than the amount prescribed for you.”  That would, again,
be something we might expect to happen in a family.  If the tax
collector came to the house of their cousin, they wouldn’t ask for
more than they were required to ask!  This is an extension of
fairness to the whole community.  It is treating each person as
someone you’d care about.3

The
final group that John is said to speak to is the soldiers.  They are
probably the most interesting group.  This is not because of what
John tells them, it is an extension of what he suggest to the tax
collectors: don’t take money you aren’t entitled to.  What is
interesting is that they were there at all.  The soldiers were Roman
soldiers.  Why were they coming out to a radical Jewish prophet in
the wilderness?  What was it about being part of the power structure
of the empire, or maybe even more simply about being human, that led
them to banks of the Jordan River and the preachings of the Wild One
seeking a better life?  What were they expecting?  Did they find it?
Did any of them follow it?  Did they have a better life afterward?  

The
challenge to the soldiers, while equivalent, may be even harder than
the rest of what John said because he calls on them to treat people
like family and they aren’t from the same group AT ALL.  They are
different ethnically, and linguistically, and religiously.  The
soldiers were the threat of force maintaining the empire and its
power to take wealth from the poor and transfer it to the wealthy.
John doesn’t call on them to stop being soldiers, he just calls on
them to be GOOD soldiers, and to let go of their greed, and to see
the humanity of the people they were (theoretically not) occupying.  

Then
John goes back into a statement that I find cringe worthy.  He speaks
of Jesus and says, “His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his
threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the
chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.“  This is called good
news!  And it is.  Christianity has done some terrible things.  One
of them is assuming that there are good people and bad people and God
loves and forgives the good people while sending the bad people to
hell.  Unfortunately, that’s the first thing I hear in this passage.
But I don’t think it is an appropriate reading of the passage.
Instead, I think it is consistent with the rest of the passage.  As
Rev. Dr. Barbara Thorington Green says, the line between the wheat
and the chaff is not between people, it is within each of us.  

This
is a passage of hope.  God’s work includes taking away the greedy,
lifeless, selfish parts of ourselves so that we can be freed for
connection, love, and wholeness.  The burning of the chaff is the
permanent removal of the things that hold us back from love, and the
making of space for love.  This is a process of sanctification.

The
paradigm of the wheat and chaff is easily translatable into an
extension of Isaiah’s beautiful vision.  In that vision, God offers
well-springs of joy for us to draw from; strength and might of the
Divine to trust in; and freedom from fear.  It is a vision of joy and
beauty.  

All
week I’ve been thinking about what it means to rejoice in the midst
of the quiet waiting of Advent.  I’ve also been thinking about what
it means to call for joy when there is so much pain around us.  I’m
not just talking about mass shootings and Islamophobia in our
society.  I’m also profoundly aware of the many in our midst who are
grieving.  For some among us the wounds are fresh or unhealed.  For
others the holiday season itself is a source of pain.  And we live in
a broken world.  Many of us, me included, have too many coats.  And
far too many people have none.  The relationships that lead us to
sharing and wholeness are often not present in our lives.  

To
go back to David Gaeber, he proposes that
“sharing is not simply about morality, but also about pleasure.
Solitary pleasures will always exist, but for most human beings, the
most pleasurable activities almost always involve sharing something:
music, food, liquor, drugs, gossip, drama, beds.  There is a certain
amount of communism of the senses at the root of most things we
consider fun.”4
He says that we tend to share best with those we consider equals.
I’m not sure that John was proposing charity at all – in the sense
that charity is a gift of undeserved love to a stranger.  Instead, I
think John was proposing making people family.  When that happens,
the sharing follows naturally.  (This is why anyone who has ever
researched it has said that socio-economically diverse neighborhoods
are best for everyone in a society.)

Joy
comes, at least in large part, by sharing the goodness of life with
each other.  Isn’t that interesting?  So much of what society tells
us is simply wrong.  It isn’t about acquisition or outdoing each
other.  It is about the wonder of experience together.  There is
plenty of sorrow and sadness to go around these days, but there are
ways to pick ourselves up to.  Thanks be to God!  Amen

1David
Graeber, Debt: The First 5000 Years
(Brooklyn and London: Melville House, 2011), p. 102.

2As
of this week the Washington Post style guide has approved of using
“they/them” in the singular.  This is helpful both for the
transgender community and for speaking without having to name a
gender for a person.  On that basis, despite some old teaching that
rankles, I’m going to follow their lead.  

