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January 16, 2022
by Sara Baron

“Two Big Questions” based on Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

I’ve been told that human beings have two big questions in life, ones that are in tension with each other, ones that motivate much of what we do. They are: “Do I fit in?” “Am I special?” I think that together they add up to “Do I matter?” because both fitting in and being special are about mattering. We matter when we have a group who claims us, a place we can be real, an identity formed with others. We ALSO matter when we know we are making a contribution, that we are doing what WE in particular can do, when we are seen for being ourselves and not just another face in the crowd.

Or maybe when I was told this it was just about kids, as it came from a theory in my Children’s Literature class 😉 So, it seems, I’m the one who has expanded this to all humans. Mostly because it seems true to me.

We are always looking for clues about if we fit in, and adapting our behaviors to what we see around us. Think about masking at different kinds of gatherings and how uncomfortable it is to be in the minority in whatever decision you make.

We are also always looking for clues that we are special, and often we seek to show it by what we do, or say, or wear. This is part of why it can feel good to be thanked for sharing a musical gift, or visual display, or sharing a helpful thought. We want to stand out, in some ways, even as we want to fit in, in others.

So, they’re in tension, they motivate A LOT of what we do, and they add up to “do I matter?” Or maybe, “do I matter RIGHT?” Sometimes we even get stuck in old ways of fitting in or old ways of being special and struggle to adapt to new places or expectations. This stuff is deeply and profoundly correlated with IDENTITY, and for human-being-meaning-makers, our identity MATTERS.

I have been told that “Your community is the place that accepts your gifts.” Talk about intersecting the two questions! The place you fit in is the place that accepts you in your specialness. Hmmm.

Similarly, there are studies that say that we get a little burst of happiness hormones when we get a text message or a response on social media. These are ALSO related to our core questions: they tell us “I’m special enough someone is wanting to connect with me” AND “I fit in.” I find it interesting to pay attention to when I am doing things to get those little floods of positive hormones, and when I’m able to let go of them and be more present where I am.

For me, the story of Jesus’s baptism, and the ways it resonates in our lives today, correlate with all of this: being accepted and fitting in, being special and unique, and being affirmed as mattering. God saying, “You are my child, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased,” is the crux of what most of us need to hear most of the time, and a statement we struggle to believe and thus push back against.

We worry we aren’t worthy. That something we said, or did, or didn’t say, or didn’t do makes us unlovable. We worry that we aren’t sufficiently pleasing God, that we aren’t good enough, or we aren’t doing enough. This may be why we constantly seek affirmation that we are special and we do fit in. We need it, but we don’t trust it from the Source.

In the United Methodist Church we rather firmly hold that baptism is a one-time deal. Our reasons are sound: because baptism is a gift from God, humans can’t mess it up, so it doesn’t ever NEED to be redone. That “can’t be messed up” applies both to the person who does the baptizing – it doesn’t matter if they’re imperfect because God is the actor, not the pastor AND it applies to the baptized – it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, you can’t shake off God’s love. (It seems worth admitting that I believe in ONE exception to the “baptized once” rule, which is that if someone is baptized with a name and gender that do not match who the person has come to know themselves to be, then I am willing to make sure that they receive the blessing of inclusion with their actual name and actual gender. God still hasn’t messed up, but any ritual of inclusion should include the ACTUAL person.)

Of the many explanations for what baptism is, the one I most resonate with is that it is a ritual of inclusion. When someone is baptized we welcome them into the Family of Faith. Now, OF COURSE, we believe that God’s love is for all people and God works for the good of all people. So, the difference is that we, as the Family of Faith, acknowledge that love and spend our lives seeking to expand its impact in the world. We commit to work together to expand that love, to be loving to each other, to encourage each other in the work, and to recognize the sacredness of each person both within the Family of Faith and beyond it. To be baptized as a baby is to have promises made to teach you these things, to be confirmed or to be baptized as an adult is to claim this God of Love for yourself and the aim of expanding love in the world as your shared goal. (We often call this “the kindom”, MLK talked of the Family of Faith as being the “beloved community.”)

When Jesus was baptized by John, he was committing himself to John as his teacher, and becoming a “disciple” of John’s. He, too, was joining a movement committed to a Godly way of life and a vision for how the future should be. Later on, after John died, he claimed his own vision (similar to but similar to John’s) and started doing his own baptisms, claiming his own disciples. As disciples are learners, one of the phrases still used for people of faith in the Christian (Jesus following) tradition is “disciples.” In this church we seek to learn so we can understand both the world as it is and God’s vision for a just future for all of creation.

Baptism incorporated Jesus into his chosen community, and then incorporated his disciples into theirs, and incorporates us into ours. We are, at least we seek to be, that place that receives the gifts that people are willing and able to offer. This is a place where we “fit in” and try our hardest to make it possible for others to do so well. AND, that means it is also a place where we get to be special – to offer particular skills and gifts for the wellbeing of the whole.

There are so many loud and constant narratives in the world at large telling us that we aren’t enough, that some people matter more than others, that injustice is unavoidable, that fear should motivate us (to buy things), and that we should work harder to protect ourselves – no matter the cost to others.

And then there are the narratives of God. God says to the people (Isaiah 43):

Dear Ones, I created you, I formed you, and I like you.

You can let go of fear, you are already enough,

You can let go of worry, you are mine and that is identity enough.

You are beloved children of God. And it is good.

When you face floods, I am with you.

When you face droughts, I am with you.

You are precious to me.

I love you.

Do not be afraid, I am with you.

Come home to me.

I created you for goodness,

and I call you by your name.

NOW, integrity requires me to point out that this song of Isaiah is COMMUNAL, it was written to the nation of ancient Israel, promising that the Exile wouldn’t have the last word. The you is the whole, not the individual. And, I would say, that sometimes we need to hear it as it was written and be reminded of the power and sacredness of the whole. AND sometime we need to hear it as individuals and be reminded that we too are special to God.

The Spirit guides our reading and hearing of holy texts.

Dear ones, in God’s house, you fit in. AND, in God’s eyes you are special. When humans create God-centered spaces, they’re able to offer a genuine welcome God’s uniquely wonderful beings. And we try to do that, together.

May you rest assured, beloved child of God, you are already enough, and you need not struggle to matter. You already do – you are God’s beloved, and that IS enough. 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

January 16, 2022

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January 9, 2022
by Sara Baron

“Another Road Home” based on Isaiah 60:1-6 and Matthew 2:1-12

I really like the idea that the Christmas stories in the gospels are “Gospels in Miniature” that highlight the major points of each gospel writer, foreshadow what is to come, and even tell the whole story in a nutshell.1

Given the Gospel in Miniature idea, it is really easy to see why Luke tells us about shepherds in the field at night watching their sheep: he wanted us to know that the birth of Jesus was good news for the least, the last, the lost, and the lonely and he made his point early and often. Luke is spiffy though, and you should never underestimate him. With the shepherds he ALSO manages to tied Jesus to David one more time, in case we’d missed the point previously.

But, why does Matthew tell us about Magi from the East, with the power to access King Herod, impractical baby gifts, and only a fleeting encounter with Jesus?

Ironically, I believe that this was because Matthew was writing for a Jewish audience, and he was making the point he’d make again at the end of the gospel, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations,” namely that the good news of Jesus expanded past even the community of the faithful Jews.

The Magi from the east are outsiders, others, non-Jews. They have access to other wisdom, other traditions, other power. By having them perceive the spiritual earthquake of Jesus’s birth tells Matthew’s audience just how BIG this story is, and how profound it’s impact will be.

I think “the east” is particularly significant as well. To the east is the land Abraham left when God called him. Also, to the east is Babylonia, where the exiles had once been taken, and lived in captivity. That means to the east is where their release came, and like Abraham, the exiles returned home “from the east.”

