“Desperate Places” based on Amos 7:7-17 and Luke 10:25-37

July 10, 2022
by Sara Baron

The
Good Samaritan parable is one of the best known in our tradition. I
believe most people have heard about it, and there is a shared common
understanding: be like the Good Samaritan who showed compassion.

“Go
and do likewise.” Amen

Or…maybe…
there are some other things to consider. Even with this story we
know so well, even with the simplistic moral that we struggle to
live.

This
week I found myself wondering about the robbers. I’ve never paid
attention to them before. After all, they’re more in the set up to
the parable than the parable itself. But I’ve always taken for
granted the “facts” that the road from Jerusalem to Jericho was
dangerous, and roaming groups of robbers attacked people there,
especially people traveling alone, and it was sort of a gamble to
take that road.

Which
makes me sort of wonder about myself, and why I took that for
granted.

Upon
examination, I am well aware of places like the Jerusalem to Jericho
road. I’ve spent my life getting messages about where not to go –
especially alone at night, about what not to drink, about making sure
I have my carkeys in hand before I leave a building, about holding
purses in particular ways in particular areas… etc. So, perhaps, I
took for granted that there are dangerous places because it so easily
mirrors the world as I know it.

However,
I’m at this point in my life well aware that “dangerous places”
are actually “desperate places.” Most people who have
non-violent, viable ways to care for themselves and their loved ones
choose those options. It is when those options are closed off that
people are forced into other choices. And, let’s note that addiction
is a huge factor in increasing desperation and urgency, and addiction
itself is incredibly responsive to social factors as well. Desperate
people make desperate choices. If we want to decrease the prevalence
of those choices, the most effective way is to decrease the
desperation.

Which
leads me back to wondering about those robbers. WHY were there bands
of robbers along that road? The answer I’ve been taught to give is
because it was rocky and it was easy to hide behind the rocks, which
perhaps answers the question of “why there” but doesn’t actually
get to the core question of “why at all?”

Because
being a part of a roaming band of robbers isn’t an ideal way to live.

I
don’t think people decided to do it for fun, or adventure, or even
profit. It was an act of desperation.

We
have some knowledge of what that desperation looked like in those
days. You may remember that Ancient Israel brought great
intentionality to making sure that each family had land access, and
that it couldn’t be taken away from them. For many generations, the
agrarian society had been largely sustainable, even if there were
imperfections in the system, and greed from the top. But, people
farmed the land, fed their families, and took care of each other.
They even had enough to give away, to care for both the religious
leaders and those who by circumstance, were landless (widows,
orphans, foreigners).

At
its best, the system outlined in the Torah and lived in Ancient
Israel created a system of radical equality. This lasted until
kingship, of course, but between the people and the prophets there
seems to have been maintained an idea that all are equal before God,
and all people have a right to a livelihood.

By
the time of Jesus, the system was buckling under the pressure from
the Roman Empire to enrich the upper class at the expense of everyone
else. The tax burden was so high that landowners regularly fell into
debt, indebted landowners often lost their land and their livelihood,
those without land struggled to get hired as day laborers, and those
who couldn’t get hired had no way to eat except to steal. The
ECONOMIC SYSTEM created the conditions by which people were so
desperate that bands of robbers stole what they could to eat while
they could.

Which
is to say, that the backdrop of the Good Samaritan story is the
dehumanization of the people, the ways people were seen as
expendable, and the desperation such policies create.

Jesus
thus started a story saying, “A man was going down from Jerusalem
to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him,
beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead,” but only because
the people he was talking to were already aware of the circumstances
of their lives, and that the story really started with, “The Empire
is stealing our land, our labor, our livelihood, and our hope. Those
fighting to live are desperate, and that desperation is visible in
the bands of robbers who hide behind rocks on the road from Jerusalem
to Jericho.”

For
me, remembering the robbers are people too, actually changes the way
I hear the story. Now, after I had this insight about the robbers I
went to my handy “Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic
Gospels” (one of the books I sighed in relief over when I unpacked)
and read what Bruce Malina and Richard Rohrbaugh had to say about
this story. And, as per usual, their analysis suggest mine hasn’t
yet gone far enough. Here is a part of their textual notes on Luke
10:25-37:

The priest and the Levite would
avoid contact with a naked and therefore presumably dead body. A
priest could touch a corpse only to bury immediate family (cf. Ezek
44:25). The fact that the injured man had no clothes would make
ascertaining his social status difficult.

A Samaritan traveling back and
forth in Judean territory may have been a trader, a despised
occupation. This is suggested by the fact that he possesses oil,
wine, and considerable funds. Many traders were wealthy, having
grown rich at the expense of others. They were therefore considered
thieves. They frequented inns that were notoriously dirty and
dangerous and run by persons whose public status was below even that
of traders. Only people without family or social connections would
ever risk staying at a public inn.

Both the victim and the
Samaritan were thus despised persons who would not have elicited
initial sympathy from Jesus’ peasant hearers. That sympathy would
have gone to the bandits. They were frequently peasants who had lost
their land to the elite lenders whom all peasants feared. The
surprising twist in the story is thus the compassionate action of one
stereotyped as a scurrilous thief.¹

Now,
here is where I’m shocked by this perspective: I don’t think in our
society that there is generalized agreement that desperate people
just trying to get by are the heroes while wealthy individuals or
corporations underpaying their employees to enrich themselves are the
real thieves. I think, somehow, we’ve societally bought into the
idea that someone shoplifting food for their family is MORE at fault
than the employer who pockets what could otherwise be a living wage.

And
that worries me.

I’ve
mentioned before that the most common theft in the USA is WAGE THEFT²
which is almost never prosecuted, while petty theft lands people in
jail. But, I don’t hear much outrage about this. I fear we’ve given
up on even the ideals of justice, and bought into the narratives of
capitalism – including the ones that say that companies and the
PEOPLE who own them should maximize profits at all times no matter
who they harm, AND that people who are poor are either not trying
hard enough, or failures, and if they wanted to, they could “win”
too. But, the truth is that OUR economic system is terrifyingly
similar to that of Jesus’ time. It is similar to gambling: the house
always wins. Money flows up, people at the bottom are considered
expendable, and the fear of landing at the bottom keeps everyone else
quiet in the face of injustice.

The
difference, it seems, is that at that time the people still saw it as
unfair (and not just “the way things are”) and that JESUS was
willing to talk about it.

It
seems shocking, then, that the fact that the wealthy trader was the
hero is the TWIST in this story, because it isn’t really the twist
for us. I think the twist for us is realizing that the impoverished
bands of bandits were ASSUMED to be the heroes. (Think Robin Hood.)
Along with the fact that it was the Samaritan’s wealth and occupation
that were ALSO hated, and not just his background. Well, and the
idea that being wealthy was seen as being a thief.

OK,
so, basically, the original context of this story is so radical for
us, that we can’t really get past it into the story, because we’re
still trying to process the concepts of justice contained in the
context. Or at least I am.

And,
actually, I think that’s enough for today.

About
a decade ago I learned that The
United Methodist Church is getting wealthier. That is, the wealth of
individual members is increasing. Specifically, as members die off
in small rural churches (or when those churches close), new members
are mostly found in church plants in wealthy suburbs.

When
this was shared with me, it was shared as a neutral fact. I’ve spent
a decade being horrified by it. Jesus, and John Wesley for the
record, focused their ministries on people in poverty. If we are a
church that is good news to the wealthy, but NOT to the poor, we need
to take stock of what our message is and whose our message is.

For
quite some time, this congregation was predominated by white upper
middle class people, the engineers and middle management of GE in
most cases. In the most recent decades, it has diversified, thanks
be to God. However, the models and assumptions of being a white
upper middle class church still linger among us, and I believe our
work to walk into the PRESENT as well as the future includes noticing
where we are still holding on to those models and assumptions.

Because,
friends, the followers of Jesus who heard him tell the parable the
first time assumed the WEALTHY were thieves, and the petty robbers
were heroes. They saw what was happening economically and what
impact it had on people, and they found it morally reprehensible. To
follow Jesus, to follow John Wesley, to build the kindom, to see the
world clearly, I think that we need to too. May God help us. Amen

1Bruce
J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh Social-Science Commentary on the
Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003) “Textual
Notes on Luke 10:25-37” pages 270-1.

2“This
report assesses the prevalence and magnitude of one form of wage
theft—minimum wage violations (workers being paid at an effective
hourly rate below the binding minimum wage)—in the 10 most
populous U.S. states. We find that, in these states, 2.4 million
workers lose $8 billion annually (an average of $3,300 per year for
year-round workers) to minimum wage violations—nearly a quarter of
their earned wages. This form of wage theft affects 17 percent of
low-wage workers, with workers in all demographic categories being
cheated out of pay.” –
https://www.epi.org/publication/employers-steal-billions-from-workers-paychecks-each-year/

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

July 10, 2022

“Grieving What We’ve Lost” based on Psalm 69: 1-3,…

July 3, 2022
by Sara Baron

I don’t even know where to begin.

There are so many layers of lament.

