Another Damn Sermon on Gun Violence

My daughter is in a new school district this year. In a bedtime conversation, she shared with me that she missed the cue for a fire drill this week, because she didn’t know that’s what the sound was.  Then she told me that she’s not sure what the lockdown process is at her new school, either.   That was a little bit more than scary -- for her and for me.

We just had our nine hundred and eighty sixth mass shooting since Sandy Hook. That was in 2012, in case you’re keeping count. Two hundred and seventy four days into this year, there have been two hundred and ninety four mass shootings. The satirical news site, The Onion, has taken to simply reposting the same article each time a shooting happens, with updated locations and dates.

I was chatting with a good friend this week and said that I didn’t want to preach one more damn sermon about gun violence.   She suggested, why don’t you just say that, bluntly.  I replied, "I did. Four gun violence sermons ago."  Dear ones, I am tired of this sermon.  As (I’m sure) are you.   As (I’m sure) is God.

I came home yesterday from presiding at a memorial service, and sat down to begin writing this sermon which I don’t want to be delivering.  Naturally, my gift for procrastination took hold.  I decided I would turn to my news feed to read a bit of what others were saying; it doesn’t do to compose a sermon while uninformed. At which point, I learned that our military forces – the United States’ – had bombed a hospital run by the international charity Doctors Without Borders.  A hospital serving victims in a war zone in Afghanistan, with coordinates made known to both sides.

Words fail.
 
“Deliver us!,”  the people cry out on Facebook, on Twitter, in the coffee shops and cafes.  “Deliver us!,” they cry out under their breath while driving to work and hearing the latest death toll.  "Deliver us!" while huddled in the corner of a classroom with the lights off. “Deliver us!,” the people cry out as they hug their children to bed at night. “Deliver us,” with the lighting of candles, the sharing of articles and saying of prayers.

While the politicians say, too, “Deliver us!”  Deliver us into office.  Deliver us into the halls of power, and then beyond, to the halls where the lobbyists and campaign contributors wield their greater power with a higher paycheck and higher stakes.

We stand in the presence of the Holy One. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  Deliver us from the temptation to despair.  Lead us into prayerful action.

We have been caught up in a repetitive loop of lament, captive to endless news coverage and a dystopian vision that the odds are so overwhelming there is no realistic path to change. It is as if we were still living in the days of the Romans, when the crucified lined the roads as a warning to those who dared challenge the might of an empire. Understand that every death in every mass shooting, every proclamation that nothing can be done, is another cross raised to keep you living in terror.  This is all those news stories are designed to achieve:  keep the way of death foremost in our hearts.

Is this the way Christ calls us to live?  Enslaved, captivated by the power of death?  We belong to a different story.  The apostle Paul says this of Christians:   We do not grieve as others do, who have no hope.  We believe there is an end to the cycle of sin and death.

I am the God of the ancestors.   I hear the cries of distress.  I am aware of the suffering.   Now go...for I am sending you to do something about it.
 
The burning bush is where we are called out. God knows who we are, and how we are tempted to slide back into our comfortable lives of sheep-herding and goat-tending.  But at the burning bush, when people are dying and God calls you to act, prayer and refuge in personal holiness are not an acceptable retreat.  God knows that Moses is far from perfect.  He is a murderer and a coward, and not a very good public speaker, either. There are a multitude of excuses to be offered, but none are sufficient to disqualify him.

With every stammer of Moses, God repeats, “I Am; I Will Be.” And it is there we find our answer.   Remember God’s name: I AM. God’s name is existence itself, a declaration of life.  Do you really think a God like that will give any ground to the power of death?

If you have seen the flames and know the name of the one who calls you, if you admit this ground is holy, then you have no refuge in excuses. Yours is the voice God will use.

Such is the power of naming.

Followers of Christ’s way:  the road does not end with death on a Holy Friday, or with lament on an empty Saturday. The road doesn’t even end with a glorious Sunday on which Resurrection is proclaimed. The road doesn’t end.

One of the earliest names for Christians was “followers of the way.”  We are disciples – students; and apostles – messengers.  If we are serious about our Christianity, then we proclaim life in the face of death; abundance in the face of scarcity, freedom in the face of enslaving powers that would oppress and impoverish God’s children.  We allow ourselves to be broken open and poured out for the sake of the world.  We do this, not under our own power, but rooted in the power of the one who sends us.   We are given God’s name that we might use it in times of need.

