Skip to content
First United Methodist Church Schenectady
  • Lenten Photo Show
  • About Us
    • Meet the Pastor
    • Committees
    • Contact Us
    • Calendar
    • Our Building
    • The Pipe Organ
    • FAQs
    • Wedding Guidelines
  • Worship
    • Sermons
    • Online Worship
  • Ministries
    • Music Ministries
    • Children’s Ministries
    • Volunteer In Mission
    • Carl Lecture Series
  • Give Back
    • Electronic Giving
  • Events
    • Family Faith Formation
Uncategorized

Untitled

  • May 29, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

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

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

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

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

(Nothing.)

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

How can we do anything but grieve?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the one we follow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are a Resurrection People.

Lord, hear our prayers. Amen

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

May 29, 2022

Uncategorized

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

  • May 22, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

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

(It
is OK to laugh.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 22, 2022

Uncategorized

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

  • May 15, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

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

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

I like it.

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

(Please don’t answer that.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And.

And it isn’t the full story of
church.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 15, 2022

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

Uncategorized

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

  • May 8, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

An explanation:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I.  Am.  Still.  Mad.  

Furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 8, 2022

Uncategorized

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

  • May 1, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

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

May 1, 2022

Uncategorized

“The Richness of the Unknown” based on Isaiah 65:17-25…

  • April 17, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

I am so thankful it is
Easter Sunday.  I’m ready to celebrate the goodness of God, the power
of life, the unstoppable force of love in the world.  I’m thankful
for music that resonates in my SOUL, and functions as a ritual to let
my body know this is a time to let go, to be, to savor.

It has been a long, hard
trudge to get to Easter.  If I’m really honest, we’re still in a
long, hard trudge, but Easter feels like a great excuse to step away
from the trudge and just be joyous for a bit.

It does seem worth
discussion what sort of joy we’re talking about though.  By my count,
there are 10 Easter stories in the Gospels (Mark has 4, Luke 3, John
2, and Matthew for some reason only 1), 10 different stories trying
to make sense of …. something.  The simple fact that there are so
many stories suggests to me that what happened on Easter (and
throughout the 50 days after it), is hard to put into words and thus
a variety of metaphors was the best way people could explain it.  

The stories all point to
the idea that the death Jesus suffered on the cross didn’t have the
final word.  But they struggle to make sense of it.  They did not
understand.  In the two Easter stories we heard from John this
morning the phrase (did) “not know” came up three times.  There
was unknowing in Easter itself and it its early stories!  That
makes it OK for us when we come to Easter with some “unknowing”
of our own.

Somehow, Jesus’ disciples
and followers continued to experience his wisdom, his teaching,
and the power of his vitality even after he died.

And whatever it was that
constituted their experience, it was POWERFUL in their lives.  It
changed them.  The students became the teachers.  Those frightened
and hidden away came out of hiding and took risks for the sake of
sharing Jesus’s good news.  The women kept on keeping on.

The ways we explain
Easter today continue in the grand tradition of trying to make sense
of it all.  Our metaphors abound.  Some stick with the early metaphor
of “Easter is the day Jesus was raised from the dead.”  Others
will say, “Easter is about the unstoppable power of life,
especially life with God.”  Charles Wesley says, “Death in vain
forbids him rise,” and asks, “Where’s thy victory, boasting
grave?”  Marcus Borg gives us the language that Easter is God’s YES
to the world’s NO.

There are a lot of
wonderful and powerful meanings to be made from Easter, and I
encourage you to savor the ones that bring YOU to life.

In the midst of all I’ve
already offered, for me the greatest power of Easter is in its
“always present” quality.  One way or another, when Jesus died,
the goal of the Empire was to kill him, to stop his life and his
ministry.  It worked, as the story says, Mary was weeping
when she showed up that Easter morning.  The power of death worked
UNTIL his disciples experienced SOMETHING on Easter, and after that
they took up his ministry and in doing so claimed his life energy,
and kept it going.  Before Easter, Jesus was the Body of Christ, but
on Easter the disciples became the Body of Christ – and this is
what really matters to me – and the power of his life-energy, and
the importance of his ministry, and the sharing of his God-vision is
STILL the work of the Body of Christ.  In important and meaningful
ways, when I say, “Christ is alive,” I know that is true because
I’m looking at you, the church, doing Christ’s work.

In the Gospel of John,
the words are in Mary Magdalene’s mouth, “I have seen
the Lord.”  In the Body of Christ, I too have seen
God at work.

And I think that’s PLENTY
miraculous.

So, then, if this is our
work, we want to be as clear as possible about what it means to
continued the life, ministry, and God-vision of Jesus.  Because,
well, not everyone agrees about this.  #Shock.

This is where I think the
Isaiah passage is an incredible EASTER gift to us, even if it was
written for a people of a different time who used different metaphors
for God’s power over life and death.

The most striking thing
about the Isaiah passage for me, initially, was its humility.  Isaiah
65 seeks to answer the question, “What SHOULD life look like?”
and it starts like I think we’d expect.  It says life should be LONG
and ABUNDANT.  There SHOULD NOT BE young tragic deaths.  

Amen.

But then it takes what
initially seemed to me to be a sort of weak turn.  In this utopic
dream of a “new heaven and a new  earth” that God is creating
full of justice and wholeness and goodness, what are the defining
factors other than longevity?  “They shall build houses and inhabit
them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit” (65:21) and
also they will be aware of the presence of God.

I get it.  This would
sound miraculous to a people who have build houses but not lived in
them, planted vineyards and not gotten to eat the fruit, that it is
fitting for them that this ends with, “The wolf and the lamb shall
feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; but the
serpent–its food shall be dust! They shall not hurt or destroy on
all my holy mountain, says the LORD.”

