Joyful Urgency 6-22-15

God of joy and wonder, lead us to the place of constant joy, no matter the circumstances of our lives.  May we seek the presence of your beauty and truth in new and deeper ways.  Amen

 

            My name is Andrew and there are two things about me that make me stand out among all of Jesus’ disciples.  I was the first disciple that Jesus called.  I had been a loyal follower of John the Baptizer, and John had told us that he was preparing us for someone else, so when Jesus came along, I didn’t hesitate to follow him with my whole heart.  I had a brother—you’ve all heard of him—Simon Peter.  Well, the second thing that I can claim credit for is introducing him to Jesus.  After that, well, I was just one of the twelve, but I was plenty happy to be there.  Just walking and watching Jesus was enough to change my life. 

            Let me tell you about Jesus.  He was a strange sort of man.  Sometimes, he had a faraway look in his eyes; and, sometimes, he would look at you as if you were the only person in the world that mattered.  He could see into your soul.  His look could heal a broken heart or calm a troubled one; I know that personally.  It wasn’t easy leaving behind everything; and, when we would get sad about missing our families or when we became alienated from friends because of our beliefs, he was always right there, loving us into peace.  He, himself, radiated joy.  It took me awhile to understand where the joy came from, but once I did—my life radiated that same kind of joy.  But, I’m already ahead of the story.

            What Mark wrote down and what you listened to this morning is only the tip of the iceburg.  I love Mark, but he was a “just the facts” kind of person and, often, cut to the chase without a lot of details.  I want to tell you how it came to be.  We have been following Jesus and watching him perform all kinds of miracles.  It was awesome and I mean awe-some.  You all use that word way too much, most of what passes for awesome today is merely ‘cool’ or ‘groovy’.  Being in the presence of Jesus as he raised a dead child or cast demons of addiction and denial out of the village crazy person—that was awesome—awe-inspiring, awe-full.  Most of us knew that we were in training for something; although I’m not sure what we thought that something was.  Then, the fateful day happened. 

            Jesus called us—just the twelve of us—and, gave us the orders for our mission.  He also gave us the power to achieve that mission.  He gave us authority and the skills and power to deal with evil opposition.  Jesus knew that spreading his message would be difficult and he wanted us to be ready for it.  But, the next part of his mission orders surprised all of us, I think.  He said, “Don’t think that you need a lot of extra equipment for this.  You are the equipment.”  How could I be the equipment?  I needed to think this one through but he went right on.  “No special appeals for funds.  Keep it simple.  And no luxury inns. Get a modest place and be content there until you leave”.   We’d mostly been sleeping in caves and on the ground so the ‘no luxury inns was a snap’.  I did wonder how we were going to eat, but I realized as long as I’d been with Jesus, I’d never gone hungry, so I guess I would just have to trust God and the people God would use. 

I, for one, was ready to go; and, I also knew that not everyone would be happy to see us come.  Jesus knew that, too.  This is what he told us next:   “If you’re not welcomed, not listened to, quietly withdraw. Don’t make a scene. Shrug your shoulders and be on your way.”  I wasn’t about to make a scene; that wasn’t the way of Jesus.  He offered his love to all, but if they rejected it or him, he focused on the next person who needed to hear what he had to say.  This was hard for some of us.  The changed lives that Jesus had given to us made us want everyone to experience him.  But, some chose not to and we had to learn that the message wasn’t for them—at least not at that point in their lives.  So we learned to walk away lovingly and move on to those who were waiting to hear. 

Mark tells you in typical Mark style what happened to us.  Each of us and our partner went in our assigned direction.  I’m glad that Jesus sent us out in pairs.  This is hard work and I don’t think anyone but he could have done it alone.  But, as I think of it, he never seemed to be really alone—that’s how close his relationship to God really was.  He would go off alone, for hours, it seemed; and when he returned he seemed livelier and rested at the same time.  He told us once that he and God were one.  We could have that same oneness, he said, if only we learned to spend enough time with God.

