Wednesday, June 28, 2017

100 Days of Kindness: Day 1

Day One.

I woke up this morning excited about the first day of 100 days of kindness.  What would I do today to start things off, I wondered. I decided to just let the day unfold and try to be open to any opportunities that came up. Most of the morning was spent doing busy work in the office, catching up on emails and phone calls after a weekend away.  After finishing up an afternoon appointment, I decided to walk over to the local food co-op to grab a quick lunch and a cold beverage.  On my way there, I was careful to be aware of my surroundings, noticing who walked past me on the sidewalk, smiling and saying hello to people as we passed. (In New England, this alone can be something of a radical act.)

At the store, I bought some fruit for myself, and, on the off chance that I ran into someone who was hungry, bought some beautiful looking apricots and cherries.  In the check-out line, I noticed a cute little coin purse made from recycled materials that was adorned with the words, “you are beautiful, don’t change.”  On an impulse, I bought it, thinking it would be a nice gift to give someone who needed a little cheering up. I paid for my groceries and headed back down the street towards my office.  On the way there, I kept my eye out for someone I could engage with. Most people looked busy, purposeful, not necessarily open to talking to some random stranger on the street. As I walked by the Salvation Army, however, I noticed an elderly Hispanic woman in the parking lot—it looked like maybe she was waiting for someone. And so I approached her. I smiled and said hello.  She smiled warmly back at me, but didn’t say anything. I asked her if she spoke English.  She shook her head, no.  At that moment I wondered what to do. I had the fruit in my bag, but all of a sudden I felt weird about giving fruit to a total stranger in a parking lot. I had obviously not thought this through.  

“Can I help you?” came a voice from the building behind me. A younger looking man came walking over to us. I didn’t really know what to say, and all of a sudden felt extremely awkward. So I panicked. I pulled the coin purse out of my bag, and said, “I just wanted her to have this.” I turned to the woman, “God bless you” I said, “have a beautiful day.”  I felt like a total weirdo, though the woman smiled broadly at me as she took the coin purse. I gave an awkward wave to both of them as I turned around and headed back across the street.  I did not look back for fear that they would be staring and laughing at the crazy woman who was giving away purses in the Salvation Army parking lot.


So today I learned a few things about this little project.  First, I learned that having the goal of reaching out in kindness to at least one person every day actually requires one to pay attention.  It’s so easy to get wrapped up in our own personal bubbles as we go about our daily business that we don’t even notice the people around us. Second, I learned that walking up to strangers on the street is a lot harder than I thought, and, without any real purpose, maybe not actually advisable. Finally, I learned that perhaps “random” acts of kindness, while certainly not a bad thing, are not necessarily always going to work best.  I think I’d prefer to be a little more intentional about this endeavor, which will require a little more effort, thoughtfulness and planning on my part.  So for tomorrow, I’m thinking more along the lines of a pre-meditated act of kindness.  Stay tuned…

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

100 Days of Kindness

Hey there.  How’s it going for you these days?  Okay?  Maybe not so good?  Maybe you’re feeling a little down, a little depressed over the state of the world, the state of our nation, the state of your local community, the state of your family, or maybe even the state of your soul? Maybe you’re kind of having a tough time knowing where you fit anymore, or knowing how you can make a difference. Maybe you feel totally helpless, and maybe that stirs up all sorts of other emotions for you—depression, despair, anger, fear, anxiety, frustration… the list could go on. Maybe you choose not to think about it, because what’s the point anyway? It’s not like there’s anything we can do about it, right?

Well, I’ll be the first to admit it, if that helps at all. I’m having a tough time.  Like, a really, really tough time.  Ever since the election (and if we’re being honest, for many years leading up to it) I have felt more and more as if the world has no place for someone like me.  A dreamer. A peacemaker. A gentle soul who would rather talk it out over hot chocolate than fight about it on Facebook or Twitter. I have felt more and more in these past few months that I am an oddity, and something of a worn-out, semi-useless oddity at that. I suppose the best way to explain why I’ve been feeling this way lately is by telling a story from something that happened shortly after Trump’s inauguration.