But all of that together
suggests that … universal vegetarianism and an end to all violence
seems CONSISTENT with … not having your labor stolen or your home
displaced.

Which suggests that not
having your home stolen or the fruit of your labor appropriated is a
REALLY BIG DEAL.  But, is it?  I mean, why stop with just having
people not displaced and able to glean the value of their work.  Why
not have everyone live at Disneyland, or apparition, or … I don’t
know, world peace.

But the longer I thought
about it, the more I realize this dream is EVERYTHING.  It actually
IS world peace – because world peace looks EXACTLY like people
being safe to build homes and live in them without being displaced,
and having the consistency to be able to labor and glean the fruits
of one’s labor without anyone else coming in with violence to take
it.

AND this is a dream of an
end to world hunger too – because people have access to enough land
and resources and the capacity to GLEAN THE FRUIT OF THEIR LABOR.

And the more I think
about people being able to glean the fruit of their labor, the more I
realize that covers A WHOLE LOT of injustices.  If people can glean
the fruit of their labor – then the rich aren’t getting wealthier
off of the labor of the poor.  So, it is like universal basic income
and a living minimum wage rolled into one.  It is also an end to
predatory lending.  This is a dream of equity and equality and
fairness and justice all at once – with the “simple” means of
stable safe housing and people being able to keep the fruits of their
labors.

When we hear of
atrocities in the world, most of them equate to violations of this
dream.  People are killed too young, or displaced from their homes
and communities, or the fruits of their labor is stolen from them.
Please note that the Bible and I agree that part of being a
community with fair labor practices is sharing so that those unable
to labor are still cared for.  There have always been those unable to
work, and a functional society finds ways to care for them as BELOVED
and VALUED members of that society.

It is a good life,
indeed, with stable safe housing and the capacity to glean the fruits
of our labor, and to have enough at the end of it to share with
others.  It
may sound simple, but it is AMAZING when it happens.  Far too few
people have lived this dream, and the dream is for EVERYONE.

The more I think about
this vision, the more I see its power, and the more I see how much it
isn’t one that is yet here.

How many people are dying
too young?  And how many of those deaths would be preventable?

How many members of our
city lack stable and safe housing?  How many New Yorkers?  How many
US citizens?  And then how many people are migrants and refugees in
the world right now?  

Then, how many people see
the just fruits of their labor??  In the interest of some brevity,
I’ll leave that as a thought question for you to ponder.

Isaiah 65 was a vision
for newly returned Exiles and the people who had been left behind
during the Exile.  It was a reminder of God’s wishes for a stable,
compassionate, equalitarian society.  It was a dream to aim for, a
reminder of how God wants the world ordered, a clarity on what
communal holy living looks like.

When we talk about the
beloved community, the kindom of God, the Jesus teaching of a
God-vision, I don’t believe Jesus was breaking with his own Jewish
tradition.  This vision of what God wanted for people is another
version of what Jesus taught.  This vision of what God wanted for
people is a way of talking about what it means to be the Body of
Christ building the kindom of God, or what it means to be an Easter
people.

Long, good, lives.
Stable safe housing.  People able to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
People having enough to share.  

Such a simple vision.  

Such a world away from
our reality right now.

May God help us to build
that future.  Because as Easter people, we believe that love wins in
the end and God isn’t finished with us yet.  This vision is a vision
for us, and for everyone, and God is willing to work with us on it.  
Thanks be to God!  Amen

Uncategorized

“Nonviolent Protests” based on Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 and Luke…

  • April 10, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

Palm Sunday, quick and dirty:

  • Passover is a Jewish holiday
    celebrating God’s acts in freeing oppressed people from their
    oppressors, and leading them to freedom even when a superior
    military force wanted to prevent it.
  • The Celebration of Passover
    brought crowds of faithful Jews into Jerusalem to celebrate God’s
    power to free them from their oppressors.
  • Judea, and Galilee were
    functionally Roman Colonies, overburdened with taxes that took the
    wealth of the land and transferred it to the wealthy artistocrats at
    the top of the Roman hierarchy.
  • The Roman Empire was fairly
    nervous and jerky about large crowds of religiously faithful people
    who believed in the power of God to overcome oppressors.
  • Thus, before Passover, the
    Roman Empire had a HUGE military parade into Jerusalem emphasizing
    the power of their military and bringing the Governor into town to –
    as they would say – keep the peace.
  • The military parade and the
    presence of the Governor functioned as THREATS OF VIOLENCE against
    anyone who might think God was up to freeing people from oppression
    once again.
  • (It may be worth remembering as
    well that a few decades later there WAS a big protest and the Empire
    responded with a massacre as well as the destruction of the temple.
    They weren’t kidding about the threat of violence.
  • The military parade happened
    EVERY YEAR.
  • Knowing this, Jesus engaged in
    NONVIOLENT DIRECT ACTION to parody their parade and clarify the
    differences between Rome’s violent power and God’s nonviolent realm.

As the Jesus Seminar puts it,
“For his part, Jesus made it clear that he was entering Jerusalem
to face death.  In that case, the ‘triumphal entry’ as Mark depicts
it is a satire of revolutionary processions and of the kind of
triumphal entry the Romans enjoyed making into cities they had
conquered.”1
That is, “Jesus was not making a statement about his own
messiahship, but contrasting God’s imperial rule (‘Congratulations,
you poor!  God’s domain belongs to you”) with Roman Imperial
Rule.”2

When I think about nonviolent
direct action, this Palm Sunday protest parade is an outstanding
example.  It is up there with the best.  I believe most of you are
aware of the lunch counter protests whereby people of color (gasp)
sat down at lunch counters where they would not be served to draw
attention to that injustice (and take the space of someone who might
be served AND PAY).

