If Anyone Asks 3-24-13

God, we are called to the roadside today.  We hear the hosannas and feel them deep in our soul.  Help us to understand what these people on the side of the road have to do with us.  Thank you for walking beside us during our own week of destiny and for showing us your love in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.  Speak through my words and may we have ears to listen.  Amen

            It’s been quite a week, let me tell you and all I want to do now is go away and clear my head.  It’s Saturday afternoon and I want to tell you about the longest week in my life.  I’m one of the un-named disciples in the story.  You might wonder if it bothers me that I’m an unidentified player in the events of this past week.  I guess it should.  It’s just that these past 7 days have been so much about him.  And now my heart breaks from sadness.  We thought he was the one, we really did and, now—well I don’t know—nothing feels right anymore—nothing is as it seems.  But let me put my own heartache aside.  You came here to hear my story.  Let me try to tell it to you.

            It started a week ago.  Jesus and a lot of disciples—not just the main twelve—were going to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover.  Jesus was like that, you know—he celebrated all the Jewish holidays.  He never tried to get us to give up what we believed—there was that time when he said that he had come to fulfill the Law and not destroy it.  Never was really sure what that meant, but it made me feel ok about loving what I grew up with even when the things he was saying caused me to question and  rethink everything—and I mean everything.  Anyway, we were going to Jerusalem.  When we came to the Mount of Olives, Jesus stopped.  He said to me and my friend, Samuel:  “Go into the next town.  Right close to where you enter the village, you will find a donkey that has never been ridden before.  Bring the donkey to me.”  I was really starting to squirm at this.  I mean, I’d done a lot in my life, but I’d never stolen and I didn’t intend to now.  He saw that I was uncomfortable and he said, “If anyone asks you why you are taking the donkey, just say, ‘Jesus needs it’”.  If anyone asks—in broad daylight we’re supposed to go in and take the most valuable thing a family owns and he thinks there is a possibility that no one will ask?  This is foolishness, we’re going to end up in jail for sure.

            Now Samuel—my friend who also received these instructions seemed a little calmer than I was.  He said to me, “Let’s go do this and see what happens.  He hasn’t led us astray yet.  Why would he now?”  I was reluctant to do this but when Samuel put it that way I went along with it.  So, off to the village we went—Samuel in the lead and me, well, I was sort of bringing up the rear.  We enter the villages and, sure enough, there was the donkey.  You could tell he’d never been ridden; and he didn’t seem to want to come along.  Great, a noisy donkey; this cannot be good.  Here we go, out comes the family and the man asks, “where do you think you are going with my donkey?”  Samuel says very calmly, “Jesus needs it.”  This seemed to satisfy the family and we left with the donkey with no more trouble.

            There seemed to be something strange in the air—like an unspoken expectation of which no one was sure.  People seemed on edge—the disciples too.  Well, Samuel and I had certainly played our part.  When we got back to where Jesus was, the other disciples laid their coats on the donkey so Jesus could ride on it—stubborn little donkey it was—that was until Jesus began to ride it—calmed right down—seemed to know the importance of the ride.  Suddenly, there were people everywhere—some laying down their coats like a carpet for Jesus to ride on and some waving palms and shouting, “Hosanna!  Hosanna to the King of Kings!”  Over and over they shouted.  It was hard to tell if they understood—I know I didn’t and Samuel had disappeared into the crowd, so, while he was smarter than me about those things, I couldn’t ask him.  The Pharisees were sure ticked off about all the ruckus.  “Quiet these people—this is the last thing we need on a holiday weekend”.  Jesus said the strangest thing to them—something about the rocks in the road shouting if the people hadn’t.  Don’t you think that’s kinda weird?  But I began to understand what was happening was much more than just a casual parade—I just couldn’t be sure what it really was.