I was one of millions of women around the world who participated in the Women’s March on Washington this past January. I, along with about 50 other women in my town, stumbled sleepily onto a bus in Norwich, CT at 1:30am in order to arrive in Washington D.C. later that morning for the march.  After the march was over, many of us who had ridden that bus decided we wanted to stay in touch, and maybe even try and organize. And so I attended the very first organizing group meeting several weeks later.  As part of our debriefing, we went around the room and talked about what struck us at the march—what were our take-a-ways?  I answered that what struck me the most was the kindness and generosity people were extending to one another that day.  The joy in the air.  The sense of hope and possibility. Because for once, we weren’t tearing each other apart.  We were rejoicing in our solidarity and shared hope for the future.  People were kind to one another. It was glorious and beautiful. I was so moved by it. And so, I said that if we wanted to be successful, if we truly wanted to change any hearts and minds (and make no mistake, this is all about changing about hearts and minds), kindness was going to be key.  Kindness, compassion, love, and mutual respect. That is the only way we are going to get out of the mess we find ourselves in. That’s what I said. But not a few minutes later did a relatively well-known political figure in the room say there was no room for kindness anymore.  We were going to have to be “a$#holes” if we were going to get what we wanted, or so this person seemed to think. And to my dismay, most women in the room seemed to agree. There I was, alone in my naïve dream of a revolution of kindness and love.  Bubble burst. Holding back the tears until it was time to go home.

I left that night thinking, “where is my place in this world?” Where is the place for someone like me who thinks that we should be supporting each other in common goals rather than constantly being suspicious of one another’s motives?  Where is the place for someone like me who believes we ought to be building each other up from the ground up, not tearing each other down?  In the days since that meeting (I haven’t gone back to another of those meetings since), I’ve tried, with varying degrees of success, to move forward towards my dream that with just a tiny bit of effort, we could make this world a much softer, much kinder place.  And yes, I have been called naïve.  I have been called idealistic.  I have been told my ideas won’t work. But I’m not going to give up. Not yet.

And so, starting tomorrow—Wednesday, June 28th 2017-- I am launching my newest endeavor. It’s not clever.  It’s nothing earth-shattering or extraordinary.  It’s just 100 days of kindness.  That’s all. No more, no less.  100 days of doing something kind and compassionate for someone else. Because I’m tired of hearing people say that kindness isn’t enough.  Actually, I think it may just be the one thing left that can save us.  If nothing else, maybe it can save me.

Anyway, I’m hopeless when it comes to blogs, and so, for now, this will all be going on Facebook as well as my ancient Wordpress blog (http://sara-fromthehill.blogspot.com).  Frankly, I’m impatient, and I want to start doing this now rather than waiting the two months it would probably take for me to figure out how to start a new blog from scratch. Check back each day to hear about that day’s act of kindness.  Leave comments with your own suggestions, or better yet, try it yourself and leave a comment telling me how it went. Maybe we could even create an army of compassionate souls, moving the world with the power of love, mercy and kindness. Stranger things have happened, I’m sure of it.

Stay tuned for my first act of kindness later today.  In the meantime…

Peace and loving-kindness to all,

Sara

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Full Testimony on Behalf of Norwich Soup Kitchen

The following words were meant to be presented to the Norwich Zoning Board of Appeals at the latest public hearing on the matter of the St. Vincent de Paul Place soup kitchen and their current location at 120 Cliff St.  I was not allowed to give my full testimony, even though I did not go over the three minute time allotment.  I was interrupted and forced to stop about halfway through.  This was due in part because of poor time management of the meeting by the zoning board itself, and I can only guess, in part, because my testimony was not deemed 'relevant' to the matter at hand.  Below is the full testimony I would have given:

Good evening Mr. Chairman, members of the board, and fellow members of the Norwich community.  My name is Rev. Sara Ofner-Seals, I am the minister at Park Congregational Church here in Norwich.  Members of our congregation have supported St. Vincent de Paul Place for many years.  We have participated in their hospitality meal program in the winter months, and we have also served meals both at United Congregational Church on Sunday afternoons and at Central Baptist Church on Friday evenings, where we often serve many of the same people who are patrons at St. Vincent’s during the week.  We occasionally welcome patrons of St. Vincent’s on Sunday mornings in our sanctuary for worship, and are always more than happy to do so.  And so we are familiar with many of the guests at St. Vincent’s-- we have gotten to know many of them and have come to care about them a great deal.