By the time Jesus was born “to the west” was the power center of Rome, and the local power center of the Judea was also to the west. The powers to the west are the ones that Jesus will be organizing against in his life, and they are the ones with the power to end his life. So, it is from the east that Jesus is recognized for who he is, and that makes sense. This feels like a foreshadowing of Palm Sunday and Jesus’s entrance into Jerusalem from the EASTERN gate too.

So these EASTERN foreigners discern that there is something new and amazing happening and they come to see it for themselves. When they stop to ask for directions at the palace, the paranoid and power-hungry King Herod (who historically really was known for being incredibly bloodthirsty and insecure) decides to use them for his own purposes, to take out any threat to his kingship with haste.

The Magi are being used as the King’s spies.

But when they arrive and discover the humanity and vulnerability of Jesus, and of Mary, and (maybe) of Joseph, something shifts in them.

That may sound minor, “something shifts in them” but it is the best explanation I have for Easter too. Somehow, the very frightened disciples who were hidden away trying to save their lives had “something shift in them” and they weren’t afraid anymore, and they lived as Jesus lived, and were even willing to die as Jesus died.

A little shift inside can have HUGE consequences.

Something shifts in the Magi, maybe at meeting Jesus, maybe in a dream, maybe both, “and they left for their own country by another road.” This suggests that even meeting Jesus as a baby/toddler was significant enough to help people refuse the power of the Empire 😉

They refuse the power of King Herod, and they change their plans and find another way.

That does sound like an epiphany. Epiphany means a manifestation of a divine or supernatural being OR a moment of sudden revelation or insight.2 This sounds like both. They saw the divine in Jesus, or they experienced the Divine in a dream (or both) AND it was for them a moment of sudden insight leading to a shift within.

They went to their own country by another road. They went home, but they went home changed.

One of the fun parts of the Christian tradition is that we assume that the Magi showed up more than a year after Jesus’s birth. That is, this Epiphany celebrates the Magi showing up for last year’s Christmas. (Hmmm, given pandemic time warps, that sounds right, doesn’t it?) Given that, it is always a little bit the Christmas season, because the Magi are always journeying to Jesus – AND I think always journeying home by another route. The travel, and the change, are constant.

It could be tempting, right about now, to give up hope. It is 2022, and COVID 19, named for 2019 is STILL sending shock-waves through our lives, despite vaccines, despite prior infections, despite all we’ve given up for nearly two years. We’re back at trying to protect the capacity to keep schools open and trying to keep hospitals from being overrun (and neither are going terribly well.) In my house this week, we heard about more people testing positive for COVID than any other week of this pandemic.

It is scary.

AND we have to make decisions all over again about what is safe and what isn’t and where to spend our risk tolerance and what impact it will have if we get it wrong.

And it exhausting.

And people are SICK, some of them really sick, some of them dying.

And it is horrible.

And I wonder where God is inviting us to take another road home. I wonder about epiphany, and God showing up and surprising us, and shifting things within us, and making new things possible. Because I believe that God is with us, and God shows us a new way when it seems there is no way, and God is able to bring life even out of death, and God is with those who are alone, and God is ultimately creative.

There are “other roads home.”

They’re new to us, we haven’t chosen them before (maybe for good reason), they come without good maps, and there are unknown dangers along the way. That said, the roads we came by are now impassable to us, and the way home is by another way. (Fair warning, home will be changed when we get there too, but you already knew that.)

May God help us to travel the roads we are now on, no matter how we got here, and may we find enough promise them to make it through another day, and another day, and another day. Amen

1Borg and Crossan “The First Christmas”, major theme.

2Apple Dictionary 1/6/2022.

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December 26, 2021
by Sara Baron

“The Narrow Way” based on Psalm 148 and Luke 2:41-52

Jesus was a pretty radical figure, maybe. I can’t always tell. On the one hand he messed with some really basic parts of religious norms of his day – like Sabbath keeping, and marriage laws, and the sanctity of the temple, and tithing. But on the other hand, all of what he taught can be found within the Jewish religious tradition of his day. He is a prophet calling people back to fidelity to God’s vision for a society who takes care of all people – just one doing it in the context of his own day.

As I try to figure out if Jesus was a radical or not, it becomes clear that the actual crux of it all is that following our God is a radical act, and that’s true throughout our tradition as well as in our lives. I read the Bible with a bias towards the narrative about Sabbath and distributive justice. (John Dominic Crossan suggests there are two major themes. That’s one, and a covenant / reward / punishment theme is the other. They’re interspersed in the Bible, but have very different worldviews.)

To seek to follow God’s ways, which are about distributive justice, adequate rest for all, and seeing the Divine Spark in every ONE and all of creation. And, it is a radical act to do so from within “domination systems” that prioritize some lives over the lives of others, and take the work of the many to enrich the few. I’m sometimes more than a little distressed to notice that the difference between Jesus’s time and ours is that he lived in a “pre-industrial agricultural domination system”1and we live in a post-industrial non-agricultural domination system. Both systems are maintained by violence and the threat of violence, exploit the poor for the sake of the very few on top, silence the many, and use religion to legitimize the exploitation.

So, in the face of the domination systems, God’s kindom of equitable distribution of rest, of labor, of food, of clothing, of shelter, of healthcare, and of education is RADICAL in the extreme. Anyway, I’m thinking about all of this because we have in our Gospel Lesson today a presentation of Jesus at age twelve being more than a little bit of a smarty-pants, but also showing that he UNDERSTOOD the point of following God. The story says he amazed the religious teachers of the day, and claimed the center of the faith tradition as his place in the world. This is, of course, a story told by later generations who were seeking to make sense of the wisdom of Jesus, but as a story overloaded with metaphor and meaning, it is definitely worth further examination.

The piece that often strikes me in this story is that it affirms once again how religiously faithful Jesus’s parents were. The travel to Jerusalem from Nazareth wasn’t minor, and doing it every year constituted a real burden. But those who were thinking about how Jesus came to be Jesus really believed that he had to emerge from a family deeply established in God-worship and God-living. Luke’s story does this in so many ways, and I tend to agree. The ways that Jesus spoke and reflected on the scripture of his own tradition, the faithfulness to the Holy One that he lived, and the teachings he offered could only come from someone who grew up steeped in faithful Judaism, AND in the difference between God’s vision and the world’s domination systems.

This year, perhaps because the First Sunday of Christmas is the day after Christmas, and the stories are all smooshed together in my head, I’m struck that this story about Jesus as a young wisdom teacher in the Jewish tradition comes very soon after Luke’s story of his mother at a similar age singing the Magnificat, and showing the depth of HER understanding of God’s radical ways. These 12 year olds are both said to know the faithful wisdom of the ages, and I think that’s intentional, because how could Jesus become Jesus unless his mother was as faithful and wise as she is presented as being.

We also have the repetition in this story that Mary, “treasured all these things in her heart.” (2:51a) which we also heard in verse 19, after the shepherds told their story, “But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” I’ve recently been reminded to look more holistically at Mary’s story. She agrees to bear the Messiah, even when it risks her life. Or, perhaps, she survives sexual violence, and gets pregnant, and then has to find a way forward with her son. And then, it seems, she has to figure out how to feed him, and how to keep him alive, and how to teach him about oppression while teaching him about nonviolence, and how to trust God. And, then in the end, she is said to watch him die. Mary’s life is incredibly faithful, but almost never easy, it seems. Her wisdom, her faith, her trust in God define her life, and become the background of the teachings of Jesus, but they don’t protect her from harm.

That’s true of Jesus too, but sometimes it seems like maybe he had more choice in the matter. He remained faithful to God and God’s teaching even when it was clear it would result in his death by the hands of the Empire. He could have stopped, right? I don’t know. But I think maybe his mother’s child couldn’t stop as long as anyone lived under oppression.