            When Jesus reached the center of Jerusalem the crowds just dispersed—almost into thin air—no more “hosannas!”  No more anything.  Jesus, himself, just got down and went to the Temple.  For the next 4 days Jesus just goes about his business, teaching, preaching and healing as if there was nothing strange about the events on that Sunday.  It’s hard to understand it all now.  Well, on Thursday, it was the time for the Passover meal.  The meal was prepared and many of Jesus’ disciples were invited even though only the 12 first disciples were sitting at the table.  It didn’t matter to me where I sat, I knew Jesus would make sure that everyone got to be a part of what was happening.  While waiting for Jesus to begin, some of the disciples got into a discussion about who was the best loved disciple.  Is that not the stupidest thing you can imagine—I mean, there we were, it was Passover, and something was clearly going to happen.  Jesus had never done this before, so anyone should know that something special was about to happen. 

            Jesus then lifted up a loaf of bread.  He spoke a blessing and he passed it to everyone in the room saying, “Take, eat, this is my body, do this in remembrance of me.”  Remembrance—what’s to remember, Jesus is sitting right here.  Barely giving Jesus’ strange act a thought, we all began eating the Passover meal.  As soon as most of us were finished, Jesus raised a goblet and said, “This is my blood poured out for you.  Whenever you shall drink it, remember me”.   Ok, this was starting to feel really weird and frightening to me.  We sang a hymn then and went out to a garden called “Gethsemane”.  Many of the disciples were beginning to slip away.  I stayed very quiet and pretty much stayed behind some bushes—I wanted to see what was going on but from a distance.  I heard Jesus ask the disciples that were still with him to stay awake while he went away to pray.  Jesus would do this every now and then, but this time it felt really, really different.  I followed enough that I could see him.  He was kneeling and almost bent over a rock, holding his chest and pleading with God.  I thought I heard him say, “Thy will be done”.  Jesus had a very special relationship with God.  We could all tell that just from watching him—but this was very different.  I could feel Jesus’ heart breaking inside my own heart.  I wanted to do something to take away his pain, but there was nothing at all I could do.

            Jesus went back to where the disciples were and, of course, found them asleep.  He was hurt you could tell the way he looked at them.  They were embarrassed and sorry.  But they feel asleep again.  Suddenly, there was a ruckus and there were soldiers.  Jesus faced them calmly.  He seemed to know what was coming next.  The disciples acted like fools—Jesus told them to be quiet.  And so, just like that, he was led away and we had no idea what was happening next. 

            Some of us followed at a good distance; some merely went away in confusion and fear.  What came next was the longest day of my life.  Jesus was dragged before Pilate and then Herod.  Each time he was beaten and ridiculed.  We wanted to get him away, we really did, but he was heavily guarded and we were a bunch of amateurs compared to the Roman soldiers.  It was horrible, the people all shouting against Jesus.  I’m pretty sure that some of the people who stood with us on the roadside just a few days ago were now yelling “Crucify Him” with the same tone of celebration and abandon.  I had no idea what was happening except that I knew that it was bad—bad for all of us.  The make-believe trial was over and they found a cross for Jesus to carry up the hill.  Why, I began to ask myself, why was this happening to my friend.  He never did anything wrong; he only loved and gave and gave of himself.  How could he possibly deserve what was happening to him?  The women are trying to get to him, to bring him some comfort.  Suddenly he falls.  They grab a man out of the crowd to help him.  How I wish that could have been me, but I am afraid.  When he arrives at the place of crucifixion, he is crucified in a most horrible way with nails hammered through his hands and feet.  What agony he must have felt.  His mother arrives at the cross.  I cannot even imagine the pain she was feeling.  There was a terrible storm and then, just like that, it is over.  Jesus has died.  The one who saved me from a life of sorrow and pain has died.  I struggle to remember all that he taught.  Right now it is just a blur.

            They take him down from the cross and place him in a tomb that a kind man named Joseph of Aramethea has donated.  The tomb is sealed.  Roman guards are posted and the rock is sealed against the opening of the tomb.  With some of the other disciples we gather in a safe place.  Is it over—is this all there is?  We gather and mourn and wait!  Amen and amen.