Well, getting on with my story—you can’t imagine all that happened.  Every time we opened our hearts and spilled them out joyfully, people believed in what we were saying.  Everyone came; we never turned anyone away.  We preached our joy; that’s all we needed to do was to let them see the joy we had in our new lives and, then, those who were open wanted it, too.  You should have seen the healing taking place.  People with demons (I believe you call them mentally ill) and those with diseases were healed just by accepting the good news of this joyful life.  The most beautiful healings to me were those to people whose spirits were hurt—you know, broken people, lonely people, people who thought they had nothing to live for.

You may be thinking, that’s all well and good, but where is this joy for me?  And what is this message that you are telling us you preached?  Friends, this joy awaits you as people; and, this joy awaits you as a church.  My brother Peter, remember he was renamed “the Rock” by Jesus, was called to begin a community in which the living out the teachings and actions were the only important things.  Healing the broken spirits, welcoming those shunned by others, holding out a helping hand to someone in the very pit of his or her life, giving to those in need—these statements formed the crux of every community’s work.  They didn’t need a mission statement.  They had the example and life of Jesus to refer to at every turn.  Kindness radiated from Jesus; acceptance, too.  Jesus never turned away from those who called out to him.  I must admit that there were times when we disciples tried to get him to stop; and, he rightfully rebuked us and reminded us that he came for everyone.  Not just the few who passed the ‘righteousness’ test but everyone. 

Jesus knew that folks were out to get him and that didn’t stop him from preaching the good news.  He didn’t want it to stop us either.  Our enemies, people who had sworn to take us down, men and women determined to stop the spread the good news of Jesus’ teaching, healing, and being—all of these were included in the good news.  If the news fell on hears that did not hear, we walked away.  And while we were saddened when someone rejected the good news, it did not alter our joy. 

I want you to hear this:  the message is not hard to know.  For centuries, the community formed to spread the news has spent most of its time arguing over who determines what news should be spread and who should do the spreading.  This is not the good news of Jesus Christ.  The good news of Jesus Christ is that it is possible and necessary to live in right relationship with God, with others, and with all of creation.  And, in your believing this simple truth, you will be filled with the same joyful urgency to go into all the world and bring the news to others.  The time is now.  The time is now for all the others in the world to experience this liberating freedom and joy without limits.  The person to spread it is you—each of you; and the church to be that place where joy and love abound is this one.  I wish you well, I wish you joy, I wish you peace.  Amen and amen and Namaste. 

           

 

 

 

 

 

The Universal Language 6-8-14

God of all the universe, speak to us in a language we understand.  Speak to us in Love.  Amen

            Did you know that there are two places in the world where over 800 languages and dialects are spoken?  One of them is New Guinea and, the other is the five boroughs of New York City.  In New York City, many of these languages are in danger of extinction as more and more people give up their unique languages in deference to the more widespread English, Spanish, French, Italian, etc.  It’s not hard to understand why small discreet languages go the way of the times—folks wanting to understand and be understood and all; but, it saddens me, nevertheless.  Pentecost is about the opposite—the Holy Spirit arrived apparently in wild and wonderful glory and the Gospel was told and re-told in as many languages as it took for all of those present to be able to hear and comprehend.  Pretty amazing stuff!  What a riot, quite literally, it must have been.  I stood up here this morning and watched you all greeting each other and thought, “Pentecost must have been just a little like this—the noise, the laughter, the excitement!”  And although we all speak the same language, our experiences of the breath of God are all different and as you greet each other, you can feel the diversity in the air.

            Pentecost, in all its amazing, chaotic, sound and color, has long been thought of as the birthday of the Church (capital C).  Everyone is there following the directions that Jesus gave them before he left this earth.  And they are waiting, and waiting, and waiting.  They, being the disciples and all, have absolutely no idea what they are waiting for.  Imagine if I called all of you to come and told you nothing else except I was going to give you a gift.  Assuming that some of you actually would come, you would have little to go on; and, waiting would seem the only thing to do.  You can imagine that speculation on the nature of the gift would die down after the first few days and you would be left pretty much with playing games on your phones and posting endless Facebook statuses of “We’re still waiting!”  