3
I will note, however, that this is historically complicated.  The
system in Rome as I understand it did not involve having a pay scale
for tax collectors.  Instead, they were permitted to acquire both
the taxes they’d pass on and their own income as they determined
necessary.  Therefore I’m not quite sure how this would work in
practice, but let’s leave it be and hope I’m just missing something.

4Graeber,
99.

December 13, 2015

Sermons

“Smooth Ride” based on Luke 1:68-79, Baruch 5:1-9, Luke 3:1-6

  • December 6, 2015February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

Whenever possible, I pick a window seat when I fly. I am endlessly mesmerized by the alternative view of the world it provides. There is the strange perspective shifting of take off and landing, when people, cars, houses, and roads either shrink or grow as the plane changes altitude. There is powerful metaphor that it is ALWAYS a sunny day – above the clouds – its just that sometimes we can’t see it. Once, I watched a multi-hour sunset as the plane and the rotation of the earth kept time with each other. Most frequently though, my attention is drawn by the patterns of nature and of human impact on nature.

Somehow, it doesn’t get old to fly by mountains and notice that the snow is deeper on the north side than on the south, or to look at streams running into rivers and see fractals emerge. Nor have I yet ceased to be interested in how fields and roads are formed around the natural elements of plains, mountains and water. I’m amazed at how strong humankind is in changing the nature of the world, and in how strong the elements of the world are in impacting human behavior.

A few weeks ago I was sitting in a window seat on the way home from Wisconsin, and I watched the rolling mountain/hills of the Appalachians, the roads running in the valleys, the valleys visibly distanced from one another. I looked for the roads between the valleys, and found one. It mostly went over the mountains, but in a few cases, it was visible from the plane, that the mountains had been cut in two so the road could pass on level ground. The valleys were connected, presumably the use of a whole lot of dynamite.

That’s crazy. We live in a world where mountains are cut in half for our roads. Or, at times tunnels are cut through them. Similarly, we have tunnels under rivers and bridges over them. Very little stops us from building roads and traversing the world.

It has not always been so. The prophesy we heard in Baruch which was also in Isaiah and was quoted in Luke was an impossible vision when it was written. Roads weren’t flat, nor straight, nor particularly easy to travel in ancient times. Mountains had to be gone over, or around. Valleys had to be gone down into, or around. Rivers had to be crossed without bridges, and perhaps worse than all of that for Biblical literature, deserts had to be crossed without access to potable water.

That’s why it was such a great vision. Only God could raise up valleys and drop down mountains and shade the way home through the desert. It was impossible for humans. But God could, and the vision says that God WOULD. It was a vision of hope, one that encouraged resiliency. The end had not come, there was more that God would be up to and it would be so good that the people wouldn’t even be able to believe it possible.

They did go home, but the path wasn’t smooth. The vision remained, even after its initial use had been fulfilled. I think that’s a sign of good literature – it has even layers of meaning that when the most obvious one is no longer relevant the text is still relevant. The vision gets quoted here in Luke again, because the power of the empire of Rome felt a little bit like the exiles’ experience in Babylon, and there was a need to connect again to this impossible hope. We noticed something in my lectionary group this week. By the time of Jesus, this impossible vision wasn’t so impossible anymore. Rome built roads, and they built GOOD roads. They made it possible to travel where it had not been possible, and made it a whole lot smoother of a ride. I wonder if Luke wrote this with the nostalgia of yearning for roads and with the awareness that the capacity of humans had changed, or if he just hadn’t NOTICED. (Sometimes things change and we don’t notice.)

Granted, Roman roads didn’t quite qualify as the wholeness of the vision. Frankly, our roads don’t either. We can split a rolling hill in the Appalachian range in two, but we aren’t there yet with the Rockies, and while we’ve done amazing work with bridges and tunnels, anyone who has fought traffic going into or out of NYC knows that physical barriers are still a reality. And, anyone who has driven… say… in the city of Schenectady knows that the ride is not generally smooth. (Seriously, how on earth are we going to get through winter and the road damage it brings when things are already this bad??)

