“Hell and the Mid-Terms”based on Amos 6:1a, 4-7 and…

September 25, 2022
by Sara Baron

If
you want to watch me get internally up in arms quickly, you can give
me a Biblical narrative about heaven and hell that directly suggests
that God sends bad people to suffer in hell. I’ve spent much of my
life trying to counter the narrative that God is someone to be afraid
of, along with countering the idea that God arbitrarily punishes
people with eternal condemnation. Therefore I can get rather quickly
irritated at scriptures supporting condemnations to hell.

Enter:
this week’s gospel lesson, in which a rich man and a poor man die and
the poor man is carried away by the angels to be with Abraham while
the rich man is being tormented in Hades. HEY BIBLE, I’m trying to
teach people about loving God because God first loved us, NOT trying
to scare people into conformity. COULD YOU TONE IT DOWN A LITTLE?

Obviously
not. Getting myself up in arms about a text doesn’t actually make it
go away, so I’m going to have to deal with this story. I can calmly
remind myself that it is a parable, and parables are meant to help us
break down our assumptions about how the world works, NOT be taken
literally. That helps some. I can remind myself that the Jesus
Seminar doesn’t’ think this story goes back to Jesus, but rather to
Luke. But that doesn’t do too much for me, because I find Luke to be
a pretty significant teacher in his own right.

Or,
I can let the story stand as it is written, try to put my concerns
aside, and see what the story can teach as it is. Which, I’m pretty
sure, is the best way forward.

So,
who is Lazarus? He is a poor man, reduced to begging, whose body was
covered in sores. He was hungry, and he was aching, and the comfort
he received was of dogs licking his wounds for him. Oh my. Unlike
in other parables and unlike the rich man, he is given a name. His
name means “One God has helped.” In having a name, we are
confronted with his humanity. We are invited to look at him, and see
his pain.

Many
of the first followers of Jesus were people like Lazarus. Or people
one step from being people like Lazarus. They knew his pain, they
saw his humanity, they could look at him and see his reality because
it was familiar. They also knew the ways other people looked away
from them, and worked to not see them. They knew people wanted them
to be invisible so they could go on their merry way.

In
a conversation I once witnessed, a person who had recently been
housed was asked about how to best respond to people begging on the
street. While only one opinion, hers has stayed with me. She said
it mattered much less to her if people gave money or not, but it
mattered a lot if they looked at her and acknowledged her. She often
felt invisible, and dehumanized, and someone responding when she
spoke mattered a whole lot.

Lazarus,
I’m thinking, knew what that was like.

Who
was the rich man? We know he was rather seriously rich and had 5
brothers. We also know that he didn’t see Lazarus. Not in the
beginning of the story, nor in the end. He thought Lazarus was
disposable, he thought Lazarus should be sent to do his bidding.
Lazarus should be sent to soothe him, Lazarus should be sent to warn
his brothers. (Not warn EVERYONE, mind you, just his brothers.)

As
Debbie Thomas, theologian and writer of “Journey with Jesus” puts
it:

But here’s the scariest
part of the story for me: even after death, the rich man fails to see
Lazarus.  Privilege just plain clings to him — even
in Hades!  Though he piously calls on “Father” Abraham,
he refuses to see Lazarus as anything other than an errand boy:
“Bring me water.”  “Go warn my brothers.”  No
wonder Abraham tells him that the “chasm” separating the two
realms is too great to cross.  Let’s be clear: God is not
the one who builds the chasm.  We do that all by
ourselves.¹

That
is a scary part, that the things separating us from seeing each
other’s humanity are so powerful that they could remain even beyond
our deaths.

When
I stop myself from having an instantaneous defensive reaction to this
parable, I can see it has some powerful truths. It rejects the
world’s hierarchies, and humanizes everyone. Similarly, it
challenges the assumption about who is “good” or “worthy.”
For those who are living in poverty, it showed them that they were
seen in their full humanity. For those not living in poverty, it
makes people who live in poverty visible. It also makes clear that
the rich man may have been rich, but he was definitely poor in
understanding. Finally, we are reminded that this is not a new
teaching brought by Jesus, but the essence of the Hebrew Bible spoken
in a slightly new way.