I believe most of you are aware
of the Montgomery Bus Boycott, when for over a year African Americans
refused to ride buses in Montgomery, Alabama until the buses stoped
having segregated seating.  They refused to ride AS second class
citizens, and without their participation, the buses weren’t
sustainable.

Nonviolent direction action is
really, really hard work.  In both of those cases people faced
violence and hardship in response to seeking justice.  I’m always
astounded at the commitment people made FOR MORE THAN A YEAR in the
bus boycott, and in the face of VIOLENCE at lunch counters.

Those actions changed our
society for the better.  They didn’t counter violence with violence,
but rather with nonviolence.  They showed up or didn’t as needed, and
allowed their nonviolent actions to create change.

Our society isn’t particularly
fond of protest, or at least that what I hear when Black Lives
Matters gets brought up in most places.  I hear that people should
seek justice in other ways, which makes it clear to me that a lot of
people don’t actually understand the point of protests.

Protests or nonviolent direct
actions are what you do when other avenues of justice are closed OR
you need to increase public awareness of injustice in order to work
through other avenues of justice.  If a problem can be solved
directly, most people chose that route.  Nonviolent direction action
is the HARDER way forward – one that comes at personal cost, often
with a threat of violence against those who are involved with the
action, and when other avenues are closed.

I’m quite confident that if a
nicely worded letter to a Diner or a local paper managed to
desegregate restaurants, people would have done that.  I’m assured
that if a phone call to a city councilman or a postcard campaign to
the transit authority would have desegregated buses, people would
have been thrilled to take the easier route.  

Several years ago now, the Poor
People’s Campaign NY did a series of nonviolent direct actions in the
New York State capital to draw attention to the ways that the needs
of people in poverty are being ignored.  The one I thought was most
creative was the Fort Orange Club action.  Kevin Nelson was present
and he explains it this way:

“We were protesting the
influence of lobbying interests (and their related campaign
donations) on policies that subvert the interest of average New
Yorkers. We had a human chain thing from the Legislative Office
Building (LOB) to the Fort Orange Club, with “bags of money”
along the chain to indicate the money flow. We blocked exits and
entrances to the parking lots at the Club for several hours.”

This one particularly reminds me
of the Jesus Palm Sunday protest, in that it seems equally BRILLIANT,
and infuriating to those in power.

The injustice I have spent the
most time working to change is the structural institutional
homophobia of The United Methodist Church.  Because of my work there,
I’ve seen the ways that all other avenues have been blocked.  Since
1972, petitions to change the homophobic stances have come to the
floor at General Conference, with no positive action.  The judicial
branch of the UMC has upheld the discrimination, and most Bishops
will enforce it.  LGBTQIA+ people and their allies lack the votes,
the power, and the access to justice.

Thus, there has been a need to
increase the pressure to create change, to increase anxiety, to bring
attention to injustice, and to be clear that the only way to stop the
demands for justice was to BRING JUSTICE to God’s people.

There have been a lot of
protests, and I want to talk about two of them.

For the first, I’m going to
share it in the words of Rev. Dr. Julie Todd who spent many DECADES
as an activist for Queer and Trans rights in the UMC.  This is from
the “Love Prevails Blog”

There was a regularly scheduled
communion at every lunch break in the plenary hall at General
Conference 2004 in Pittsburgh. On the day the votes went badly yet
again for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ)
people, we decided as a movement to go to that communion service,
where we could stand in the presence of the broken and resurrected
Body of Christ. We did this as a means of re-asserting our presence
in that Body. We did this as a means of resistance against the false
institutional proclamation of one cup, one Body, and one baptism,
when clearly the actions of the General Conference actively sought to
harm and exclude members of that Body. All forms of our resistance
and disruption are embodied statements that the unity of the church
cannot continue to come at the cost of LGBTQ lives. These same acts
of resistance are theological affirmations that the resurrected Jesus
lives on in our whole and beloved queer bodies.

There was weeping and there was
anger at communion. There was a need for a deep and spiritual release
of the violence that had just been done to the queer body of Christ.
Because when votes are cast against the very existence of LGBTQ
lives, that is what is happens: violence. Christ’s body crucified
again. To not act in the face of such violence does further violence.

When the sacrament was over,
Rev. James Preston grabbed a chalice from the communion altar and
smashed it on the floor. The smashing of the chalice was not a
planned disruption. While there were many interpretations of that
moment of breaking the chalice, in fact there was no chaos, no
storming the altar, no desecration of the sacrament. There was a holy
anger that took shape in a prophetic act. A movement of the Spirit
interceded to express anguished sighs too deep for words. In the
breaking of the cup, Christ spoke to the real brokenness of the
moment.3

The
destruction of that chalice REALLY upset a lot of people.  To this
day I remain horrified that they were upset at the breaking of a
sacred symbol, but not at the ways the church has broken God’s
beloved PEOPLE.

At
that same 2004 General Conference, people started wearing short
rainbow stoles to symbolize a commitment to full inclusion of
lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer person in the life and
policy of The UMC.  Rainbow stoles become particularly symbolic at
Annual Conferences and their ordination services  – when they are a
sign of protest over who gets the authority to wear a stole (a symbol
of being ordained) in The UMC.  When I was ordained, I was supposed
to have a red stole placed on my shoulders, as red is the color of
pentecost and ordination.  Instead I was ordained with a rainbow
stole (and still won’t wear a red one – not until all those called
can serve).  My mentors laid hands on me without their robes or
stoles (and one of them in a LOVELY rainbow shawl), as further
expressions of my objections (and theirs.)

