The Faces of Christ: Jesus the Mystic

Part I of a six-week sermon series on the nature and identity of Christ

The_Faces_of_Christ_Jesus_as_Mystic.wav Listen on Posterous

The Purpose of Repentence

This year, we have barely had time to put away the Christmas decorations before the more somber and introspective season of Lent, which begins today, with the Holy Day of Ash Wednesday.  I call the season somber because, quite frankly, Lent has a reputation for being something of a downer-- particularly when put in contrast with the seasons of Christmas and Epiphany that come before it.  Perhaps the reason Lent gets such a dismal reputation is because a major theme of Lent is repentance, and for many of us, the idea of repentance conjures up emotions of guilt and shame—not the kinds of religious sentiments we particularly like to dwell upon.

But maybe there is more to Lent than just guilt and shame.  Repentance, after all, comes from the Greek word metanoia, which can perhaps be translated most accurately as “a turning of consciousness” or “a change of heart and mind.”  Biblical notions of repentance, and particularly New Testament ideas of the word, have little to do with feeling bad or guilty about past sins, and have much more to do with transformation of heart, mind, and soul as we shift our priorities towards God and the spiritual life.   

It is common in many Christian traditions to “give up” something for Lent.  Again, this practice has negative connotations for some Christians, who remember giving up certain pleasures or comforts during Lent as a practice of self-deprivation.  But there is more to this practice than we may think.  Giving up something for Lent is not just about the avoidance of temptation (something many of us routinely fail at—once again, bring on the guilt and shame).  It’s also about getting rid of some of extra the clutter in our lives in order to make more room for God. It’s hard to experience metanoia if our lives are already so full that there is no room for God’s Spirit to move in and around us, and it’s hard to have a turning of our consciousness if we remain too comfortable with the status quo.  And so we give up certain things during Lent for the purpose of making room for metanoia and a deeper spirituality. Maybe we give up a few hours of television each day in order to make more time for prayer, meditation, or Bible study.  Maybe we give up an extra hour of sleep on Sunday morning in order to be more diligent about worshiping in community.  Maybe we give up that daily latté in order to purchase an item for the food pantry instead.  We make these small sacrifices with the hope that at the end of Lent, we might have experienced some degree of true repentance—a transformation of heart, mind, and soul--metanoia.  

During the six weeks of Lent, there will be many opportunities to engage in spiritual discipline-- whether it be worship, prayer, study, or service.  It doesn’t really matter which discipline you choose to engage in. The important thing is that you choose something-- some small way to turn your heart and mind more towards God.  This Lent, may we all find true repentance, may we all experience metanoia and true spiritual transformation.

Embracing Mystery: A Sermon for Transfiguration Sunday

Luke 9:28-36

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’—not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’ When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

file://localhost/Users/saraofner/Desktop/luke.jpg

There is a place in Central America where many people have traveled as pilgrims, attempting to experience something of the divine.  It is a place that has often been described as a meeting place of heaven and earth. In the country of Peru, some 2000 feet above the rambling Urubamba River, are the ruins of Machu Picchu-- an ancient Incan city thought to have special spiritual and ceremonial significance. One of the primary sites at the top of the mountain is called the Intihuatana Stone-- otherwise known as “the hitching post to the sun.” According to legend, when a sensitive person touches their forehead to the stone it opens their vision to the spirit world. It was thought to contain the energy of the Gods themselves. And even though Machu Picchu was eventually abandoned upon the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors, it remains to this day a place where-- even amidst it's ruins-- people claim to experience something mystical and transcendent.

 

Machu Picchu is what is deemed by some in the religious world as a “thin place”-- a place where the earthly meets the spiritual, where human meets divine. Throughout the centuries, people have claimed the existence of such thin places--whether in the ruins of Machu Picchu, the mountains of Nepal, the redwoods of California, or within the walls of the Sistine Chapel. Thin places could be anywhere, though they are most often associated with locations in the natural world. Essentially, they are places where we experience the divine in a way that is unusual or extraordinary. Places where we can become particularly aware of God’s presence within or around us-- where the boundaries between the material and the spiritual become "thin," or seem to melt away entirely. Places in which the world around us is transfigured-- and the ordinary becomes the extraordinary, the mundane becomes mystical.

