Remember that Sunday, April 23rd Grace’s Creation Care team invites everyone to come to the Outdoor Discovery Center following the 10:30 service to honor Earth Day with hikes, games and a barbecue! This is a great event for kids (of all ages!) Join us as we give thanks, care for and celebrate the wonder of God’s creation.
In Common Water
The Rev. Jennifer Adams – March 19, 2017 – Lent 3, Year A: John 4:5-42
During my sermon prep this week, I came to the conclusion that there are no fewer than seventy-three sermons that could be preached on this gospel passage. Now there are Sundays when we’re going through the readings and I wonder (usually to myself,) “What the heck are we going to do with that?” This isn’t one of those.
The good news in that for me is that I’m set for my entire preaching career on this one. The passage comes up twice in every three-year lectionary cycle and so I’m good to go. The good news for you is that, as far as this morning goes, I’ve narrowed it down from seventy-three to two and I kept these two because they’re often set up as an either-or approach, and I think they belong together.
The story is this. A Samaritan woman went to the well for water. And at first glance there is nothing very uncommon about any of it at all. The well was where people went for water, where many people still go for water and often in this particular culture it was woman’s work to do it. But then we hear that the woman went at noon which was strange. This means that she went at the hottest time of the day, highest sun rather than in the morning when others went. Which highlights the fact that this woman went to the well alone. So this was a woman who couldn’t go when the other women were there, either because of her life-circumstances or history, or some other sort of societal estrangement. So for whatever reason, this woman was completely by herself.
Now Jesus met her there at the well and again, not such a big deal, right? Even Messiahs wanted a drink now and then. Except that culturally what happened there that day was unheard of. First, for a respectable, unaccompanied male to approach an unaccompanied female and enter into conversation was strictly against the rules. Remember that when the disciples came back they couldn’t believe that Jesus was speaking to a woman? That was because it was an extreme breach of both societal and religious etiquette to do so.
Now just to make things even more extreme, on top of the woman being a woman, she was also a Samaritan and Jesus was a Jew. And as the gospel said so very clearly, “Jews did not share things in common with Samaritans.” And that was putting it mildly. The two groups absolutely hated each other. And the hatred was deep, and it was fierce, and at times it was violent. The rift had to do with differences in religious-ethnic heritage and each group’s interpretation of “true religion” including what constituted for each of them the “true Holy Sites of God,” the places where God could be found.
So, by all accounts this was a conversation that should never have happened. “Jews did not share things in common with Samaritans.” And at the same time, it was a conversation that desperately needed to happen. If there was ever to be reconciliation or anything remotely resembling peace among these peoples the conversation needed to happen. Which brings me to sermon number one. (That was all just background for both:-)
For our Lenten study this year, we’re reading a book and learning a practice called “Fierce Conversations.” The approach is incredibly simple and is built on the premise that our conversations are our relationships. Period. Our conversations are our relationships. Author Susan Scott teaches business people, teachers, civic and religious leaders, that relationships don’t exist without the deeper connections that come with, very simply, yet counter-culturally being present to each other in genuine and truthful conversation. It’s not rocket science really, but we as a people are losing the skill. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in his book The Dignity of Difference, a book which I’m re-reading because it ties into all of this so well goes so far as to say “The greatest single antidote to violence is conversation.” Conversations not only bind us to each other they keep us from tearing each other down or more literally killing each other.
And so here we have what is actually the longest conversation between two people in all of the gospels. And it’s a conversation that by all accounts should never have happened and yet by another account absolutely needed to.
It’s a man and a woman. A Messiah and a marginal human being. A Jew and a Samaritan. And they talk first about the very human need for water. Easy opening line, right? (Sermon on Flint fits in here.) Then they talk about the ground on which they stand and what it means to each of them and their people. (Sermon about each of us and the places we’ve lived, the walks we we’ve walked, the sacred places and times we’ve known.) “Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain,” the woman says to Jesus. In other words, “This place matters to me,” she tells him.