For many years, I have regularly advocated for
Reproductive Justice at the New York State Capital, with both Planned
Parenthood and Clergy for Reproductive Choice. Often, one of the
older women in the groups I was advocating with would wear a hanger –
a hanger necklace, hanger earrings, or carry one with them.

Confession: I thought that was sort of tacky.

Especially before 2016, I didn’t think Roe v. Wade could
really fall, and the reminder that people die from illegal abortions
felt like a narrative from another era.

So, once again, I feel the need to apologize to my
elders for not heeding their wisdom. As I remember those moments
with other advocates, I’ve been considering their ages, and noticing
that they were of reproductive age before 1972. They KNEW the impact
of those hangers. It wasn’t just a part of history to them, and I
think that’s why they KNEW better than I that it could become a part
of the present as well.

That’s one part of it all.

I want to acknowledge that not just women can get
pregnant. There are men and non-binary people who are also at risk.
And for the sake of this sermon, I am going to say “women” and
“mothers” sometimes. These words doesn’t encompass men and
non-binary people, but women are the broadest category of affected
people, and I am going to acknowledge that by using the words “women”
and “mothers.”

Another piece of it all is the is the awareness of how
unequal the impact of this decision will be. Not just in terms of
red states and blue states, although that’s a big deal. But also in
terms of socio-economic status – people of means have ALWAYS had
access to safe, medically appropriate abortions, even if they had to
fly to Europe to get them. As per usual, those who live in poverty
will pay a higher price. AND, it is impossible to ignore that
maternal mortality is abominably high in the United States, and most
of the deaths are black women*¹,
followed by other brown women*, while WHITE women* have pretty
reasonable maternal mortality rates. Which is to say, in stark
terms, that an impact of this decision is that more black women* are
going to die.

To make this even move problematic some of the unspoken
and underlying motivation for abortion bans is white supremacy –
whereby there is a desire to prevent white women* having white babies
from ending those pregnancies, and a willingness to end all abortion
access to keep white women* pregnant with white babies. So that
motivation then ends up killing black and brown women.* There was
Freudian slip this week when a congresswoman called the Supreme Court
decision “a historic victory for white life.”²
It was odd to hear it stated directly instead of just being implied.

That’s a part of it all.

Then there is the normal, obvious part of grief around
this decision: the impact on those who are pregnant and don’t want
to be, and the incredible variation of how that came to be and what
impact it will have on them. Earlier this month The Atlantic
published an article entitled “The Most Important Study in the
Abortion Debate” which reports on the research of Diana Green
Foster looking the difference between what happens to women* who were
or were not able to access an abortion.³
They study lasted for 5 years, and included 1000 people seeking to
end pregnancies. They found that those who were denied an abortion:

were more likely to end
up living in poverty. They had worse credit scores and, even years
later, were more likely to not have enough money for the basics, such
as food and gas. They were more likely to be unemployed. They were
more likely to go through bankruptcy or eviction. “The two groups
were economically the same when they sought an abortion,…one became
poorer.”⁴

Also, those who were denied an abortion were more likely
to be with a partner who abused them, more likely to be a single
parent, had more trouble bonding with their child, felt more trapped,
had more anxiety, had lower self esteem, and were less likely to even
have aspirational life plans. They were sicker. Additionally, two
of the pregnant people denied an abortion died from their pregnancies
(none of the people who had abortions died.)

Since most people seeking an abortion already have kids,
the research was also able to study the impact of not being able to
access an abortion on the existing kids. That is, they were less
likely to hit developmental milestones and more likely to live in
poverty. This truth ALSO applied to children born after the abortion
or lack of one.

And, of course, there
were emotional impacts. “Afterward, nearly all said that
termination had been the right decision. At five years, only 14
percent felt any sadness about having an abortion; two in three ended
up having no or very few emotions about it at all. “Relief” was
the most common feeling, and an abiding one.”⁵

This decision made by the Supreme Court condemns
impoverished women* and families to harder lives, because – as we
know – the ones who are pregnant are the ones who know what is best
for them and their families. The data backs it up. They know when
they can’t adequately care for a child or another child.

So, that’s another part of it.

And also, there are the
pieces where some states are having FULL bans on abortions, without
exceptions for the life of mother**⁶
nor for rape nor incest. Now, I have major concerns about the impact
of having to convince someone you were raped or experienced incest in
order to access healthcare, but nevertheless, the impact of being
forced to carry that child to term is enormous. And, many people
will die simply because of the lack of exception for the life of the
mother**.

So, that’s another part of it.

I’m hoping breaking this up actually helps a little. I
mean, it is depressing, I know. But when all of it swirls together
into one huge overwhelming grief, it feels even more out of control.
Knowing there are layers helps me distinguish between them.

I am now at the personal layer, the place where grief is
for me. Not just for me, but for me. The decision tells me that I
do not have authority over my own body. I don’t have a right to my
own body. “Big brother” has the right to tell me what I can and
cannot do with MY BODY.

When this decision came out, I became a second class
citizen. SOME PEOPLE in this country have rights over their body. I
am no longer one of them. SOME PEOPLE have bodily autonomy. I am no
longer one of them. SOME PEOPLE have a right to life-saving
healthcare. I am no longer one of them.

To go back to The
Atlantic, “The legal and
political debate about abortion in recent decades has tended to focus
more on the rights and experience of embryos and fetuses than the
people who gestate them.”⁷

My body, in this country, has more value as a womb for a
future human than as an existing human.

The Supreme Court gaveth, and the Supreme Court tooketh
away.

The history of women* as being property of men is still
present, and still having impact. We are now, it seems, property of
the state who can tell us what we can and cannot do with OUR BODIES.

That’s another part.

And, a friend on FB this week put things into some
context. She is a person of color. She said, “If they’re willing
to do this to white women, I shudder to think what they’re willing to
do to us.” I’m aware that some of the strength of my horror at
having bodily autonomy taken from me comes from the fact that I
thought it was mine to begin with. Which has a lot to do with my
places of privilege in society.

That’s another part.

And along with it, is the fact that I live in New York ,
which not only protects the right to abortion but isn’t even one of
the border states people will flock to when they lose privileges in
their own state. (OK, fine, I hope. May my birth state of PA hold
strong.)

What I’ve lost is more theoretical than for those who
have actually lost the rights to their bodies in their states, and I
have to hold that in tension too.

That’s another part.

Those are many of the pieces of grief and tension I’ve
been experiencing. These are my current lament, and I think the
Bible shows us that lament is important.

But what do we do NOW?

Where is that good news God appointed Isaiah and Jesus
to share? Where is the good news for the POOR? For the captives in
their own bodies, the oppressed?

I may be stating the obvious, but it isn’t here yet.

But, we don’t stop there.

We also do what we’ve done today. We grieve, because
there has been loss. AND, we deny the narrative. The state has said
I don’t have authority over my body, and many of the rest of you
don’t too.

That may be LEGALLY true, but it is morally and
ethnically bankrupt. The state cannot take away the sanctity of
bodily autonomy, the value of human rights. We deny the power of the
state to bureaucratically take dominion over human bodies, and we do
so in whatever means necessary. Because GOD is the one who said we
are created in the image of God, and our lives are sacred, and the
state can’t take away what God has endowed.

There is a wonderful tradition of progressive Christian
activism to support those in need of abortions, and the strength of
that tradition will be a part of what guides us now. There are
amazing new leaders emerging, and part of our work is to listen for
great ideas and support them. There are groups led by those who know
EXACTLY what to do to support the most vulnerable, and we support
those groups.

In the meantime, I suggest we all take some inventories
of the spiritual and physical resources we have available to us
(communal and individual) so we know what we have to offer when
support is asked of us.

God doesn’t let oppression stand. We’re working with
God towards justice, and listening to the urgings of the Spirit and
the wisdom of those impacted as we find our ways forward in this new
(and old) struggle. Amen

1*women,
girls, and people who can get pregnant.

2 https://www.npr.org/2022/06/26/1107710215/roe-overturned-mary-miller-historic-victory-for-white-life

3Annie
Lowry, “The Most Important Study in the Abortion Debate”
published in The Atlantic on
Jun2 11, 2022. Accessed June 30, 2022.
https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2022/06/abortion-turnaway-study-roe-supreme-court/661246/

4Lowry.

5Lowry.

6**Mother
or parent.

7Lowry.

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

July 3, 2022

“Spiritual and Physical” Galatians 5:1, 13-25 and Luke 9:51-62

June 26, 2022
by Sara Baron

A Caveat: Because of the pandemic, worship was done before the Supreme Court Decision came out. It will be the focus next week.

——

I’ve been repeating “Foxes
have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of God has
no where to lay his head” rather a lot recently. Just to myself
though, I haven’t muttered it to others, yet.

Last weekend, my family moved
from the house I’d lived in for 8 years to a new one, which is more
or less up the street. The new house is a better size for our family
than the one I’d bought for myself.

And yet, there are parts of me
that are a little bit out of joint with owning a house, with buying a
bigger house, with having STUFF, and such a sufficient amount of it
at that. I wonder if I’m being an authentic Jesus follower, if he
was the one who had no where to lay his head and I’m the one buying a
bigger house.