            The disciples, having no such diversions, must have been pretty bored and restless.  I can well sympathize with the boredom.  Waiting is just not something that many of us do very well.  Suddenly, the area is filled with smoke and winds, strong winds of fire—looking like giant tongues of fire.  People are overtaken with emotion and different languages abound.  And, “all heard in their own tongue”.  But, listen closely:  the focus of this story lies in the hearing, not in the speaking.  The miracle is not that so many languages are being spoken; the miracle is that everyone, no matter where they came from, could hear the message in their own language.  The gift is of understanding and welcome—hospitality, if you will.    

            There are so many messages within the Pentecost story that one could probably preach a different sermon for many weeks and still not be finished with all that the story of Pentecost has to tell us.  This year, however, in the spirit of a God without fences, we will look most of all at the diversity within the messiness of the day.  It was a crazy day; I suspect that most of us cannot even imagine it, much less have we experienced something like it.  You know the saying, ‘it was a three-ring circus’?  Well, this was a six-ring circus.  The tongues of fire were dancing around, the noise of the wind was roaring like a category 5 hurricane and the voices filled the air in, perhaps, dozens of languages.  And, in the midst of the craziness one fact was clear:  God made sure that every single person there was able to understand what the Spirit was saying.  If they wanted to know and if their hearts were open, God made it plain.  Are you as impressed with this as I am?  Every single person was counted as important.  Nowhere does the story tell us that everyone except the darkest-skinned, or oldest or female persons knew.  It says everyone!  And, there doesn’t seem to have been any waiting in line—all were treated to the message at the same time—counted equal before God. 

            You see, for God, there are no ‘also present but not pictured’.  You know how in newspapers and such, you always see a group of people, their names, and the ‘also present’ line for those who unfortunately went for a drink of water or some other need when the picture was snapped.  And, so, they became the ‘also present’ face-less ones.  To God, everyone has a face and everyone is entitled to the same gifts as all the others.  This is a radical thought—there’s that word again!  Radical in its very universalism and inclusivity.  Everyone matters.  What would happen right now, if in the midst of this very service, the wind started to blow and God began to seek out each one of you individually, speaking to you in your own language—in the language of poetry, of song, of dance, of contemplation, of silence?  I’m going to suggest that lives would be changed—your lives, my life.  This, then, is the work of the Church in a place where God is free of the barricades of self-centeredness, discrimination, hatred, prejudice, or exclusivity. 

            But wait!  There is a second miracle of Pentecost.  Not only was the Gospel message of God’s universal love communicated in ways that all could understand, people actually listened and heard.  Hearts were softened by the Holy Spirit and people joined in the rejoicing as they came to understand God’s love for them.  Even more miraculous was the focus of the crowd that day.  Instead of waxing long and eloquent as experts trying to convince others of their position, the people listened.  They listened so that their lives were changed relieving them of the desire to change others.  This, too, is the work of the Church—allowing God to speak so that others can hear and learn of God from God.  The need is eliminated for the speaker to try to win followers to his or her own viewpoint.   Every trip I make to Facebook or the news convinces me anew that we have far too few people listening and far too many talking. 

            What is the meaning of Pentecost for us as a community of faith?  The answers are not necessarily the ones we want to hear.  The cultural and linguistic diversity of Pentecost suggests that the community Jesus envisioned was not one of structure and order that would clearly delineate who is in and who is out.  Our story today suggests that the community that was left in the wake of the life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ was a church on fire, one that speaks in enough tongues so that all can feel welcomed and understand.  Our story suggests that an apropos comparison of the church is to a hurricane.  I don’t know about you, but I haven’t felt like a hurricane in a while. 

            Is this what happens when the questions get too hard?   What if the answers to the questions require us to leave our need for certainty behind?  What if we are called to take fire and energy from this chaos of the spirit and learn to live in the challenging, inspiring world of ambiguity?  What if we are called to let go instead of rein in?  What if Pentecost shows us the true nature of church—the uncomfortable, down and dirty messiness and diversity?  Are we willing to let God be in control or must we jump to our feet and yell “Quiet!  I need quiet!” 