Then they talk about personal history – “I have no husband,” the woman said to which Jesus responded, “That’s right, you have had five husbands and the one you have now is not your husband.” And then rather than judgement, he simply commended her for telling the truth. He commended her for telling her truth. (Six sermons fit in here.)
She then shared some theological thoughts, “I know that the Messiah is coming,” she said. And maybe that was as much a prayer as anything. To which Jesus then responded, “I am He, the one to which you are speaking.” And so there she was at noon, as outcast as they come, probably as thirsty as they come, certainly as articulate as anyone we have yet to meet in this gospel, (right in there with Nicodemus last week and perhaps slightly ahead of the disciples who entered at this point without too much to add but at least knowing what questions not to ask.) There she was in the presence of God in ways that neither she nor anyone else would have ever expected possible.
The conversation itself was transformational on many levels and its effects far reaching in ways she could have never predicted when she got up that morning. So it goes. When the woman left the well she went back to her people and she talked to them, which given her status, took some courage. And they listened which, given her status, was a miracle in itself. And then they, ‘Believed in him because of her testimony.”
The Samaritans then in a move that shattered the limits of what any of them would have believed possible, invited Jesus to stay with them (remember Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans! Except apparently stories, meals, hopes, homes, and presumably prayers.) And he did. And by the end of the gospel passage the people said with gratitude to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard and talked for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”
Witness the power and hope and ripples of conversations at the well.
What Jesus offered the woman was first, basic acceptance as a human being, a child of God. It didn’t matter that she was alone or a Samaritan or feisty enough to question him a bit when he first asked for water any of which could have brought this whole occasion to an abrubt end. Jesus simply met her. They received each other and their differences were acknowledged but didn’t matter until they became the basis, the means for a deep and rich conversation and eventually what I think was likely a mutual transformation. Together these two broke down barriers that had been established for generations. “The test of faith,” Rabbi Sacks writes, “is whether or not I can make space for difference. Can I recognize God’s image in someone who is not in my image, whose language, faith, ideals, are different than mine?” which is what happened at the well that day. And which can happen in our world every day.
Which brings me to sermon number two (and don’t worry it’s not as long as sermon number one.) Those conversations aren’t easy and they can at times be confusing, even exhausting. Those encounters take effort. Sometimes they even fail, or fall flat and most of the time the turnaround from initial encounter to warmly sharing meals together in one another’s homes isn’t as quick as this story’s 42 verses.
These conversations (and according to Susan Scott, these relationships) take time and intentionality, and they also take something greater than ourselves to sustain and make happen. And so, “I offer you living water,” Jesus said, “the kind of water that flows through you and others and this world because God made it… I offer you living water,” Jesus said, “the kind that runs like a living stream, a spring of water gushing up to eternity”.
And then he said a sort of amazing thing given the context, “It doesn’t really matter where you worship. What matters is worshiping in spirit and in truth.” Now that could easily lead me in to sermons three through seventy-three and I promised to hold back a bit, but what I want us to hear is that while we enter into the hard and vulnerable work, the ministry and desperately needed ministry of deep and genuine engagement and compassionate conversation, there is a well that will sustain us, guide us, heal us. There is a holy and eternal well whose water will flow through us and flow through others too coming at times from surprising places. This is the well whose hopeful stream and balm of reconciliation is woven into our and this world’s very being. “The fields are ripe for harvesting,” Jesus said which says that seeds of things like mercy and peace, compassion and forgiveness have already been planted. So go into God’s world, into your lives, into our common life – let’s help that harvest happen.
I encourage you to gather at the well on a regular basis. We need it, we all do. There is living water to be had and to be shared. In the morning, at noon, in the evening gather at the well. Be the Samaritan woman and the Body of Christ that we have been created and called to be. Receive the other as they are and be received as yourself. Stay for a couple of hours or days or weeks or years or decades. Through it all may we learn to speak and listen in ways that bring truth, healing and hope, remembering that there is something of salvation woven in, a stream of life flowing to eternity – through you, through me, through this world that God so loves.