If we believe in these things, then we pray without ceasing, and write without ceasing, and walk and speak without ceasing.  We stand alongside the grieving, bearing witness to the temporary dominion of death, and we confront the powerful, demanding to know why human life is being sacrificed for financial gain.

We say to the ones who walk in the halls of power, enough with these damn sermons about gun violence.  Deliver us from your excuses and your platitudes.  There are solutions and we demand them.

Moses, you have been called to action by a voice from a burning bush.  There is nothing about this which will be comfortable.

So make politicians uncomfortable.  Moses had to do a lot of badgering of Pharaoh to become more than a joke to the political elite.  Show up at campaign rallies and media events and office hours and ask how many people have to die before these policymakers take action.

If we are serious about this Christian thing, maybe we become single issue voters. Refuse to vote for a politician who will not take a stand on this, and let them know. Shift investments away from funds which support the machinery of death -- the guns and the bombs and the drones.  Begin the de-funding of war, both domestic and foreign.

If we are serious about this Jesus thing, we bring these issues up in polite conversation. Don’t be timid.  Make sure everyone knows your feelings: bring it up with your card club, your book club, your coffee klatsch, your curling and hunting and football-watching buddies. You do not know how many opinions you may sway.

We have been given the name, Christian.  We need no longer tolerate a culture of death, the worship of the gun and the sacrifice of untold numbers on the altar of violence.

Dear ones, you want to know how you are being called to use your gifts?  It is ever and always to challenge the dominion of death. This is the work of Christ, who came in the name of abundant life. We have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and self-control. When we speak on the side of life, the Holy One will be with us. God will give us the words to say.

Amen?

---

Preached on 10/4/15 at McFarland UCC.  Text: Exodus  2:23-25, 3:1-15.  Statistics from vox.com and washingtonpost.com.  Photo copyright: bennymarty / 123RF Stock Photo

Isaac's Birth Announced

God being God, and loving a good joke,
The birth announcement was unorthodox.
It came inside-out, upside-down, from
unexpected guests who just appeared
and mentioned it as an afterthought.

Viewed with a snort of derision,
divinely ridiculous, it might have read:
Coming soon, to two old geezers.
a heavenly joke (don’t laugh).
Abraham and Sarah will have a son.

Yes, they’re nearing a hundred.
But hospitality is hospitality.
So welcome this ridiculous idea
To your table, your tent,
Your dwelling place.

In the heat of the day,
God showed up and said,
There will be a child.
And the next year, so it was.

The word went out:
Born, to old Abraham and Sarah,
A son named Isaac,
Born of tears and longing
and laughter and a promise.
Thanks be to God.

Dear Leah: A God on Broadway Sermon (Wicked)

The Text from Broadway: “I'm Not That Girl” from the Broadway musical Wicked.

There's a girl I know, he loves her so....I'm not that girl...

The Text from Scripture:  Genesis 29

So Jacob went in to Rachel also, and he loved Rachel more than Leah...

Audio Recording of Scripture & Sermon can be found here.

---

Dear Leah, 

Because our stories are all alike, and a little bit different, I wonder:  

Growing up, did you and Rachel argue over what beauty means?  Did she wield her good looks like a weapon?  Did she taunt you for your bad eyes?   What did you think, when your cousin Jacob came to town?  When he noticed your sister – like everyone did – and you remained unseen?

All those seven years as Jacob worked – did you know what your father had up his sleeve?  Did you try to talk him out of it?  Or did you embrace it as an escape, your last, best, chance for finding a partner, for leaving a difficult home?  

At the altar, how did you feel?  Were you sick inside?  Were you silently grateful?  And on your wedding night, in the darkness of the tent, knowing that your husband imagined he was touching someone else?   Were you able to weep then, or did you hold off until the morning, when a portion of the truth was revealed?   Over the days of the honeymoon, did you hope you could come to terms with one another?   For the next seven years, how did you hold the pieces of your broken heart together, seeing him work day after day for the love of another?

If we could sit down over a cup of tea, I would ask you these things, and seek to learn from your strength.  And then, when you were done saying the things that needed to be said, I would share what I have with you…

Whatever You Want: A God on Broadway Sermon (Chicago)

The Text from Broadway: “When You’re Good to Mama” from the Broadway musical Chicago.