            The church has always been multi-cultural and diverse, holding great differences within the unconditional love of God.  You may be thinking, “RC needs new glasses!  There is no diversity here.  Look at us.  Perhaps our age is different for a few, but we look mostly a lot alike.  She must be crazy.”  Aha, crazy, perhaps?  I think we don’t look very hard for differences; it’s much easier to believe that Open Circle is a one-size-fits-all kind of place.  That, my friends, is not the Church of Pentecost.  The Church of Pentecost is like a violent wind roaring through the place turning people’s lives upside down, turning the causes we work for upside down and fanning the flames of awareness, creativity, and inspiration. 

            Pentecost is not just a church holiday or holy day.  Pentecost is a calling—a calling to real church, real faith, real love in a very real world.  For this church, Pentecost can be a revival of the spirit that grew this church to where it once was.  I remember when most of you invited people every week.  I remember when many of us spoke powerfully of the community here—the love, the unconditional  acceptance that changed our lives for the good.  We are called to be a church of Pentecost—to catch the wind of a great revival of passion for those who do not know that they do not have to be alone.  We are called to be a church of Pentecost—to let the voice of God speak in diverse tongues—to sing, to shout, to pray so that all may hear and be heard.  Amen and amen and Namaste!

 

 

 

 

 

“Trust the Darkness—God’s path to the Light” 6-1-14

God of all things, light and dark, give us the courage to trust the wisdom of the universe when darkness seems to overcome all that is light.  Give us trust that darkness, like light, is a gift from Love.  Amen

 

                I am well acquainted with the darkness.  I think that most of us are.  It’s hard, if not impossible, to reach your 4^th, 5^th, or more decade without spending some time in the darkness.  For many of us, we grew to know darkness in our teens or even earlier.  Being in darkness is not the same as being in the dark.  How many of you (no need for hands here) know at least one person whom you feel is perpetually “in the dark” about how life, or the world, or being an adult works?  We tend to feel sorry for such a person knowing that ignorance is truly not bliss and that we usually miss out on much of life if we stay in the dark. 

                No, the dark is not the same as darkness.  I am sometimes afraid of the dark.  I am afraid because my eyes aren’t what they used to be and sometimes I can’t see very well and I worry that I might trip and fall.  I am not afraid of the darkness because the seeing is not physical at all; it is all within my heart, my spirit, and my soul.  I used to be afraid of darkness; but, along the way I not only lived through my own darkness but life gave me the opportunity to watch others live through theirs.  And, each time someone lived, I knew, more and more, that I had the power to live and more than just live as well.  One of the women who taught me this with her life and words died this past week.  I rarely find myself despairing the loss of famous people, after all, they are just people and I am busy mourning and celebrating the people I actually know.  But, this famous person was different.  I have known and loved Maya Angelou since I first read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings in the mid-eighties.  Throughout various times of my darkness, she was there with her words, her poetry, her smile, and that face—that face that simply radiated peace and joy and life.  I watched her speak for black people, for women, and for all of humanity.  But, it was in her experience of and ability to articulate the darkness itself that caused me to be drawn to her as a student is drawn to a great teacher of life.  And, now she is gone. 

                She left us more than most, that is for sure; and her words inspire us to trust this darkness about which we converse today.  In honor and memory of all that she has meant in my life and the life of the greater world, I want to use her words as a springboard into our discussion on trusting God in the darkness.  First, though, we must try to find some words to describe what the darkness is.  It is different for all of us—the causes are different, the precipitating factors, if you will—and the actual experience is as different in each of us as the varieties of species in life itself.  That is one of the reasons, beyond just total self-centered rudeness—that we are always on shaky ground when we begin our consoling of someone who is in the darkness by saying, “I know exactly how you feel—I remember when my…(you fill in the blank)”. 
                The darkness that each of us encounters along the way is ours alone—ours to experience, ours to process, and ours to trust to God.  Most of the time, when I encounter such a time, whether or not it be a day, a week, or a year, my first thought is “where is God and why do I feel so alone?”  Our Psalmist is saying the same thing, “Why, God, do you turn a deaf ear?  Why do you make yourself scarce?... For as long as I remember I’ve been hurting; I’ve taken the worst you can hand out, and I’ve had it….You made lover and neighbor alike dump me; the only friend I have left is Darkness”.  Now, we rarely walk willingly into these times of darkness.  But walk, we must, when Darkness overcomes us, willingly or not.  For most of us, darkness is the great unknowing and we are rarely comfortable with unknowing.