Amen
Meet Me in the Dark
The Rev. Jennifer Adams – Lent 2, Year A: John 3:1-17
I came to love Nicodemus because of a song by Melissa Etheridge. Seriously. The odds of that might not seem very high, given who these two people are, Nicodemus and Melissa that is. They come from entirely different worlds, different times, different perspectives and backgrounds, not to mention entirely different belief systems. They would be considered about as far apart as two people can be on whatever spectrum you put in front of them. But I love them both. I probably even love myself and this world better because of them. So, let me tell you a little more about each.
First, Nicodemus who was just introduced to us in the reading from the gospel of John. He appears three times in this gospel and this was the first. Nicodemus was “a Pharisee, a leader of the Jews,” the gospel tells us. Which means that Nicodemus’ job was to know and uphold the religious law. It was his job to live it, to teach it, and to pass it on to his community of faith and the generations that would follow him.
Now given his position, Nicodemus was one of the most powerful people in his community. He likely had considerable wealth, and status and power. His wardrobe consisted of nice, expensive liturgical robes (not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Nicodemus stood in a solid position of leadership and respect. He was visible, central and highly regarded. One would have said that Nicodemus had it all, and that that “all” was held together very well. Given his position and his status, one would of thought that Nicodemus had nothing to fear.
Yet apparently he did, because Nicodemus of all people came to Jesus by night. That’s how this passage opened and it’s where they stayed throughout. The entire conversation that Nicodemus had with Jesus happened in the dark.
And honestly, this used to frustrate me to no end. I thought that Nicodemus was sort of sneaky in his approach. I wanted him to stand out in the daylight with the other searchers and seekers and shout out his questions just like all the rest of them. Nicodemus was one of the most powerful people in this gospel. And yet he came to Jesus by night.
And because there is grace, the light of the world met him there.
OK, hold that image, because now I want you to meet Melissa, in case you haven’t already. Born in 1961, Melissa is a jean jacket wearing, electric guitar playing, initially underground singer song-writer, and gay rights activist who came on the music scene in the late-1980’s. She’s won Grammies and an Academy Award, and Melissa comes from of all places, the deeply Mid-Western state of Kansas. Melissa’s edgy, pretty sure she owns no liturgical garments, and at the beginning of her career she was, and at various points throughout remained quite marginal. Melissa was Janis Joplin meets 80’s pop and while she started out with virtually no authority in this world, she played with passion from the margins, and she gave words and strength and hope to many who needed those kinds of mercy-filled things.
And so mid-career, Melissa wrote a song called “Meet me in the Dark.” Here are some of her words:
“Meet me in the dark,” she wrote, presumably to someone she loved.
“Meet me in the shadows,
past the old graveyard, down Eisenhower Road.
Meet me where the storms blow out on their own, dear,
meet me in the dark and never let me go.”
And Nicodemus could have sung this song too. And I think that matters. These two share a song.
“I know everyone has their unspoken fear,” she sang,
“It eats away their senses and their humanity.
They carry all their secrets every night down to the river,
and they try so hard to drown them, but they won’t do that to me.”
Because I’m working hard, saving all my money” Melissa sings,
the tips in this jar, buy brand new set of wings for my mercury until then please,
Meet me in the dark, meet me in the shadows
past the old grave yard, down Eisenhower Road.”
Meet me where the storms blow out on their own, dear,
meet me in the dark and never let me go.
“And then finally in her last stanza. “I could never hide, this little light of mine, but for now,
meet me in the dark and never let me go.”
Nicodemus and Melissa share a song and there is something profoundly beautiful about that. They were essentially praying the same prayers – asking for paths forward, for safety, for courage, for light. Now odds are good that Nicodemus and Melissa would never have hung out together. An absolutely stereotypic, vested and invested religious leader and an absolutely stereotypic liberation fighting, pop- rocking, gay American whose paths may never have crossed.
Except there’s this thing about darkness and light that they share and that so many in our world share too. On some level we all do. Nicodemus needed the darkness for cover because he had questions, questions about faith and growth and he was a Pharisee for heavens sakes and so really, he wasn’t supposed to be uncertain at all. But he was. Nicodemus had a lot to lose. Even one meeting with Jesus put his entire career as a Pharisee at risk. And so Nicodemus used the cover of darkness and because there is grace, the light of the world met him there.
