Sermons
Weeping
“Weeping” based on Lamentations1:1-6 and 3:19-26
World Communion Sunday connects us to Christians around the world. On this Sunday most people who attend worship in Mainline Protestant denominations, those who are Roman Catholics, and some others will all share at the communion table together. Our table is then much larger today than on any other day of the year. We move, just a little bit, towards the vision of unity in Christ with diversity.

But, pragmatically, it isn’t possible to conceive of the whole world all at once. So we pick one part of it, a part of the world our hearts lead us to, and we focus there. When we start the process of planning World Communion Sunday, our first question is “where in the world are our hearts leading us?” We remember our siblings in faith in that part of the world are eating at God’s table just like we are. Well, maybe. This year our hearts led us to Gaza, and I’m not sure how many people in Gaza are able to gather together in Christian worship, nor how people would be able to scrap together the symbolic elements of a feast that feeds God’s people. There is not enough food, and the people are not safe, so our connection with their table means that we notice their struggles and the fact that few tables – even- remain.
As a part of the United States, where anti-Semitism is rampant and far too often deadly, and where support for Palestinians is often heard as hatred of people who are Jewish, I feel a need to be abundantly clear: when I say “God’s people” I mean absolutely everyone. That includes people who are Jewish, Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Sikh, from any other faith tradition and those who don’t participate in any faith tradition. There is no place in my understanding of God for hatred or dehumanization of any person or people. To connect my heart with the people in Gaza does not imply that I do not care about any other people.
That being said, now I want to take face on the fact that worship today is really depressing. This is a sermon entitled “Weeping” and I took out our normal “Regathering Song” of “Halle, Halle, Halle” because it was too cheerful for today. It is possible that you were hoping for a more uplifting worship service. My premise in letting all the sadness and weeping hang out today is that we have a communal need to mourn. People have a right to live. Food access is a human right. Hospitals do sacred work. Homes should not be destroyed. War rarely brings peace. The realities of people in Gaza, especially for the past 2 years, are a reason to mourn.
The world is not as it should be, and so we lament.
We do not lament so we feel guilty about what has happened, nor do we lament to make ourselves feel worse. We lament because things have happened that should be mourned and the only way to face them is to mourn together. We mourn because we need to let the feelings out rather than hold them within us, festering.
We have a human need to mourn the things that aren’t right. It is the counterpart of the human need to express gratitude for the things are good and right. And, when possible, we should mourn and celebrate together because it moves the emotions through our bodies and makes space for the next thing. At the “Luke 10 Congregations” retreat last weekend we were told “Prepare, it is going to get worse” (all of it.) It was said, if we assume that it won’t, we’re always going to be horrified, overwhelmed and joyless. But, even when only horror is around, something else is possible. So we mourn and celebrate together. As we do that we learn again and again that our “smething better is possible and we can be a part of making it so.” (Liz Theoharis.) Mourning and celebrating are part of preparing.
That all being said, I have a poem to offer you as another piece of our communal lament.
Poem: My Son Throws a Blanket Over My Daughter1
November 30, 2023
At night, at home, we sit on the floor,
close to each other and
far from the windows and the red
lights of bombs. Our backs bang on the walls
whenever the house shakes.
We stare at each other’s face,
scared and yet happy that we were lucky,
that our lives were spared this time.
The walls wake up from their fitful sleep.
Flies gather around the only lit ceiling lamp
for warmth in the cold night,
cold except when missiles hit
and heat up houses and roads and trees,
scorching an adjacent neighborhood.
Every time we hear a bomb
falling from an F-16 or an F-35,
our lives panic. Our lives freeze
somewhere in-between, confused
where to head next:
to a graveyard, to a hospital,
or to a nightmare.
Our lives keep their shivering hands
on their wristwatch,
fingers ready to remove the batteries
if and when needed.
My four-year-old daughter, Yaffa,
in her pink dress, hears a bomb
explode. She breathes in deep,
covers her mouth with her dress’s
ruffles.
Yazzan, her five-and-a-half-year old brother,
grabs a blanket warmed by his sleepy body.
He lays the blanket on his sister.
You can hide now, he assures her.
As for me and my wife, Maram, we pray
that a magic blanket would hide all the houses
from the bombs and take us to somewhere safe.
—–
O Lord, hear our prayers. Amen
1https://progressive.org/magazine/my-son-throws-a-blanket-over-my-daughter-toha-20231130/ accessed 10/2/25
October 5, 2025 – World Communion Sunday
The Great Thanksgiving
One: The Lord be with you.
Many: And also with you
One: Lift up your hearts
Many: We lift them up to the Lord
One: Let us give thanks to the Lord our God
Many: It is right to give our thanks and praise.
It is a right and fitting thing to gather around Your table and mindfully extend its blessings to all people, but most especially to those in the devastated land of Palestine, where Jesus was born.
From the beginning of time You have called us to share hospitality with friends and with strangers. Abraham, Sarah, Moses, Rebekah, Laban, Lydia, Phillip.. and countless others unnamed in scripture called and chosen to help your beloveds.
You are the One who called life into existence,
you are the one who lives and breathes in and through all people, always and everywhere.
You formed us in your image, and work with and through us moment by moment to feed the starving, to comfort the sick, to release the captive, to bring hope to the lost, and to protect the most vulnerable. You are always with us.
Because of all this, with your people on earth and all the company of heaven, we praise your name and join their unending hymn:
Many: Holy, holy, holy One, God of Love and Light.
Heaven and Earth are filled with your glory! Hosanna in the Highest! Blessed is the one who comes in your name.
Hosanna In the Highest!
In the fullness of time You sent Jesus, the embodiment of Your love. He walked with Your people, feeding the hungry, healing the sick, eating with those dismissed and marginalized…and angering those in power.
On the night before he was murdered, Jesus took the bread, raised it, blessed and broke it, saying “Take and eat, this is my body, broken that it may be shared, shared so that you will be connected through me.”
After supper, he took the cup, raised it, blessed it and offered it to his friends saying, “Take and drink this is my life-blood, my love poured out for you and for many so that you know nothing will separate you from me.”
As his followers today, remembering his acts of love toward us, we offer ourselves in praise and thanksgiving, as we proclaim the mystery of our faith:
Many: Christ was birthed among us. Christ was killed among us. Christ lives among us.
Pour out your Holy Spirit on us gathered here, and on these gifts of bread and cup. Make them be for us the body and spirit of Christ that we may be his hands and feet in this world.
By your Spirit make us one with Christ, one with each other, and one in ministry to all the world until your Kindom comes in completion and all the peoples of the world sit to eat together in peace.
Many: Amen
As we gather around this table, we remember the ones who came before, the frightened ones in an upper room, the ones on the way to Emmaus, and on the River Tiberius. We recall the ones who worshipped in catacombs, who hid in basements, bomb shelters, and rubble…as they gathered to share a meal like this one that strengthened bodies and minds. These tables where we gather to share the joy of being God’s beloveds, even in the midst of fear and sadness. These tables that are as much prayer as protest, where we remember Jesus – but also find the courage to stand up to oppressors and to re-member His Body with those who are dying from floods, famines, bombs, and blockades. Come and be fed.
Rev. Sara E. Baron and Karyn McCloskey
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
Pronouns: she/her/hers
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