The disciples have such an experience in our Gospel reading this morning. Peter, James and John follow Jesus up to the top of a mountain to pray, and as they pray, something extraordinary happens. According to the story, Jesus’ appearance changes-- his face seems to shine and his clothes become dazzlingly white. At the same time, suddenly the disciples and Jesus are no longer alone on the mountain. Two men who are assumed to be Moses and Elijah appear and begin talking with Jesus. The text tells us that the disciples have been, up until this moment, “weighed down with sleep.” Perhaps they’ve been up on the mountain for a long time, or perhaps they just got bored, but this certainly wakes them up. Peter, in particular, is stirred into action. Excitedly, he says to Jesus and the others gathered, “This is incredible!  We should build a dwelling so that we can remain here on the mountain with Moses and Elijah!” But that was apparently not the right thing to say, because as soon as the words are out of his mouth, immediately a cloud seems to overtake them. And then, just as quickly as the experience began, it was over. Jesus and the disciples are once again alone on the mountaintop and the world is back to the way it had always been. The mystical once again becomes the mundane.

The story goes on to say that the disciples spoke of their experience to no one in the days ahead. Perhaps this is because they weren’t sure it had really happened. Perhaps they thought they may have dreamt it, and so they kept quiet, not wanting to sound crazy or fanatical to the other disciples. And maybe we can relate to this particular part of the story. Because we hear this tale with our 21st century ears, and perhaps we wonder if the disciples dreamt it as well.  We wonder-- did it really happen this way?  Are we really meant to take this story literally? Is this story true?

It’s hard for us to embrace the mystery and ambiguity of texts like this one because we live in an age where in order for something to be true, it must be literal and factual. To say that a story is true means that we have verified it, fact-checked it, and found the witnesses to be reliable sources-- all things that are difficult to do in a story like this one. Theologian Marcus Borg, in reflecting on whether or not we Christians should consider this story to be a literal, historic event in the life of Jesus, argues that actually, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter. He writes that “whether this literally happened is not in any way decisive for it’s meaning.” In other words, no matter how we understand this story, whether we believe it happened exactly this way or not, it still holds meaning for us in our lives today.

And so perhaps the question we really need to be asking, is not “did this really happen?” But rather, “what does it really mean?” And in order to answer that question, I believe that we must first turn our attention to our good friend Peter.

Peter is the quintessential everyman in the Gospels. He is the one who always misunderstands, or reacts inappropriately, or rushes to judgement based on his emotions in the moment. And in that sense he is imminently relatable to us, because we are constantly doing the same kinds of things. And while I’m going to assume that none of us have been up on a mountain with Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, I would hazard a guess that most of us can still understand exactly what happens to Peter in this story. 

Consider this: Peter has this experience up on the mountain-top that one might call transcendent. He experiences what so many before him and after him have experienced in the thin places of the world--a moment when the material world around him is somehow transfigured into something divine and deeply spiritual. God’s presence is suddenly so real to Peter that he rushes to try and freeze the moment.  He wants to take action. He wants to DO something in order to hold onto this feeling of transcendence. But of course, the second he does that, the moment is lost. The second he tries to hold onto the experience, it slips right through his fingers, and the world is once again as it was.

How often does this same sort of thing happen to us? We have an experience that we might call spiritual or even transcendent, and we try to capture the moment somehow, or make some kind of rational sense of it. Yet we find that in trying to explain it or put it into words, it somehow loses it’s depth and intensity. Or when we try to recreate the experience by going back to the same place or doing the same things, we quickly become frustrated when we can’t get it back. And then perhaps, just like Peter, when we can’t explain or recreate the moment, we start to doubt whether it was real. “Was that life-changing experience I just had all in my head?” we may ask. “Was that really God, or did I just imagine it?” 

Maybe some of us can think of experiences we’ve had like this-- experiences that we don’t often speak of to others because we aren’t entirely sure if we believe it really happened ourselves.  Or maybe others of us are simply skeptical when we hear other people talk about having these kinds of experiences-- experiences of these so-called “thin places”-- because there’s no way to prove that they really exist.

At this point, I simply can’t resist recalling a line from one of my favorite books, a book which admittedly is not one that many people would think of as having much spiritual significance, but nevertheless one that holds some relevance on this topic.  Towards the end of the very last Harry Potter book, two of the main characters are in the midst of a rather ambiguous and mysterious situation (I won’t name names in case there are still a few of you out there who haven’t read the books or seen the films), and one character says to the other: “Tell me one last thing.  Is this real?  Or has this been happening inside my head?” The other character replies: “Of course it’s happening inside your head!  But why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

Perhaps we find this kind of sentiment easier to accept when it’s in a children’s novel as opposed to when it’s put before us as sacred text. But why should that be the case? I think that as people who are both spiritual and religious, we can often do a much better job of embracing mystery and ambiguity in our walk with God. The depth of our spirituality should not be limited to what we can prove. If that was the case, there would be little reason for prayer, or church, or faith at all. And so perhaps we need to make a little more room for mystery. And perhaps one clue for just how we are supposed to do that also lies within our text this morning--when a voice from the clouds says to Peter, “this is my son-- listen to him.”