The Hurrier I Go, the Behinder I Get 3-17-13

The Hurrier I Go, the Behinder I Get   3-17-13

God, we are always in a hurry.  Teach us to slow down, if only for a day at a time, to listen to your small voice in the tiniest of flowers and the smallest of butterflies.  Teach us to be faithful with our lives—living every moment in the fullness of your presence.  Amen

            Now here’s a blast from the past:  (sing) “Slow down, you move too fast, you’ve got to make the morning last, just kickin “ down the cobble-stones, lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy (Feeling groovy)”.  I’ve renamed that song—living in God’s presence a day at a time.  While you may think I’ve lost my mind (and it’s possible) I believe that our two passages today, both from Paul’s letter to the Philippians and Jesus’ comments to Judas regarding Mary’s costly worship are telling us that life in God is lived one day at a time as we are fully open to the divine presence in our lives. 

            Jesus’ message is the most clear.  Mary, you remember Mary—Martha’s sister who was always able to remember to focus on the important things leaving Martha to scurry around the kitchen, tasting the soup, re-arranging the appetizers on the tray; and, in general be consumed with the busyness of preparations.  Mary has done it again.  Jesus has gone to visit Lazarus, Mary and Martha.  Lazarus is freshly raised from the dead and the people are beginning to get out of hand.  Jesus knows that his time on earth is drawing to a close; so he visits his good friends one more time.  While he is sitting at the table waiting for Martha to serve the food, Mary slips away.  She quietly returns and suddenly breaks open a costly jar of perfumed oil.  Some say it might have been left over from the burial preparations for  Lazarus just a few days earlier.  Wherever it came from, John makes sure that we know it was expensive.

            Mary, having broken open the oil, begins to bathe Jesus’ feet with it.  Jesus allows this—it would have been a pleasure for him—those feet had walked hundreds of miles in the past 3 years.  We know that the disciples or at least some of them are present, too.  Judas—that same Judas who will a few days later be used to bring Jesus to his death—rebukes both Mary and Jesus, “why wasn’t this costly perfume sold and the proceeds given to the poor?”  Now John, the writer of this Gospel, wants you to be sure and know that Judas has very ulterior motives for this rebuke—it seems he has been helping himself to part of the operating funds along the way.  Jesus says, “Leave her alone.  The poor will always be here for you to help.  I will soon be gone—she is doing a good thing—let her be.” 

            Jesus, in his somewhat strange response, is doing exactly what he calls us to do—slow down, be present for today.  Be grateful for that which is in front of you.  Now, our passage from Paul is convoluted even for him.  So, I went mining for the gems in his sermon to these young Christians.   After he relates his rather impressive credentials he moves on to the main point.  He says, “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection by becoming just like him—even becoming like him in his death.  And then the “if” statement:  “If somehow I will be raised from the dead.”  And here is where it gets complicated, so let’s take it apart—diagram it, for all of you who remember the fine art of diagraming sentences.  First, Paul tells his listeners not to get confused—he is not saying that he has already attained the high prize, but, in the present, he is “pressing on” to reach the goal.  He does not consider himself to already be there.  Rather, putting the past in the past and letting the future guide him, he presses on in the moment because Christ has welcomed him into the holy family.  Let’s look at that one more time—with the past firmly in the past and the future goal guiding his present actions, he presses on—stays faithful, ever growing in his daily struggles toward the prize.

            Both passages, calling us to remain in the moment and to be present to it, move us to a deeper place in our spiritual lives.  My grandmother had a little plaque on her kitchen wall; later that plaque came to hang in my mother’s kitchen.  “The hurrier I go, the behinder I get” it read.  I did a little research into that little saying.  It appears  to be originally a saying of the Pennsylvania Dutch, those sturdy pioneers who settled a good deal of Pennsylvania, bringing their culture with them from the Netherlands.  The saying is also attributed to the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.  You remember him, “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date”.  He couldn’t slow down not even to talk to Alice and he never seemed to get anywhere.  Instead of stopping in his tracks, planting himself and enjoying and acknowledging that which lie in front of his eyes, he hurried on to an unknown destination. 