There's a lot of favors I'm prepared to do - You do one for Mama, she'll do one for you!

The Text from Scripture:  Mark 6:14-29

Herod’s daughter came in and danced, thrilling Herod and his dinner guests. The king said to the young woman, “Ask me whatever you wish, and I will give it to you.” Then he swore to her, “Whatever you ask I will give to you, even as much as half of my kingdom.”

---

Our soloist and I had a little chat when she was in to rehearse the other day, “Are you ok with me vamping it up a little bit?”  It happens all the time with this Broadway series – a singer will come and say “are you sure you’re ok with…..”  Ab-so-lutely.  Nobody could ever honestly slap a G rating on the Bible.   If we were to just focus on the nice wholesome bits on a Sunday, there would be a whole range of human experience that would not be reflected in our common worship.   Life is not G-rated.  So we bring it all to God –  heart, soul, mind, strength… hands, feet, and head (whether it’s connected or not).

Let me give you a little window into King Herod’s court:  the royal family tree has enough scandal embedded in it to parallel the most sordid reality television.    Let me recap just the current generations:  Woman marries her uncle.  Woman dumps her uncle and marries her other uncle.  Great-niece dances for great-uncle and a room full of party guests in a way that’s worth half a kingdom…or the head of a prophet.  

Just what kind of a Gospel are we running here?  Perhaps it would be best not to invoke Biblical family values too hastily. Herod’s birthday banquet offers an unsettling vision of what it’s like when self-interest is the name of the game, when everybody’s a free agent waiting to be bought off, and every decision is high stakes.

A fabulous birthday party thrown by Herod, for Herod.   It’s a great day in Herod’s world– he knows his own tastes, and he’s in charge.  Nobody’s going order the anchovy pizza or give him a clunker of a gift.  Nothing but the best for Herod.  Nobody he doesn’t want there, either.  Everybody invited for a reason – someone to impress, someone to intimidate, someone to manipulate.   He knows how to throw a razzle-dazzle kind of party.

Communion Prayer for Our Whole Lives Sunday

Written for a Sunday on which we celebrated the completion of a faith and sexuality series.*

Great and gracious God, creator of all good things,
You gave us grain and grape. You gave us hands and minds.
You set us in a garden to make good of what surrounded us.
When the path we chose led to brokenness, you did not abandon us.
You sent us prophets and teachers. When we did not listen to them,
You came to us yourself in the person of Christ Jesus.
And when the world rejected his witness of wholeness,
Calling it criminal and putting him to death,
You did not let that be an end.

For the gift of Resurrection we give you all thanks and praise.
Strangely grateful for the disruptive gift of the Holy Spirit,
and the challenge of participating in your New Creation,
we sing with the church on earth and in heaven,
Holy, Holy, Holy.

Let your Spirit be at this table where earthy and heavenly meet.
Let it rest on bread and cup and within us. Through this holy meal,
make us one with you and each other.   Amen.


*Want more information?  Our Whole Lives is an award-winning, comprehensive faith and sexuality curriculum written by members United Church of Christ (UCC) and Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA), with a range of options for learning across the human lifespan.

Clarity

twenty years has clarified

our thinking, the relative

importance of books, rain,

dirty laundry, stairs, lunch 

menu and the right color shoe

vintage wallpaper (unironic), 

locating doors, old ghosts,

room assignments, rules 

and whispers of inadequacy

moments to bless, yesing

one another where we have 

been noed,

For all the mothers

For all the mothers.  The wannabes and dontwannabes. The oncewas alwaysam missingmychild missingmymom mothers.  Mothers born in tearsweatblood cussing up a storm.  The getitright screweditup didmybest cantfixitnow getwhatyougetdontpitchafit mothers. The mothers who lovehate this motherhood thing.  The yettobe and neverwills.  The lovebearing painbearing remembering forgetting ones. Not just thisdayasatoken and theoneswholooklikeme but allthedays allthenights allthemothers.

The Gift of Digital Community

I have an essay in this book.  There are
some incredible writers in this book.
Have you bought your copy yet?