So as I’ve heaved boxes up and
down stairs, and found places to put my favorite bowls, and organized
book boxes by topic, I’ve been thinking about foxes, holes, birds,
nests, and where I place my head.

I’ve also been thinking about
how lucky I am. There are so many people who are homeless, or
inadequately housed. To live in a safe home is not a reality just
anyone can afford, which is a problem. I want to live in a country
(and a world) were safe and adequate housing is universal. Where the
safety net is strong enough to provide housing for all, and
reasonable housing at that.

But, what about that Jesus guy,
wandering around with his band of followers, telling would be
disciples that he has no where to lay his head? I don’t know. I
think perhaps being uncomfortable with possessions is a good thing,
particularly in capitalism that tells us we are what we can buy. But
I also notice that Jesus didn’t have a home nor a consistent place to
lay his head, but he was welcomed into many people’s homes. He opted
out of the system, but the system of housing and hospitality was big
enough to provide for him and for his followers. Others had houses
and they used them to house Jesus. And perhaps that is a
responsibility of having spaces – making sure they’re being used as
they’re needed.

While I really like the list of
the fruits of the Spirit in Galatians, I’m a little bit uneasy with
what appears to be some pretty strong body-soul dualism in the
passage. I worry when we assume that bodies are bad and spirits are
good, for a whole lot of reasons. One of them is that both women and
people of color get associated with “bodies” in that break down,
while white men get to be “spirits.” But another is that I
simply don’t believe we’re divided that way. I don’t think our
bodies can be separated from our spirits. We are whole beings, and
to claim that the body is somehow distinct from the mind, or from the
spirit, or from the emotions misses a whole lot about what it means
to be alive.

So, the good news is that the
body v. spirit thing that initially seems rather strong in the
passage isn’t so much upon further inspection. The Galatians had
been having some rather big, awful fights, mostly about if new
Christians needed to be circumcised. So Paul conflates the flesh of
– well – circumcision with the flesh of self-centered living and
condemns them both. Which means the fight was actually about who was
getting included and who was being excluded, and Paul was responding
both to the disagreement and to how it was being fought. He urges
God-centered living. That is, “For Paul, hard debate and
infighting among young Christians in Galatia were an outward and
visible sign of enslavement.”¹
Paul reminds them that they are free from that sort of behavior, and
called instead to love and relationship.

And while at first it seems that
Paul dismisses desire, it is more that he suggests that instead of
denying desires nor submitting to them, the people focus their
desires on what is good. That is, on things of God. Of course,
communities disagree, right? But that’s a part of this too.
“Conflict is part and parcel of intimacy and risking oneself in
community. When we enter that place of co-discerned vulnerability,
however, generosity, patience, kindness, and faithfulness can provide
‘palliative care’ amid the inevitable disagreements that ensure.
Such qualities are excellent companions on the journey, when we risk
intimacy with others in community.”²

Which gets us back to the
beginning of the passage: the freedom to love and be in relationship.
That’s the whole point of freedom, is the freedom FOR love. Perhaps
it is of use to ask ourselves what we need to use and maintain that
freedom – to remind ourselves that nothing gets in the way of love,
and to free ourselves for love?

Now, Luke’s gospel lesson is
permeated with urgency. I’m not even sure why. Is this urgency that
Jesus really lived in his life? And if so, was it urgency to get to
Jerusalem, or just urgency to connect with as many people as he could
to help them see God’s love and life’s possibilities? Was it urgency
to show compassion?

The gospel seems to say whatever
it was he was urgent about it was SERIOUS. It was, “let the dead
bury their own dead” serious, and not like with Elijah let Elisha
say goodby to his family (that’s the reference to “hand to plow”
that you might otherwise have missed.)

The early Christian community
experienced a lot of urgency, in no small part because they thought
the end of the world was coming any minute now. So it is possible
their urgency projects back onto Jesus, OR that it is authentic. I
don’t know. But I do know that urgency has some costs.

It is draining.

It burns us out.
It can’t be
sustained.

And while there are injustices
(everywhere!) and lack of compassion (too often!) and needs for
compassion and connection (all the time!) – no single one of us is
asked to do it all, all the time with urgency. But sometimes we
think we are, and that just means we hurt ourselves trying to love.
Which isn’t really what we’re trying to do.

I have been appreciative of the
questions, “what is important and what is urgent” and separating
out the two, so that the IMPORTANT gets done even if the urgent says
it is more pressing. I have to remind myself of this a lot, because
I don’t like to disappoint anyone, and I’d sort of rather be able to
do both.

But that, I think may be where I
find the intersection of the spiritual and the physical to be really
important. Neither my spirit, which needs rest, nor my body, which
needs rest, can press on indefinitely.

Nor can anyone else’s.

The freedom to love in Galatians
is set up so that we TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER. That’s what we’re
supposed to use it for. Because we all need each other, and things
work best when we’re doing what we love and are good at and trusting
others to do the same. That’s how both communities and societies do
best. That’s part of what the kindom looks like.

This week I reflected on what I
learned from the clergy person who took me on as a seminary intern.
The Rev. Ed Hansen was nearing the end of his ministry when he took
the time to teach me at the beginning of mine. And he was made of
patience. He let me follow him around for a year, without offering
much to him or the community, and he let me then ask him questions
about everything I saw. I am aware I will spend the rest of my
ministry the way I’ve spent the last 18 – trying to be as loving as
Ed.

Because, as a person who got to
follow him around for hours every week, I got to see Ed interact with
a lot of people: the church members, the church leaders, the church
staff, homeless people asking for assistance, his children, his
partner, people who walked up to him in restaurants because he wore a
collar. I saw him be unfailingly patient and loving to each and
every one of those people. It was one of the most moving things I’ve
ever seen.

So, I asked him about it.
Because that was what I did. I followed him around and I asked him
questions. So I asked how he was so patient, and so loving, with
everyone. And he said, “Well, isn’t that the whole point? Isn’t
that what it means to follow Jesus, to treat people with the love God
has for them?”

Yes, I think it is. And, dear
ones, that’s where I allow there to be urgency (and importance): to
try to use my interactions with people as expressions of God’s love
for them. For their bodies, their souls, their whole beings. I
suggest to you as well, that this is a good use of a life. May God
help us. Amen

1
J. Williams Harkins, Feasting on the Word, on Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Pastoral Commentary, page 186.

2Same,
188.

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

June 26, 2022

Untitled

June 19, 2022
by Sara Baron

“Tears for Food” based on Psalm 42 and Luke 8:26-39

One of the core tenets of our faith is that we are made in the image of God. Humanity reflects the Divine. Creation is an expression of the Holy.

This may seem simple, but it has proven challenging for humans for quite some time now.

Because it isn’t that we – First UMC of Schenectady – are made in the image of God, nor even we – United Methodists – are made in the image of God, nor even we – Christians – are made in the image of God, nor even that we – people of faith – are made in the image of God. It is that we, HUMANITY, are made in the image of God.

Which has implications.

If everyone is made in the image of God, than how we treat EVERY ONE matters. Each and every person is a beloved person of God, made in God’s image, and a unique reflection of the Holy One.

Which is to say, it seems to follow, that we probably shouldn’t oppress people.

Which is the part that I’ve noticed humans haven’t done terribly well.

Today is June 19th, so today is 157 years since slaves were freed in west Texas, believed to be the last enslaved people in the United States to hear that they’d been freed 2.5 years earlier. Today is a celebration of the end of slavery in the United States, and thanks be to God for that!

The institution of slavery was an abomination, and the end of the practice was a step towards God’s kindom.

I find myself a little bit obsessed with those 2.5 years. The 900 days in between the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, and Juneteenth – June 19, 1865 blow me away. 900 days during which people who were free didn’t know it. 900 days in which people who were ACTUALLY free lived and died as enslaved people. 900 days in which people who were ACTUALLY free were born into slavery. 900 days for enslavers to reap profit, 900 days for people who’d been enslaved to suffer, languish, be beaten, and have their families ripped apart. 900 days when freedom had been declared, but hadn’t come yet. (I wonder, a bit, how often we’re in those in-betweens, when God’s good actions have happened but we haven’t heard yet.)

In the midst of celebrating the end of 246 years of institutionalized slavery in the United States, I’m struck by the injustice of the last 2.5 years. It is possible I’m focusing wrong. Because all of those things I’m angry about having been done to people in the last 900 days were ALSO done for the TWO HUNDRED FORTY SIX years before that.

While, during those years, the institution of slavery was LEGAL, it was just as much of an abomination. During those 246 years from 1619 to 1865, beloved people of God were treated as anything but beloved people of God.

And, while I’m muddying waters, we also have to talk about the end of slavery not being the end of abominations in the treatment of God’s beloveds who ancestors were from Africa. The 13th, 14th, and 15th amendments to the US constitution ended slavery, but they have caveats.

The 13th, section one, “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.”