The key word here of course, being “listen.” Don’t rush into always “doing” stuff. Don’t try to freeze the moment. Don’t try to make sense of it. Don’t try to prove it. Just listen. Just be open to the experience. Because the thing is, there will always be time for practical action. Certainly, we are not meant to spend all of our lives in the “thin places” of the world. Even Jesus and his disciples eventually come back down from the mountain, and almost immediately they are called back into action-- healing, preaching, and teaching. There will always be a time and place for action. However, in our 21st century, post-Enlightenment world, in which we so often favor certainty over ambiguity, action over contemplation, veracity over mystery, it’s important for us to also take time out to listen and to simply be open to the mystery of our faith. Because it is in those thin places of life-- those times and places when we experience the world and ourselves as transfigured--it is there where we experience the overwhelming mystery that is God. And even though we may never be able to adequately explain or recreate those experiences, they are still very real, and they are still very true, because they hold within them the power to change us and to change the way we view the world. And how much more real can it get than that?

This coming week, as we enter into the season of Lent,there is perhaps no better time for us to remember to take time out to listen-- to open ourselves up to the possibilities for God’s mysterious movement in our lives. To be able to experience the thin places in the world around us. Because in doing so, we may just find God.

Ashes, Irony, and God's Wondrous Love

 

Good News, Bad News: A Sermon on Luke 4:14-30

How can we hear Jesus' proclamation of the good news in our modern world?

2013-01-26_01_00.wav Listen on Posterous

Untitled

Out with the Old, In With the New: A Sermon for Sunday, December 30th

Scripture Texts: 2 Corinthians 5:16-20 and Revelation 21:1-6a

Out with the old, in with the new. That tends to be a pretty popular sentiment around this time of year. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, and as is the custom for many people, it will be a time for new beginnings, new dreams, new goals, and of course, New Year’s resolutions. Personally, I don’t always make New Year’s resolutions. Some years I do, some years I don’t-- I suspect it usually has something to do with how much free time I have to reflect on such things. There are other people I know, however, who are more consistent. I have one friend who is so religious about her new year's resolutions, that every year, she types up a document-- usually several pages long--with a list of resolutions that includes short term goals, long term goals, and an action plan with a clearly laid out time line for how she intends to accomplish and keep her resolutions. As an added measure of accountability, she then sends this list to several of her closest friends, which of course in no way makes any of the rest of us feel inadequate or lazy at all about our own New Year's resolutions-- or lack thereof.

On the other end of the spectrum, I have some friends who are completely opposed to the idea of New Year’s resolutions, seeing them as nothing more than frivolous promises that are meant to be broken. These are the people who scoff at the rest of us and our good intentions to eat healthier, read more non-fiction, or finally buckle down and start learning that second language.  "Can't teach an old dog new tricks," these folks might say. "What you see is what you get."

Most of us, I suspect, fall somewhere between these two extremes. Maybe we like the idea of New Year’s resolutions. Maybe we have good intentions. But maybe we also don't take them too seriously because we know from experience that our resolve doesn’t always last terribly long into the new year.

The truth is, New Year’s resolutions can sometimes be frivolous, and they are not usually anything we should lose sleep over. Still, this morning, since it is the day before New Year's Eve, I would like to make an argument in favor of New Year’s resolutions. Not necessarily the kind that have to do with losing weight or going to the gym more often-- though those are certainly worthy goals. Rather, I’m talking about the kinds of resolutions we make with the aim of transformation-- with the aim of becoming better people.  Kinder, more courageous, more educated, or more compassionate. Resolutions to become more spiritually minded and more devoted to prayer or meditation practices. Resolutions to be less selfish and more giving of our time, our resources, and our hearts. This morning, I would like to come out in favor of transformation-based resolutions. In part because it seems as if our scripture texts somehow demand it. Both of our readings today are rich in imagery of transformation--of new life and new creation.

“There will be a new heaven and a new earth,” the book of Revelation says. “Death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more.”