            Now our middle reading may have struck some of you as strange.  Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets.  Her themes are often about living in the present.  The otter, in some sort of otter gratitude list thinks of all there is to know about the lake—that it is inviting and wonders nothing more other than why she does not enter the delightful water playground he calls home.  Are we not the same?  Scurrying around, whether in a rush to get somewhere or to deepen our spiritual lives, we fail to enjoy the day fully and simply get wet.

            Did you know that there is an actual name for this scurrying around?  It is called “Hurry Sickness”.  There, now you have a diagnosis, so what’s the cure?  When we hurry from place to place, whether physically or mentally, we get sloppy and careless.  We get speeding tickets either real ones from real police officers, or ones more subtle—a headache, sleeping through your alarm, a cold that seemed to come out of nowhere.  We miss hearing our Truth speak to us.  Statesman Winston Churchill said, "Men stumble over the truth from time to time, but most pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing happened."  The cure is not to pick ourselves up and hurry off, but to stop and savor the Truth and welcome it into our lives. 

            Stopping our hurrying around takes practice, long years of practice—one day at a time.  When we stop to listen, we rest.  And when we rest—taking a few moments off from the outside things that call us to rush, we re-connect with ourselves.  We sense a God-ness inside and find a wisdom yearning to be released.  And we learn to care about ourselves by listening to what our bodies are telling us before the ambulance is called or the doctor visit is a crisis waiting to unfold.  And when we stop, quiet our minds and open ourselves to the call of God’s spirit, the answers to the questions we were trying to find will appear—almost from nowhere; although, we know their origin lies deep within us as we allow ourselves to remember that we are created for sacred wholeness and peace.  And it is only in the place of patience and readiness that we can sing, “Life I love you, all is groovy”.

            Finally, being present in this moment, fully awake and aware of your self—your body, your mind, spirit and heart—is the only way to remain in those right relationships I speak so much about.  It gives us the opportunity to be fully open to whatever God has in store for us.  It gives us the ability to embrace what is going on in the present as a part of a sacred plan, a way to be right with our creator by being right with ourselves, each other, and the creation.  And so, we press on, not that we have already attained the goal of the high calling, but rather—living in the present—we remain open and willing vessels full of the Holy Spirit, that Divine presence which calls us to the God within us. It’s Lent—in this the last full week of Lent, give yourself the gift of a pause from whatever keeps you from going within.    

The Right Rev. Robert C. Wright, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, says this:  “Pressing on with Jesus is the only way to be right with God. That's the whole point. Pressing on with a God that is beyond our asking or imagining. A God who came among us gently, lived wonderfully, taught truthfully, died violently, was risen triumphantly, empowers generously and remains our companion steadfastly. No words can contain it. No effort can attain it. Shame on us if we constrain it. The best thing is to proclaim it. That's the whole point.”  Amen and amen.

Rev. Carol's presentation to the Lake County School Board 3-11-13

Ladies and Gentlemen:

My name is Rev. Carol Chambers and I am the pastor of Open Circle Metropolitan Church, a church with members from Lake, Sumter, Marion, and Citrus Counties.  I appreciate the opportunity to speak to you tonight in unequivocal support of Baylie and others in their efforts to have a Gay and Straight Alliance in their school.  Lesbians, gay men, transgender and bi-sexual people have suffered at the hands and voices of religious zealots for centuries.  Sadly, those seemingly well-meaning people have used the Bible, the Word of God, to justify their position and vilify all persons who believe differently than they do.  This is sin.  God is not the author of discrimination; and Jesus, while on earth preached only inclusion and acceptance of all.  I will not bother to quote to you those verses used to denigrate us as less than God’s chosen people.  I’m sure they either have been or will be presented by my colleagues who represent the religious maligning of Gays, Lesbians, Trans folk and Bi-sexuals.  The passages where Jesus welcomes us all far outnumber those few passages, which, when taken out of cultural context seem to stigmatize us.