Melissa had a lot to lose too – in some ways less in some ways more but I think comparisons at that level don’t really mean much at all. Melissa’s love put her at risk and so, for a while, she used the cover of darkness too.
But there is grace and something happened to both of them – from the darkness Melissa sang about light and wind and wings – and eventually they came to her. And in the darkness, Nicodemus was offered them too.
“The wind blows where it chooses,” Jesus told Nicodemus. “You hear the sound of it. But you don’t always know where it comes from or where it goes. “So it is,” Jesus said with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”
And maybe being born again feels like all of that. It starts in a dark place, because this world is full of those kinds of places, our lives are full of them too and then something of light is discovered, or finds us and something like wind fills us and guides us. And those who lean toward the Nicodemus end of things and those who lean toward the Melissa end of things discover (in her words but not far from the gospel) “their own humanity” and something of God and others too.
“God so loved the world,” the gospel says. “That he sent his only Son, not to condemn the world but so that it could be saved”…over and over again.
We’ll hear from Nicodemus again, so stay tuned. A few chapters on in this very gospel it will be Nicodemus who raises his voice among his brother Pharisees when they shout to crucify Jesus. It will be Nicodemus who in broad daylight uses his voice in an act of love, sacrificial love and tells them to stop. (Hear – I could never hide this little light of mine.) And then at the end of the gospel it is Nicodemus who carries Jesus body to the tomb, meeting his friend in the darkness, Nicodemus carries him forward into a rebirth that becomes eternal life and light for us all.
And maybe this is what being born again, and again and again looks like. There is darkness in this world so many kinds of darkness – the darkness that is uncertainty, the darkness that is poverty, the darkness that is having so much you really believe that you have everything to lose at every turn, the darkness of being “other,” undocumented or “refugee.”
But we as Body of Christ can meet in the dark, in the shadows of this world. Because the light of the world is there too. There is wind. There is Spirit. There is song. And maybe that’s what being reborn is all about.
God so loved the world, the story says. God so loved Nicodemus and Melissa and you and me. All of it – and never letting go. God came not to condemn but in order that the world might be saved. And so we are. Over and over again.
Amen.
How Will They Know?
The Rev. Jennifer L. Adams – Ash Wednesday 2017: Isaiah 58:1-12, Matthew 6:1-6, 16-2
Many of you know that I was raised in the Episcopal Church. I grew up outside of Detroit, my family attended church just about every week and a significant part of my high school church experience involved participating in our parish youth group. Now before we go too far I don’t want to paint a false picture, which can happen when you get used to seeing someone vested in white robes and know them to be constantly immersed in all things church. To clarify, I didn’t necessarily hop in the car willingly every Sunday, all dressed up, having read through the lectionary texts on Saturday night so as to be prepared for worship and youth group the next morning. My attendance was forced on many occasions. It often took parental threats to simply get me in the car. But threaten they did, and in retrospect I am only grateful. (So side note for those of you parents out there who wonder if it matters, if the struggles are worth it? – they are. I’m not going to travel down that road in this sermon, but am happy to at another time. Attendance wasn’t a practice I willingly adopted but being present in that Episcopal church community was integral to the faith and the at least semblance of spiritual grounding I have today.)
So part of what we did in youth group was sing. Some good tunes. Some pretty bad tunes with good intent behind them. Those of you who grew up in youth group circles know the scene. Now given that my context at the time was 1980’s high church Episcopalian, these songs were different than what we were experiencing on Sunday mornings. And one of the songs that found its way into our youth circles was the song “They’ll know we are Christians by our love.” It’s probably familiar perhaps even still haunting to some of you.
The hymn was written by a man named Peter Scholtes while he was serving as a parish priest on the South Side of Chicago in the 1960’s. “At the time, he was leading a youth choir which met in the parish basement. He was looking for an appropriately simple song for a series of ecumenical and interracial events and when he couldn’t find such a song, Scholtes wrote this now-famous hymn in a single day. His experiences with that congregation and in the Chicago Civil Rights movement influenced him and his work for the rest of his life.”