The 14th, a portion of section one, “No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law…”

As Michele Alexander explains in “The New Jim Crow,” those who were used to gaining profit from enslaving people found ways to keep oppressing them. The formerly enslaved were free, and remained free UNLESS they were convicted of a crime. So, the system convicted people of “crimes,” and forced people to keep working as enslaved people that way. And, WE STILL DO. And we still convict people of color at vastly disproportionate numbers, and then steal their labor. (Cough cough NYS hand sanitizer.)

But, in the midst of this complication is the STILL present reality that June 19th, 1865 mattered. It didn’t change everything, it wasn’t a moment we’d call “one and done,” but it was momentous. An institution of evil ended. God’s people were freed.

Beloved people of God were given space to be who they were made and called to be: gifts to all creation.

It fits, for me, to hear Psalm 42 today. The “tears for food” line fits. The lament of the Psalm, but the underlying hope of it too, makes sense. A longing for God, and for God’s presence – which brings with it justice. An acknowledgement of wrongness, and a desire for rightness. And, even in the midst of the wrongness, a sense of hope that God can and will fix it. 246 years wasn’t a short period of time for God’s people to be enslaved, but it did end. God did not forget God’s people.

(Although it may have seemed like forgetting for a very long time there.)

God is always working for justice, working towards freedom, working to end oppression, working to make space for all of us to be blessings to each other and all creation. May we not get in God’s way.

Today, when we read the story of the Gerasene demonic, I wonder what traumas he lived. Were they all his, or was he the one who held them for the community, or maybe even for the generations. Was he the sensitive soul who expressed the brokenness others pretended away? Or was he simply one who’d been hurt until he couldn’t pretend it away anymore himself?

I don’t know, but I do know that community trauma and generational trauma play out in individual lives as well as communities and families, and the trauma of 246 years of God’s beloved people being enslaved didn’t go away on June 19, 1865.

(Nor, of course, did the trauma end.)

People are still living out the trauma, it is still hurting people. It isn’t OVER.

I wonder, though, if what we are to take from the story of Legion is the power of God to heal what seems un-healable. The man who had been separated from his community, living alone with his pain and without “creature comforts,” was healed. And sent back to his people, to show the power of God to heal.

In some ways this healing feels less realistic to me than even the physical ones. I have watched people struggle with mental illness, and I have seen how tirelessly people work for their mental health, and how slow healing is even with the best possible support. This instantaneous healing of what looks like out of control schizophrenia shakes me, because I so desperately wish others could have it, and I know how hard it is for people who don’t find healing like this.

But I also know that mental health, like physical health, is related to how we construct societies. Are we looking for equity, justice, and a chance for people to thrive, or are we looking to let some people get super rich while others pay for it with their health? How much pressure are we willing to put on people, on families, on vulnerable communities SO THAT others can gain from it?

I don’t know what to make of Jesus’ healing, but I’m always struck by the idea that interacting with Jesus was like meeting someone who could express just how much God loves you. And I believe in the healing power of love. So, I take from this story that if people know how much they are loved, how worthy they are of love, how nothing that has happened to them and nothing that they have done changes that, … miraculous healing is possible. When people are heard, and loved, healing happens. When people are seen, and loved, healing happens.

We have to both stop oppressing God’s people AND work towards healing the traumas of oppression.

On this day when we celebrate the end of one particularly vicious and evil oppression, the end of the institution of slavery (outside of prison), may we learn the lessons once again: God loves all people, ending oppression is Godly work, and healing people is too. May God help each of us do our part. Amen

June 19, 2022

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

“Towers of Babel” based on Genesis 11:1-9 and Acts…

June 5, 2022
by Sara Baron

If you hear the story of the
Tower of Babel and scratch your head in confusion, I believe that is
a sign you are hearing it right. “Why build a tower?” “Why
was God upset about a tower?” “Huh?”

The context clue that I believe
we need to understand the story is that some of ancient Israel’s
neighbors were really into building HIGH “towers” You may think,
perhaps, of the pyramids of Ancient Egypt, or the Babylonian ziggurat
which was a huge temple, sort of like a pyramid, built as a worship
complex for their deity.

So, in the midst of an old, old
myth trying to explain why different peoples spoke different
languages, the Ancient Israelite’s also managed to sneak in some
propaganda against their neighbors. So, that’s why a tower, and
since those towers were parts of other faith traditions, that’s why
God was said to be jealous.

I rather like this confusing
ancient myth. I appreciate the question, “why can’t we communicate
with each other” and I even like the premise that if we could just
communicate well, we could do anything. I find this to be a story I
go back to, as I think of various things that confuse language or
communication, and I associate them with the Tower of Babel.

To some degree, I think the
story claims that the Tower was a sign of arrogance, and arrogance
needed to be tapped down. More directly, it claims the people were
getting too powerful, and God was jealous of their power, but that
doesn’t sound like good theology to me.

The Tower of Babel story tries
to explain what separates us from each other, why we can’t work
together, perhaps even why we so easily perceive ourselves as groups
of “us” and “them.” These are some big, important questions!
I’d like answers too! (I’d rather not blame God.)

What keeps us from working
towards the common good? Why do we perceive others as “others,”
and sometimes as enemies? What keeps us from seeing that justice for
any moves us towards justice for all? Why DO we throw each other
under the bus?

When we are clearly hardwired
for connection, made by God for connection, why does it so often
fail?

Why are there wars? Why is there
hunger? Why is there abuse? Why is there violence?

Why can’t we just care for each
other, and use the abundant resources of the earth for good?

It is hard to consume the news
without landing on these questions. Why is Russian invading Ukraine?
Is it about power? Money? Prestige? Why are there so many mass
shootings? What has happened in the lives of the shooters to lead
them to their actions?

We don’t even need the news. We
can just look around. Why is there a need for a free community
breakfast in one of the wealthiest countries in the world – why do
we have a society that allows people to go hungry when it doesn’t
have to? Why are beloved children of God homeless, when it would be
LESS expensive to house people than it is not to?

Relatedly, why is mental health
care hard to access when so many people need it? Why are so many
people self-medicating with drugs that lead to addiction – what is
aching in them, and how could things be different so it wouldn’t
ache?

As a note, I believe that the
answer to a lot of the questions I’ve asked is actually “trauma”
and the extent to which we can become informed about trauma and
responsive to people in their midst of their trauma MAY WELL be the
extent to which we are useful at changing the world towards the
kindom.

There are smaller, and still
important, pieces of separation too. The ones we all experience.
Friendships that fall apart. Distance from family members.
Disagreements in groups we’re part of, sometimes ones that create too
much conflict to keep the group together. Violations of core values,
that can’t be overcome. Experiences of God as distant. And those
hurt too. And those matter too.

The Tower of Babel story invites
us into these questions, it invites us into the heartbreak under
these questions. Because it isn’t an intellectual exercise to say
“why is there war?” Even from afar, it is heartbreaking to know
what is happening to human beings because there is a war. It isn’t
an intellectual exercise to say, “why do families fall apart?”
It is heartbreaking to see families fall apart, and the stories I
hear tell me the pain can last for generations.

There are so many ways to
distract ourselves from these questions, and from the pain under
them, but I don’t think we do ourselves any good with avoidance. I
think we have to face the heartbreak, and sit with it, to hear it out
and letting God move us to healing.

And, being me, that’s what I
hear in Pentecost. It is, I hope, easy to see that the story of
Pentecost is an undoing of the story of the Tower of Babel. People
from many different places can suddenly understand each other.
Communication is restored. The preaching of Peter suggests God is
active with the people, all the people, erasing divisions between
them. Peter says even nature will take note of the difference!

And where does it end? With
healing. “Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be
saved.” For some of us (me) the word “saved” has been laden
with layers of problematic meaning. I have to be intentional in not
running away from the word, and in reminding myself what it means to
the Bible.

Peter wasn’t talking about
heaven and hell. Peter was talking about a wonderful combination of
important things: healing the sort of healing that goes right down
the core of a person’s soul as well as their body, and also to their
RELATIONSHIPS and connections to community; along side something we
might call freedom, but is so much more – freedom from fear,
freedom from oppression and freedom from oppressing, freedom from
continued cycles of abuse and violence and brokenness. Peter was
talking about life with God, at the very best it can be.

Peter is talking about life in
the kindom of God, and how it changes everything. The “saving”
he is talking about is the undoing of all the things we’ve been
taking about with the Tower of Babel and SEPARATION.

Saving, here, is connection,
relationship, full and abundant LIFE.

These stories, held together,
offer us space to reflection on disconnection and connection,
miscommunication and good communication, brokenness and healing.
And, I hope, they invite us, again, into the kindom. To live with
connection, communication, and healing. To pay attention to what
brings full and abundant life, including the need to sometimes sit
with our heartbreak until it releases us, and then to seek, once
again, full hearts, by the grace of God. May God help us. Amen

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

June 5, 2022

Untitled

May 29, 2022
by Sara Baron

“Resurrection People” based on Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21 & John 17:20-26

There have been so many mass shootings. There have been so many that I suspect all of us have been touched by them not just on the news but also more directly, whether they be from afar, or from close up. My mother spent a year at Sandy Hook Elementary School. A friend went to the “other” high school – not to Columbine. Another friend grew up in the Conklin United Methodist Church, and to Susquehanna Valley Central schools. (The location of the young man who committed mass murder in Buffalo). These little connections make these deaths and the violence very, very real.