Now,
I’m always grateful for reminders like those, but I want to also
point what I don’t think we should take from this parable: I do not
think it should lead us to condeming others to hell; nor to feeling
complacent about this world assuming that what is wrong here will be
fixed “in the next”; I don’t think we should dismiss the rich man
as heartless without looking at who in the world we try not to see;
nor (finally) should we use this parable as permission to dismiss
ANYONE as other – not the rich man, not Lazarus, and not anyone
else either.

One
of the great costs of a theology that includes hell is the idea that
the division between good and bad people is between PEOPLE, instead
of accepting that all of us are good people and bad people, and
trying to work with God to maximize the good. That is, a theology of
hell makes space for us to dehumanize and “other” some of God’s
beloveds.

John
Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, said, “if your heart
is with my heart, give me your hand.” He understood the
difference between disagreements about details and implementation and
disagreements about what matters in the world. He feared people
would let little things divide them, instead of working together on
the things that really matter.

Similarly,
my colleague Rabbi Matt Culter has invited fellow members of
Schenectady Clergy Against Hate to speak this weekend about divisions
in our society and how to not let them live in our hearts. We have
an election cycle coming up, and as he said, “Intense rhetoric is
only exacerbating the tensions. We are in a unique role to help
de-escalate the tensions that surely will grow in intensity as
the mid-term elections grow closer.” (He didn’t even know about
this parable coming up in the lectionary!)

This
weekend, Rabbi Culter will remind his congregation that every voice
matters so no one should be dismissed, that there is a need to
respect each other’s character – which means not speaking of or to
one another in anger, and finally that we are all on the same
journey.

Now,
I have to admit that I struggle with attempts at peace or unity that
do so at the expense of the vulnerable or minoritized. And I think
there are real differences in vision for our country, ones that
include very different perspectives on – say – Lazarus and the
rich man. I think those are the sorts of differences that matter,
too. AND, I think that those whose values are different from mine
also have reasons why they think their system is best over all, they
are also on this journey called life, they are also worthy of respect
and being heard. (Not the sort of respect that is obedience, the
sort of respect that honors humanity.) I don’t have to agree with
someone or their values to find them worthy of full humanity, care,
access to health care, enough food to eat, and respect.

Divisions
between us make space for hate. Dismissing someone because of a
different point of view makes space for hate. EVEN dismissing
someone for a different set of values makes space for hate.

NOW,
what about the times when someone else’s “point of view” is one
that, say dismisses the humanity of others? For me, the answer comes
from Rev. Dr. King’s sermon “Love Your Enemies” (which quite
clearly also goes back to Jesus, but I like how Dr. King says it)

Now there is a final reason I
think that Jesus says, “Love your enemies.” It is this: that love
has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that
eventually transforms individuals. That’s why Jesus says, “Love
your enemies.” Because if you hate your enemies, you have no way to
redeem and to transform your enemies. But if you love your enemies,
you will discover that at the very root of love is the power of
redemption. You just keep loving people and keep loving them, even
though they’re mistreating you. Here’s the person who is a
neighbor, and this person is doing something wrong to you and all of
that. Just keep being friendly to that person. Keep loving them.
Don’t do anything to embarrass them. Just keep loving them, and
they can’t stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the
beginning. They react with bitterness because they’re mad because
you love them like that. They react with guilt feelings, and
sometimes they’ll hate you a little more at that transition period,
but just keep loving them. And by the power of your love they will
break down under the load. That’s love, you see. It is redemptive,
and this is why Jesus says love. There’s something about love that
builds up and is creative. There is something about hate that tears
down and is destructive. “love your enemies.”²

I
wonder what would have resolved the parable? Perhaps, the rich man
seeing Lazarus as a fellow human, another person beloved by God, and
in need of care. Giving him a blanket, or inviting him to a feast,
cleaning his wounds, offering him a job, maybe just letting the table
scraps fall to him, maybe as much as welcoming him into the household
for care. Yes, I know that means another person would have replaced
Lazarus at the gate, maybe two if generosity was known. Because a
single act of mercy doesn’t create social change and prevent people
from being poor. But until the humanity of the rich and the poor can
be seen TOGETHER, the will to change society can’t be created either.