From where I sit, it isn’t always clear what decisions are following in the ways of God’s vision / Mary’s faith / Jesus’s life and what decisions are following in the ways of the domination system. It would be so nice if it were always clear, but life is muddy. Maybe that’s why the adult Jesus taught in parables. The answers aren’t in black and white, they’re in the struggle to find the meaning of the story in the context of the day and in the context of our day. The systems change, but God’s vision remains. And those who are faithful to it still seek wisdom to live the kindom and bring it further into being. The two systems are hard to disentangle rather on purpose – it benefits the domination system to look “righteous” and it tries hard to look like God’s way.

I think this is why following God’s way is sometimes called the “narrow way” – it is less traveled, and harder to find. Sometimes we get lost trying to find it. And yet, I deeply believe, worth seeking and walking or rolling on it. I think it is even worth the times we are lost.

In this Christmas season, may we commit again to following in God’s radical ways, to traveling the narrow path, and to seeking them with our lives. Amen

1 Marcus Borg, Jesus: Uncovering the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary (New York: HarperCollins, 2006).

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

December 26, 2021

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December 12, 2021
by Sara Baron

“Soft Eyes and Third Ways” based on Zephaniah 3:14-20 and Luke 3:7-18

As a matter of faith, whenever it is possible, I believe in refusing the binary and looking for a third way. I believe God is creative, I believe in win-wins, and I believe more goodness is possible than I can anticipate.

You, in this church, have affirmed this belief for me time, and time again. You have found third ways, you have shown me third ways, you have stayed with each other long enough to see past seeming binaries and found the shared values underneath. I believed this when I came here, intellectually, but I believe it in my body and soul now.

A few years ago, at a retreat, we did an exercise called “soft eyes.” It looked and sounded ridiculous. We were broken into sets of three, and one at a time each of us was asked to stand tall while the other two pulled as hard as they could on the arms of the person standing. However, each of us did this three different ways. First, we fought as hard as we could against the pressure. It was overwhelming. Then we just, let go, and let the pressure take us down. It was demoralizing. But, finally, we let the pressure come without fighting it. And, all of a sudden, the pressure felt like a good stretch. It was possible to withstand the pulling, and stand tall, indefinitely.

We then compared that to staring at something as hard as we could, to glancing and looking away, and to looking, but letting our eyes soften and see “through” what we looked at. This is third way stuff. This is refusing “all or nothing” thinking, and engaging in “both/and” thinking.

This is important, more now than ever. We have learned that our society has been under attack for quite some time by foreign countries that want to destabilize us by fanning the flames of cultural difference. We have also learned that social media sites, our email providers, our phones, and our web browsers are tracking our every move to try to understand us and our perspectives in order to make money off of us. And, they’ve discovered, telling us things that make us angry, and creating “us versus them” thinking (binaries!) is really great for business.

There is significant but mostly invisible pressure on us to enter into binaries and disregard the humanity of people on the other side. But, our faith teaches us that our shared humanity, the sacredness of every person that derives directly from God, is definitional. We seek to connect, not to disconnect. We seek to understand, not to dismiss. We seek to love, not to hate.

This is counter-cultural work, and it is emotionally challenging work. It is hard to be creative and find the third way, and it is nearly impossible when we’re riddled with anxiety or anger. It is hard to slow down and figure out what’s really going on, so a new solution might emerge, when everything feels urgent. And, too, it is hard to care when so much of what is live-giving and wonderful about life isn’t available right now.

As I hear Luke telling us about the preaching of John the Baptist though, I’m struck that in his shocking ways, he calls us to exactly this sort of work. John calls the ones who have come to hear him “a brood of vipers” which was super insulting, and not how polite people spoke to each other. I notice that it is a violent image. Vipers are a danger to life.

I also notice that John the Baptist calls out three groups of people, and they’re surprising. First he calls out anyone wealthy enough to have more than enough. Two coats, more food than they need. That feels like a pretty low standard of wealth, but since many people in that day (and ours) weren’t sufficiently clothed and even more didn’t have enough nourishment, anyone with too much was seen as hoarding what others needed. Then he calls out tax collectors and soldiers, and that feels REALLY weird to me. Of course, Jesus will do some work with a tax collector too, but both tax collectors and soldiers – in an occupied state – were part of the system of oppression that kept the poor in poverty and used their labor to enrich the already rich.

And John the Baptist doesn’t tell any of these people that they have to quit their jobs or change everything about their lives. He JUST tells them that they need to stop hurting other people. Take the two cloaks, give one way. Take the extra food, give it away. Don’t take more tax money than what you have to, even if you are allowed to. And, don’t extort people or act out violently against them. Take what you have and let it be enough, even if other people have more.

That is… refuse to participate in oppression, which in essence is refusing to participate in violence because violence takes a lot of forms and one of them is keeping food from those who need it to live.

This theme unites John the Baptist and the one he would baptize, Jesus. They created movements of people who refused to participate in violence. Their words and actions echo through the ages, asking us to do the same.

What does non- violence look like? Well, it is seemingly simple and difficult enough to engage us for our whole lives – like faith. For some it takes on pacifism, a big one. But it also is in the little every day things. It looks like intentionality with words we use and don’t use. It is in how we treat those in our households, and those in our inner circles, and those in our church family. It over looks like speaking in “I-statements” and taking responsibility for our emotions, and thinking more than once before we pass along information that we don’t know to be true. And, it means not kicking people when they’re down – OR UP. It means paying attention to our buying habits and how people were treated when they made the things we buy. It means paying attention to investments if we’re lucky enough to have them, and considering which companies are engaged in violence. Perhaps most challengingly, it also means treating ourselves without violence, including in the ways we speak to ourselves inside ourselves!

AND it means disengaging from binaries, and finding deeper truths about people, groups, and ways forward.

One big piece of refusing to participate in violence is engaging in compassion. Letting compassion take a bigger and bigger space in our lives. Learning how to be compassionate to ourselves and then letting that extend to others and then letting that expand even further.

And I’m here to tell you that this is really, really hard, and I don’t particularly enjoy it. My heart is more tender than it used to be, and the brokenness everywhere hurts me more than it used to, and it constantly threatens to overwhelm me.

But that same exercise on “soft eyes” and letting pulling turn into stretching was fundamentally about standing in the “tragic gap” between what IS and what SHOULD be, and letting it break us open without letting it break us. Because there are (at least) three ways to respond to the suffering around us. We can ignore it and push it away because it is too hard, but that doesn’t change anything. We can let it in and let it break us, but that actually doesn’t change anything either except that there is a little more brokenness. OR, we can let the brokenness break us open, and be present to it without drowning in it.

This is what we aim for, and we’ll fail both ways much of the time. But, on this third Sunday of Advent, I want to be sure to remind all of us about what can keep us upright in the Tragic Gap, and how we can be with brokenness without breaking, and let compassion hurt but not drown us.

There are two keys to this: God, and joy. They’re related. (Pretty deeply.) Finding spiritual practices that get you centered are imperative to life-long kindom building. They keep us upright. They keep us compassionate. They also tell us when it is time to take breaks. AND they keep reminding us that there is ALSO joy.

We live in a broken AND beautiful world. There is violence AND wonder.