What saddens me the most about this ongoing debate, and the reason I felt personally moved to speak this evening, is the anger and hostility that is being directed at some of the poorest and most vulnerable members of the Norwich community, and those who serve them.  This whole debate has led to such detrimental divisions between “us” and “them” which weaken our ability to work together to solve the problems we face as a community. I speak to you this evening as a minister and as a person of faith.  And from that vantage point, I have to speak to the fact that in God’s eyes, there is no “us” and “them.”  We are all equal in the eyes of God, and we are all valued in the eyes of God.  If we say that certain people are not welcome in certain parts of our city, is that not saying that those people—specifically those who are poor, homeless, or disabled-- are of less value than others?  Does that not create a community in which the poor are viewed as second class citizens, unwelcome and unwanted in certain neighborhoods? Throughout this debate, patrons of the soup kitchen have been characterized as strangers who threaten the safety of our children, as lazy people who choose not to support themselves, as the reason for Norwich’s economic problems, and worse. Does this not betray a stereotype that paints all patrons of the soup kitchen with the same, rather narrow--minded brush—making them out to be some great threat to our common well-being, as opposed to who they really are—fellow members of our community, and our neighbors.

It was said by one board member at last month’s hearing that this issue is simply a matter of “a building, and a use”, and nothing more.  I must respectfully disagree. Anyone who has been paying any attention to this debate these past few months must know that this is about more than just “a building and a use.”  It’s about who we are as a community.  Will we be the kind of city that blames the poor for our problems, and wishes to simply sweep them under the rug, keeping them out of sight and out of mind?  Will we be the kind of community that views the poor, homeless, or vulnerable as merely a problem to be contained?  Do we see the poor and disabled as undesirables who somehow by virtue of their very presence bring down our property value and threaten our security?  Or will we choose to see one another as we are-- fellow brothers and sisters— all of us equal in the eyes of God?  Can we come to understand that “those people” that we are so afraid of are sitting next to us in church? That their children are sitting next to ours in school? That we are but one lay-off or medical emergency away from sitting next to them for a meal at the soup kitchen ourselves?

Make no mistake.  This is about so much more than a “building and a use.” The decision the city makes in regards to this issue will define the very character of who we are as a community.  And so I sincerely hope the board takes the gravity of this reality and the true complexity of this situation to heart in their decision.  Thank you.

Rev. Sara Ofner-Seals
Pastor of Park Congregational Church
283 Broadway, Norwich

Monday, March 25, 2013

On Marriage Equality and the Gospel

Tonight, on the eve of two landmark cases being presented to the Supreme Court on the matter of gay marriage, I would hazard a guess that most members of my congregation in Norwich, CT know where I stand by now.  I hope it's not because I make an issue out of it-- because to me it shouldn't be an "issue."  A person's identity should not be cheapened so much as to be made into an "issue." But I do try to make it clear, through occasional sermon illustrations and in conversation, that I stand squarly and unapologetically on the side of marriage equality.  I could go on and on about my arguments with "biblical" understandings of marriage between one man and one woman, but many others have done so, much more articulately and succinctly than I can, so I leave those arguments to them.  

What I can speak to, and what I'm pretty sure most people don't know, is why I care as much as I do.  I'm not gay.  I don't have a gay family member (I don't think).  Sure, I have gay friends-- sometimes I assume that everyone does, though I realize that's not true-- but that's not exactly it either. 

If I travel backwards from where I am today, I first find myself landing in 2006, when I started a part time job at MassEquality in Boston, MA.  At the time, it was not much more than a part time job to help pay the bills, though I certainly did agree with the politics.  We were fighting to hold onto marriage equality in MA, as a bill to ammend to state constitution with a same-sex marrage ban was in the works.  But what started as a mere part time job to pay the bills turned quickly into a passion. I traveled around the state talking to people, hearing people's stories, listening to my co-workers, who couldn't fathom how a straight Christian girl had found her way into an LGBT lobbying organization. They often joked (I hope they were joking)! that maybe I was a spy from the other side. I heard terrible stories of rejection from young people whose families had told them they were abomonations and that they were going to hell-- yes, people really do say these things.  I heard wonderful stories of solidarity from straight couples who said they weren't getting married until marraige was legal for everyone.  Everywhere I turned, there was equal measure of love, justice, compassion-- but also fear, hate, and ignorance. And in my particular setting, I found myself the only one able to speak from the progressive Christian perspective.  For some people I talked to, it was the first time they had heard a Christian person say to them-- to their face-- "I believe God accepts you, affirms you, and loves you just as you are.  Because God created you just as you are." It's a deeply powerful thing, to say those words to someone who desperately needs to hear them.