“If anyone is in Christ,” Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians, “there is a new creation: everything old has passed away, everything has become new!”

Out with the old, in with the new. Just like we said.

There’s only one problem with that.

We have become accustomed, in this scientific age, to view things in a very binary manner. Things are either black or white, good or bad, fact or fiction—old or new. It’s a way of looking at the world, and ourselves, that leads to sentiments like our mantra this morning--“out with the old, in with the new”--as if it were just a switch that we could somehow flip on or off at will. The problem is, in my experience, and I would imagine in many of yours as well--God’s timing and God’s transformation rarely, if ever, works that way. And for most of us, that being the case, we may read our scripture texts this morning with a certain amount of skepticism.  Hearing within them beautiful words of hope, but also not quite sure if we actually see that new creation taking place in the world around us.

There’s a great book that came out a few years ago with a rather enigmatic title. It's called: A Visit from the Goon Squad. It’s a complicated book, and it’s about many things. But mostly, it’s a book about time. It’s a book about how we change over time, and how we tend to go both forwards and backwards in our personal and spiritual transformation. The book centers around the lives of two characters--Bennie and Sasha-- but the book does not flow in chronological order. The reader has to pay close attention to know if they are in the past, the present, or the future. The evolution of the characters in the story does not happen in a single straight line. There is no one moment when lightening flashes and everything changes.  There is no moment when old becomes new, wounds are healed, and people are transformed. Rather, it’s all part of one, great big, messy and sometimes confusing mosaic. A larger picture that one can only see if one sticks with the story right up to the very end. And it is only then, at the end of the story, when the transformation that has been taking place all along--sometimes in very small and unexpected ways--finally becomes clear. 

I have a theory that when it comes to God’s transformation and the bringing about of new creation, in our lives and in the world--it's a little bit like that. That our lives, and the life of the world around us, are all part of one great big mosaic--one that is sometimes confusing, often messy, at times beautiful and always changing. A mosaic that blends past, present and future.  One that takes the old and blends it with the new in order to create something entirely different.  

It’s not about flipping a switch, because the truth is, we need our past along with our future. Our past is part of what makes us who we are. Even the mistakes we’ve made, the promises we've broken, and the bad habits we struggle with-- those too are an important part of who we are and who we will become.

Our lives are a mosaic in which we constantly move backwards and forwards, ever so slowly inching towards the new creation of who we will ultimately become. We may not see it clearly now, but we will--if we stick with the story, right up to the very end.

And so when it comes to our New Year's resolutions-- those promises we make at the beginning of a new year with the aim of transformation- they are important. Not because we will miraculously change every bad habit we've ever had or wipe away every imperfection or flaw, but because they help us reset our focus, and remember that no matter what happened yesterday, and no matter what may happen tomorrow, what we do today, in this moment, will become a vital thread in the final image of who we will become.

What we do today-- the promises that we make and keep today-- will bring about our transformation in the future. So go ahead and make those resolutions, and know that God is there in the midst of it all. God is there in the midst of who we were, who we are, and who we will become. Old and new. Alpha and Omega. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

 

Let us pray...

 

Oh God of Life, we give you thanks for new beginnings, new opportunities, and the coming of a new year.  We pray that you would give us strength of purpose in the days ahead, help us to believe in the power of your transformation.  Help us to have faith in the story you have given to us at Christmas.  May we catch a glimpse of your transformation as it occurs in our lives and in the world around us. 

 

 

 

Untitled

A Pastoral Letter Following the Tragic Shooting in Newtown

Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4

The following letter will go out with the Park Congregational Church January newsletter.  I pray that there may there be something within this letter to calm and comfort our weary and saddened hearts.

Dear members and friends of Park Church,

As the last few days have gone by, I’ve struggled to know what to say to all of you, and how to say it.  Many have noted, quite wisely, that there are no words for such unspeakable tragedy.  It’s true that there are no words that can fix what has happened.  There are no words that can heal the hearts that have been broken.  There are no words that can put everything back the way it was, so that we might go on unchanged.  There are no words we can say to one another to make everything okay, because everything is most definitely not okay.  Lastly, there are no words that can explain or make sense of what has happened, because this was a senseless act which is impossible to fathom or understand.