An article I read in The Atlantic this week suggested thinking of things you used to do just because you liked them, and figuring out what you liked about them, in order to find what you might like doing now. This was intended to apply to those of us who have forgotten how to play and have fun.1

Let joy in. Play! Laugh! Have fun! Giggle if you possibly can. Fill yourself up. It is good in and of itself to enjoy life, AND it is NECESSARY to have joy in order to be able to do the work to build the kindom, a place of profound joy. We can’t build it if we don’t know it, we need to have joy to make space for joy. So dear ones seek God and joy… they matter on their own and they help us be compassionate and nonviolent. Thanks be to God for joy! Amen

1https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/12/how-care-less-about-work/620902/

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

December 12, 202

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December 5, 2021
by Sara Baron

“The Road Home is Under Construction” based on Malachi 3:1-4 and Luke 3:1-6

When preaching is done well the past helps make sense of the present to prepare the people for the future. Preaching isn’t ever supposed to be just retelling the stories of the past, they’re told to make meaning, to help make sense, to get perspective, to gain insight. In oral tradition, the stories themselves change as they’re retold, responding to the needs of the people who are hearing the story as well as the perspective of the story teller. In our tradition, the stories eventually were written down into our scriptures, into one or a few versions, but preachers PLAY with the stories until they build a bridge from the past to the present that can support the future.

In this sense, I note that the scripture writers themselves are doing some “preaching” with the stories of their own tradition in our texts today. In Luke we hear quoted Isaiah, and it is with Isaiah we’re going to start.

Isaiah is speaking to the Exiles, displaced in Babylon, trying to make sense of the traumas they’ve experienced, the losses they’ve lived, the discombobulation of being displaced, and the sense that God let them down. I think more of us fit in here than we tend to admit. I hear my colleagues talk about the pandemic as collective trauma, and I believe they are right. When we add together the childhood traumas that most people have experienced, to traumas in adulthood, to collective trauma – it becomes clear that we have similarities with the exiles. And, trauma isn’t just a word for “ a bad thing.” Shelly Rambo in her book Spirit and Trauma: A Theology of Remaining talks about trauma as “an encounter with death.”1 She, like other writers on trauma, clarifies that it isn’t just suffering, “Suffering is what, in time, can be integrated into one’s understanding of the world. Trauma is what is not integrated in time; it is the difference between a closed and an open wound. Trauma is an open wound.”

Into this brokenness, into this trauma, Isaiah speaks a vision. He says that God will level out the way home, create an easy pathway back to Israel with the mountains brought low and the valleys made high, and the curves straightened out. There are some important aspects to this story: God does it! The people don’t have to. God smoothing the way home tells them that God still cares about them, a response to their biggest fear. The trauma doesn’t go away, it isn’t solved by this vision of homecoming, or even the homecoming itself. However, the trauma ALSO doesn’t get to have the last word.

Isaiah is preaching “don’t give up” to a people who thinking about giving up. Isaiah is sharing that God still cares to a people who aren’t sure if God still cares. Isaiah is offering a vision of hope to a moment of hopelessness. And he does it with an imagery of justice, of bringing down the mighty and bringing up the weak. You see it? The past trauma, the present struggles, the bridge to the future?

I wonder how Isaiah would say it to us today. How would Isaiah speak into the loneliness of the past and present, the constancy of ambiguity, the displacement in place that we know today? I wonder what our path home would look like, how we might construe the road construction on that path in meaningful ways. What are the mountains we struggle to climb? What are the valleys light doesn’t reach? What curves keep us from seeing the way forward? What rough spots slow us down?

I’m struck that in all the layers of stories today, which are all themed on preparation, the preparation is always of “the people” and never of a person. I wonder if Isaiah’s metaphor for us today would be of God building the bullet train tracks home – so that we can journey together instead of apart, and take care of creation while we’re at it.

Now, Luke as a preacher, is using the story Isaiah told to make sense of HIS present. Luke’s present is situated in the powers and principalities of Rome, the passage starts by naming the era via the names of the men who were profiting from the control of the Jewish people. (And then the names of the high priests they’d appointed, which lacks subtlety.) And then, Luke switches, he says that into this powerful mess of oppression came John the Baptist, preaching and asking people to change their minds, turn around, get reoriented (#repentance). Luke uses the story of the past, the imagery of a safe road home, to make sense of John’s ministry. What had been a vision for exiled people to have hope that trauma didn’t have the last word became for Luke a vision of a prophet preparing the people to hear the words of the the Messiah, so that everyone might have healing (#salvation).

Luke is preparing the people to stand up to Rome, by telling them a story of John preparing the way for Jesus by preaching repentance.

How would we name our present day? Would we say, “During the presidency of…” or “When …. was governor of NY” or “in the time when trust was at an all time low” or “when income inequality had reached new highs?” It seems that how we name the present impacts how we contrast it with what God is up to. Funny that. Its true of how we name the past too, right? What stories do we tell, and which ones do we leave out? How do our memories adapt over time?

You may notice that different parts of Christianity understand Jesus pretty differently. It is likely fair to say in ways that are polar opposites. In the United Methodist Church, there is a similar phenomenon with John Wesley – the ways he is interpreted say more about the theology of the interpreters than of John Wesley. To be honest, I think Luke is pushing Isaiah’s vision pretty far here, to make it fit John the Baptist, but it does tell us how Luke understood John and Jesus which is exactly what it was intending to do.

How we tell the stories of the past (and which stories we tell), relates to what we perceive and we need in the present and what we dream for the future. This applies to our individual lives as well as our communal lives.

The past isn’t quite as… fixed as we might imagine it to be. It is complicated, and it can only be seen through the lenses brought to it. In this season of preparation, it seems fair to be asking ourselves: what are we preparing FOR, and how does that relate to our past and our present?

The rest of our lives are going to be “after the start of the pandemic.” Which means that the time before the pandemic is now our past. How do we tell its stories, and how do we tell them to make sense of the present and the future? More broadly, I suspect the days of Christianity being the de facto religion of the United States and mainline denominations dominating the religious landscape are also in the past. How do we tell those stories, and the stories of our own church with awareness that the present is different from the past and the future from both?

In between Isaiah and Luke, speaks Malachi. Malachi speaks to the POST-exilic people, who were a combination of the exiles who had come home, the people who had been left behind, and those who had moved into ancient Israel in the meantime. For the returned exiles, the return wasn’t as idealized they might have hoped. They got home, but it wasn’t what they expected. There were conflicts between groups, misunderstandings, and DIFFERENT traumas that led to DIFFERENT triggers, all mixed up together.

In the midst of this, Malachi tells of a messenger who is preparing the way by purifying the people into righteousness. Malachi is preparing the people for the work they have to do by re-imagining the stories of the past. He reuses the idea of God sending a messenger, but changes what the messenger would do. Malachi looks to the past to purify the present to make space for the future, but to do so requires reworking the past.

All this preparing the prophets and writers were doing, all this worrying about the people and their connection to God, all of this awareness of the flow of time and its intersections, all of these criss crosses of timelines and imagery:

What do they say to us today? How do they help us be in our uncomfortable present? Well, all of the “presents” of the texts were uncomfortable. They were all times where people were just waiting it out, hoping for it to end – the exile, the discomfort after the exile, Roman rule. For what has felt to us like a very long time, we’ve been trying to wait out this pandemic.

But, the prophets and writers of God spoke into those uncomfortable presents to make meaning and do the work that needed to be done. This pandemic has lasted too long to just wait for it to go away. This IS our present, this one, not the one we expected, and God is with us in it, and God is working with us to build a bridge that can support the future.

I wonder what it will take to sort through the stories of the past, to tell them and hear them, and pick from them what stories we need to take with us into the future. I wonder how we get better at being in this uncomfortable and ambiguous now. I suspect a lot of it has to do with telling stories, and with taking the time to listen to God and ourselves. It has to do with not rushing away, but being present. And so once again, I invite you into the uncomfortable, into the present, into the NOW, with trust that God meets us here. Amen

Time with Young People

What is it like to be YOUR AGE years old today? What do I need to know, since I haven’t ever been YOUR AGE OLD in today?

Things are different than they have been, and it is hard to make sense of, but I’d love to know what you know, as I try to tell you what I know.