For years it seemed like the primary work of Schenectady Clergy Against Hate was to be gathering together with marginalized communities to speak to the pain of attacks against them. We got good at it. I’m still upset about that.

There isn’t much point in standing in this pulpit and decrying a lack of reasonable gun control laws – it is preaching to the choir. But also, how can one stand in this pulpit and do anything other than name the abomination that is a society that puts weapons of mass murder in the hands of those who engage in hate crimes, and those who wish to kill children. Buffalo and Uvalde. Back to back. But we all know what happened after Sandy Hook.

(Nothing.)

We live in a country that says it values the right to bear arms, but does so without providing a right to safety. We live in a country that won’t change its laws because the gun manufacturers have too strong of a lobby. We live in a country that is more invested in profits from murder than in preventing murder.

How can we do anything but grieve?

We live in a violent society, and it impacts us in so very many ways. We live in a violent society.

It breaks my heart. Sometimes it threatens to break my spirit.

But, I’m a person of faith, and so I choose to dream with you and with God about the nonviolent society that God wants for us, the beloved community that Dr. King spoke of, the kindom of God Jesus named, the true “Promised Land” of the people of God. I don’t want to give more time to violence.

Sure, I’m still going to contact my representatives and ask for changes to our gun laws. Sure, I’m still going to object to private prisons and solitary confinement and police brutality, and the like. That isn’t going to end. We can’t get from here to there without actual change.

But first and foremost, I want to follow Jesus on the path of nonviolence. I want to give my energy to how things should be. I don’t want to engage violence with violence. I want to engage the world with love.

Also, we aren’t going to get from here to there without knowing what we’re aiming at.

The text we have from John this week is as convoluted as John tends to be. But his point is that the loving community of faith is meant to be a living expression of the love of God. Jesus prays, asking that we might learn how to love. Jesus tries to place in the hearts of his followers, one more seed in hopes that it will grow: “I made your name known to them, and I will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.“ (17:26) We’re told, time and time again, that it is by loving each other in faith community that the world is changed. We start with each other.

The text from Revelation includes the very last words of the Bible, and I’m told that they’re best interpreted, “The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen.” There is a universality, a hope in both passages that the love that starts with Jesus and extends to the community of faith may become the norm in the world at large, and eventually the way the world works. We end with everyone.

For a very long time, Christianity was so profoundly peaceful that it was assumed a Christian could not fight in a war. (This changed around the time there was a desire for Crusades. Sigh.) This is still true enough that our Social Principals state, “We believe war is incompatible with the teachings and example of Christ.” (165.c) United Methodists are able to use our faith as the bases of being a conscientious objector in the face of a draft.

Yet, there are so many ways that violence seeps in. It seeps into our language. It seeps in to our values. It seems into our lives. At times, it seems right into our faith.

We often talk these days about “echo chambers” and the distances between people of different political parties. We bemoan the increasing partisanship of our society. Which is good, because it is dangerous.

When I need to be reminded of the power of nonviolence, and how deeply rooted it is in my faith, I go back to the King Center for Nonviolent Social Change. Their fundamental tenet, #3: Nonviolence Seeks to Defeat Injustice, or Evil, Not People.

Nonviolence recognizes that evildoers are also victims and are not evil people.
The nonviolent resister seeks to defeat evil not persons victimized by evil.

Just saying those words reminds me that nonviolence requires great strength, and a community commitment to it. Reminding each other that those who do evil are victims and are not evil takes a faith community. I’ve often been struck by those in this community who have the patience to pray for those who do great harm, and how they guide and remind the rest of us of that need.

I have been for many years a student of “Nonviolent Communication” but if I’m honest, within that community there is a desire to change the name to “Compassionate Communication.” People do not want to define themselves AGAINST something, not even AGAINST violence, but rather FOR sometime, FOR compassion. I think they’re onto something. I think turning towards what we want the world to look like matters, even in little ways.

Our gospels tell us Jesus prayed for those who were crucified with him, and for those who crucified him. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34). In the midst of dying by state-sponsored violence, Jesus offered compassion, grace, mercy, forgiveness.

That’s the one we follow.

But also, we follow the one who told us to “turn the other cheek” and this is, of course, were our faith gets really interesting. Because to “turn the other cheek” is not simply to accept violence from another passively. To turn the other cheek – because of lack of toilet paper that created a societal norm that only allowed right hands to be used in public and because of a societal norm that indicated one backhanded a subordinate and slapped an equal – was to demand equality without returning violence with violence. Similarly, Jesus’ words on the cross take back the upper hand. They take the power of forgiveness. They take the power of knowledge. In the face of violence, they offer compassion and prove it to be a potent force.

This is the 7th, and last, Sunday of Easter. This is the final time this year that our primary focus is on the Easter Story (well, kinda, every Sunday is a “little Easter” but go with me).

There are many ways to understand Jesus’s resurrection, but for today, let’s focus on this one: The greatest threat the Empire had was violence, in particular violence in the form of a horrid public death. But resurrection says violence doesn’t get the final answer, not even death gets the final answer. Resurrection says that compassion gets the final answer. Mercy gets the final answer. Peace gets the final answer. LOVE gets the final answer.

Nothing, nothing, NOTHING could stop the love of God in Jesus. Romans 8:35-39.

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written,
‘For your sake we are being killed all day long;
we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.’
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Violence has a lot of power. A gut wrenching, sickening, disgusting amount of power.

And yet even in the midst of mass murders, we are Easter people. Easter, exists as a response to the violence of the world. We are Resurrection People. We are people of peace, and compassion, and nonviolence. We are people who know that love wins in the end. We are people who believe our lives can be useful in bringing peace, compassion, justice, and hope to the world. We are followers of a creative, loving, compassionate Savior, who could not even be stopped by death.

We are a Resurrection People.

Lord, hear our prayers. Amen

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

May 29, 2022

“Radical…Peace?” Psalm 67 and John 14:23-29

May 22, 2022
by Sara Baron

I
grew up in the country, where a fairly reasonable estimate for how
long it took to get somewhere was how many miles away it was. 5
miles, 5 minutes. 2 miles, 2 minutes. A few years after moving to
Schenectady I discovered that I was inherently annoyed at stoplights.
At every stop light. Because, in my internal narrative, they kept
me from getting to where I was going in the time frame I thought
reasonable.

(It
is OK to laugh.)

Once
I realized that, I was able to change my narrative. While they are
not the only way to do this, stoplights exist to 1. keep us safe and
2. take care of conflicting needs. They’re just a part of communal
use of shared space.

They
aren’t to slow me down (how arrogant!), but rather to keep things
going.

And
just like that, I stopped being annoyed at every stoplight. I
stopped taking them personally. I started accounting for them.
Mostly, I just let them be without existing in tension with them.

This
is not a story I’m particularly proud of. I sound self-centered and
impatient. But I hope it is a story that has some resonance. The
narratives we tell ourselves have a big impact on our perceptions of
reality, not to mention on our emotional responses to that reality.

I
also mention this story because I think it has to do with living
“life abundant” or “life with God” or “a spiritual life”
or “life eternal” or participating in “shalom.” Those are
all the same thing as far as I’m concerned.

Much
of life is outside of our control, and the way we respond to it is
going to impact us and those around us. Often it is easier to focus
on what we can control, right? To talk about what we can do
together, to focus on what we can do with God, to dream about change,
and to work towards justice.

I
like those topics a lot. But the truth is that there are a lot of
things we can’t control, and that’s really hard. REALLY hard. We
cannot control how long we live or when we die, nor how long those we
love live or when they die. REALLY hard. We cannot control other
people or their choices. REALLY hard. We cannot control or change
our past nor its traumas. We cannot control how other people treat
us. Most of us cannot control our income streams, and whether or not
they are sufficient.

There
are a lot of things we can’t control, and that’s really hard.

And
when we are facing things we can’t control, the only control have is
how we respond. This can feel too small. But, actually, it is a big
huge deal. Because, truly, I can spend my days annoyed at stoplights
or not. And the only thing that changes is my level of annoyance.

When
I read wise spiritual teachers, I am rather shocked at how often they
talk about doing the dishes. For such a mundane task, spiritual
teachers seem to love talking about it. I think this is because
spiritual teachers tend to think that life abundant is in the actual,
mundane lives we live.

I
recently came across this story, attributed to a John Perricone who I
know nothing about¹:

Several years ago I invited a
Buddhist monk to speak to my Senior elective class, and quite
interestingly as he entered the room he didn’t say a word (that
caught everyone’s attention). He just walked to the board and wrote
this: “EVERYONE WANTS TO SAVE THE WORLD, BUT NO ONE WANTS TO HELP
MOM DO THE THE DISHES.” We all laughed, but then he went on to say
this to my students:

“Statistically, it’s highly
unlikely that any of you will ever have the opportunity to run into a
burning orphanage and rescue an infant. But,
it is the smallest gesture of kindness – – a warm
smile, holding the door for the person behind you, shoveling the
driveway of the elderly person next door – – you have committed an
act of immeasurable profundity, because to each of us, our life is
our universe.”