And so when it comes to all of those things, it’s true that there are no words.  I do not believe that these words which I write to you now can do any of the things I mentioned above.  These words that I write now will not fix, heal, explain, or make sense out of the senseless.  And so I struggle to know what to say.  Or even if I should say anything at all.  I have heard more than one person complain that everywhere they turn, there is talk of tragedy.  Television, radio, social media—it’s everywhere.  And people are overwhelmed with the sadness of it all.  Do you really need one more person adding to the cacophony of voices already out there?

But, then, I am your pastor.  And we are a community that stands together during difficult times.  As Christians, we do not shrink from difficulty or darkness, we stand up to it, holding the light of Christ which we carry in our hearts.  We do not let darkness have the last word.  As the apostle Paul says, “do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

And so yes, there is something I can and need to say to you now.  I can say that in times like these, we may not know the right words to pray, but we can still come before God in prayer, even if our prayers have no words, and the Spirit will give voice to the deepest sighs of our hearts.  And we may not have the words to heal the hearts of those who have suffered such tremendous loss, but we can hold them in prayer— perhaps tighter and deeper than any we have ever held in prayer before.  We can carry the light of faith for them, because perhaps it is too heavy a burden for them to carry right now.  We can send cards, prayers, prayer shawls, teddy bears, and other simple comforts, if only to let them know they are not alone.  We can stand together with them, as much as we are able, and pour out all the love and support we might find within ourselves to give.

In the days ahead, there will be a need for honest conversations about how to prevent such unspeakable tragedies from happening in our schools and other public spaces.  All of us will need to search our hearts and ask difficult questions about how we might make our world safer for our children. That is the task that we will set before us in the days ahead.  For now, however, on this day, and during this Christmas season, your one and only task is to seek out those whom you love and cherish, and hold them a little closer this year.  Tell them how much you love them.  Remember that they-- the ones we love and the ones who love us-- are the most important and priceless gifts we will receive this Christmas.      

May God’s peace be in your hearts and homes this Christmas.  May God’s light shine in the darkness, never to be overcome.  And may we have the strength and faith to believe in such a promise.

                                                                                                            Sincerely,

                                                                                                            Rev. Sara Ofner-Seals

The Truth About Jesus: A Sermon for Christ the King Sunday

What_is_Truth,_Advent_2012.WMA Listen on Posterous

Giving Thanks in a Worried World: A Sermon on Matthew 6:25-33

Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4

Some of the poorest streets in the world are located in the city of Calcutta, in India. In the heart of this city are some of the world’s most poverty stricken communities. Here one finds people living on next to nothing, their very survival often dependent upon the kindness of strangers. Occasionally, those who have a heart for the poor will travel across the globe in order to spend a few weeks or months volunteering there- people who feel their lives have been blessed with abundance and want to give something back. One such volunteer was a young man named Shane. Shane wanted to go to Calcutta to make a difference, he wanted to change the world.  But as is so often the case in these kinds of stories, what he ultimately discovered was that his experiences there ended up changing him much more than he was able to change the world. He describes one experience he had in which a poor child approached him on the street, begging for money. He put his hands in his pockets, and found to his dismay that he had nothing to offer the child but a single stick of chewing gum. Thinking it a rather poor offering, he gave it to the child anyway, not wanting to turn her away empty-handed.  Perhaps he thought she would turn away with disgust at such an inadequate and hopeless gesture.  After all here is someone starving on the streets of Calcutta and he offers her a stick of gum!  But to his surprise and amazement, upon handing her the stick of gum, the young girl’s eyes lit up and a huge smile began to spread across her face. Turns out, she had never had chewing gum before, and so in her eyes, this was actually a great gift. But then something even more unexpected and extraordinary happened. The child tore the stick of gum in half-- keeping one half for herself and giving the other half back to the young man. The girl was so excited to get such an extravagant gift, that she couldn’t help but want to share. She couldn’t help but want to give it away— such was the extent of her joy. The young man describes similar experiences, in which he would purchase an ice cream cone for one of the street children, and they would be so excited by the gift that they would run around the entire neighborhood with it, making sure all of their friends could have some, before taking a single bite for themselves. These experiences changed this young volunteer forever, because what he saw in Calcutta was that even though these were some of the poorest people in the world, they were also among the most generous and the most joyful that he had ever met.

How is it, one may wonder upon hearing these kinds of stories, that these people, living in such deep poverty and need-- not knowing from one moment to the next where their next meal is coming from (or if there would even be a next meal)-- how is it that they are so happy??  What do they know that we don’t?

I will come back to this question.  But first, I want to contrast the picture that these stories paint with a snapshot of our own culture, and put them both into dialogue with our gospel text this morning.