I”m 40 years old right now, and … I still have dreams that I am in public and forgot my mask…. and I also left the house this weke and got 5 steps away before I realized I really had forgotten my mask. My brain still forgets even big changes!!!

God is with us, God will always be with us, and God helps us adapt. Thanks be to God!

1 12.

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

December 5, 2021

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November 28, 2021
by Sara Baron

“The Future. The Past. Grief.” based on Jeremiah 33:14-16 and Luke 21:25-36

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

I can just HEAR the me from two years ago whining about the weird Advent passages, and how dark and gloomy they are, and can’t we have a more thematic set of readings. I can hear her, but I’m NOT her anymore.

The 2021 version of me reads these passages with relief, glad that the dystopian realities of the past two years have expression in our Holy Scriptures. Because, truly, people have fainted from fear – and with good cause. The powers of heaven and earth have been shaken. Foreboding has become normal, and all the nations of the earth are distressed.

YES, thank you Luke for putting it words.

I almost wish he hadn’t switched topics quite so quickly. I find I’m not quite ready to believe that all of this is going to be fixed by Jesus returning on a cloud, and there have been far too many metaphorical green leaves sprouting without metaphorical figs arriving for me to read the signs quite like that anymore.

However, when the passages ends with Luke suggesting, “Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place,” I do find that wish I’d heeded that advice, because strength has sure been needed, and I wish I’d prayed more to find it before everything came to pass.

Now, of course, unlike the first generation of Christians, I’m not expecting the end of the world imminently, nor expecting that the signs I see today suggest that’s coming. However, I believe we have all lived an end of the world as we knew it, and that requires some time to process and accept it.

Advent is a time of longing, and waiting, and hoping. It is a time when we acknowledge how broken things are, and how desperately we need God’s help to make them better. It is a time when we join in the yearning of people of faith throughout the ages, waiting for righteousness and justice and the kindom of God, and noticing that IT IS NOT HERE YET.

Friends, it is not here yet.

It doesn’t feel very close.

It feels further away than ever.

And I don’t even want to tell you all the reasons why, because I know your hearts are already broken, and I don’t think they need any additional burdens.

So I’m not going to. I’m going to trust that you’ve noticed that things are NOT RIGHT, and VERY BROKEN, and it is NOT OK.

And now I’m going to ask you to do something that you may not want to do.

I’m going to ask you to stay with the brokenness, and how much it hurts, and how awful it is, and all the emotions that come with it. I’m going to ask you not to think of ways to fix it, or what books or articles to read about it, or what music or game could help you forget about it, or what little unrelated thing you could try fix just to feel like you still have some power in the world. I’m going to ask that you just let it hurt.

I’m going to ask that you let yourself hurt, let yourself grieve, let your spirit wander around lost – and sad – and angry – and confused – and … most of all that you let it be without trying to fix it or ignore it.

This, dear ones, is the Advent I think we need.

Because we lost the world as we knew it, and it has been so scary and awful and disconnected that we’ve just tried to keep on keeping on, and so we didn’t ever deal with it. And so it has been dealing with us.

When I sit with people who have lost dear ones, I advise them that their job is to sit on the couch and cry. I worry that if people don’t sit on the couch, stare at nothing, and cry intermittently, that the grief will just ache harder and longer.

I want us to do that. To be with the pain, like God is with us. Emmanuel is one of the words we come back to every Advent – “God with us.” God is with us, and we need to be with ourselves as God is with us.

Over the course of my leave, I found myself coming to the song “Come and Find the Quiet Center” again and again, and its wisdom deepened in me as the weeks past. This week it is the second verse that is speaking most strongly to me:

Silence is a friend who claims us, cools the heat and slows the pace, God it is who speaks and names us, knows our being, touches base, making space within our thinking, lifting shades to show the sun, raising courage when we’re shrinking, finding scope for faith begun.

I’ve chosen this hymn as our Advent song, hoping that some silence and slowed paces might be gifts to all of us (and not just me.) I don’t want us to rush to Christmas this year, I want us to slow down the pace, listen to ourselves, and listen for God. I believe that grief takes TIME, and we need to give that time.

I think of what it takes for wounds to heal: they need to be clean, and dry, and protected. They can’t continue to be agitated and still heal. And even when all those factors are taken care of, it just takes time. That’s true in bodies, but I think its true in our spirits and souls too.

It is EASY to feel anxious and act out in unproductive ways, trying to change that feeling. It is hard to sit with our anxieties, and listen to them.

God calls us to do it anyway.

So I ask you some questions for this Advent:

What grief needs time to be heard?
Where is it that we are waiting for God to break in?
Where do we see God with us?

And, I invite you into a time of waiting, in the midst of brokenness, of silence and stillness. I welcome you to Advent.

Amen

–

Call to Advent

Siblings in Christ,

I call you to seek quiet, to seek God,

To let pain be.

To name what you’ve lost, and what we’ve lost,

To name what is broken (at least for yourself)

To let God into the tender-most parts of your being,

to make space for darkness, and allow pain and darkness to set the pace.

God is with us, Emmanuel,

may we take the time to be with God. 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

November 28, 2021

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November 21, 2021
by Sara Baron

“Questions to Ask” based on John 18:33-27

Today is “Reign of Christ Sunday,” which used to be called “Christ the King Sunday” … which means that I’d really like to spend some time thinking about how it would feel to talk about “Christ the Queen” Sunday, but ALAS it is also “Giving Sunday” (the culmination of our Stewardship Campaign), AND it is the day we are doing our Church Conference AND it is my first Sunday in the pulpit after 8 weeks off, and there just seems to be a lot to talk about all at once.

Let me start with this: It is well with my soul.

I really needed the time off, I was closer to burn out than I knew. I was hurting more than I knew. I was more desperately in need of quiet time with God than I knew – and that simple fact taught me a lot.

Friends, one of my greatest temptations in life is the temptation to be EFFICIENT. I like to get things done, and the particular reality of clergy work is that there is always more work to get done than can actually be done. These are a bad combination, and all too often I’ve allowed them to get in the way of simply connecting with God.

Yet, I’d imagine that if any of you were thinking about the most important thing you want from your faith leader, it would be that I am grounded in my relationship with God. (Hmmm, ok, it occurs to me that you are a vibrantly diverse community and lots of you would have other answers, but I think this would be NEAR the top at least.)

Over the course of my leave, I sought to take an hour a day to simply be with God, most of the time in silence. It was GLORIOUS. I remembered grace from the inside out. I found peace within. And I realized that by prizing efficiency over my own spiritual well-being I’d been draining my own resources and doing a dis-service to those trusting me to remain grounded.

So the most important things I want you to know about my leave is that I found my “Quiet Center”, and that I realized I need to keep it. Start next week, I want to invite you to do some of that seeking and finding too, because I don’t think I’m alone in needing it, but that’s Advent, and this is Reign of Christ, and I’m ready to talk about that now.

For some, this leads to the REALLY good question, “What is Reign of Christ Sunday?” and it is the last Sunday of our liturgical year, and as such we set it aside as a time to remember that God is God and we are not, and the kindom of God is the goal of our lives, and other things are not. Or, in more traditional language, God is King and the Kings and Queens and Leaders of this world are NOT the most important ones to us.

This, I hope, leads us to the big questions of, “What does that look like?” and “How does that matter?” Which is fantastic, because those are the questions that link together Reign of Christ Sunday with Giving Sunday and Stewardship.

Without God, consumerism, Capitalism, and all sorts of other systems that define our value by our economic input and output, and place competition to survive at the center our lives become the default. The Kings, Queens, and leaders vary, but the systems that oppress, dominate, and compete just take on different names and variations.

When we talk of the Reign of Christ or the Kindom of God, we’re talking about an entirely different value system. One where the value of life is inherent, and the goals are collective well-being and collaboration. One where we work towards everyone thriving, without exception.