In
the scheme of things, what a clergy person wears or doesn’t while
being ordained into a homophobic institution is a pretty low form of
protest.  (I joined to bring change, but I’m often still
uncomfortable with it.)  There were no consequences, and no changes
came from it.  But I remember having a colleague I was getting
ordained with asking me to refrain from those signs of protest so
that our shared ordination could be “sacred.”  And I remember
responding that I couldn’t refrain from sharing my objections about
ORDINATION AT ORDINATION.  (By the grace of God, that colleague later
changed their mind and told me so, thanking me for my witness.)

So, this Palm Sunday, this day
of remembering a nonviolent direct action that was responded to with
deadly force, I invite you into reflection on justice, protests, and

nonviolent direct actions.

When you see a protest – ask
yourself – what justice is missing, and WHY and HOW  is it blocked?

When you see an injustice, talk
with others and pray about what means of responding will bring
change.

It seems that’s the Jesus way,
thanks be to God.

Amen

1. Acts
of Jesus, 120.

2. Acts
of Jesus, 121.

3. https://loveprevailsumc.com/2016/05/12/on-the-body-being-broken/

Uncategorized

“A Lost Family” based on  Joshua 5:9-12 and Luke…

  • March 27, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

I spend a lot of my time learning about trauma, and
considering ways that the church might be part of trauma healing.  If
I had a guess as to why this catches my attention so deeply, it would
be this: as I grew up and realized how broken things are, I started
wondering “why!?”  Until I heard about the Adverse Childhood
Experiences study, and started reading about trauma, very little
seemed to adequately answer my question.

So it may not be surprising that when I read Joshua, and
hear “today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt, “
I find myself wondering about trauma healing.  The story says that
the people had been enslaved for hundreds of years, and then spent 40
years wandering in the desert, as a means of leaving behind that
trauma and preparing for the new life they were going to live.  This
passage, today, is the moment of transition.

In life,  there isn’t an end to healing as a gradual
lessening of the grasp trauma holds on a life.  But, also, 40 years
sounds like a good time frame.  It is not instantaneous, by any
stretch, and it represented multiple generational changes.  It takes
seriously the long tail of healing, and the impact on generations.

I don’t really think the story means that the trauma of
slavery is over for the ancient people of God.  But, I think this is
another step in that process.  To be told, “your disgrace is rolled
away” is a really important piece, and I rather respect it taking
40 years for the people to be ready to hear it.

I also love that there is this intersection of healing
and relationship.  So for those 40 years, the people were said to be
fed directly by God.  The manna on the floor of the desert provided
for them, along with occasional quail.  Or, perhaps we might say,
they were hunter-gatherers and aware in that process of their
dependence on God.  This passage represents a shift to being farmers,
who are still rather dependent on God, but take more of the
responsibility for active food production (especially in a desert).

While healing, the people needed to be cared for.  They
also needed to be able to move freely.  They needed space.  They
needed time.  They needed a dependable caregiver to keep on teaching
them that they could trust.  

When they had healed enough, and when they were ready to
hear “your disgrace has been rolled away” which I think means
“you are no longer defined by what others did to you,” they were
ready to bring that time of healing to an end, and begin caring for
themselves and each other.  

Have I mentioned how much I appreciate that this
timeline isn’t more aggressive?   I love, also that this happened at
Passover.  The first Passover was when the journey began, and it came
full circle, to the remembrance of that journey and to eating the
food in a new land as a new people, before the journey ended.

I don’t know where exactly the family trauma in the
parable starts, but I can see its fingerprints.  This is, sadly, not
a healthy family.  On the upside, it looks familiar enough to enough
of us that we can at least know that the Bible knows how REAL
families work.  We can see that God sees and knows families as they
are, and still works within them.  This family may or may not have
MAJOR trauma, but it is definitely struggling with at least a pile of
minor ones.

Before I delve into the parable, it seems worth taking
the time for a little reminder of what a parable is and is not,
because truthfully a lot of preachers get this wrong, and you may
have been misled along the way.  Dr. Amy-Jill Levine, New Testament
professor at Vanderbilt Divinity School, has done amazing work with
her book “Short Stories by Jesus”  and my reflections are guided
by her.

Parables are stories, sometimes quite short, that resist
easy interpretation, and understandings.  Dr. Levine says, “What
makes the parables mysterious, or difficult, is that they challenge
us to look into the hidden aspects of our own values, our own
lives.”1
Or, to be more direct: a parable is not an allegory.  Each character
doesn’t “stand in” for someone else, where it appears to be one
thing but is actually about God.  Or to be EVEN MORE DIRECT: please
don’t take the father in this story as God.  It won’t go well for
God, and it will deny us the chance to hear the story as it actually
is.

Luke is the only gospel writer to tell this story, and
it puts it after two other stories about things getting lost.  First
there are 100 sheep, and one gets lost.  The shepherd finds it and
rejoices.  Then there are 10 coins, and one gets lost.  The woman
finds it and rejoices.  So we’re well set up here.  A man has two
sons, one gets lost.

Hmmm, “There was a man who had two sons…”  That
should actually get our brains lighting up with memories.  Or, at
least, it would have for the first listeners.  “Two sons?  Oh yeah?
I’ve heard that one.  Cain and Able – older one was more than a
little bit of a problem, and God preferred the gift of younger.
Ishmael and Issac, older one had to be sent away entirely, younger
one got the blessings.  Esau and Jacob – yeah, OK, there is a
pattern here, I get it.  So, tell me about how the younger son is
better than the older and how God inverses my expectations, I’m
ready.”