Brother
Lawrence was a monk in the 17^th century who was assigned
to doing dishes in the monastery. He wrote:

The time of business, does not
with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clutter
of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for
different things, I possess GOD in as great tranquillity as if I were
upon my knees at the Blessed Sacrament.

Many
others are on this dishes bandwagon too. The gist seems to be that
you can do dishes and be annoyed by them (easy!), you can do dishes
and distract yourself from them (TV! Podcasts!), AND you can also do
dishes mindfully. You can let yourself be in the present. You can
notice the warmth of the water, the shine of the bubbles, the drip
drying, the ground under your feet, the way the light dances around
the room. You can do dishes and be alive! You can do dishes and
notice that this is the one life you have to live and whether or not
dishes are what you’d most like to be doing right now, dishes are
what you ARE doing right now and you can be attentive to life itself
while you are doing them if you want. You can notice how your body
is feeling, attend to emotions, see what stories are going through
your head, see if peace is at hand. Dishes can be a conduit to a
full life because a full life can be lived while doing dishes. Or
because life is life, and it involves a lot of dishes.

Minor
confession, I am actually not the dish-washer in my own home. Good
news is that dishes are just one of many mundane domestic tasks.
This all seems like it can apply to cooking, cleaning, grass cutting,
grocery shopping, etc.

A
writer named Matt Haig (who I believe is an atheist) says, “To be
calm becomes a kind of revolutionary act. To be happy with your own
non-upgraded existence. To be comfortable with our messy, human
selves, would not be good for business.” Peace. Peace isn’t good
for business. Peace, calm, being present IS abundant life though.
And it is part of how we steel ourselves to continue doing the work
towards justice instead of just being crushed by the brokenness of
the world.

Our
texts today take on big topics. God’s grace, God’s blessing’s.
Peace, which is shalom, which is communal well-being and shared
abundant life. Living as God asks us to. Learning.

But
in the end, our faith lives are a part of our “real” lives, the
normal every day lives that for most of us involve plenty of mundane
tasks. Most of us, most of the time, aren’t pursuing shalom in big
and glorious ways. We’re trying to find it in the midst of what
already is.

Most
of us, most of the time, aren’t experiencing blessing in big loud
ways either. They’re sort of quiet, most blessings.

But
peace, shalom, abundant life. “Peace I leave with you; my
peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not
let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” The
peace Jesus gives, that’s what we’re allowing to take up residence in
us.

And
while there are a lot of ways of getting there, they seem to me to
sum up to two imperative and interconnected pieces: be present in
your own life – often, and be present in relationships.

Because
that’s where it all is! Presence, and relationships. That’s
abundant life. Relationships with others, relationships with God,
and while we’re at it, relationships even with ourselves. Which is
another way of saying being present to our own lives.

Jesus
was all about relationships, his ministry was spending time with
people and helping people connect with each other. The Bible is about
how to build societies full of good relationships. Good lives are
ones with good relationships. Good relationships with God ARE
spirituality.

Now,
I’m saying this to a congregation where people are struggling because
1. being together with those we love STILL isn’t safe and that hurts
our hearts and 2. many people are just so overwhelmed by life and its
demands that they aren’t able to find the time for the relationships
they value. And it is not my intention to place additional burdens
on those already struggling.

But
I do wish to remind you to use the control you have to move your life
towards connection and relationship. And, I will go back to the
beginning. The things you can’t control, you can at least change
some of the narrative on. There isn’t much value in spending life
being annoyed at stoplights.

In
fact, you could take stoplights as an invitation to pray, or to
listen to emotions, or to stretch, or to just breathe.

That’s
probably one easy way forward towards abundant life. May we together
find lots of others! Amen

1I
did google the name, and a viable candidate for these words emerged,
but I have no way of knowing if it is indeed the right person.

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

Image: Tree of LIfe
Notes:Four
artists created this work: Adelino Serafim Maté, Fiel dos Santos,
Hilario Nhatugueja et Christavao Canhavato (Kester), in Maputo,
Mozambique, 2004.It is a product of the Transforming Arms into Tools
(TAE) project and is made from decommissioned weapons. TAE was set up by
Bishop Dom Dinis Sengulane in 1995 and is supported by Christian Aid.
During Mozambique’s civil war, which lasted from 1976 to 1992, millions
of guns and other weapons poured into the country and most of them
remain hidden or buried in the bush. The project is an attempt to
eliminate the threat presented by the hidden weapons. Mozambicans are
encouraged to hand them over in exchange for items like ploughs,
bicycles and sewing machines. In one case a whole village gave up its
weapons in exchange for a tractor. [African Department, British Museum}

May 22, 2022

“Love. One. Another.” based Revelation 21:1-6 and John 13:31-35

May 15, 2022
by Sara Baron

I chose the Revelation 21
passage for the same reason I usually choose an “end of Revelation”
passage: they’re visions of hope for the future. And I think we NEED
hope.

This is a good one. God makes
God’s home on earth, so the people’s lives are no longer (in any way)
separate from the Holy One, and that means that death and pain,
mourning and crying are all over.

I like it.

I’m not sure what it says about
me that it feels like a cop-out.

(Please don’t answer that.)

This whole “the earth goes
away and gets replaced by a better one” thing – that’s what feels
like a cop-out. I’m pretty committed to working with God on building
the kindom of God on earth, and having the whole thing go away and
get replaced seems like it defeats the whole purpose.

Of course, I don’t think that
all of us working together, even with the Divine, are going to
eliminate pain and death from the human experience, so if that’s
where we are wanting to land, I can see why we’d need intervention to
get there.

And, of course, I can understand
the deep human yearning for connection with the Holy One, and for a
future without a separation from God.

But, while I remain grateful for
visions of hope with enough power to help us through the hard times,
I’m finding myself less inspired by Revelation’s vision of perfect
future than by John’s dream of a loving faith community.

“By this everyone will know
you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” That one
sends shivers up my spine. That one feels like the call on my life.
That one feels like the best I’ve ever seen of people of faith and
faith communities. That’s the one.

Important note: the commandment
“love one another” was NOT new. It was central to the faith
tradition of Jesus and his disciples, Judaism. There are two ways to
think of it as new. One is “as I (Jesus) have loved you, you also
should love one another,” so it is new in being reflective of
Jesus. The other is probably more accurate, the commandment is not
“new” but living that sort of love is part of the “new life”
that people of God are called to – a distinct form of life from one
of competition and fear. But please remember that loving one another
was already a part of the Jewish tradition, and had been for a LONG
TIME. We do not want to participate in anti-semitism, much less
pretend it is part of our faith.

Now, back to “By this everyone
will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one
another.“ This is both one of the most inspiring phrases I know
of, and one of the most worrisome. Because, let’s be honest for a
moment, it invites us to ask “is this true?”

It must be true in part. It
must be or I wouldn’t be here. I have been inspired by the
here-on-earth expressions of God’s love I’ve experienced in churches,
at church camp, in the Love Your Neighbor Collation, and with Upper
New York for Full Inclusion. I’ve known people whose very presence
exudes love. I’ve been in communities that have taught me that I’m
worthy of love, just as I am, no matter how awkward. I’ve seen the
transformational power of love being offered to people who have
received other stories about their lives: to teenagers with abusive
home lives, to people who are transgender and have been told horrible
things by other churches, to queer clergy people afraid for their
livelihoods, to veterans who fear their traumas makes them
unloveable, and to every day people who just wonder if they’re
“enough” who experience the community of God and learn they’re
loved and lovable.

It is the every day miracle of
the church, and it is why I am a part of the church, and it is
probably the thing I’m most committed to continuing with my life.

And.

And it isn’t the full story of
church.

I wish it was. I heard an idea
once that it is easier to be a spiritual person outside of faith
community, to commune with God in nature and solitude. Not just
because God is easy to access in nature and solitude (true for me!)
but because faith communities are full of struggle: conflict and
personalities and differences of opinion and people behaving in ways
we don’t like. But this idea suggested that this is GOOD not bad,
because communing with God in nature may help us feel and be
centered, but it is in practicing being loving when it is ACTUALLY
HARD that we GROW. We need the challenges of community to learn how
to be loving in the midst of real life.

That’s one of the most lovely
takes on faith community I’ve ever heard, and I hold it dear.

Because as much as I’ve seen the
church transform lives with its generous love and welcome, I’ve seen
profound pain too. There is the glaringly obvious pain of being part
of a homophobic and transphobic denomination. But there are also the
pains that result when we as a local faith community aren’t as loving
as we want to be. When someone is forgotten, or unseen in their
pain. When cultural differences are too big to be overcome. When it
seems some people are more valued than others. When values
themselves are violated (or seem to be). And when it feels like no
one cares about a person when they stop showing up.

There are days when I wonder
about the balance of if all, when I wonder if the love we are sharing
is more than the pain we are causing. I wonder if “They’ll Know We
are Christians By Our Love” is … well… true.