And THAT is why we give of our resources to build the kindom of God. In the United Methodist Church our membership vows say that we “faithfully participate in the church’s ministries with our prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness.” That’s pretty extensive, and it is a helpful metric. In fact, I think it is helpful to consider how we give of those 5 things within the church and how we use them beyond the church community as well – in our beyond the church kindom building.

How are we using prayer to build up the church community and its ministries? And how are we using prayer to build up the community at large? For me, prayer is about connecting with the Divine, finding God’s wisdom within me, slowing down enough to notice what really matters, and becoming more whole. It is my hope that when I pray, and become more whole, I am more useful to the church and to the community at large. But again, more on that later.

How do we use our presence to build up the church community and its people? And how does our presence act as a blessing beyond the church? Well this one got complicated at the start of the pandemic, didn’t it? One of my favorite confirmation class moments was when the students told me that they feel more open to the Divine when other people who they trust are also present and seeking the Divine, and that’s why they think people commit to each other to show up for worship. I hadn’t found those words before they did, and I think about their wisdom a lot! However, we’re now living in a reality where showing up is more complicated – it may be the blessing of presence but it can ALSO be the danger of exposure!! The work of navigating that tension has been exhausting!! That said, the questions matter just as much as ever, and the need to struggle with how to be “present” and what that looks like is more important than ever.

How do we use our gifts to build up the church and its ministries, and how do we use them to build up the world? Now, while I believe we are all blessed with a multitude of gifts, I think this vow is really largely financial gifts, which don’t fall into other categories. We live in a society with incredible income disparity, much like Jesus did. The Poor People’s campaign estimates that 45% of our NY state population lives in poverty,1slightly higher than the 43.5% nationwide. Clearly, members of our church come from a wide range of socio-economic standings, and what people are able to give varies widely. Kevin and I believe in tithing, and we are able to tithe, so we do. But that doesn’t actually feel sufficient to us. We aim to contribute similar giving to other organizations and worthy causes, which is a goal we’re still working on. But we seek to use our financial resources for the well-being of the church AND of the world. We know that we are lucky to be able to give, and we are grateful to have a church to give to that we believe in, and to know that there are so many fantastic non-profits we wish to support.

How do we use our service to build up the church and its ministries, and how do we use our service to build up our communities? This, I think, is the place for the wider interpretation of “gifts.” I remain amazed at the many gifts present in the Body of Christ – from music to knowing how to help people navigate Social Services to making sure our roofs get repaired and SO MUCH MORE. Furthermore, the contributions that church members make in the community gets noticed – people think there are MORE OF US than there are, because of the contributions that get made. However, these sorts of gifts require some tending to as well. We’re living in an era of BURN OUT, and things that were once life-giving can become life-draining. God isn’t interested in consuming us… or burning us out, and so we have to pay attention to the service we give. On the other hand, there are many ways we can stretch and grow, and PLAY in service, so sometimes a simple change in where we serve can bring relief. Finally, serving is one of the most enjoyable parts of life, and if you need help finding a place to serve, I’m your person!

That leaves us with witness. How do we use our witness to build up the church and its ministries, and how do we use it to build up the world? I suspect many people have the Francis of Assisi answer’s ready, “preach the gospel at all times and if necessary use words.” I love that answer myself, although these days it sounds a little bit too easy, and maybe not quite true enough. People in society are far too often MEAN these days, and I have some fear that many of us are… people in society. We get triggered. We get impatient. We get stressed. We get bored. We get scared. And we act out in ways that do not preach the gospel at all. I know we all WANT to be expressions of God’s love in the world, and I know NONE of us are capable of enacting that perfectly, nor do we need to be judged for our imperfection. Yet the questions remain, how do we use our witness? And maybe that comes with another question, that is “how do I let God build me up so that I have enough love to share?” And, funny enough,that goes back to prayer, to Advent, to quiet, to God, and to the things I’m going to get around to next week and throughout Advent.

Loving God means loving God’s people and God’s creation. Loving God’s people and creation means taking responsibility for their well-being, and THAT means paying attention to the use of our prayers, our presence, our gifts, our service, and our witness. AND THAT is how we aim to recognize Christ as our Queen, or our King, as the one we aim to serve.

May God help us as we wrestle with the responsibilities of faith. Amen

1https://www.poorpeoplescampaign.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/CostofPoverty_FINAL.pdf

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

November 21, 2021

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September 12, 2021
by Sara Baron

“Mutuality” based on James 2:1-10, 14-17

People often think I am a “bleeding heart liberal,” a “tree-hugging hippie,” or – to get to the point – an “everything goes progressive.” I do not deny the bleeding heart nor the tree-hugging, but actually I don’t think “everything goes.” James speaks the language of my faith, and in doing so makes clear why I find it so challenging to live out my faith the way I want to.

Both in Biblical times, and today, the culture is permeated with the premise that deference should be given to wealthy and powerful people. The work of Christians to treat everyone as beloveds of God is profoundly countercultural. James even suggests preferential treatment for the poor, although I can’t tell if this is because it is necessary to counteract the brokenness of the world, because most of the early Christians were poor, or because people living in poverty really do have a better grasp on faith. Maybe all of them.

To make his point, James sets up a believable story about two people gathering with the community of believers. One is a rich man, a senator or nobleman based on his ring, likely running for office. This rich man has some powerful quid pro quos to offer the fragile and vulnerable faith community. He could be a useful protector for them.

At the same time, another man enters the community of believers. He is poor, his clothes are old, ratty, and dirty.

The faith community responds with the world’s standards, James says. They give the rich and powerful man the best seat in the house while telling the poor man that he can either sit in a place of dishonor or stand out of the way.

James is a wisdom teacher. He speaks clearly through the ages. I can easily believe this was an actual experience in plenty of early Christian gatherings, and I know for certain it still is today. The world’s standards infiltrate the church. While Galatians 3:28 says “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” That is a RADICAL claim of equity within the Church. All of the distinctions of humanity are erased by being followers of Christ. All are one. All are equal. All are equally important.

But that is easier said that done. The unconscious bias

gets carried into the church, even when people don’t want it to. And they do great damage. James says, “Siblings, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our Lord Jesus Christ?” I always worry that when we say or hear “Lord Jesus Christ” we hear it with the hierarchy of the English Nobility, a system rife with patriarchy, sexism, and economic exploitation. Which, pretty clearly, isn’t what James is saying here. For the early Christians, calling Jesus “Lord” was the utmost subversion, because it claimed that if Jesus was Lord, Caesar was not.1

By ALL of the worldly standards, Caesar WAS Lord. He was Emperor of the largest empire known to that part of the world, he was wealthy beyond imagination, he had the power of the best armies behind him, he had systems of nobility and administration under him, he could execute as he pleased, change laws when he wished, and of course his FACE was on all the money. He had titles galore, including “Lord and God,” and those were the OFFICIAL declarations of the empire, to claim otherwise was to risk death.

In the face of that reality, the early Jesus followers chose another way. A “narrower” way, a more dangerous way, a way that subverted the understanding of power, and choose nonviolence over the power of violence. They claimed Jesus, a peasant from the backwater Galilee, a rabble rouser of the small but ancient Jewish faith, a man executed by the violent power of the Empire as a the leader of a violent rebellion (even when it wasn’t true)… they claimed JESUS as Lord.

And when JESUS is Lord like THAT, to favoritism to those who hold power and sway in the Roman Empire could reasonably make James question if they actually believe in Jesus or not. Are they following the narrow way, or are they slowing just making the way wider? Are they about the radical equality of all people in the eyes of God, or about making it easier to be a follower of Jesus? Are they overturning assumptions about who matters, or are they just replicating the ways of the world.

And, of course, the crux of this series of questions: are we?