Which means, of course, that Jesus inverses THAT
expectation.  This younger son isn’t a pillar of anything.  I believe
you know this part.  The younger son asks for his inheritance,
receives it, and an unexpectedly generous portion at that, sells it,
leaves, wastes it, there is a famine, and he gets hungry.  He then
realizes that he doesn’t have to live like that – he can go home.

Dr. Levine doesn’t entirely believe his contrition, and
she makes some good points about that.  While he claims to be going
home to just be a laborer, the word “father” keeps being
repeated, which actually keeps him in his position as son.  Also, the
line, “I have sinned against heaven and before you” is the exact
phrase Pharaoh mouths in order to stop the plague, which isn’t a
flattering repetition.  It has been said that his words could be
summarized as “I’ll go to Daddy and sound religious.”2
 He has a rather good idea that this may be sufficient, this is a
father who already gave him his inheritance, already have him a
larger portion than he should have, and may well have offered him a
safe place to land if ever he needed it.  The father is a bit
indulgent.

The father is, of course, thrilled his son has come
home.  The son has been gone for quite some time, and has been
functionally dead to him, and possibly dead.  (I know you don’t need
this reminder, but they weren’t’ face-timing while he was away.)  The
father’s rejoicing mirrors the shepherd who found the sheep, and the
woman who found the coin.  YAY!  

This also fits human nature, right?  Most parents would
welcome home the wanderer, no matter where they’d been or what they’d
done.  That said, Dr. Levine concludes “I still have a picture of a
manipulative, pampered, and perhaps relieved kid at the fatted calf
buffet.”  

Which is important.  Because at this point the younger
son disappears from the story, and it becomes clear that this is the
SET UP for the real story.  The father thought he’d lost his younger
son, but in truth it looks like he’d lost them both.  The younger
came back, but the elder is still lost.  

No one told the elder brother about his brother’s return
nor the party.  

What the hey?

They didn’t notice he wasn’t there?  They didn’t think
to tell him?  This sounds – sadly- like a story I’ve heard from
lots of people.  The pain of being forgotten in their own family.
The so called “little” slights that add up over time to people
feeling like they don’t matter to the ones they love.  Furthermore,
based on all the other stories in the Bible with 2 sons, it is
reasonable to guess there were some issues between the brothers, and
the father’s rather extreme generosity to the younger one likely
didn’t help the relationship between them.

Now, the father does seem to suddenly get that there is
a larger family dynamic issue, and he does rush out to greet his
elder son.  Good!    However, as Dr. Levine says:

Years of resentment have finally boiled over and found
expression.  The son’s fidelity has been overlooked.  Once again the
problem child receives more attention, or more love, than the prudent
and faithful one.  By announcing that ‘there is more joy in heaven’
for the one who repents than for the ninety-nine who need no
repentance, Luke reinforces this preference.  We might think of the
older son as speaking for those ninety-nine who have no need of
repentance but who appear to bring less joy.3

Right, so this sounds like families I know.  It sounds
like my own family at times.  It sounds really familiar.  And I think
that’s part of the genius of the parable. This as come around to
dealing with responsibility and irresponsibility, enabling,
resentment, and the huge question: how to respond to it all?  This
sounds like life.  It is difficult and imperfect, and requires a lot
from us just to get through things – even the things that are
supposed to be good.  His brother is alive!  He came home!  And it is
COMPLICATED.


The father does well here.  The first word of his
response is best translated as an endearment “Child.”  Perhaps we
might hear it as “child of mine.”  The father acknowledges this
older son who has also been lost.  And the father acknowledges a
literal truth:  having given his property to his sons, all that he
had is now the property of his older son.   AND,  he needs to
rejoice.  He is a father who has had his son restored.

Now, this is where I think the parable is most
brilliant.  After the father’s speech it just… ends.  Does the
elder brother go into the party?  Would you?  

This family has all been lost to each other.  What will
it take to bring it back together?  Do they have the ability?  Do
they have the commitment and desire to fix things?  Will they?  

Would you?  Amen

1Amy-Jill
Levine, Short Stories by Jesus (USA:
HarperOne, 2014), page 3.

2Ibid,
Dr. Levine however is quoting David Buttrick ,54.

3Ibid,
64.

Uncategorized

“Mother Hen” based on  Psalm 118:1-6, 26-29  and Luke…

  • March 13, 2022
  • by Sara Baron
image

There are these contrasts in the Bible, these ways that
what is written is so shocking that we can’t even hear it most of the
time.  Human brains are mostly set on autopilot, and we conflate what
we hear with what we already believe to be true.  This can make it
hard to hear the Bible as it is, because we end up softening edges
that are actually quite hard!

Specifically, I think it could be easy to hear Jesus
say, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as
a hen gathers her brood under her wings” and think, “aw, that’s
sweet, Jesus loves me and wants to protect me.”  Which, I grant
you, is a part of the meaning.  But, it overlooks the radicalness of
that meaning.

Debie Thomas starts to explain it this way:

Here’s what I find so startling about the image. 
If maternal power, acumen, or success were the characteristics Jesus
wanted to emphasize in his choice of metaphor, he could have used any
number of more appropriate Old Testament images to make his point. 
God as enraged she-bear (Hosea 13:8).  God as soaring mother
eagle (Deuteronomy 32:11-12).  God as laboring woman (Isaiah
42:14).  God as mom of a healthy, happy toddler (Psalm 131:2). 
God as skilled midwife (Psalm 22:9-10).  But those are not the
images he chooses.  Instead, on this second Sunday in Lent,
Luke’s gospel invites us to contemplate Jesus as a mother hen whose
chicks don’t want her. Though she stands with her wings wide open,
offering welcome, belonging, and shelter, her children refuse to come
home to her.  Her wings — her arms — are empty. 
This, in other words, is a mother bereft.  A mother in
mourning.  A mother struggling with failure and futility.1

Whoa.