We live in a much more affluent society here in America. And yet, for all our affluence, we are also a culture riddled with anxiety and worry. We live in a world in which we are constantly anxious about something. Maybe we are anxious about our jobs— if we are lucky enough to have one. Maybe we are anxious about our kids-- their safety, their education, and their futures. Many of us are anxious about the economy— the most current crisis being the so-called fiscal cliff that we are approaching as a nation. For these, and perhaps for many other reasons, we live in a culture filled with anxiety and worry. So much so, that upon hearing Jesus’ words to his disciples in this morning’s gospel— “do not worry about your life”-- one may be tempted to want to argue with Jesus a little bit. After all, the lilies of the field and the birds of the air may not worry, as Jesus says, but they’re not the ones who have to send their kids to college, or pay the hospital bills when a family member gets sick, or put food on the table. We may be inclined to want to argue, or, we may even be inclined to discount Jesus’ words entirely, seeing them as hopefully naïve at best, and at worst, simply irrelevant for the times we live in. After all, the world is far more complicated these days, and there is far more to be worried about. Jesus lived in much simpler times. Who is he to tell us not to be anxious??

Putting aside for the moment that Jesus actually carries some pretty serious clout, and maybe we shouldn’t try to argue with him, I think we also have to make sure we understand what he’s really saying here. I think there is a very important distinction to be made between not being anxious, as Jesus says here, and simply not caring. Jesus is not telling us that we don’t need to care about providing basic necessities for ourselves and our loved ones. He’s not telling us that we shouldn’t care that there are some in this world who truly don’t have enough— like the young beggar in Calcutta, or even the homeless and poor in our own city. He’s not telling us not to care. But he is telling us that even in the face of great need, there is a better way to live than to be constantly anxious about the things we lack.

Which brings me back to our question this morning-- what did those street children in Calcutta know that we don’t?

In so many ways, we are much better off in life than that young girl begging for scraps on the streets of Calcutta. Compared to her, every single person in this room is rich beyond measure. Compared to her, we have everything we could ever want or need. So why do we worry so much?  Why are we so anxious? Perhaps, for all our advances and affluence in this country, for all our education, and our unlimited access to information, we might actually still have a lot to learn from stories like hers. Or maybe it’s that we have a lot to remember—things we’ve forgotten about what it means to be truly thankful, and therefore what it means to find true joy and fulfillment.

Earlier this week I participated in an interfaith Thanksgiving service. And it was very interesting because it was an incredibly diverse gathering of faith communities. There were people there representing the Christian and Jewish faiths, as well as the Islamic community, Sikhism, and even Baha’i spirituality.  And certainly, there are many differences between all of these religions in terms of how we think about God, how we worship, and what we believe. But what was interesting to me was that when it came to the subject of giving thanks, all of those differences began to melt away. Universally, everyone who was there spoke of the profound importance to be found in the act of giving thanks. Because in doing so, we are able to shift our perspective from anxiety about the things we lack, to a joyful appreciation of the blessings we already have. In remembering to give thanks to God for our blessings, we maintain the proper perspective on our lives and our place in the world. Pausing to give thanks for the extraordinary gifts we already have, helps us remember that while we can’t always control everything that happens to us, or everything that’s happening in the world around us, we can control to some extent how we react to those things, and we can always find things to be thankful for, if we are willing to see them.

Perhaps that’s what Jesus is really getting at here in this passage. Times may have been simpler then in a lot of ways, but I suspect human nature was still very much the same as it is now. We constantly turn away from God because we wrongly believe that somehow we can control and manipulate our environment in order to force certain kinds of blessings— the ones we think we need— to come our way. And the more affluent we become, the more vulnerable we are to this line of thinking.  But I believe that it may just be that desire to control everything-- including how we want to be blessed—that is what causes so much of our anxiety. Because a great deal of what actually happens in life is completely outside of our control. And so Jesus is asking us to approach life differently. To seek God, rather than seeking control. And in doing so, we may just be opening ourselves up to unexpected blessings and small miracles that are already happening all around us.

Now I realize I still haven’t answered the question— what did that young girl in Calcutta know and understand that we don’t? Well I can’t pretend to have all the answers, but here’s one possibility: oftentimes, it’s the folks with the very least who are the very best at giving thanks, precisely because they have no illusions that they can control what sort of blessings they might receive. And so they are more open to every gift and blessing that may come their way, no matter how small an insignificant it may seem.  Like a stick of chewing gum, or an ice cream cone.