In the church at large
(annual conference and denomination) I have come to peace with
knowing that much of what happens is about power, and money, and that
fear is used as a means to an end to increase the power of a few over
the needs of the many. I hold hope that isn’t true on the local
church level, but when there IS conflict, it IS often about power
and/or over the authority over money, and I think based in fear of
what happens if one’s power is lost and one’s vision doesn’t prevail.

But, I also know that’s overly
simplistic. When it comes down to it, at least on the local level, I
trust that everyone is doing their best and trying to enable the best
sort of loving faith community, and doing that by the means they
believe most effective. Which means we disagree about HOW, and maybe
WHY, but not WHAT we’re trying to do.

And I often hope that’s enough
to hold on to to build on love, instead of letting fear drown us.
And I’m willing to keep on spending my life empowering faith
communities as long as I can believe that we are showing love, and
GROWING in love.

So, I want to spend the rest of
this sermon on this central question of faith: what helps us be more
loving, to share God’s love? Because I believe we WANT to be know by
our love. I think we’d be delighted if every time someone
encountered any one of us or a group of us they were astounded at our
love. But I think that requires us to be attentive to growing
in love.

The basis of love, as far as I
know is… (wait for it)… love. God’s love is the starting point
for our lives, our faith, our actions. And, I HOPE, the love of the
people of God has been transformative in our lives too, so we start
our journey to deepen love balanced on the love of God and God’s
people.

It also helps, a lot, to see
people acting in loving ways. Having models of what radical love
looks like, and broad and different models at that: to see the love
shared between our breakfast guests, and to see the love shared
between members of Church Council, and to hear stories of support
offered to those who are struggling. Knowing what love looks like, a
huge range of what it looks like, helps us see how we can live it.
Love lives differently in each of us, and it can take seeing it in a
lot of forms before any of us know how to let it live most easily in
us!!

It also helps, as far as I’m
concerned, to hear people talk about living love. To talk about what
they do with intention, and when they’ve struggled, and how they’ve
overcome barriers to love. The real, sometimes small, tangibles.
This sort of learning has often happened in Bible Study or small
groups for me, and it is a big deal to talk about the small stuff.

A huge gift in growing in love
is growing in the capacity to know I am loved EVEN when I’m wrong.
John Wesley actually helps me with this. He said that we’re all
wrong sometimes, but we don’t know when we’re wrong (or we wouldn’t
be), so when we come to a disagreement with another person, we should
enter into it with humility because it may well be one of the times
when we are wrong. That simple idea has made it easier for me to
forgive myself for being wrong, which helps lower my defenses, which
helps let others in.

For me, one of the greatest
gifts in growing in love is spiritual practice. That is, when I take
time away from “productivity” to “just be” and that helps me
remember that God loves me for who I am rather than what I can
accomplish. Also, God lovingly holds up a mirror to me, to help me
see what I’m doing and why, and let me decide as I’m ready to change.

There are also straight up
SKILLS that can help with being loving, particularly in a community,
which means in a group with conflict. Non-violent communication.
Active listening. Careful use of “I statements.” Or, just,
intentional empathy. All of which are actual skills that can be
taught and learned and developed. I sometimes think we undercut
ourselves by thinking that if we are simply taught of God’s love,
we’ll become the humans we want to be. When, in fact, we need other
skills and models and learning as well.

I dream that the church we
become might be able to be a source of healing people’s

trauma, that we might become
particularly skilled at sharing judgement-free love, and listening
with empathy so that those who spend time in this faith community
might experience HEALING from being here, and that the healing might
become a part of our story and what we offer our community.

That would require a pretty
serious investment in those skills, and in developing the resilience
to respond to conflict in new and different ways. SPPRC is working
on some of that, with a hope of bringing opportunities to our church
as a whole as well. It has become clear in the past 5 years that we
need more skills than we have. Which doesn’t make us bad, but does
make us responsible for developing together. For finding the ways
to face our conflicts with love. For becoming more loving. For
stepping up so people might see us and be astounded by our love for
one another. It could even be that these years of conflict could
become a saving grace for us, an opening to a new way of being that
could meet people and the world just where they need us to be.

In any case, growing in love is
what we’re about. God is with us, encouraging and enabling our
growth. May we commit to it as well! Amen

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

May 15, 2022

The sculpture Reconciliation by Vasconcellos showing two former enemies
embracing each other. It was erected in 1995 in the north aisle of the
ruins of St Michael’s Cathedral, Coventry. (Destroyed during fire bombs
during the Coventry Blitz on 14 November 1940). (Image by
commons.wikimedia.org)

“Voices” Acts 9:36-43 and John 10:22-30

May 8, 2022
by Sara Baron

An explanation:

The Hebrew word for widow
connotes one who is silent, one unable to speak. In a society in
which males played the public role and in which women did not speak
on their own behalf, the position of widow, particularly if an eldest
son was not yet married, was one of extreme vulnerability. If there
were no sons, a widow might return to her paternal family if that
recourse were available. Younger widows were often considered a
potential danger to the community and urged to remarry.

Left out of the prospect of
inheritance by Hebrew law, widows became the stereotypical symbol of
the exploited and oppressed. Old Testament criticism of the harsh
treatment of these women is prevalent. So are the texts in which
they are under the special protection of God.¹

In our reading from Acts this
week, we hear “All the townswomen who had been widowed stood beside
[Peter] weeping, and showed him the various garments Dorcas had made
when she was still with them.” (Acts 9:39b, Inclusive Bible)

I have to admit something. I’ve
read this passage many times, and every time I saw the widows as
showing off Tabitha/Doras’s impressive needlework, and thought it was
sort of a strange details, but otherwise ignored it.

Maybe my heart is in a different
place this week, because when I read it THIS week I thought, “Oh.
My. Gosh. She literally clothed the widows.” The women were
showing Peter her GOOD WORKS that had blessed their lives as proof to
him that she was worthy of his healing.

(Which, of course, makes far
more sense and most of you probably noticed ages ago, but I’m slow
and I try to admit it because the Bible is dense and none of us can
make sense of it all at once.)

There is another detail to know
about this story, an important one. Not only is Tabitha named in
this story, which is pretty unusual for Biblical women, and named
TWICE which is even less usual. She is called a disciple. Now, if
you were wondering if that was unusual, let me answer with a
scholarly quote, “Luke uses the feminine form for ‘disciple’ –
the only time it is used in the NT.”²

This is the ONLY woman in the
Bible called a disciple of Jesus, who is described as someone who
“never tired of doing kind things or giving to charity,” at whose
death the people who are most exploited and oppressed gather,
grieving, and trying to prove her worth by showing the gifts she had
made them.

I am incredibly moved by the
example of this first woman disciple.

Because, here is the thing about
Tabitha. Her story suggests that as a follower of Jesus, she spent
her life making things easier for the most vulnerable people around
her, but not just by giving them things, but also by loving them.
I don’t think the level of grief we hear from the women who’d been
widowed in this story reflects a fear that new clothes are going to
be harder to come by. I think their FRIEND, who saw them, and eased
their burdens, had died.

Tabitha heard their voices, and
used her life to respond to their needs. Where the Bible talks about
God’s special protection for the widows, it seems that Tabitha was
part of God’s work.

A disciple of Jesus, a little
Christ, indeed. In John, the voice of Jesus says, “My sheep hear
my voice. I know them, and they follow me.” It is clear in this
story in Acts that Tabitha knew the voice of Jesus, and followed.
And set an example for those of us who come after her.

Now, widowhood is not today what
it was then. Today’s widows may well be struggling with economic
hardship, but the first connotation of widow is “someone who has
lost her love” instead of “someone who has lost her livelihood
and protection.”

Which means that when we are
trying to consider who the “stereotypical symbol of the exploited
and oppressed” is in our society, I don’t think it defaults to
widows anymore. Nor do I think there is one simple answer. I fear
that who is seen as the “stereotypical symbol of the exploited and
oppressed” is as impacted by context, perception, and political
party as all of our other opinions. Meaning, I’d likely start the
list with trans women of color (#mostlikelytobemurdered) and could
continue on from there to an expansive list.

After this week I am concerned
that an addition to the highest levels of the list of “stereotypical
symbol of the exploited and oppressed” is going to need to be
“anyone capable of becoming pregnant who doesn’t want to be
pregnant.” Because, it seems, our society is about to declare that
people who become pregnant stop having authority over their own
bodies. (Happy Mothers’ Day.)

You want to know what else is
really interesting about Tabitha? We get two names for her, she is
called a disciple, she is known for her good works. And, in addition
to all that, neither her marital nor social status is mentioned.
She’s known for HER works, and they eclipse the question of who she
belongs to. Which, to be fair was the sort of kindom building equity
the early church was going for, but it is still pretty notable when
it happens! It also seems notable that those widows were named as
believers. They weren’t just recipients of charity, nor even simply
friends of a disciple. They too were the church. The church was of
everyone, even those whose NAME implied “the silenced.” It seems
like Tabitha’s church had stayed very close to the roots of Jesus’s
movement.