They said ministry was hard.  Isolating.  They said that you needed to watch your boundaries.  They said it was impossible to be friends with parishioners, and that in a small town, really, everyone qualifies as a parishioner.  They said if you wanted to be a real person - to express your problems, to let your hair down - you might just need to go out of town to do that.

They said it's hard to be healthy.  They said that family doesn't get it, that the busy times of a minister and family holiday traditions don't mesh.  They said there would be disagreements and major frustration. They said there is an insurmountable gap gap between those who are theologically trained, those in the pews and those in the community.

For these reasons, and others, they said ministry was lonely.  (You know the voices. You know the tales they tell. Some of them are true.  Others?  Well, we'll get to that.)  

Speechless: A Parable

A Sermon on the Parable of the Wedding Party

We have been learning from the parables of Jesus, these past few weeks.  As he teaches, Jesus says to his listeners, “To what shall I compare the Realm of God?  To what shall I compare the Kingdom?”

And each week, instead of hearing a straightforward comparison, a basic lesson in similes and metaphors, we have been unpacking a deeper story.  Parables are not Aesop’s fables with a simple moral and life application that will make you a better person; parables mess with your head.
Instead of a direct comparison, they twist our thinking.  They help us explore more complicated questions such as, “What are the boundaries of forgiveness?” and “What if our central organizing principle was hospitality?”  Today, we receive another kingdom sketch that seems to tear both of these prior lessons to shreds.

Today’s parable comes from the 22nd chapter of the Gospel according to Matthew.  In our Bible study this week, we discovered that a similar story is told in Luke and in the Gospel of Thomas.  Matthew’s version gives George RR Martin a run for his money.  If you’re familiar with his novels, or the HBO series Game of Thrones, the storyline might seem familiar.

---

 
Imagine an occasion spun out of control.  A scene where the soundtrack grows dissonant, you know something awful is about to happen, and yet you are powerless to leave.

(I ask your forbearance if you have known difficult tables of your own.  You already know the agony of which I speak, the terror in the pit of your stomach, the sense of being glued to your chair.  Many of us have been seated at difficult tables where our presence seems to be mandatory. The question before us today is, “how do we wrangle a blessing to accompany us in times such as these?”)

Imagine a wedding feast in a kingdom far, far away.  The invitations go out by priority courier, to those from all over the kingdom.  Both friends and enemies to be present, but an occasion not to be missed.  Imagine the complex seating charts, who it would be permissible to seat at table with whom. Imagine the preparations, boxes and bins of food brought in to a buzzing kitchen.  The smell of an extravagant meal in the works.  Streamers and banners billowing from a high ceiling.  No expense spared to make this a memorable occasion.

And imagine that, when this feast was ready, those invited said, no.  “No, we cannot come.”
Imagine such an insult to the king’s honor.  Imagine the heralds returning, from east and west and north and south with variations on, “no.”  Imagine that some of them did not return at all.  Imagine that others came back, not hot and dusty from the road, but cold, across the saddle, their lifeless bodies all the answer the king needed to demonstrate his alleged esteem in the eyes of those who had refused him.

Imagine the king’s growing rage.  And then, in your mind’s eye, picture fields and cities destroyed at the hand of the king’s soldiers, the skies filled with smoke and scavengers.
 
Imagine a parody of normalcy, a grim scene in which the banquet takes place after all, and survivors are marched in to eat of what has been prepared.  Imagine their terror.  Imagine the stark reality that this could be all there is, this kind of king, this kind of banquet among the smoking ruins.
Imagine, too, the stark reality that the food within this hall might be all that is available for some time, the fields now empty, storehouses burned, and winter coming on.  Imagine eating this food out of necessity, the opulence of this hall at odds with everything you know is happening outside these doors – one foot in unearned privilege, the other in destruction and terror.

And in comes the king, sweeping up the aisle, when his eye falls on one of these secondary guests.  Not you, thank God, not you.  But a neighbor, perhaps.  Someone across the room.  Dressed in their everyday clothes, quaking in terror, failing to celebrate sufficiently the king’s generosity.  And for the crime of being merely human, and catching the king’s eye, they are seized by guards, bound hand and foot and cast into the cold, cold night.

---

Congregations around the country are wrestling with this text this week.  Pastors got into intense discussions on Facebook and blogs – yes, it’s true, it is hard to walk away when someone is wrong on the internet.