Oh,
also, a pragmatic suggestion: maybe try to use social media less? It
is designed to create division, and we want to create space for love.
Thanks be to God, the God of love.

Amen

1 https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2374-the-great-chasm

2 https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/loving-your-enemies-sermon-delivered-dexter-avenue-baptist-church

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 25, 2022

Uncategorized

“God’s Table Extended” based on Jeremiah 31:31-34 and 1…

March 21, 2021
by Sara Baron

Rabbi
Rafi Spitzer of congregation Agudat Achim in Niskayuna, led an
amazing workshop this week entitled “People of the Library: An
Introduction to Talmudic Literature and the Mythic Transmission of
Jewish Tradition for Clergy of Other Faiths.” Schenectady Clergy
Against Hate is a VERY cool organization, and I learned a lot.

Rabbi
Spitzer talked about the roots of modern Rabbinic Judaism as emerging
in the period after the destruction of the 2^nd
Temple (70-200 CE). This is the same period as the formation of most
of the Christian texts. Jesus lived earlier, of course, but most
scholars date the earliest Gospel, the Gospel of Mark, to 70 CE
because it mentions the destruction of the Temple.

That
is, both Modern Judaism and Christianity-As-We-Know-It (as a separate
faith tradition) emerged after, and in the response to Rome’s
destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple. It was in making sense of
this horrific disaster that new expressions of God’s ways in the
world emerged.

This
is particularly interesting to me because the Hebrew Bible was
written down in the aftermath of the destruction of Jerusalem and the
First Temple in 587-586 BCE, when the Jewish leaders and scholars
were sent into exile. The stories, of course, were much older, but
they were written down then, and that means that they were written
down with the question “why did this happen to us?” at the
forefront.

That
is, the Hebrew Bible gets written down and tries to make sense of
death, destruction, and disaster. The majority of the “New
Testament” gets written down and tries to make sense of death,
destruction, and disaster, AND concurrently the Jewish Mishnah gets
written down and tries to make sense of death, destruction, and
disaster.

It
seems to indicate our faith traditions are deeply rooted in trying to
make sense of death, destruction, and disaster, or that God is up to
new things when prior systems are destroyed, or that in trying to
preserve what used to be we end up making new things possible, or
that God can bring good even out of bad, or maybe all of the above.

In
any case, I think it is interesting, and worth continuing to ponder.
Especially now, when we have experienced death, destruction, and
disaster, and are wondering what we and God will be up to next.

Our
Hebrew Bible Lesson today from Jeremiah speaks lovingly of the “new
covenant” between God and the people. This is such a foundational
idea in Christianity that we may not know that this passage is the
ONLY time such an idea emerges in the Hebrew Bible.

“Foundational,”
you say, “why?” Think of the words “old testament” and “new
testament” and remember that testament is a synonymous with
covenant here. This is how some people made sense of the whole
Christian tradition. That said, there are far too many who take
these words to mean that the Hebrew Bible is old, or outdated, or
replaced, and that is problematic. We intentionally use the words
“Hebrew Bible” to recognize our shared biblical tradition.

Anyway,
back to Jeremiah. Jeremiah is a prophet of the exile, and for much
of the book Jeremiah warns of the dangers of the impending exile.
However, once the exile happens, Jeremiah’s tone changes, and he
turns to comfort and hope. This passage is part of that, promising a
return to God’s promises and relationships. The promise is
particularly full, as it speaks to both the northern and southern
kingdoms, the wholeness of Ancient Israel. It is also full in that
the new covenant will not be dependent on the people’s faithfulness.
God will take care of it.

“I
will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and
I will be their God, and they shall be my people. No longer shall
they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the LORD,”
for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest,
says the LORD; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their
sin no more.” (Jeremiah 31:33b-34, NRSV)

It
is a lovely vision, in some ways the ultimate comfort: a relationship
with God one can’t mess up.

The
Christian church has claimed this covenant as their own. Take these
words from our communion liturgy, “By the baptism of his suffering,
death, and resurrection you gave birth to your church, delivered us
from slavery to sin and death, and made with us a new covenant by
water and the Spirit.” (UM Hymnal, page 9).

