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

Empirical Evidence: Doubting Thomas or Model Disciple?

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Dying to Live: A Sermon for Easter

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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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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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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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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.  

 

This Sunday at Park Church

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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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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The Faces of Christ: Jesus the Mystic

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

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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.