When I was growing up, I went to one of those Catholic schools that is the epitome of every Catholic school girl movie and every "mean girls" movie put together.  I was bullied terribly, for no other reason than the fact that I was, well, a big geek.  Looking back now, I am incredibly thankful that such a thing happened to me-- as aweful as it was as the time (and for many years after).  Because the behavior of the students around me only served to shine an even brighter light on the gospel of love that we heard every week in church.  The hate that I felt almost every day from other students was negated by the words of compassion, love, and justice that I heard in the gospel.  I recognized something in the words that people were reading-- even if the people reading the words didn't seem to recognize it or live it themselves.  I saw the contrast, and that made me love the gospel even more.  I couldn't have told you then that I would be a minister, or an advocate for equal marraige rights, or even a religious person.  But what I would have been able to tell you is that the Christian Gospel is about love.  Love for God, love for one another, love for creation, love for enemies and friends alike.  As the apostle John writes in his first letter-- whoever abides in love, abides in God.

What more is there to say than that? 

 

 

The Only Way Out is Through: A Sermon for Palm Sunday

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Monday, March 18, 2013

Reclaiming Jesus the Savoir

A look at what it might look like to reclaim Jesus the Savior from a progressive perspective

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Sunday, March 10, 2013

Followers of a Prodigal God

Part four of a Lenten sermon series on the identity of Christ.  Based on the parable of the prodigal son.  

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Saturday, March 9, 2013

Speaking of Dying

I was recently challenged to think of the last time I heard a good sermon on the topic of death and dying.  And after thinking about it for some time, it finally occured to me that I couldn't come up with an answer because I simply can't remember the last time I heard any sermon-- let alone a good one-- on the subject of death or dying.  I've heard some sermons on resurrection, usually around Easter time.  I've heard a funeral homily or two, which provide some comfort for those who greive, but usually have more to do with giving thanks for a person's life than they do making sense of death. I don't know if I've ever really heard a regular, Sunday morning sermon on the subject of dying.

As a pastor, I can think of several reasons why this might be so.  For one thing, we preachers tend to want to inspire and motivate people with our sermons.  We want people to feel uplifted and revived for another week-- or at least I do.  Which isn't to say that every sermon has to be a "feel good" sermon.  But I do think we tend to shy away from topics that seem too dreary or sad.  And maybe part of that comes from our pastoral instincts.  Throughout the course of a week, we visit with members who have lost mothers, fathers, spouses, and siblings.  We talk with the wife whose husband is running out of treatment options.  We counsel the member who is struggling in their marriage. We hear from the woman who is terrifying she may lose her job.  Or her children.  Or her home.  Maybe we fear that to talk about death on Sunday morning is too much.  Amidst so much suffering, we feel it is our job to offer a word of hope-- not dwell on a topic that will only cause us more pain.

But then, perhaps that is exactly where the problem lies.  We don't seem to think that a sermon about death and dying could also somehow be a sermon about hope.  We seem to have abandoned the idea that the Christian story could have something important and meaningful to say about death. In the words of Fred Craddock, we have "outsourced" death and dying to doctors, hospitals, and modern medicine and technology.  But what about the old story that says in our living and in our dying, we belong to God?  That from before we are born until after we are gone, our souls are cared for and loved by God?  That dying is a natural part of life, not something to be feared, and indeed, merely the beginning of another incredible journey?  We seem to have given all that up.  Maybe because it doesn't fit into the modern American narrative that sees death as the ultimate defeat to be avoided, rather than a natural part of life to be faced with integrity and hope.  

I'm not sure how we got so far away from speaking about death as part of the Christian story.  And I'm not entirely sure how to find our way back.  But it seems to me that we must.  

 

Monday, March 4, 2013

The Faces of Christ: Jesus the Healer

How is it that faith in the healing power of Christ endures despite human suffering?

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Monday, February 25, 2013

The Faces of Christ II: Jesus the Prophet

What would Jesus the prophet have to say about the Norwich soup kitchen controversey?  

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