                And, so, I return to Maya Angelou.  She begins by telling us “It is this belief in a power larger than myself and other than myself which allows me to venture into the unknown and even the unknowable.”  Strong and capable, she has proven that again and again, and yet she calls us to remember that we are in relationship with this “power larger than ourselves” and that this power is what allows her and us to venture forth.  She calls on us to find courage—courage that rises from within ourselves.  She says about her own life, “My life has been long, and believing that life loves the liver of it, I have dared to try many things, sometimes trembling, but daring, still.” This call to daring is what makes her represent the best in humanity.  That, darkness or not, we will dare.  Trembling in darkness, we still dare to try, as Dr. Angelou says, “many things”.  “Let nothing dim the light that shines from within” she says.  If you know the story of Maya Angelou you know that her childhood was not one to be envied.  She was bullied, mistreated, abused, and unloved.  She, by the standards of most, had every reason to surrender to despair.  And, yet, she did not, and in her refusal to allow nothing to dim the light that shone from within her, she teaches us lesson after lesson in how to survive a period of darkness, even if we believe with everything in us, that the light will never shine again.

                Other spiritual heroes also tangled with despair and depression.  Anton Boisen, is considered to be the father of modern clinical pastoral education—the program that pastors undergo to acquaint them with the crises of life that their congregants will bring to them for counseling or direction.  In the 1920’s, he was hospitalized for psychosis and depression.  Out of his own darkness, grew a belief that those very times of darkness bring out the greatest spiritual and psychological growth.  He saw these periods of crisis as full of creative possibilities.   He writes, “In times of crisis, when the person's fate is hanging in the balance, we are likely to think and feel intensely regarding the things that matter most.” In the midst of such occasions, needed ideas occur vividly and explosively in the minds of those in crisis.  These times are full of change and development.  Two other, more well-known spiritual giants are Fr. Henri Nouwen and Parker Palmer.  Both of these struggled with terrible bouts of depression and survived to write of the incredible spiritual maturity that emerged out of the need to depend on God alone during these periods.  Learning to listen to the voice of God is a gift that emerges in new ways during these times of great crisis.

                Dr. Angelou tells us, however, that coming to the other side of such crises is about much more than merely surviving.  “My mission in life,” she says, “is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”   And, in another place she credits “Love” as the condition in the human spirit that allows her to survive and to thrive.   And, in this thriving, she tells us that we have a responsibility to others:  “As soon as healing takes place, go out and heal somebody else.”   And, again, she says, “If I could give you one thought, it would be to lift someone up. Lift a stranger up--lift her up. I would ask you, mother and father, brother and sister, lovers, mother and daughter, father and son, lift someone. The very idea of lifting someone up will lift you, as well.”  If Maya Angelou were just a writer, I would not be inclined to pay her much attention, as beautiful as her poetry and prose are.  But, she was much more—she brought her pain to place where not only could the rest of humankind understand it, they could find courage for their own journeys.  Should we not do the same?  In trusting the darkness in our own lives, we live into our called mission of healing the sick, giving sight to the blind, and courage to the fearful.  We, like our sister, Maya, though the power of God, turn our sorrow into a source of joy for others.  I want to close with a brief portion of one of her most-loved poems because it speaks to those of us who have been marginalized, bullied, mistreated, or forgotten.  She calls us to rise into all that God created us to be.  She writes:

“Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.”

Amen and amen and Namaste.