I
have some deeply mixed feelings about this claim. On the one hand,
it fits with my assumption that our status as beloveds of God is
based on the nature of God (grace) and not on our performance. On
the other hand, it seems rather profoundly to miss out on the idea
that God wants us to take care of each other, and that our actions
matter in the building of the kindom.

Or
maybe I’m exaggerating. After all, Jeremiah’s idea isn’t that the
people ignore God’s wishes. Rather it is that they know God and
God’s grace so well that it is inherent in them and they live it out
naturally. (I have mixed feelings about this too – in that it is
lovely, but simply not true of Christians I know.)

In
1 Corinthians we read the first historical record of communion. Paul
had planted the church in Corinth but had been away for a few years.
In the first century CE the communion meal was a full common meal
(think potluck) during which the last supper was remembered.
Apparently in the time after Paul left things had gone off kilter a
bit. According to Marcus Borg:

the
wealthy (who didn’t have to work) would gather early for the meal.
By the time the people who worked (most of the community) got to the
meal, the wealthy had already eaten and some were tipsy. They may
also have served the best food and the best wine to themselves before
the others arrived. Such was common among the wealthy of the world.
For Paul this violated the ‘one body’ understanding of the body of
Christ. It meant bringing hierarchical distinctions of ‘this world’
into the body of Christ.¹

Borg
goes on to explain the later threat to those who eat and drink and an
“unworthy manner”. “In this context, eating and drinking the
bread and wine ‘in an unworthy manner’ refers to the behavior of the
wealthy in perpetuating the divisions of ‘this world.’ In Christian
communities, these divisions were abolished.”²

How
quickly the early church struggled with the equality and equity of
God’s kindom! How hard it is to let go of hierarchy and let love for
all be the way decisions are made. How familiar that is. Those of
us who are white have been trained in mostly subconscious ways that
we are at the top of a hierarchy, and when left to our own devices we
will re-create systems that put our needs at the top while telling
ourselves it is OK. Like the wealthy Corinthians might have said,
“We told them it started at 4, but they don’t make it until 5:20.
Why should we have to wait when we TOLD THEM what time it started?”
Or when a white person takes their own shame, guilt, anger, or
aggression as a reason to violate, harm, or kill people of color.
Or even in the tiny little micro-aggressions of every day, related to
who gets heard, who gets believed, who is expected to be soothing,
who is expected to sooth, and whose pain matters.

It
took Paul saying, “don’t violate God’s table like that” for it to
be heard. But I’m guessing that the reason he knew it was happening
was because the impoverished members of the community had been saying
so for quite some time, and finally tried a new way of getting their
needs heard. I am hearing from Asian and Asian American friends and
colleagues that violence against Asians and Asian Americans has been
a regular part of their lives in the United States all along, and has
been FAR worse for the past year +. I am also hearing exhaustion and
horror that a white man used his own shame as motivation for mass
murder, mostly of Asian women.

And
let me say, because it MUST BE SAID, that a person doing sex work
does not IN ANY WAY change their human value, nor make it permissible
to harm that person. Indeed, most people who support themselves with
sex work are people who exist in the most vulnerable positions of our
society, and as such are worthy of the most care and support to
counterbalance the harm they’ve lived.

The
Children and Youth of the Church have been working this Lent to
support a Lenten project to respond to hunger. They have invited us
to collect one canned good or nonperishables a week to donate to the
SICM food pantry. We are invited to bring those gifts this coming
Saturday (March 27 for those watching this NOT on Sunday) at the
flower sale. Those tangible gifts serve as a reminder of other
people’s tangible needs. It is also possible to make a donation to
SICM through our website or by check, knowing that SICM can buy food
at the Regional Food Bank at a very discounted rate.

That
is to say, that as we prepare God’s Communion Table for ourselves
today, given Paul’s admonitions, it might be a good time to be sure
that as we receive God’s gifts of grace, life, and hope, we extend
the table as we are able. Or, perhaps this is time for gifts to
Patty’s place. Patty’s Place is an outreach-based service for women
at-risk, exploited, or involved in sex work. They provide immediate
resources and long-term referrals.