A traditional interpretation of this parable has it that God is the King, and Christ is the king’s son, whose wedding the feast celebrates.  Those unwilling to recognize or celebrate the occasion are victims of the king’s wrath.  And heaven help you if you make light of the occasion by forgetting your fancy clothes – you’ll be cast into the outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.
 
Jesus says, “To what shall I compare the Kingdom of God?”   And once again I say, “not this.”  Not every parable draws a bright connecting line between the parable and the Kingdom.  And while sometimes we do proclaim God as King and Lord – among other titles - not every king in a parable is a figure for the Holy One.

The traditional way of reading Jesus’ banquet story reveals more about humanity than it does about God.  What does it say about us that we leap to the idea of a sadistic brutal God?*   A ruler we cringe in terror of offending?   A ruler whose operating style is at odds with previous teachings on forgiveness and hospitality and grace?

This king sounds more like King Herod, who committed genocide in the interest of maintaining his own power, murdering the children of Israel. This is not a kingdom parable or a kindom parable – it is an anti-king parable.  It cuts down the power players, the kings and the elites of this world, who hold the power of life and death in their hands.  We are constantly invited – mandated – to attend their banquet.

They know it is not an occasion for peace.  I mentioned the series Game of Thrones earlier.  There’s an event called The Red Wedding and it is even bloodier and more terrifying than this parable.  In that tale, one of the people tricked into coming to the wedding notices, underneath a host’s wedding garment, a glimpse of chain mail.  You would not wear armor to a festive occasion unless you knew violence was going to break out.

The way of violence always calls us to violent retribution.  And yet, Christians, we are not called to return like for like.  There is power in standing witness.  On this weekend when our nation commemorates fifty years since the civil rights marches in Selma, on this Madison-area weekend when another community mourns the loss of another black teen, it is good to remember that we do not engage the brutal powers of this world with violence.
 
Especially on this weekend when we baptize a child in our midst and we say, “you are God’s beloved,” it is good to remember the other garment that we wear.  It is not made of metal or lace; it is fit for neither fighting nor parading one’s material wealth.  It is a simple garment, a servant’s garment.  A baptismal garment.

We wear Christ.  The Apostle Paul would say, we “put on Christ.”  This is our armor against the violence that eats the soul.  This is the finest robe that makes us fit to sit at any of the world’s tables.  This is what warms and shields us when surrounded by weeping and gnashing of teeth.

This is a garment available to anyone who desires it and is bold to wear it.  There is no shortage.  It will not keep us away from bad news or guns or tear gas or grief.  But it gives us strength to stand up to corrupt systems and power players who would burn the place down to preserve their privilege.

It is not an easy word we have from Matthew today, a parable of a king who is not God and a kingdom that is not heaven.  But it is a piece of a story told by Jesus, and it is a gift that it has been passed on to us by a beloved community.

May we wrestle with it for generations to come.  Amen?

---

Preached for the 3rd Sunday in Lent, for a series on parables.  March 8, 2015 at McFarland United Church of Christ
Image copyright: 123RF Stock Photo.
*I am indebted to The Hardest Question for calling my attention to this line of thought.

Full Availability: A Parable

There were not many jobs to be had.  Not many regular jobs, at least.  It was a bit easier to find a limited gig that would pay you for three days, or two days, or one day at a time.  The economy was based on full availability.  If there was a chance to work, and you turned it down…well, you might not get called again.

That’s what happened the time my grandfather took a day job shoveling out a railroad car during the Depression.   At that time, you didn’t know when the next job might present itself, so you took a job when offered, and you were grateful for the chance to earn something, when the next guy might get nothing.  So he took the job shoveling out the railroad car.  He spent a hard day shoveling salt.   And by the end of the day, when they dished out the day’s wage?  Well, instead of feeding the family, it had to go to buying him a new pair of boots to replace the ones the salt had ruined.

That sort of deal didn’t end with the New Deal.   It’s just as prevalent here at the beginning of the twenty-first century.  Some call it ‘Working in Retail’.  Some call it ‘The Sharing Economy.’ Others call it On-Demand Staffing or 'Flexible Staffing Practices'.  Full Availability is a system where it seems the employer has all the rights to organize the employee’s time.  It is not uncommon in retail – and increasingly, in other sectors – to receive your schedule shortly before the week begins, and to be notified that you are “on call” in case of an unexpected surge in customers, expected to report on as little as two hours’ notice.  All of this for the extravagant wage of $7.25 to $10 an hour.