And, I think, since this is about Jerusalem which was
the Jewish center of power and influence (and lack of power and lack
of influence), and because Luke’s gospel was written AFTER the
destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE, I don’t think we’re supposed to
miss the contrast between a mother hen reaching out empty wings and
wishing to protect her chicks with…the golden eagle that the Roman
Empire used as a symbol of its imperial power.

This is where we are dealing with God and Jesus upending
our expectations.  In a contrast between an eagle and a chicken, we’d
expect God to be the eagle, RIGHT?  (We do have that imagery in
Deuteronomy, as Debie mentioned.)  But, no.  Here we have a contrast
between a strong predator and a vulnerable prey, and we’re told that
Jesus is like the prey- and WORSE, like the prey trying with all her
might to protect her even more vulnerable young and failing to do so.

This sort of turns my stomach.  

I see in my head Ukrainian and Ethiopian mothers holding
their babies while bombs drop around them.  

But, that also clarifies the image for me.  If bombs are
dropping on mothers hovering over their babies to try to keep them
alive, and the choice is to see God in the bombs or in the mothers,
then the choice is easy – God is the one hovering trying to
protect, even when God can’t protect.

It still turns my stomach though.

And I can see why people might prefer to think of God in
the power of the bomb rather than the powerlessness of the mother.  I
think we’d expect the eagle, not the mother hen.  But, that’s not the
God we worship.

I don’t think it can be ignored that Luke is using this
passage to foreshadow Jesus’s death and resurrection.  The Jesus
seminar believes this whole passage to be a creation of Luke, a way
he was trying to make sense of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection.

The Pharisees are warning Jesus that if he doesn’t
change his ministry, he’ll get killed.  This is true.  But Jesus
responds that he isn’t done doing the work he needs to do.  They want
him to be afraid, and have that fear change his path.  Jesus seems to
understand, but he holds strong in the face of the fear.  He knows
his own vulnerability, he understands it, but he doesn’t let it
change his path.  A mother hen is vulnerable, but she still stretches
out her wings for the MORE vulnerable chicks.

The mother hen metaphor fits terrifyingly well with the
reality of Jesus’s impending death.  Debie Thomas writes, “Yes,
Jesus mocks Herod by calling him a fox.  But he never argues
that the fox isn’t dangerous. He never promises his children
immunity from harm.  I mean, let’s face it — if a determined
fox wants to kill a brood of downy chicks, he will find a way to do
so.  What Jesus the mother hen offers is not the absence of
danger, but the fullness of his unguarded, open-hearted, wholly
vulnerable self in the face of all that threatens and scares us.”2

This, of course, suggests that the sort of strength God
offers, the sort of strength God asks for from us, isn’t the golden
eagle or bomb kind.  It is the vulnerable kind.

That’s the world-turned-upside-down-by-faith bit.  What
on earth is vulnerable strength?  (Except maybe everything?)  Isn’t
that just strength in weakness?  Yeah.  It probably is.  That’s the
God being unexpected thing.  Vulnerable strength is a mother hen,
with wings open, ready to protect any chick willing to huddle under
them, when even she herself may be swept away, but if she is, the
chicks may be able to live.  

To get good at vulnerability as strength though,
probably doesn’t require having to practice at the threat of life
level.  To be ready to do that sort of vulnerability requires
practice with the so-called easy stuff, to build up our vulnerability
muscles.  Vulnerability is saying, “I’m scared,” or “I’m sad,”
rather than putting on a mask of impenetrability and pushing through.
Vulnerability is saying, “I don’t know,” and taking the risk
someone might think we’re ill-informed, or “I can’t” when someone
might find you weak (or not trying hard enough.)  Vulnerability is
allowing ourselves to see other people’s pain without looking away or
running to a quick fix.  (This.  Is.  Hard.)

Vulnerability is staying with our own pain, rather than
pushing it away, or pushing it down, running to a quick fix, or
trying to push it off on someone else.  (#blame).

For many Christians, the “incarnation” is the
ultimate example of vulnerability.  The idea is that God who is GOD,
the creator of all that is, takes on human vulnerability, pain, and
mortality in the form of Jesus, and in doing so moves from
invulnerable to vulnerable to be with us.  

Truth be told, I have never resonated with that even
when theologians I otherwise adore say so.  A friend of mine, for
whom incarnation is one of the most important parts of his faith,
laughed at me once about that and said, “but aren’t you a
panentheist?”  (Translation: don’t you believe that God is
EVERYWHERE, in EVERYTHING, and all that is exists within the Divine?)
Well, yes, I am.  He said, so doesn’t that make the incarnation sort
of… redundant for you?

That was a helpful ah ha moment, because, for me it is.
(If you are a person who derives great meaning from incarnation,
please know that you are in the majority, and I’m the odd one out,
but I’m going to keep talking because sometimes others are also “odd
ones out” and like to know they aren’t alone.)

I believe God already has all the vulnerability in the
world – literally.  God is with ALL those who are struggling, in
EVERY way.  I believe in a vulnerable God.

Which is to say that I believe vulnerability is sacred.