            I am a gay woman, a lesbian, standing in front of you wearing a cross and the clerical garb of my calling.  I want you to realize that there are churches here in this area—Open Circle MCC and others that not only welcome those whom you are trying to discriminate against, but also advocate for the full rights of all peoples regardless of their sexual or gender orientation.  The denial of the request for a GSA expressed by young people who have themselves been the target of bullying and harassment is morally and ethically wrong. God created us all to be exactly what we are—these young people need to hear this message of unconditional love and acceptance—not hatred and fear.   Jesus’, God here on earth, worked constantly for justice.  And justice demands that these teenagers be protected and safeguarded by the adults who have the power to do so.  Giving teens a safe place where they can talk and learn to communicate with each other is the first step in changing the educational world where these young people spend the majority of their week.  There is a movement that has spread far and wide based on one simple question—would Jesus discriminate?  The answer to that question is clear.  Jesus would not discriminate and I, prayerfully and—in the name of a God who created every one of us to be all that we can be in this world—I ask you to refrain from discrimination as well.  Thank you for your consideration of my words and may God be with you as you ponder your response. 

Take as Your Guide 2-24-13

Take as Your Guide 2-24-13 God, sometimes we flounder about looking for what or whom to follow. Conflicting voices claim our attention and scatter our focus. We long for spiritual transformation in ourselves and in our world. Lead us, dear God, like a mother hen gathering her young. Call us with your voice and Holy Spirit. Amen Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem! Both Jesus and Paul are lamenting over the people who cannot be saved, so to speak. In Paul’s letter, he is talking primarily about those who refuse to hear the Gospel, letting the things of the world stay uppermost in their hearts and minds, filling their thoughts with everything but the Gospel of Christ. Jesus brings the same kind of lament over all of Jerusalem, God’s chosen people. Those same chosen people have a history of killing the prophets God sends to them and closing down their hearts to hearing God’s word and will for them. Is it beyond us to know what Paul and Jesus experience? Barbara Brown Taylor describes it like this: "If you have ever loved someone you could not protect, then you understand the depth of Jesus’ lament. All you can do is open your arms. You cannot make anyone walk into them. Meanwhile, this is the most vulnerable posture in the world --wings spread, breast exposed -- but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand." If you have children, grandchildren, nieces or nephews, you can understand this first-hand. A parent will do anything to protect their child; sometimes, however, it is just not enough. Children will go their own way, often bringing great heartache to themselves and to their parents. Jesus and Paul--both willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to bring all the children to knowledge of God and God’s reign of justice—Jesus and Paul both suffer the heartache of knowing that certain children just won’t come. No matter how wide their arms may stretch, there are some who will not hear of the love of God. What do these scriptures say to us—mostly comfortable, mostly with some sense of God’s will for our lives, mostly willing to take on others’ needs as our own—what do they really have to say? They seem harsh, almost out of place when we happen upon them with little to no warning. We get uncomfortable in new ways. You see, I think there is more to this story than calling us to scurry under the protective wings of God. Some, here today, are discovering that they need God’s spiritual and emotional protection and I trust that you will find a place where you feel safe and loved. As for the rest of us, I believe that God is calling us to be the arms of the mother bird. After every oil spill, or hurricane, or tsunami, there are stories of mother birds risking and losing their lives to save the babies they have pulled underneath their wings. I never thought much about a bird being my hero, but when those stories make it to youtube or one of you sends me a link, I find myself honoring those mother birds just as I would honor any parent who would give their all to protect their young. And whether or not you have thought about it, we all have children knocking at our doors looking for God’s protection and safety. Some of these children are gay, many are not. Some of these children are transgender, many are confused. Some of these children are poor and some just different from other children. But some of these children will not live long enough for us to offer our wings of protection, though some will. It is easy, surprisingly easy, to resist the temptation to feel responsible when one of our LGBT teens commits suicide. It used to be easy for me. Then I experienced it up close and personal. In my casework days, long years