Now I found the song itself a little sappy and even today I realize it’s not the most sophisticated of hymns, but it’s stuck with me. And it speaks to what this season is all about.
We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord,
We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord
(in case you didn’t catch that the first time.)
And we pray that all unity may one day be restored.
And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love;
They will know we are Christians by our love.
We will work with each other, we will work side by side.
We will work with each other, we will work side by side.
And we’ll guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.
And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love.
They will know we are Christians by our love.
We will walk with each other, we will walk hand in hand.
We will walk with each other, we will walk hand in hand.
And together we’ll spread the news that God is in our land.
And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love
They will know we are Christians by our love.
By our love, by our love
And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love.
They will know we are Christians by our love.
So could it really be that simple? I think it hits at the question of the season. As we work to be Lentenly attentive to our faith, as we are called to be very intentionally faithful this season, how will we and they know when we are the Christians we have been called to be?
In the gospel passage today, Jesus goes through a list of what people of faith typically hold up as signs of “what it means to be faithful” and he sort of tears them down. “Don’t sound a trumpet before you when you give,” he said. “Don’t look dismal when you fast so that others know you’re doing it. Don’t even pray in public just to be seen,” Jesus told them. Because that’s not what being faithful looks like. Not to mention that it’s not how witness works. Pray and fast and give, but not as proof or show. Do those things to strengthen, and renew, and relieve. God will see you and God will help you which is what matters.
Isaiah was on it too going right at similar patterns and traps. “Why you we fast but you do not see?” the people were asking of God. “Why humble ourselves but you, do not notice?” they wondered aloud. In other words, “We’re doing everything we’re supposed to be doing as good religious folks, and God, you don’t seem to be responding to us.”
To which Isaiah responded: “The fast that God chooses is to loose the bonds of injustice, undo the thongs of the yoke, let the oppressed go free, break every yoke, share bread, clothe the naked, and bring the homeless poor into our homes.”
And so, it is the love and care you offer your neighbor and the most hurting in this world that reveals faith – to others and to yourself too. They’ll know we are Christians by acts of mercy and compassion and basic human care.
Now the good news is that this Lent, we aren’t lacking for opportunities to do those kinds of things. The world is as blatantly and obviously broken as it ever has been and the needs abound. There is ample opportunity every day for us to grow in faith, and in so doing, to show the world something of Christ.
And so we gather in this room to pray – where as the gospel says, “God sees and listens and knows.” We give and we fast in order to cleanse and in order to have more to share. We come together in order to set ourselves and others free.
“If you remove the yoke from among you,” Isaiah said, “then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. Your ruins [of which there are many] shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.”
The promise of this season as we walk with Christ through death and into resurrection is that unity will one day be restored. The kind of unity that is genuine reconciliation, wholeness, the peace that is Shalom. And we have a vital role to play in helping that happen.
And so for Lent let’s work with each other, let’s work side by side.
May we guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.
Let’s walk with each other, walk hand in hand.
And together we’ll spread the news that God is in all lands?
And they’ll know – we’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love. They will know we are Christians by our love.
Holy Week and Easter at Grace Church
Palm Sunday (April 9) 8:15, 10:30AM
Join us for the blessing of the palms, a triumphal procession into the church, the narration of the Passion of Our Lord, and a celebration of Holy Communion. The 10:30 service will begin in the Church yard—weather permitting.
Maundy Thursday (April 13)
This year our monthly Feeding America ministry is on Maundy Thursday and so we will feed hungry people as we remember Christ’s mandate to “love one another.” Come as early as 4:30 to help prepare supper and any time after that to help with the distribution of eight thousand pounds of food to over one hundred and fifty families. Everyone is invited to eat supper through the time of food distribution and then at about 7:00, we will enter in to the more formal service of Maundy Thursday. We will hear the lessons of the day, wash feet, and celebrate Holy Communion as we remember the actions and promises of Jesus’ Last Supper. We close the evening with a stripping of the altar in preparation for Good Friday.