Of course, with your employer’s needs as your central organizing principle, you have precious little energy to devote to organizing anything else: child care, or a search for a better job, or your fellow employees.  It goes beyond paycheck-to-paycheck and ends up being more like hand-to-mouth.

Friday Five: Frozen Edition

So I'm part of a blog ring called RevGalBlogPals which is an AMAZING assemblage of role models in ministry and faith.  Every week, there's a Friday Five post.  As I am currently procrastinating, here's my entry for this week's challenge:

1. For The First Time in Forever: Tell us about a magical first snow day – for a child, a transplanted southerner, or maybe you have a great story from the first snowfall in your area this season
2. In Summer: Tell us what you look forward to when it’s warmer again.
3. Reindeers are Better than people: We are in the business of loving people. But sometimes… Well, it’s a bit of a stretch to love. Do you have a tip, a mantra, or a perspective that helps?
4. Fixer Upper: Since we are in the season of Lent, what are you doing in the area of self-improvement?
5. Let. It. Go. What would Elsa do? Are you de-cluttering? Moving on? Accepting a hard reality? Finding freedom?

Bonus: Frozen, thawing out or thawed, share a picture from your winter this year!

from my frozen-shut patio door
as the snow on the railing
was slowly collapsing

1.  For the First Time in Forever:
As young marrieds, after a couple of years' sojourn in Louisiana courtesy of the US Army, we moved back north.  I remember the first snowfall we had that year - just before traveling away for Christmas.  We were outside shoveling (really sliding the shovel along the driveway, it wasn't much), and I ended up wandering down the street, marveling at the sparkle and the lightness as if I were a child all over again.

2. In Summer:
I'm really looking forward visiting my favorite walking/hiking trails when it's warmer again.  Nothing resets my spiritual batteries like time alone in nature.  There are plenty of places to go and find what my soul craves, but my body is not a fan of sub-freezing temperatures.

3.  Reindeers are Better than People:  
I try to remember that hurt people hurt people.  When someone seems difficult to love, I try to recognize that they are likely bearing a hurt that I do not know about.

4.  Fixer Upper:  
I've been doing daily spiritual readings from a new devotional I bought (morning and evening), although I've let it go (HA!) over the last few very busy days.  There were a couple that just didn't click with me and after a couple of 'eh' days I drifted from the practice.  Time to try again!

5.  Let It Go:
I am trying to eat my way through the cabinets and freezer, making use of things I already have in the house as much as possible.  I've been doing this for a couple of Lenten cycles now and it's been a great practice.  It frees me up from excess and from the guilt of "Oh, I should use that..." as well as inspiring more creativity in the kitchen.

Into God's Time

        For this hour, we step away
From clock time, and into God time.

Forgive our obsession with
concrete metrics. So often,
it is how we are measured.
But as an investment and
an experiment in your realm,

we will stop measuring
timeliness and productivity
just for this one hour-ish, though
        it does not come naturally.

In this pocket of God-time and God-space,
carved out from the everyday,
        our hearts say let your kingdom come.
Amen.


For the 2nd Sunday in Lent (Narrative Lectionary text Matthew 20:1-16)

A Word for the Drowning

He was sad.  Oh, so sad.

His dear cousin – the one he had met even before they were born – dead.

He had been about his work for so long:  calling disciples, mentoring them - telling stories, healing people, instructing them and sending them out to serve.  He was becoming an A-list public speaker, the kind people flock to listen to whenever they come to town.  His mother and brothers came to visit, and he turned away from them.  He said, I haven’t come to bring peace, but a sword.

So full of fire, he was.  So busy.  John had to send word from prison, asking “Are you the one? The one we’ve been waiting for?”  They had been apart since baptism day at the Jordan.

And now he was gone.

The world wouldn’t leave him alone to grieve.

Words of Assurance for Annual Meeting Sunday

God’s work among us, and within each one of us,
Doesn’t (just) make us better than we are alone.
It makes us different.
Divinely commissioned oddballs, if you will:
Beloved, blessed, forgiven, called,
To shine our light for Christ’s sake.
Amen?  Amen.