ago—just about at the height of the AIDS crisis, I was assigned a child, William, 14 or 15, and obviously gay. Since there were no special programs in those days, (and, sadly, few exist today), he was sent to a group home because no foster parent was willing to deal with his acting out. He was miserable and he told me so. My hands were tied, I could not send him somewhere else and I, certainly could not tell him that I was gay—this being 1987. Not too many months after he asked me to move him, he committed suicide in the group home. And while I did not kick the chair out from under him—he did that himself—I certainly felt that I had helped tie the knots in the sheets that he used as a rope. That was 1987—I was new to casework and had only been “out” myself since 1982. Today, it is not 1987 and I’m blessed to be in a position where I can be just about as “out” as it is possible to be. Many of you do not share that similar blessing, but if you do, please do not hesitate to use your own identity as a building block for kids and young people to see that life is not over when you discover that you are gay or transgender or bi-sexual. We must begin to use our wings to shelter these children and adults who need us the most. There is another group of people who need our wings—while maybe not as dramatic as children committing suicide—many of these folks are just as desperate. These are adults—usually depressed, perhaps hopeless—who feel that God cannot possibly love them. These are the adults, both young and old, who have lived with the message of God’s hatred of their lifestyle or God’s condemnation of their addiction, mental illness, or poverty. If we are to be God’s wings, we must make room for these children of God. Let’s face it, if we just stand here, most of these folks will miss us entirely and pass on by. Even if we just open our wings and stand like giant statues, few will even notice that we are there beyond an initial stare. But, if we speak, if we call to them, they will most certainly stop in their confusion and pain to hear and see what we are about. Alan Brehm, in The Walking Dreamer, says this: “Faith enables us to move out of the essential hopelessness of our world and to step into the 'glorious liberty' that God is bringing to the whole creation through Jesus. It is a different path, a whole new way of life that sees the possibility of new life in every death, sees the light shining in the deepest darkness, and sees hope in the midst of despair." Listen to the words of Jesus when told that Herod is out to get him. “Tell that old fox that I am going to keep on doing what I am doing—healing the sick, ministering to the mentally ill”. Most scholars agree that some of the so-called demons which Jesus called out of people might well be modern day epilepsy, schizophrenia, and other neurological and psychological illnesses. So, what Jesus is saying, is “Fox or no fox, I’m doing what I’m doing—loving and healing. “ Jesus lets nothing interfere with his ministry. He excludes no one from the reach of God’s love. His message remains the same—go, do, heal, love. Lee Koontz says, “"It is an extraordinary statement on the grace of God, and also a compelling proclamation that no place stands exempt from God’s tender compassion and persistent love. Those who seek to follow Jesus must learn to view the world with no less compassion, no less forgiveness, and no less love." This calls us to a new way of being, a new way of reaching out, a new way of doing church. We are called by God, in both solitude and communal prayer and seeking, to new ways of doing things, to creatively reach those who need to be reached. As we sit and listen, pray and respond, we will sense that we are always covered by the wings of God’s perfect love. And we are present to the knowledge that God always grieves for those who will not hear or cannot hear, those who will not learn or have not heard of divine acceptance. This is the Lenten Journey in a nutshell—that we, already knowing the peace and grace from this God of radical acceptance and love, will become present for those who need us to reach our arms wide inviting them to gather under the wings of God. We know that Easter will come again—we are a resurrected people. During Lent, we take time to pray and to listen, to ask and to follow. This very act of separating ourselves for some special prayer and meditation is an act of faith—faith that when we honestly seek in humility and in the knowledge that we are called to be servants one to another—faith that we will hear the Spirit of God move among us—inviting, reviving, refreshing, and renewing our spirits for service. And, so, Lent calls us to action—the creation awaits our response to God’s gracious work among us. On this, the second Sunday of Lent we must choose either to leave this place unmoved by God’s Holy Spirit or surrender our own complacency and become open to what God is calling us to do. It’s a journey, my friends, and together we will continue to discover what God wants this church to be. God is alive and well and moving in our lives in mighty and wonderful ways. I trust us as a people and I can hardly wait to be a part of all that God is calling to become. Amen and amen.