Good Friday (April 14), 7:00PM
Join us as we mark the crucifixion of our Lord with the Story of the Passion, solemn reflections, prayers, and song. The offering from this service will be given to The Church in Jerusalem. Stations of the Cross will also be available in the Sanctuary from 9:00am to 6:00pm for those who would like to come for silent prayer.
Easter Vigil and Easter Sunday
Easter Vigil (Saturday, April 15), 9:00PM
Gather with us at sunset in the Church yard as we kindle a fire in the darkness and process in to listen to the Biblical story of God’s saving actions. At the news of Christ’s resurrection, we shout “Alleluia!”, ring bells, sing praises, and celebrate Holy Communion. (Bring your bells!) A celebratory cheese, wine and dessert feast will follow this service. Sign up in the Commons to bring desserts!
Easter Sunday Service (April 16), 10:30AM
We gather in the good news of Christ’s resurrection, celebrating Holy Communion and offering our thanks and praise to God with prayers and songs of “Alleluia!”
It’s Time for Tulip Time!
It’s that time again, Grace Church! Time to get your Dutch on, break out the Tulip Time spirit, and sign up to help at Marketplaatz, our ONLY fundraiser for youth ministries and one of the ways in which Grace Church is out there and visible for community members and tourists alike. Funds raise cover some youth events and half the cost of our Youth Pilgrimage (families and youth contribute to pilgrimage costs also). This year, Marketplaatz will be at Evergreen Commons (due to Civic Center renovation) and so access will be easier for those who work and there is a REAL KITCHEN AND DISHWASHER for us to use! Follow this link to sign up for some slots and know that Grace youth and families are involved and INCREDIBLY grateful for the efforts of so many.
Water Justice – Trinity Institute 2017
Join us at Grace for the webinar conference of Trinity Institute 2017, “Water Justice” from Wednesday, March 22 through Friday March 24. This event will be streamed live from Trinity Episcopal Church in New York. Detailed information including the list of speakers and schedule for this one evening, two-day event can be found here. The Wednesday evening program will be preceded by supper at 5:45 and Holy Eucharist for all who would like to join us. On Thursday and Friday lunch will be ordered for those who would like it. All are welcome.
Feeding America, Being Grace
If you need food, come! If you can help out, come. On Thursday, March 9th from 5:00-7:00 (4:00 if you are working in the kitchen!) join us for our monthly Feeding America ministry. We will welcome over 250 folks to Grace, share a warm meal, and distribute over 8000 lbs of food along with laundry detergent and toilet paper. All are welcome!
Wednesdays in Lent
Join us on Wednesday evenings during the season of Lent (March 8-April 5) for supper at 5:45, Eucharist at 6:30 and a series on “Fierce Conversations” at 7:00pm. On March 15th we will welcome guest speaker, Rev. Jim Steen, former Canon for Ministries in the Diocese of Chicago, to speak on his experience training leaders and integrating Fierce Conversations into the parishes he served. On Wednesday, March 22 we will break from the Conversations to participate as a webinar site for Trinity Institute 2017, Water Justice. More information on the Institute linked here. Join us on Lenten Wednesdays!
Lent with Grace
On Ash Wednesday, March 1 we will begin the season of Lent with services of Holy Eucharist and the Imposition of Ashes at 9:30am and 7:00pm. The evening service will be preceded by a simple soup supper at 6:00pm to which all are invited. This season of forty days and forty nights invites us to a time of penitence, forgiveness and reconciliation. At Grace we will share suppers on Wednesday evenings and pursue “Fierce Conversations” through Wednesday night discussions at 7pm beginning March 8th with guest speaker, The Rev. Jim Steen, former Canon from the Diocese of Chicago on March 15. Grace will also be a Partner Site for Trinity Institute 2017 whose theme is “Water Justice.” The Lenten newsletter with more detail will link here. Join us as we as come together in the observance of a holy Lent.
Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures
The Rev. Jennifer Adams – Sunday, February 19, 2017 – Epiphany 7, Year A: Leviticus 9:1-2, 9-18, Matthew 5:38-48
Well, they say that desperate times call for desperate measures. You’ve heard that expression, right? Does anyone know where it comes from?
The expression is believed to have originated with a saying from the ancient Greek physician, Hippocrates. In his work Amorphisms, he wrote: “For extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure…are most suitable.” Good trivia answer for you to tuck away.
Now without getting into a medical conversation about when that is actually an appropriate approach, I think it’s interesting that the phrase itself had to do with attempts to heal, to cure, to make whole again. Desperate times of brokenness, desperate times of unwellness call for desperate or extreme sorts of responses, or as the phrase has become translated, “measures.” And all of that makes sense. And I’m not sure about all of you, but I can actually relate a bit to that.
But before we talk about our time which feels sort of desperate these days, I want to talk about Jesus’ time, because things have been ramping up in the gospel now for a few weeks. Here’s what’s been happening: for every commandment given the people through Moses, Jesus began asking not less, but more of his followers.
In case you missed a Sunday or two (like I have) here’s a quick example from last week to bring us all up to speed. The people had been taught, as one of the ten major commandments of the law, “Do not commit murder.” We’re all familiar with that one, right? Then Jesus said, “Not only that, but I’m telling you to not even stay angry with someone.” Whoa- that’s up a notch! “And if you’re angry,” Jesus said, (presumably because he understood that that was going to happen,) “then you have to make a genuine and wholehearted effort to work it out with that other person.”
So “Don’t murder,” was an important line to draw and to maintain, but it was too low a bar for what Jesus was calling for. So he made it very clear that in his presence, the bar was being raised. “Not only don’t murder, be reconciled to your brother or sister,” he said. And Jesus took that approach with other commandments too. For every teaching given the people in that first round of ten basics and some other laws too, Jesus took them to another level.
And so this week we heard the doozy in this whole series:
“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, “Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. ..
And then to top it off, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
And that’s when I think, “OH NO. This is going to be very hard.”
But apparently, in gospel terms, desperate times call for desperate measures. When things are very broken, extreme actions are called for. And in Jesus’ book, “desperate measures” include things like prayer, the giving of self, going that extra mile, and above all, desperate times call for the extreme action of love – even of the enemy.
Now I’m challenged by that for many reasons. And I’m guessing I’m not alone on this one. I can understand the call to pray and the command to give of self in the face of being challenged personally. I get the bit about going the extra mile because I know it often takes LOTS of miles to get anywhere. But I’m not sure what “love your enemies” really means. I’ve had a couple of weeks to think about this one and I still don’t know what it means.
In all honesty, I’m not even sure who my enemy is. And what would loving them look like, exactly?
In Greek the word for enemy is “exthros” (which sounds a little tougher than “enemy”) and it refers to those who harbor a “personal hatred and are bent on inflicting harm.” So an enemy is one who hates me either passively or actively. And I’m supposed to love them?
And so what would that look like exactly? “Excuse, me, while you threaten to take away my rights, how about a big hug?” OK. It’s probably not that. Besides, it borders on a sarcasm that is not helpful here. My apologies.
So, how about this: Hey you over there hurting my brothers and sisters, you who are making life harder for those who already have fewer rights, fewer resources, fewer opportunities, or safeties or privileges than I, can we hang out for awhile? Because if I’m honest [and here’s the kicker] I’m guilty too. There are miles I haven’t gone, cloaks I haven’t offered, cries for help I have not heeded, love I have not given. I don’t even know you, but I find myself yelling at you all the time – at least inside. Maybe we should try something else.
Desperate times call for desperate measures from us all. Maybe that’s part of how enemies become something else to us. In our best moments we see ourselves in them and so we commit to the kind of change this world so desperately needs.
The Indigo Girls have a song called, Become You. One of my cardinal rules is: when confused, go to the Indigos. And so here I am with them, seeking counsel. This particular song is sort of haunting in its lyrics and it doesn’t resolve itself even by the end of the song, but it speaks clearly to the challenge in today’s gospel. It’s written by Amy Ray and in this song she’s wrestling with some of the hardest part of her southern heritage and those who are enemy/neighbor to her.