Regardless, the Isaiah passage quoted in Luke is intriguing because it is set into it’s Lukan context. It is, to some degree, still about roads, but it is also about leveling the playing field, as is much of the Bible’s poetry. The interplay of the today’s passages intrigue me. I don’t usually include apocryphal texts in worship, but I loved this one too much to ignore it. It is the epitome of hopeful restoration language, and it fits SO WELL into this this second Sunday of Advent when we focus on our yearning for peace. It not only talks about mountains dropping and valleys lifting and shade trees protecting the travelers, it talks about the people as God’s Glory, and as Righteous Peace and as mercy and light.

And it sounds enough like Mary’s Magnificant to take the parallels seriously.

[God] has shown strength with [God’s ]arm;
[and] has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
[God] has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.

Both the road home and societies tend to be in need of leveling, and some respite of shade. In the joint meaning of the songs of Luke chapter one, we are reminded about God who doesn’t care about our status quo.  God isn’t interested in who is higher up a hierarchy, God is interested in taking care of all the people, and that usually means lifting up the bottom, and filling it in with the extra from the top. A level playing field takes better care of all of God’s people. Please note that this doesn’t inverse reality: it isn’t that the poor become rich and the rich become poor. It is that everyone moves toward the middle ground. It is like the opposite of our world today: instead of growing income inequality, Luke 1 envisions growing income equality.

I think the most interesting character in today’s reading is Zechariah. Zechariah is identified multiple times as John the Baptist’s father and was an old priest. That meant that he was in the upper class and a descendent of Aaron. The story goes that he and his wife were barren. Those who have been in the Young Adult Study on Genesis know where this is going. Elizabeth was past child bearing years, and then got pregnant with John. Zechariah (whose name means, “God remembered”) is struck mute for the length of the pregnancy for his disbelief that this would come to pass. When the child is born, his mother wishes to name him John (which means “God’s gift”), but the people are horrified that she isn’t’ naming him for his father. He writes (further proof that he is upper class) “his name is John” and his mouth is opened again.

When it is open he speaks the first of the Luke passages we heard today, which is spectacular. It is also sort of weird for an upper class, entitled priest to say! It is all about God’s inversions in the world, and usually the people who are empowered by a system aren’t the ones who yearn to change it.

Zechariah also shows up, in name at least, in the second Luke passage about John’s ministry in the desert. This is quite curious. If Zechariah was an upper class man, a priest in the hereditary order of Aaron, then his son would have been too. Instead we meet John on the outskirts of society, teaching, preaching, and baptizing in the Jordan River. John forwent the privilege he was born into, and the gospel tells us that instead he spent his life “preparing the way of the Lord.”

That is, his work was to make the paths straight and smooth. Its funny though, the way of the Lord that John prepares seems ALSO to be the way of the Lord that Jesus worked on. I always thought, as a child at least, that John was preparing the way for Jesus. But this passage suggests that both John and Jesus are preparing the way for the people to connect with God and come home to the ways of God. The leveled road makes the journey easier, it also creates a more just society.

The level road is the way of peace, and it is hard to build, but worth working on anyway. If any people at any time in human history have known that, we are among them. We are people living in a society where mass murder has become normal, where special interest groups and the desires of profit-industry prevent change to our laws, and where we see with increasing clarity the disparity of violence in our world. As if the regular gun violence wasn’t enough, the response of our society is to demonize Muslims and dark-skinned people in response, making the actual shootings only the beginning of the problems we face. We take our pre-existence prejudices and add them into the pain and suffering in our society.

Over the past few years I’ve tried not to demonize gun rights supporters. As weak as it sounds, I have friends who own guns, and they aren’t bad people. I grew up in an area that prized deer hunting, and I see the value of hunting rifles (although, SERIOUSLY, if you are going to kill animals for sport, I think you should make it a little bit more of an actual challenge and go bow hunting). I can’t figure out the value of pistols, but at the moment I’m willing to let that go. The biggest problem we have is that military style assault rifles are legal to buy and use in our country. Without wanting to demonize anyone, and while wanting to participate in a genuine conversation with those with whom I disagree, I find that it is time to make an unambiguous statement: The only purpose of assault rifles is to kill a lot of people at once, and to protect the right of people to have assault rifles IS to protect the “right” to engage in mass murder.

Our country’s ride isn’t going to get any smoother until we change our gun laws. (We aren’t going to magically find the ability find perfect mental health care for all of our citizens, we aren’t able to stop propaganda from all extremist groups, we can’t prevent everyone from wanting to do harm.  We can only change the access they have to the tools that make it EASY.)