And perhaps there is a deeper truth here for us as well. The young man went to Calcutta wanting to change the world, but in the process, found himself deeply changed as well. Imagine how different our lives would be— imagine how different our world would be-- if we could all learn and somehow internalize what he learned about the importance of giving thanks for small blessings. Imagine how different our culture would be if we focused more on giving thanks for the gifts we already have rather than constantly worrying about the things we lack? Imagine how this might change our attitudes towards our lives, towards others, and towards how we use and share our resources? What if the act of joyfully and recklessly giving thanks is actually the best way to change the world?

If we believed that, would we do it more often? Not just once a year on a holiday that is admittedly rather limited in scope, but rather every moment of every day? If we truly believed in the power of giving thanks, could it actually change us? Well you know there’s only one way to find out, and that’s to give it a try. So this Thanksgiving season, our challenge--and our gift-- is to wake up every single day and ask: what blessings might come my way today? And then, to rejoice in each and every one of them— small and insignificant though they may seem. This Thanksgiving season, find a reason to say “thanks be to God” every single day.  I know it might seem cliché, or trite, but it just might also have the power to change your life. Amen, and let it be so.

Giving Without Counting the Cost: A Stewardship Sermon on Mark 12:41-44

It was pretty much exactly this time last year— the first Sunday in November-- that I joined all of you at here Park Church for my first official Sunday as your new settled pastor.  And so I was reflecting on that this week, and remembering how on that first Sunday, I felt slightly overwhelmed and nervous, and maybe a little unsure of myself, but also excited and hopeful about what was to come. At that point I had been able to talk with a few of you about your hopes and dreams for Park Church, your love of this church and this community, and I felt so humbled and honored that you had invited me to be a part of it, and I still feel that way. I also remember, however, that coming in at the beginning of November felt particularly intimidating to me because here at Park church—as many of you know-- November also happens to be Stewardship month. Which meant that before I even had time to learn any of your names I had to stand up here and ask you for your money.  And I have to admit, it felt a little awkward. But we made it through, and you all responded with incredible generosity, and I thank you for that. Now, here we are-- having come full circle. It’s stewardship Sunday once again, and I stand here before you once more, asking for your contributions to help nurture and support this community of faith. And this time, I know all of your names. But it’s still a little bit awkward, because as we are all aware, no one really likes to talk about money. Especially not in the church. Which is kind of odd, really, when you consider the fact that Jesus actually talked about money all the time! Throughout all of the gospels, Jesus talks about money, possessions, and wealth more than he talks about almost any other topic— including prayer, his death and resurrection, even topics such as compassion or forgiveness. So many of the stories in the gospels revolve around money or possessions in one way or another. And this morning’s story from the Gospel of Mark is no exception.

Mark tells us that Jesus and his disciples are hanging out by the temple, and they were watching people put money into the temple treasury. According to the story, there were many wealthy people putting in large sums of money that day. But that’s not what catches Jesus’ attention. What catches Jesus’ attention is the poor widow who comes forward and puts in two small copper coins-- basically the equivalent of two pennies today. I imagine that no one else noticed this woman, except for maybe to cast one or two pitying glances in her direction. But Jesus noticed her. For some reason, she caught Jesus’ attention that day. And he found her action important enough to call his disciples over to make an example of her. Why? Why was this so important?

I imagine it might have been because even though the amount this woman gave was practically nothing compared to the donations of the more wealthy givers, her gift cost a whole lot more. I imagine this woman caught Jesus’ attention that day because in the act of giving all she had, she became a walking illustration of one of Jesus’ other teachings about money— “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Now, one could question if it’s really such a good thing that Jesus is praising this woman for giving her last two cents to a corrupt religious institution. One could question if that’s really such a good model for Jesus to be giving us. What about the poor widows of today— one might counter-- who give their savings over to corrupt televangelists or religious scam artists? Is that really something to be admired? But I think that question takes the story a bit too literally, and therefore misses the point. In this story, it’s not the amount of the woman’s gift that matters, or even so much the fact that she is poor. What matters in this story is the woman’s ability to give without counting the cost, and the level of sacrifice, devotion, and trust that goes along with that.  Whether one is rich or poor, or more likely-- somewhere in between, we can all learn from what the poor widow does in this story. In giving all has, she places her treasure, and therefore her heart, squarely before God-- regardless of the cost. In this day and age I think we can recognize this as a truly remarkable thing. We live in a culture where everything revolves around and comes down to the bottom line. We calculate everything. We count the cost of everything we give in order to be practical and frugal— and sometimes that’s good. But I think this story also challenges us to let go of some of that. It reminds us that there are times in life when it’s important for us to be able to give without counting the cost. To free ourselves from the tyranny of bottom line thinking in order to put our full faith and trust in God, and God’s kingdom, rather than in wealth.