And, because I try to practice it regularly, I believe
vulnerability is really, really hard work.  Especially when one is
trying to practice vulnerability for the sake of honesty and
connection, and modeling that none of us are impenetrable – but
trying to do that without causing undo   harm to others.  The balance
is not easy to find, and I am quite capable of having “vulnerability
hangovers” (a term I believe was coined by Brene Brown).  That is,
while I’m   pushing vulnerability today, but I’m acknowledging that
it can also be wielded as a tool in some cases, and that’s not what
we’re going for here.  We’re dealing with weakness and vulnerability,
not to use them as tools to manipulate others, or gain power over
others.

Rather, if God is vulnerable, then we are not excused
from our own vulnerability, nor asked to pretend it away.  I think
this is why Ash Wednesday starts Lent by asking us to remember that
we are mortal, so that we can remember to live our lives with
intention.  When we are vulnerable, we remember how tender we are,
how easily hurt, how close things that could harm us are, and we open
ourselves to those who are hurt, or harmed, or displaced, or
attacked.  And when our hearts break open to allow others in, we are
moved – once again – to create a world that is more just and
equitable so that the MOST vulnerable are no longer forced take the
pain the most powerful avoid.

That, I think, is the power of vulnerability: the power
to break our hearts open which moves us to create a better world.  

May God help us, all.

Amen

1Debie
Thomas, “I Have Longed” Lectionary Essay for March 13, 2022,
https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/3341-i-have-longed

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 13, 2022

Uncategorized

“Testing Kinship Loyalty” based on Deuteronomy 26:1-11 and Luke…

  • March 6, 2022
  • by Sara Baron

I’ve got to admit it.  I’m not
tempted by the things Jesus was “tempted” by in the dessert.  I
have never once wanted to change a rock into bread (perhaps because I
lack that skill???), I’m well aware that running kingdoms or even
democracies is incredibly difficult work that I don’t wish to partake
in, and I do not wish to test God by jumping off high places for no
reason.

Nope.  I do not resonate with
these.

There are not my temptations.

You want to know what my
temptations are?  These days I have serious temptations to stop
fighting – to just give up on the pandemic and stop trying to be
safe and stop trying to create safe places.  I want to do CRAZY
things like bring my kid to worship, or have dinner at a friend’s
house, or get a plane and meet one of my dear friend’s new babies.  I
want to just stop worrying.  I want to make people happy.  I want to
encourage people, “sure, do whatever you want in worship.  Take of
masks!  Stop distancing!  Sing!  Don’t worry about it!”  I’m
tempted to just give up.

AND

(and this is the really annoying
part)

I’m also tempted in exactly the
opposite way.  I live in constant fear that a choice I make will
result in my unvaccinated, too young to wear a mask kid getting COVID
and living with long covid for the rest of their life.  And so, I
want to create a bubble and never leave it.  I want to stay home,
stop day care, have groceries delivered, and function on zoom until
…. forever I guess.  

Actually, if I’m honest, more
than really being tempted by either extreme, I’m tempted by the idea
of not having to decide anymore.  “Is this safe?”  “Is this
safe ENOUGH?”  “Is this worth it?”  “If this results in my
kid having long covid, in 20 years will I think this was the right
choice?”  “Do I need to do this because someone else’s needs
outrank my own (or outrank my needs related to my kid)?”  “Is
this the right balance of caution and courage?”

I’m so tired.  It is so tempting
to move to one extreme or the other and just stop deciding.  It is so
tempting to move to one extreme or the other and only have one group
of people frustrated with me and my decisions.

The temptation is to just…
give up.  To pick an extreme and live with the consequences and at
the very least not have to decide OVER and OVER and OVER again.  

This likely isn’t even relevant
to most of you anymore.  Maybe you remember it, but those who are
vaccinated and immunocompetent, those of you who don’t live with
people who are either unvaccinated or immunocompromised, are possibly
just feeling free now.  Numbers are down, and lots of very reasonable
people are ready to go on with life, for good reason.  And for you,
it may even be that my temptations are a sort of unpleasant reminder
of your past, one that you’d rather forget.

I also know that I’m not alone.
There are plenty of families with kids under 5, or with
immunocompromised people, or even just people who work with kids or
immunocompromised people who still adjust their lives to protect
others – or just people who adjust their lives to protect others.
People make these choices because, in the end, they think it is
right.  

Of course, there are ALSO people
who have decided that the needs of connection, or the life-giving
work they do, or the risk they’ve assessed mean that letting go of
fear and seeking out other people is the right choice for them.  

Hmmm.

I guess what I’m saying is that
I’m tempted by simple answers, by choices I can make once and not go
back to, by CLARITY, but CERTAINTY.  I don’t need to be able to make
the choices for everyone or have them be the same, but my goodness
gracious I’d like some simple answers for ME.  I’d likely settle for
a single simple answer, if I could get one.

If you’ve been listening to me
preach for some time, you may be scratching your head at how I, one
of the people you know who is most comfortable thinking in shades of
gray could get to such a desire for certainty, for black and white
answers.  The answer is unfortunately simple:  the higher anxiety
goes, the more humans search for certainty and wish to back it up at
all costs.  So, what you are hearing is that I’m a human impacted by
anxiety.  Just to put it out there, so are you.  Welcome to the
2020s.

Bruce Malina and Richard
Rohrbaugh in “Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels”
point out that what Jesus is being tested on in the desert is his
loyalty to God.  Does he show faithfulness to God, as kin?  Does he
show faithfulness to God as his leader?  Does he show faithfulness to
God in understanding God’s wishes?  The answers, of course, are yes.

But I rather liked that they
referred to the question about commanding a stone to become bread as
a test of kinship loyalty to God.  They explain it this way:

Note carefully how the devil
frames the first challenge, “If you are the Son of God…”
Precisely that has been the claim and precisely that is what is being
tested.