I’m tired of preaching about violence and guns, but not tired enough to stick my head in the sand and pretend that the 350+ mass shootings in the USA this year didn’t happen. This is the season where we participate with our ancestors in faith in YEARNING for the world to be as God would have it be. Today we are YEARNING for peace, and while peace means a whole lot more than a lack of violence, it has to start there. One commentator on Zechariah’s song of praise (the Benedictus) wrote, “Advent continues, our ruminations go deeper. We wait, watch, wonder if we will ever know peace. Will we find peace in our own souls? Will there be peace on earth?”1

Friends we live in an age and a country that can cut mountains in two to make the road smooth. We live in an age and a world that has eliminated polio and is about to eliminate malaria. We live in a world where extreme poverty has been cut in HALF over the past 25 years. We live in an age and and a country where an African American man is finishing his second term in office. We live in an age and a county where ROADS cut through MOUNTAINS. Roads can be made smooth. Gun control is not beyond our grasp ( PLEASE call/email/and write to your legislators).Peace is possible.

The road isn’t current easy. It turns out that driving along a smooth road is A LOT easier than building a road and making it safe and easy. I suspect we are called to be the road builders, and God is the one who gives us the strength and vision. Let’s get back to work. Amen

1Randall R. Mixon “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 1:68-79” in Feasting on the Word Year C Volume 1 edited by Barbara Brown Taylor and David Bartlett (Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville Kentucky, 2009) page 33.

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

December 6, 2015

Sermons

“Promise and Hope” based on Jeremiah 33:14-16, 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

  • November 29, 2015February 15, 2020
  • by Sara Baron

The holidays are supposed to be the highlight of the year – right? In truth they’re much more complicated than that. Holidays are overlaid with expectations and conflicting needs. Buttons can get pushed and desperately needed healing can fail to appear. Additionally, holidays bring up grief from the past, awareness of who is no longer present at the table, and who didn’t care enough to return. Many are lonely in our world, and loneliness can be strongest when happiness is most expected. Or, perhaps, time with family and friends is quite lovely! But afterward is a bit of a let down. Holidays are supposed to be the highlight, and that’s exactly what makes them so complicated. (Please note the existence of the Longest Night service on December 16th at 7.)

Advent is a strange little occurrence in the midst of the secular “holiday season.” In the Christian liturgical calendar, we are in a season of waiting and hoping. Christmas itself doesn’t show up in the 25th, and lasts all 12 days to January 5th, culminating the next day in Epiphany. I have come to love the contrast between the busyness of the secular holiday season and the quietness of Advent. Together, they’re quite fulfilling.

Advent starts a new liturgical year, and we start in the waiting and yearning for God to act that has pervaded humanity for millenia. In Jeremiah, the yearning has emerged from military defeat and exile. Jeremiah preached before, during, and after the siege of Jerusalem. Most of his words are words of warning, of condemnation, and of despair. (After all, he was warning people about the battle they were able to lose.) But in a few passages, he speaks of hope. His hope is one that he does not expect to see in his lifetime, and yet his hope is BIG and profound and still relevant today.

Initially it seems that the promise is that David’s dynasty will not end, that eventually God will raise it back up, and use it to bring justice and goodness back to God’s people. Our passage ends saying, “In those days, Judah will live in safety, and Jerusalem will be secure. The land will known by the name: ‘God is our Justice.” More broadly though, it is a promise of restoration. Translators offer the last line “God is our…” as “justice” at times and “righteousness” at others. I wonder about this word.

There were many interpretations of the exile, I’m pretty sure trying to explain the exile is the theme of the entire Hebrew Bible. None of them came shame free. Either the siege of Jerusalem was lost because the people were unfaithful, or because God was unfaithful, or because God was weak. The generations who lived through the exile and all the generations since have had to struggle to make meaning of the world where the people chosen to be a light on the hill and a blessing to the nations, LOST like any other people. No matter what way it gets explained, there is shame – either shame in action or shame in belief.

Yet the promise is one of calling God Justice or Righteousness. It isn’t just that the people will come home and be safe, it is that their relationship with God will be restored. Perhaps I’m projecting a bit, but in my life, my relationship with God and my relationship with myself have flowed into one another so seamlessly as to be hard to differentiate. For a people struggling with loss and then with shame to return to a relationship of trust in the world with a clarity of God as Justice and Righteousness seems to be a particularly enormous transition.

The words of the prophet Jeremiah set out a guidepost of hope in the midst of destruction. The wholeness they offer seems well tuned into the shame they were responding to. This ancient yearning for the world to be turned right-side-up-again is the start of Advent because it is still our yearning.