The question of who is
particularly vulnerable, exploited, oppressed is really a question of
who Jesus would be hanging out with. To his credit, Jesus took a
really expansive view of that as well, including fishermen and tax
collectors, widows and single women, children and senators,
adulterers and the mentally ill, hemorrhaging women and those with
physical disabilities.

Several years ago, when I was
nearing time to go to camp, I had to let someone know I wouldn’t be
available for some meeting during camp. (This was not a person in
this church or community.) The person responded, “Oh, that’s
right, you go to camp and work with people with special needs.
That’s so good of you!”

I. Am. Still. Mad.

Furious.

Because, going to camp is the
most selfish thing I do all year. I got camp because I love the
campers. I go to camp because I love camp. I go to camp because my
humanity and faith are restored by camp and by the campers.

I’m not a GOOD person for that,
and to imply that I am implies that there is something wrong with the
campers and THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THE CAMPERS. Everything is
right with the campers.

Which makes me wonder a bit. I
think likely Tabitha and the widows of her community were friends,
real friends, people who loved each other and mutually gained from
their connections. I wonder if a question we should be asking in
response to Tabitha’s story is, “who do I find it easy to love and
grow with, and how can I let that love expand my heart to let even
more people in?”

I worry that this question COULD
keep us too closed off, too limited to those we already know, too
small. But then I remember what LOVE is like, and how everyone has
stories that matter, and everyone has experiences of oppression, and
how LOVE likes to expand itself all over the place. And I find I’m
ready to trust love to be our guide.

I believe our faith calls us to
see the humanity in ALL people, including those who are oppressed,
and to share our love and our lives with mutuality and respect. And,
to be open to letting that love expand to those we don’t yet know who
have struggles we don’t yet understand. Let love be our guide, and
let it expand in us. I believe that’s what it means to follow Jesus’
voice, and Tabitha’s example. May God help us do it! Amen

1Bruce
J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh Social-Science Commentary on the
Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003) “Widow,”
423.

2Robert
Wall, “Book of Acts” in New Interpreter’s Bible Vol 10I ed.
Leander E. Keck et al
(Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002) footnote p. 161.

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

May 8, 2022

“The Other Side of the Boat” based on Psalm…

May 1, 2022
by Sara Baron

A colleague recently shared that
the brokenness of the world had overwhelmed him, and he’d spent a
morning just crying about all of it. Rather to my shock, I found I
was … jealous.

But earlier this week I sat down
to just be, which means to be with God and be aware of being with
God, and I found that tears slowly and consistently flowed down my
cheeks.

It wasn’t just one thing. It
was the cumulative weight of all the things. Those in our community
who have died in recent years, those who are struggling and/or dying,
those who are grieving their loved ones, the ways the kids have grown
up without being around us all, the war in Ukraine, the deadly
impacts of poverty in the US and around the world, the trauma people
experience on a day to day basis, the dehumanization of refugees- and
people who are homeless, and people with special needs, and climate
change, and… well, the pandemic too.

(That wasn’t an exhaustive list,
but it is already an exhausting list, so I’ll stop there.)

The tears just flowed. At how
disheartened I am at injustice, and how small I feel in the face of
tragedy, and how afraid I am that I’m not making a difference on any
of it. As the tears flowed, I found more and more under them,
personal grief I hadn’t given myself time to notice and fears I
usually don’t allow near enough to the light to be named.

And then, after a while, the
tears slowed. Nothing had changed, but I wasn’t holding it all so
tightly anymore, and I’d felt the feelings that had been contained,
and they weren’t so overwhelming anymore.

Sometimes I’m concerned that
when I talk about prayer and spiritual practice, people hear
something very different from what I do. What I’ve just described is
within the normal realm of what happens when I slow down to listen –
to myself and to God and to God in me and to silence itself. There
is a pretty significant connection for me between bodily sensations,
emotions, human needs, and God’s wisdom. My prayer life seems to me
to be a lot less pious than the religious greats of history, mine is
more “apophatic” than wordy. It is more listening than speaking.
It is more chaotic and irregular than most prayer forms I read
about.

This seems important to share,
because I fear that: a lot of faithful people haven’t found prayer
practice that work for them, that people are afraid their prayer
practices “don’t count or aren’t good enough,” and that people
still think emotions are BAD things that keep us from God instead of
being access points to the Holy itself.

Quite often, when I am busy
beating myself up for not being “more,” for not being infinitely
kind or patient or activist or world-changing, I get stopped in my
tracks by something I associate with the Divine. It is a reminder
that it isn’t all on my shoulders, and God is able to make a lot out
of a little, and I’m only asked to do my part and not everything. I
still worry, if I’m honest, but it helps a lot.

In the end of our Gospel reading
today, Peter receives absolution. The Gospels make quite a point of
Peter denying Jesus 3 times, and John makes space for Peter to affirm
his love for Jesus three times as well. Each of the affirmations
comes with a command: feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep.

Before meeting Jesus, Peter was
a fisherman. After Jesus died, Peter decided to go fishing, right?
Except it didn’t WORK. They fished all night and caught nothing
until Jesus showed up (more on that later) and then Jesus reminded
him he wasn’t a fisherman anymore, he’d been changed by the time with
Jesus. Now he was to care for the people of God.

And as we understand it, those
commandments are passed down to us, we are all to care for the people
of God – and we all ARE a part of the people of God, and compassion
and care and mutuality are the work we are called to. Which can
sound easy until you actually try it, and it turns out to be plenty
to challenge us for our lifetimes, especially when we live in a
society that isn’t built on compassion or care for all.

Maybe, at the core, that was
what I was crying about. I am sad about my personal losses and
griefs, and the ones I know you all are holding, but I’m deeply sad
that so much of the suffering in the world is UNNECESSARY and yet
collectively we keep deciding to allow people to suffer and struggle
rather than just reallocate resources justly.

And, boy oh boy, the work of
trying to move toward justice and compassion feels like being up
against Goliath, right?

This year, the core of this
Gospel passage for me is the ridiculous suggestion by Jesus to cast
the nets on the other side of the boat. Because, really, they fished
ALL NIGHT and caught NOTHING, what is going to happen when they move
their nets a few feet and throw them on the other side? Based on
logic it will be more nothing.

John presents it as a miracle.
When you listen to Jesus, where there was nothing there is now
abundance. Which is a wonderful take. But this feels like a bigger
truth than a one time miracle for me. Quite often tiny little
changes can make all the difference, and we can’t always anticipate
which ones will do it.

Throw the nets on the other side
of the boat can be, “read a physical book instead of your kindle
before bed,” or “re-write an agenda with more quiet time,” or
“stretch before meals,” or “take that stroll, but take it
during sunset,” or a lot of other tiny little sources of life.

Throw the nets on the other side
of the boat seems to me about being open to the “third ways” of
life, the answers that are not choosing between two opposing options
but rather finding a way to get the best parts of two answers in a
third. Instead of doing the same thing over and over OR quitting, it
is a little change that makes it possible to keep going.

Throw the nets on the other side
of the boat seems like a reminder to take advice when you are
struggling, even if the advice doesn’t make sense.

And, most of all, “throw the
net on the other side of the boat” seems like a reminder to listen
to God. I’ve been reading Susan Beaumot’s book “How to Lead When
You Don’t Know Where You are Going.” It is an outstanding book,
written before the pandemic that doesn’t have any trouble speaking
right now. She talks a lot about discernment, particularly group
discernment, and how it differs from just making decisions.

The book has reminded me of how
often we as a church just make the best decisions we can -and often
we are completely stymied by decisions – because we aren’t actually
doing discernment. We are listening to our own hopes, and fears, and
preferences, but we aren’t often listening for God’s dreams in us.

Or, maybe some of us are, but we
aren’t overt about doing it together. Likely, around here, that has
something to do with humility and not wanting to claim the authority
of speaking definitively about God’s will, right? But Rev.
Beaumont’s writing about discernment reminded me that there are
concrete processes for discernment that really do make it possible to
“discern” and not just “decide” even when we’re being humble.

She breaks it into 8 parts,
which I’m sharing just so you can see the difference. She says
discernment includes: intentionally framing the question being asked,
naming guiding principals that are relevant to the issue at hand and
create the boundaries for the possible answers, shedding biases and
ego investments, listening to those impacted by the decision ( and
summarizing and interpreting what is said), exploring a wide variety
of answers and evaluating which ones meet the guiding principals
until only 2-3 remain, weighing the value of the final options and
where energy draws people, choosing, and testing the answer with
stillness and prayer before sharing it broadly.

So, that’s a lot of work, right?
But some decisions are worth doing things with great intentionality,
so you can figure out which side of the boat to casts the nets on 😉

One of the great questions of
life is: What is mine to do? It applies personally and collectively:
what is MINE (Sara’s) to do and what is OURS (this church’s) to do?
Prayer, and group discernment, quietness, openness to advice, and a
willingness to sit with emotions help us find the answers. May God
help us have the patience with ourselves and each other to hear
answers. Amen

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

May 1, 2022