I’m
less than sure we’re embodying Jeremiah’s new covenant, but I am
entirely sure that the part that says that God is with us, in our
hearts, and claiming us as beloveds is true. And I’m sure that we
have wonderful ways to respond to God’s love – with love, even,
ESPECIALLY in the midst of disaster. Let’s do it! Amen

1Marcus
J Borg, 59 Evolution of the Word: The New Testament in the Order
the Books Were Written (United
States of America: HarperOne, 2012), 59.

2Ibid.

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

March 21, 20201

Sermons

“The Call of Baptism” based on Isaiah 42:1-9 and…

January 12, 2020February 11, 2020
by Sara Baron

Last
weekend, Congregation Gates of Heaven hosted a service of unity for
the Capital Region after acts of anti-Semitism in New York made it
clear that a response was needed. The event was jointly sponsored by
the Jewish Federation of Northeastern New York, the Capital Region
Board of Rabbis, and Schenectady Clergy Against Hate. By best
estimates over 800 people showed up!

(Interfaith Chapel at the University of Rochester)

The
event was particularly moving, even as the need for it was
distressing. Schenectady Clergy Against Hate are well practiced in
pulling together community witnesses after attacks on faith
communities. In our country today, that’s a good skill to have.
That said, I deeply wish we didn’t have the first idea how to respond
to violent attacks in faith communities. I wish we’d never had a
violent attack to respond to.

Yet,
we have.

And
while the acts of violence have often been perpetuated by individuals
acting as lone wolves, there is a disturbing connection between them.
Within a society, violence and the threat of violence act as means
of control, particularly of disempowered groups.

I
would love to believe that in this forward thinking year 2020 we have
reached new heights of open-mindedness and equity, but evidence
proves me wrong. Violence against people of minority faith
traditions, against people of color, and against women and non-men
continues, and indeed in some areas are expanding. I believe this
violence functions as a way to maintain control over each of those
groups. That isn’t to say that is a coordinated effort, but rather
the way that power works in our society impacts who gets attacked and
what impact is felt. As each “lone wolf” acts, they function to
perpetuate the system of control.

And,
I believe this is against the will of God.

I
hope is is painfully obvious to say this:

God’s love is for Christians,
Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Sihks, Pagans, Druids, Agnostics,
Atheists, and members of other faith traditions. God’s love is not
determined by a person’s faith tradition nor faithfulness, and to
claim otherwise makes God very small and mean indeed.

Similarly, God’s love knows no
national boundaries, language barriers, or income requirements, nor
is it impacted conviction histories. That just isn’t how God works.

And, consistently, God’s love is
for females, males, people who are intersex, and people who are
non-binary all the same.

None
of this is news. We KNOW this. And yet, perhaps we have not been as
vocal as we need to be about sharing this. It is painfully obvious
that the world around us does NOT know this. There are a multitude
of forces around us that define who has value and who doesn’t, and
therefore imply that some people matter more than others – and GOD
DOES NOT AGREE.

The
Intersectional Justice Book Club discussion yesterday was on Michelle
Alexander’s The New Jim Crow,
in which Alexander names the ways that the War on Drugs has created a
racial underclass by imprisoning mostly men of color and then
enabling discrimination of those with convictions. She points out
that drug use and drug sales occur across racial groups equally, with
a little bit more happening among white people, and yet 90% of
convictions are of people of color (with the vast majority of those
people being of African American descent.)

She
names, quite directly, that if we cared equally about people of
color, we would not permit such a system in our society.

And
yet we do.

At
the service last weekend, the speakers gave us work to do. Their
messages included that we have to:

Advocate
for religious freedom for each other.

Speak
respectfully and affirmatively of other faith traditions AT ALL TIMES

(For me, this works mostly as:
call out the problems in my own tradition before looking for others,
and I haven’t finished on my own tradition yet. 😉 )

Call
out anyone who doesn’t speak respectfully of a faith tradition

Repent
of the times we have contributed to messages of hate

Remember
the contributions of people of other faith traditions

Seek
legislation that makes attacks on faith groups hate crimes

Have
hope

Become
more loving

Rabbi
Rafi Spitzer, of Congregation Agudat Achim in Niskayuna, specifically
reminded us to attend to the things of the Spirit, as a means of
becoming more loving and more peaceful. That’s the particular
role of those of us who are part of faith traditions: to become more
loving and more peaceful as part of contributing to the world become
more loving and peaceful. (May it be so.)