I can see some evidence that we are committed to inverting the world’s values:

Our Community Breakfast is an abundance of good food, offered with grace and respect, that anyone would be pleased to eat. We are not only interested in feeding God’s beloveds, we are interested in feeding people AS God’s beloveds.
Both the long-running Sustain Ministry Program and Community Breakfast have welcomed and kept volunteers who are also recipients of the ministry’s gifts. This suggest to me that we have been interested in re-distributing God’s gifts of abundance RATHER THAN just in giving gifts to ease guilt or unconsciously hold power over others.
Our stewardship pledge sheets ask about all of the membership vows: prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness in order to remind us all that no one way of giving is more important than another, and that all of us are stronger in the ability to give in one way than another.
The church has long advocated for living wages, and puts its money where its mouth is, paying its own employees as it believes the world should.
Before the pandemic, some church groups offered luncheons with (nonobligatory) free will offerings, making genuine space for everyone to be fed and together regardless of income.
Many of the trips we take as a church – hiking, baseball games, canoeing and kayaking trips – are free or affordable to people across a wide income spectrum.
Our community is profoundly diverse, especially in socioeconomic status and income. Beloved members are rich, beloved members are poor, beloved members are in between.

And yet truth be told, I see evidence of the values of the world creeping in too though:

Before the pandemic, often parts of the church celebrated or connected by going out to lunch or dinner, or offering support by sending a communal gift, which assumes that everyone has the discretionary money to participate.
I sometimes hear people living in poverty referred to as “them,” such as in the context, “how can we help them?” which forgets that people living in poverty are part of us. The questions might be, “How can we ease the pain of poverty?” and “How can we transform society to end poverty?”
There is a great value on education in this community, one that isn’t always held in enough tension with the reality that in the US access to education has more to do with pre-existant privilege than intelligence.
Our primary worship style speaks to people’s heads at least as much as their hearts or souls, which historically fits the values of the upper class.
Among some of our members, there is still a sense of discomfort with the struggles of people in poverty. While discomfort is itself neutral, lack of facing it has resulted in people who live in poverty perceiving that they’re welcome to eat at our Breakfast, but not join us for Worship. The perception of a two tiered system, I fear, is not entirely incorrect.

Given these two lists, I think James still has plenty to teach us, even if we’ve been trying to learn along the way.

In order to build God’s Kindom at FUMC, it may mean we have to look deeply at our discomfort. Although discomfort is natural, a willingness to change it is sometimes harder.

To live into the values of Jesus and James requires soaking up God’s grace, and a constant awareness of the ways that the world tries to separate people into worthy and unworthy categories. To be a church that lives out the “Lordship of Jesus Christ” requires us to notice class, notice classism, and actively work to change it – in ourselves and in our community. It means that those of us who do not live in poverty need to listen to people who do live in poverty, and learn from them. Our actions to disrupt the status quo and move the world toward the kindom must be based in mutuality. We can’t serve in the name of Christ if we see those we serve as “others” rather than as a part of “us.” And we can’t claim anyone as part of “us” unless they claim “us” too.

I hope and pray that God will help us take the lessons James offers to heart. Amen

1 Marcus Borg, Jesus: The Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary, (HarperCollins) 2015, p. 279.

September 12, 2021

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

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September 5, 2021
by Sara Baron

“Interconnected” based on James 1:17-27

Welcome to the book of James. It is one of my favorites, despite the fact that it takes away one of my best preaching tools. That is, I usually spend a lot of time explaining context and making sense of a scripture in the time and place it was written. But James is almost a form of wisdom literature. It is universal. So, we’re able to spend our time on the ideas in the book directly.

James is written to the followers of Jesus in the diaspora – that is, those who lived outside of the Holy Land. The ones who had been DISPERSED from the land of their ancestors in faith. This feels relevant right now too. I don’t know any church members at FUMC Schenectady who would claim modern Palestine or Israel as their native land, but I think that all of us are displaced from the “land” we once knew, and have not yet settled into the “land” we’ll live in eventually. The Pandemic has displaced us all (although not all the same amount.)

In this opening chapter of the book of James, we are urged to LIVE our faith. James wants faith in ACTION. He urges people not to just listen to preachers 😉 but to LIVE their faith, and he gets rather specific about it. James believes that people who are followers of Jesus should be acting out different values than the world’s.

The crux of the advice from today’s passage is “let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness.” For James, this is integral in what it means to be “religious” – right up there with caring about God’s beloveds who the world doesn’t value (“widows and orphans.”)

As far as I can figure it out, the work of Christians is to build the kindom of God. The kindom, sometimes called the beloved community, is God’s vision for the world. We will know it is here when the power of love overcomes the love of power; when the abundant resources of the world are used for the good of all people; when kin-ship connections cross all boundaries; when the poorest and most vulnerable people have enough to survive and thrive; when no one has to teach anyone about God because God is known by all. The kindom is God’s long term plan for us, and our work to get there happens in two broad ways: first, by creating Christian communities where we practice kin-dom values and treat each other like we’re already there and second by working with God to share love, to seek mercy, and advocate for justice so that the world is healed.

One of the parts of kindom building that can be hard sometimes is that it requires seeing clearly what the world is like now. We have to do this so we can hold it in tension with how God would have the world be in the kindom, but often the aching pain of the world as it is can be hard to let ourselves see clearly. For instance, we can’t work towards a world without rape and violence unless we admit that we live in a world with rape and violence, and that there are barriers to changing it. So, we seek to see clearly. We seek to see how things are AND how God wants them to be.

Now, I don’t want to shock you or anything, but the United States is a highly individualistic society. (The kindom is not.) We in the US have proven to the world how terribly individualism works – time and time again. Including in our responses to the COVID-19 Pandemic.

You might think that if you were looking at this pandemic with clear eyes that you would see that none of us can be well unless all of us are well- that we are collectively only as healthy as the least healthy among us – that every act of protection and prevention has enormous ripple effects. However, if we had learned this lesson, we’d be spending as much as possible to make it feasible to vaccinate every willing person in the world as soon as possible. We’d even do this before triple vaccinating our own population, because slowing down the spread of the virus is the most important way to keep everyone safe, healthy, and alive. The well being of all and the well being of the USA actually align! Yet, we miss the mark.

The book of James has an interesting perspective on the relationship that Christians have to the world. In the face of the injustices of the Roman Empire, the wealth inequality, the slavery, the power imbalances, the death rates of the poor, James urges the faithful … not to get angry.

I find that my first instinct is to argue with this a little bit. “Are you sure?” “What about when…?” Yet, even as I argue, I am convicted by this passage.

Society is rife with anger. Anger is pulling us apart at the seams. Some of the anger, I’d argue, is “righteous.” It is a response to injustice that needs to be seen, acknowledged, named, and addressed. We’ll talk about that in a moment.

Most of the anger is misplaced. The anger is being used to create groups of “us” that stand against “them,” and those distinctions dismiss that everyone in both groups are beloveds of God. The anger is being used to provoke fear, sell products, pass unjust laws, and elect politicians. The anger is being USED.

And James points out directly that the people who want others to get angry are selling them on the idea that if they get angry enough, they will provoke God to action. James says it won’t work though. God will act when God will act, and furthermore, prayer is a better way to go about it. Anger serves the people promoting it, not God.

But what about righteous anger? As I’ve been saying recently, anger is a “secondary” emotion. That is, it exists like a red flag to mark a place where something that is held precious is being violated. It lets us know when our values are attacked, and underneath that is another emotion. Most often anger is there to act as the bodyguard to sadness or the diversion to fear.

Sadness and fear are sufficient. They can guide us to good action, they can show us the ways of compassion, they can help us grow together. They are wise enough, that once we find them, we can let go of the anger that guided us to them.