And so when it comes to stewardship, I think part of what this story teaches us is that what matters most in our giving is not so much the dollar amount attached to your gift, but rather the amount of faith and trust that you are willing to put behind it.  And so that’s the first part of the challenge that this story offers us this morning. The challenge for us to give without counting the cost in order to place our hearts more squarely before God.

But you know, as is the case with most of Jesus’ teachings on money and wealth, while this story is about money, it’s also about much more than money. Regardless of what you are able to give monetarily, that’s not the most important thing. Yes, we need money to help pay the electric bill and keep the heat on. Yes, we need money to buy Sunday School materials and fund community outreach efforts. But even more than we need money for all those things, we need you. We need the gift of your whole self, and all that you have to offer. We need you to place your whole heart— not just your checkbook— squarely before God. I sometimes wonder if there was a deeper reason why the poor widow caught Jesus’ attention that day at the temple. If in her small act of sacrifice he saw his own future played out in front of him. A future that would require him to give everything he had— indeed his very life. And that maybe he made an example of her that day because he knew that what he would ask from us in return for his sacrifice would be nothing less than our whole selves, our whole hearts, and our full devotion.

Those of you who got your stewardship letters in the mail already received two cards with it. You got a card that says this is how much money my family will pledge to the church this year. But you also got a card saying this is how I want to participate in the life of the church. This is how I pledge my self--my time and my talent. And this is so much more important than money, because we could have all the money in the world, but if we didn’t also have active, vibrant community, that money wouldn’t matter one bit. And while community is something that no amount of money can buy, it does cost us something. It does require us to give of ourselves-- to give our time and our energy to build up the Body of Christ. And so that’s the second part of our challenge this morning. The challenge to give of ourselves and of our lives without counting the cost.

But even that’s not all of it. There’s a third thing here that’s even more important than your money, or your time, or your talents. And that’s your faith. Yes we need money, and yes we need volunteers, but more than any of that, we need you to pledge your faith. Your faith in this church, your faith in this community, your faith in these people sitting around you. Because ultimately, that’s what makes the Body of Christ alive in the world. That’s what truly makes us a church. And that’s not something that can be written on a card, or quantified in a line item on a spreadsheet. But it’s the most important thing. And so this year, I stand before you and I ask for your pledge. Your financial pledge, yes. The pledge of your time, yes. But also the pledge of your deep faith and commitment, and the pledge of your sincere prayers for this community. That’s giving your whole self, that’s placing your whole heart and soul squarely before God. And that— brothers and sisters— is true stewardship.

Follow the progress of our stewardship campaign at www.parkchurchnorwich.org/churchblog.html

 

The Importance of Being... Awkward

Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE

Confession: I struggle with youth ministry sometimes.  In part because I’m not a trained youth pastor, and in part because I’ve always been kind of a shy awkward person.  I was awkward around other teenagers when I was a teenager myself, and sometimes, I feel like I never quite grew out of that.  Yet as much as I may not always feel completely at ease doing youth ministry, and as much as I feel like I often don’t have a clue what I’m doing, I know it’s important, and so I keep on trying.

This past week, at our most recent youth group gathering while trying to get an icebreaker going, one student observed, “well this is awkward”, as most of the kids were still feeling a bit shy, and admittedly, the icebreaker turned out to be kind of a dud.  In the moment, I felt deflated by the comment.  Oh no! Anything by awkward!  But upon further reflection, I thought to myself that maybe being awkward in youth group isn’t so bad.  Maybe being uncool isn’t so bad.  After all, in most other areas of their lives, kids are constantly having to measure up to a standard of coolness.  Awkwardness in high school is one of the greatest sins.  So maybe it’s not so bad to have a place where being awkward is, well, just fine.  A place where kids know they don’t have to work hard to be cool, because we’re accepted just as we are.  Seriously.

So come to youth group, where yes, things are awkward sometimes.  But hey, so is real life.  And I bet Jesus had more than a few awkward moments with his disciples as well.  So embrace your inner “awkward turtle,” have fun, and better yet, let your guard down and relax.  We’re all a bit awkward around here.