Note also how carefully Jesus
answers when his lineage is questioned.  He does not
answer in his own words, as if his honor derives from what he is in
himself.  To do that would be to grasp honor above that of his own
Father and turn honor into dishonor.  So he answers as a loyal Middle
Eastern son would always answer – with something from his family
tradition.  He offers the words of his true Father in Deuteronomy and
by such laudable behavior he gains honor as virtue.1

A test of kinship loyalty to
God.  That does resonate.

Probably because all the angles
of what I’m tested by are variations on the theme of “a test of
kinship loyalty.”  What is my loyalty to my immediate family – my
child and others who are vulnerable?  How do I balance that with my
loyalty to my church family – which includes people who are
vulnerable in all sorts of ways including in needs to be together and
in needs to lower COVID risks.  How do I balance THAT with my
“kinship loyalty” to God?

And suddenly, with that framing,
at the very least, I can understand why I feel pulled in so many ways
and exhausted by the pressure of every decision.  Kinship loyalty
itself pulls me in a multitude of directions, and each direction has
its own set of reasons why it is right good, and most of the time
each direction has something pulling in exactly the opposite
direction that ALSO has reasons for being right and good.

But, at least I have a frame to
make sense of it!

And, if I want to simplify
things, I can admit to myself that for me, kinship loyalty to God is
not actually distinct from kinship loyalty to those I already care
for.  (With the possible exception that God would likely include ME
in my calculations, which I notably did not.)

So, the long and short of it is
that I FEEL the testing, I feel the wandering in the desert, I feel
the yearning for clarity, but, at least I know it all comes from
love?

And THAT gets me to the
absolutely fabulous Deuteronomy reading.  It is a favorite of mine.
Deuteronomy is set in the wilderness, but at the edge of it.  The
whole book presents itself as a series of speeches given to prepare
the people before they enter the Promised Land, so that when they get
there, they’ll do it right.

One of the themes of Deuteronomy
is that it is in the adversity and challenge of the desert that the
people learned to depend on God, and it is going to be more
challenging to remember their dependence on God when things are going
well.  As a person who feels like I’m wandering in the desert, I
think I respond along with those who listened the first time, “Yeah,
that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The reading says that when they
get there, and they grow things, there is going to be an ABUNDANCE,
as that is what God wants for the people.  As they grow that
abundance, as they settle into a sense of food security, they’re to
remember their wanderings and give thanks for their abundance.  And
as that happens, they are to REMEMBER their story, they are to
REMEMBER their scarcity, they are to REMEMBER what it took to get
there.

Isn’t that interesting?  I think
in our culture we tend toward wanting to remember the glory days, not
the days of struggle.  We think about when we were strong and
capable, not when we were … struggling to find our way in the
desert.

But, the idea of this
commandment to tithe is to do so while recounting struggles, and to
give thanks for abundance by noticing what it took to get there.  AND
THEN taking of that abundance to share with those who don’t have it
(the landless priests and Levites and the foreigners without land
allotments.)

This whole thing just moves me.
That idea that we recognize our weak times, the idea that abundance
is God’s will for us (the culmination of the story), the reality that
the first thing to do with abundance is to share it, the creation of
a system whereby an abundance for some makes life possible for
others, and within all this that this is where our tradition of
offering comes from which is just so cool.

The culmination of the story is
abundance.  The people are being taught how to distribute God’s
abundance fairly.  They may be standing on the edge of the Promised
Land, but the goal is to get there and live there and have it be just
for everyone.

(And they did!  For centuries!
And it was equitable!  It is possible!  That matters too.)

So for me, right now, in my
place of being tested in the desert, I’m going to take hope from the
story about abundance, and the reminder that it is God’s long term
plan for me, for us, for all of us.

That doesn’t actually solve
anything in the present, but it is unsolvable.  However, having some
hope helps me get through.  Abundance is God’s plan for all of us.
God teaches us how to be generous with our abundance.  Kinship
loyalty to everyone is how we get there, and I guess… learning how
to balance a multiplicity of needs within the kinship network is.. a
useful skill?

Well, in any case, hear the
words the people were to say as they brought forward their offerings:

“A wandering Aramean was my
ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in
number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous.
When
the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard
labor on us,
we cried to the LORD, the God of our ancestors; the
LORD heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our
oppression.
The LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand
and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with
signs and wonders;
and God brought us into this place and gave us
this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.
So now I bring the
first of the fruit of the ground that you, O LORD, have given me.”

or perhaps:

“I have emerged from a
confused and lost people.  In the midst of existent struggles with
justice and equity, came a pandemic that threatened everything and
everyone in many ways.  The challenges that might have united people
overcame them and separated them.  We became harsh to each other.  I
did not know what to do.  I was never certain of anything.

I cried to the Lord, as did
everyone else, and God heard our voices,

and offered us rest.

God guided us when we didn’t
know where to go.

God gifted us when we couldn’t
figure out which way to turn.

God was with us, when we were
numb.

God did that, and brought us to
a new world, and helped us form it into something better.

So now, I bring the first fruit
of hope, that you, O God have given me.”

May the day come when we can say
THAT as we bring forward our offerings.  Amen

1 p. 240-41
(Textual Notes: Luke 4:3)

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 6, 2022

Posts pagination

1 … 13 14 15 16 17 … 39
  • First United Methodist Church
  • 603 State Street
  • Schenectady, NY 12305
  • phone: 518-374-4403
  • alt: 518-374-4404
  • email: fumcschenectady@yahoo.com
  • facebook: https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady
  • bluesky: @fumcschenectady.bluesky.social
Theme by Colorlib Powered by WordPress