Which means that the way to be “slow to anger” is often to identify anger, and then sit with it and find out what is underneath it. It means that we sometimes need to listen – to ourselves and our tender emotions. God is there, with us when we listen, with us when we feel, with us when we discover what is under our anger. This is, even, a form of God’s healing, God’s salve in our lives.

Of course, “be slow to anger” is the third piece of advice we’re given in today’s passage. The first two are to be quick to listen and slow to speak. It seems clear that James’ advice is aimed at faith COMMUNITIES, because his advice is aimed at deepening and maintaining good relationships among the followers of Jesus.

For the past several years, I have participated in “listening circles.” These intentional spaces have careful guidelines that are aimed at making sure there is holy and sacred space for listening – and speaking. At times there have been 20 or 30 people in these circles, and you might think that there would be a lot more speaking than listening. But, there isn’t. Often there are prolonged silences between speakers, and they feel like time to absorb the wisdom one beloved of God has offered. When the obligation to have a response is taken away, along with the tendency toward chit-chat, there is spaciousness for silence and listening.

When I hear James say, “be quick to listen, slow to speak” I think of how healing those circles have been in my life. I love being freed from having to have a response to something someone says, and instead just listen to them and receive their wisdom. And, when I do speak into such a space, I am astounded at the power that comes with being heard with love.

As much as I have loved these experiences though, it isn’t clear to me how to live “be quick to listen, slow to speak” ALL the time. Really listening to another of God’s beloveds takes energy and attention, and … let’s be honest dear ones, those are finite resources!!! We will drain ourselves if we try to listen WELL all the time. (I’ve tried.)

That said, there is a being who is capable of listening with complete attention, and full energy, with love and compassion, with care and support – all day, every day, to all of us. God, the creator, sustainer, redeemer has gifted us with life, and God is with us breathing new life into us day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, and even second by second. When we seek God in prayer and meditation, we find that God is close at hand, ready and able to offer us healing. When all we have to offer are sighs too deep for words, God knows what we mean. When we are full of words, God listens until we have exhausted them. When we are able to be with the Divine in holy silence, God meets us there. And, of course, when what we offer God is our listening, …

well, that’s when things really start to happen 😉

James encourages us to an active faith – not just to worship God once a week, but to live out faith in every day. He reminds us that the very people the world dismisses (the “widows and orphans”) are the ones that followers of Christ take care of. James doesn’t hate the world – though he isn’t impressed with it either – but he doesn’t think being angry with it is going to change it. James encourages the people of faith to act differently. Take care of the struggling and vulnerable, listen deeply, speak with intention, slow down anger and learn its lessons instead of acting it out. Don’t replicate the brokenness of the world – change it.

So, dear ones of God, I invite you to God’s restoration, God’s healing of the world, God’s work of the Kindom: be quick to listen; be slow to speak; be slow to anger. With such “simple” acts as these, we can heal the world. 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

September 5, 2021

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August 22, 2021
by Sara Baron

“Blessings of the Journey” based on Psalm 84

Psalm 84 is one of those rare pieces of scripture that doesn’t change meaning from first glance to last look. It is straight forward. The speaker, likely a pilgrim on a the way to Jerusalem, names the wonders of “God’s house,” and is jealous of the birds who are able to roost on the Temple mount, and stay there forever.

The Psalmist names the joy of just being on the journey to Zion, an extension of the joy of Zion itself, and then asks for blessings for those on their journeys.

The Psalmist expresses clear and profound love of God, and gratitude for connection to the Divine and things of the Divine.

The commentators, who have to find something to say, mentioned how incredibly rare rain is in Israel around the time of the Festival of Tabernacles. That’s OK though. It just makes it more profound when the Psalmist says that in the dry valley along the way, unexpected early rains come and pools and springs of water bring blessings.

The Psalm assumes that the Temple in Jerusalem is God’s house, that the presence of God actually resides there. This was never universally accepted in Jewish thought, and Jesus carefully articulated that God is everywhere, but the idea persists. It is even a bit expansive. Many people think of all churches and worship centers as uniquely containing the presence of God. Likely, on some subconscious levels, we do too.

Or maybe they aren’t only subconscious. There are definitely PLACES where I feel God’s presence more easily than in the rest of the world. I BELIEVE that God is everywhere, but my human and finite being notices better in some places than others. Our sanctuary is one of them. I can almost hear the heartbeat of this faith community when I sit in silent prayer in our sanctuary, and the heartbeat of this church opens my spirit to God.

This pandemic has closed us off from so many PLACES, some of them our holy places. Parents send their kids to schools or day cares they’ve never been allowed into. Hospitals limit or refuse visitors. Buildings are closed, or limited use, or require approval to enter. This year our camps refused visitors and during retreat season required reservations to just take a walk. And, of course, our beautiful sanctuary lies quietly in wait for our return to it.

I think we may be in a good position to hear the Psalm’s yearning. Whether or not God specially resides in our sanctuary (hint: no), the sanctuary is a place of worship, prayer, beauty, and safety that opens many of our hearts to God. 17 months after closing it for regular worship, we aren’t unlike regular pilgrims hoping for a glimpse of the Temple. The actual church mice, and occasional church bats, have had far better access than we have!

How lovely is your dwelling place, O LORD of hosts!
My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God.
Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O LORD of hosts, my King and my God.
Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise. Selah

The Temple was creation themed. It was designed to celebrate the God who created all that is. Sort of an interesting premise, huh? That the Temple was ONE place that celebrated ALL places, and people from ALL places came to that ONE place to offer praise?

Pilgrimage is a significant part of many faith traditions, and those who lived in ancient Israel would have known it well. Only the residents of Jerusalem had regular access to the Temple. Others had to make INTENTIONAL trips, and often made them for festivals.

Because the journey was aimed at connection with God and faithfulness in ritual, the journey itself was sanctified.

Friends, I think this is where we stand.

We’re on a journey towards the places of God, with the people of God, and the place we stand is holy but it isn’t where we are going to stay.

Luckily, the journey itself is sacred. It has meaning. It has purpose. It matters.

Much like walking a labyrinth, the journey IN and the journey OUT often matter as much as the moments in the center.

Some people never managed to make it to the Temple. For them, the closest thing was hearing the Psalms of the pilgrimage, the Psalms of Ascent, and finding their own meaning in them.

It is the meaning that matters. It is remembering that God is on the journey and not just the destination. It is noticing the unexpected blessings along the way – the early rains, the springs in the desert’s dry valleys, the strength of God, the hearts of the people.

This pilgrimage isn’t always where people want to be This one feels more like exile. This one has gone on too long.

But it is still a journey with God, from God’s place, to God’s place, with God’s people. And it is a blessed journey. And there are early rains.

Happy are those whose strength is in you, in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
As they go through the valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength; the God of gods will be seen in Zion.

Bless us, Holy God. Hear our prayers. Hold up the hurting. Find a way for the broken. Help compassion reign in the world. Hear our prayers.

Journeys are long and frightening, and they change us along the way. Guide us, Holy One.

O LORD God of hosts, hear my prayer; give ear, O God of Jacob! Selah
Behold our shield, O God; look on the face of your anointed.

The best part of life is being connected with the God of Love and Life. Connections and relationships are what matter. Not important positions, or lovely possessions. Connections to God, to each other, and to creation. That’s what feels like being in God’s own house.

God gives us life, and makes it worthwhile. God gifts us, and helps us. God is worthy of our trust. And the journey itself is blessed, and a blessing. It will prepare us for the next place we arrive at.

For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than live in the tents of wickedness.

For the LORD God is a sun and shield; he bestows favor and honor. No good thing does the LORD withhold from those who walk uprightly.
O LORD of hosts, happy is everyone who trusts in you.

Holy one bless our journeys, and the places they take us. Amen

August 22, 2021

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