We are a people WAITING for fulfillment of promises and for the living of hope. We start the liturgical year in a season of waiting and hope. We believe that God is at work to bring goodness into the world. We believe that the purpose of our existence is to participate in God’s work to bring goodness into the world. And the combination of the two: God’s work with ours is the reason for the hope.

And that brings us to the New Testament reading. These words of Paul are so TRUE! I can feel them in my gut. They sound like my life. I hope they sound like yours. He writes, “How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you?” I could spend all day making a list of people that make me feel like that! And, most of them I have met through the Church. I’ve met the most amazing people, and been regularly astounded by their love of God and people.

One of my favorite activities for teaching about the wonderfulness of “church” is an exercise on the Fruits of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.)   The exercise is simple. I ask whatever students I’m teaching to think of people in their church and match them to the gift they most embody. It turns out, though, to be a little bit hard because people have multiple gifts. In every case that I’ve done the exercise, we’ve left with wonder at the amazing gifts of God in community.

When we look through the lens of hope and gratitude, we find there is much to be excited about! God’s work is not done, but God is at work in the world. God’s people are not perfect, but God’s people are gifted by God in astounding ways.

And, the work that needs to be done is not always difficult. When have you been most grateful for another person recently? Taking time to reflect on the goodness helps it shine more light into the darkness. And it isn’t really all that difficult. It may also be a way of entering more fully into the season of advent:

One of the most frequently used forms of prayer in the Christian Tradition is the process of examen. It is a very simple form of prayer. Generally examen is a repeated process, done every day, or every week, or at some regular interval. After intentionally opening yourself to God, you and God consider the two questions (asked here in a number of ways):

What has been the best part of today? Or, what has been the most life-giving piece of today? Or, how have I best been able to shine forth God’s love today? Or, when did I feel most connected to the Divine today?

What has been the worst part of today? Or, what has been the least life-giving piece of today? Or, how have struggled most to show God’s love today? Or, when did I feel most distanced from the Divine today?

After reviewing the time since the last examen and answering the questions, prayer is offered to thank God for the good and the bad.  

For those looking for a spiritual practice to guide them this season, that would be my suggestion. I find it is most helpful if the answers to the questions are either recorded in a journal or shared collectively with loved ones. Sometimes patterns emerge that are only visible if the answers are seen together.

In Biblical history, the exiles would come home, but not the same generation as the ones that left, and not all came home. It was 70 years later, and things were never the same again. But they came home, and rebuilt, and it was good again. And then … frankly, it got bad again. Things were pretty awful during the time of Jesus and got even worse afterward.

Life is complicated. I think maybe more so than average when your “promised land” is one of the crossroads of the world that every empire needs to control in order to expand, but really, it is for everyone. Good comes, and its great. Bad comes and it is terrible. Life ebbs and flows, and it is very rarely static.

I think life with God is like floating softly in warm water. There is gentle current nudging us along, but with the ease of a flick of a wrist we can resist the pull of the current. With one good kick we can define our own way. But we can also let the current guide us, and see where it takes us, trusting in what we can’t yet see. This metaphor is not just for the good and easy times. When the water is soft and gentle and warm, it can be a sweet soak, OR we can choose to live in fear of a stronger current, a cold spring, or a thunderstorm. When the clouds turn dark and rainy, when the wind comes with sorrows, we can give up and drown in the sorrow, OR we can swim with all our might for shore, OR we can keep floating, ride out the storm, and see where we are when the sun comes again.

Perhaps this is one of the meanings of the waters of baptism. Of course, at times, we will all fight the current, worry in the warm water, and swim with all our might until we are exhausted. We’re human. We work like that. But the waters of baptism aren’t a white water river, they aren’t an oceans undertow, they aren’t a churning sea. Faith won’t drown us. Sorrow won’t kill us (although it feels like it can). The waters of baptism are trustworthy waters.

Hope is the gentle current. It’s ok to float.

And dear goodness, during this madness of the holiday season, may the lessons of quiet Advent hope be the ones we rest on. Amen

–

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

http://fumcschenectady.org/

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

November 29, 2015

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  • First United Methodist Church
  • 603 State Street
  • Schenectady, NY 12305
  • phone: 518-374-4403
  • alt: 518-374-4404
  • email: fumcschenectady@yahoo.com
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