This
got me thinking about how well we are doing at developing the things
of the Spirit. There are lots of ways that things are going well –
we have many ways for people to meaningfully contribute to building
the kindom, we have space for people to be loved as they are, there
is beauty that feeds us, there is space for questions and for being.

I
think there are also ways we could be making more space for the
things of the Spirit. The most historic Wesleyan question of all is
“How is it with your soul?” Let me tell you, this is NOT an easy
question to answer, and it is not a question you can ask others if
you are unprepared to hear the real answers. That said, it is a
great question. “How is it with your soul?” invites us to think
deeply about the answer, and share it with someone else. It brings
our faith journeying into contact with each other. A course I taught
once invited participants to answer the question with weather
metaphors, which turned out to be amazing (“it is cloudy, with a
distinct change of tornadoes”, “it is bright and beautiful, but
bitterly cold,” “the fog is very, very thick”) but I think that
there is even more value in having to answer the question directly.
So, one tiny little thing we could do: we could ask each other “how
is it with your soul?”

Perhaps
you might even be willing to ask someone this during the time of
passing the peace? And, dear ones, if you don’t want to answer,
perhaps a weather metaphor might share the gist without being too
vulnerable?

On
a similar note, I don’t think we check with each other enough about
our spiritual practices. During Lent two years ago we did a study of
a Richard Rohr book, and thus had a regular shared practice of
centering prayer. It was amazing. For many of the participants it
was the most regular prayer practice they had, and it was a wonderful
addition to their lives. (I believe centering prayer is easier in a
group.) My suspicion is that many of us in this community do not
have regular prayer practices. Some of this may be due to not ever
having found a prayer practice that works, some of this may be due to
not being the sorts of people who want REGULAR practices, some of
this may be due to allowing other things to take precedence. I will
admit to you that while I had INCREDIBLE prayer times during my
renewal leave, I allowed them to become lax again this fall and have
been struggling to pick them up again. I adore prayer, but it is
very (VERY) easy to allow myself to get distracted with … well,
anything and everything else.

Yet,
I know that my own development as a person, and a person of faith,
and into being more loving and more peaceful is directly correlated
to the time I spend in prayer. My prayer practices tend to be the
quiet and reflective sort, and thus the kind that let me see myself
clearly and make decisions at the right pace for me. Without them,
I’m pretty anchorless.

So
that’s the second thing I can think of – we could be more
intentional about checking in with each other about prayer and/or
meditative practices – including sharing what works for us,
admitting what isn’t working for us, and being willing to talk about
what impedes us from practicing. My personal experience says that
when I’m avoiding prayer, I’m mostly afraid of that some judgement
I’m making on myself is shared by God. Thus far, it never has been.

Of
course, prayer practices are a WIDE range of things that can include
walking, or dancing, or bike riding, as well as sitting quietly,
writing, or coloring, and for many they even include conversation.
We as a church talk about and develop our prayer and meditative
skills more – I think it would benefit us and the world.

For
the first time this year, when I read Isaiah 42, I didn’t get worried
about the servant like I always have before. Instead, I heard it as
being all about the nature of God. The passage tells us about God
who has joy in people, who wants justice for all the nations, who
doesn’t move us towards justice with violence, who is patient and
consistent and trustworthy. This God, the very one who made all of
creation, is with us and working towards good with us. What has been
and has been hurt and broken is NOT all that can be, there is new
goodness that can and will come with God. Healing and hope are
possible.

These,
you see, are things of the Spirit. They are things of seeing clearly
what is, and yet seeing what can be. And those things of the Spirit
are what our baptisms are all about. Baptism welcomes us into the
community of the Spirit, so that we can work together towards love
and peace for all. And baptism teaches each one of us that we are
beloved by God, which means we don’t need to prove ourselves worthy
of love, and means that we have love in abundance to share.

Dear
ones, there is a lot broken in the world, but God isn’t done with us
yet. And as we share with each other and seek out the Divine, we
make it possible to bring more goodness into the world. May we do
it! Amen

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
Pronouns: she/her/hers
http://fumcschenectady.org/
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January 12, 2020