“I heard you sing a rebel song.” she sings.
“Sung it loud and all alone…
I see you walking in the glare.
Down the county road we share.
Our southern blood, my heresy.
Damn that ol’ confederacy.
“It took a, long time to become the thing, I am to you,” Ray sings.
“And you won’t tear it apart.
Without a fight, without a heart,” she says.
“It took a, long time to become you, become you.
It took a long time to become you, to become you.”
And there it is. It took a long time to become the things we are to each other, and the tearing apart of that approach to the other as “thing” involves struggle and it involves heart. Healing in what feels like desperate times involves calling out the brokenness of our hearts and also the love that we have to offer through those cracks. It took a long time for us “to become” to this place we are today. But there is redemption to be had. The good news is that there is always redemption to be had! Desperate times call for desperate measures but we know what those measures are.
I see you walking in the glare, down the county road we share.
To the voting booth we share.
Through this lakeshore town we share.
I see you walking in the glare on the sandy beach we share,
toward the holy feast we share,
into the new day we share.
The only way forward according (not only to the Indigo Girls but ) to Jesus, is to begin to move not as “the things we have become” to each other, not as enemies but as children of God with gifts, and needs, and hurts, and hopes each and every one of us.
The only way forward is to love.
Martin Luther King, Jr. in a sermon he preached on this very gospel passage – a sermon which he revised while in prison by the way – said the following. (I’m going to share more than I usually would because his words seem so very much needed today.)
“Upheaval after upheaval has reminded us that modern man is traveling along a road called hate, in a journey that will bring us to destruction and damnation. Far from being the pious injunction of a Utopian dreamer, the command to love one’s enemy is an absolute necessity for our survival. Love even for enemies is the key to the solution of the problems of our world…
Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence … in a descending spiral of destruction. So when Jesus says “Love your enemies,” he is setting forth a profound and ultimately inescapable admonition. Have we not come to such an impasse in the modern world that we must love our enemies—or else? …By its very nature, hate destroys and tears down; by its very nature, love creates and builds up. Love transforms with redemptive power.
“My friends,” King wrote, “we have followed the so-called practical way for too long a time now, and it has led inexorably to deeper confusion and chaos…For the salvation of our nation and the salvation of [hu]mankind, we must follow another way. This does not mean that we abandon our righteous efforts [keep writing, keep calling, keep marching.] With every ounce of our energy we must continue to rid this nation of the incubus of segregation. But we shall not in the process relinquish our privilege and our obligation to love. ..Love is the most durable power in the world.” said King.
Love is the most durable power in the world. OK, so one more try on my part, “Hey, you who have threaten to take away my rights, can I give you my coat,” Sort of an awkward opening line. So, how about this: “Can I give you some water?” a little weird too, even if it’s gospel.
How about this, “I’ll buy you a coffee or how about a beer?” And then, “Can I share with you my prayers (even though I am an Episcopalian, I can share my prayers!) …How about my story? … By the way, what’s your name? …Where are you from? …Tell me about your kids… Do you have dogs? I do. Here’s some pictures. .. OK, I have to ask you, what are you worried about, really? …And I want you to know, here’s what I’m afraid of, really… As we stretch out these miles can we walk a few of them together, or maybe a few yards? Or how about we start with a few steps? And by the way, don’t worry about that hug offer. We aren’t there yet. But maybe someday we will be.”
Maybe that’s what loving your enemy looks like or what reconciliation looks like, or at least how those things might stand a chance of coming to be in this broken world. Desperate times call for desperate measures they say, at least when it comes to healing. And we know what those measures need to be: Sharing. Praying. Listening. Loving. Forgiving. And loving some more.
May we be given the strength to do them.
Amen.
Surrendering Distance
The Rev. Jennifer Adams – January 29, 2017 – Epiphany 4, Year A: Micah 6:1-8, Matthew 5:1-12
So one of the somewhat seductive options available to those of us who have privilege in this world (and while there is a range of privilege among us for sure, in the global sense we all have it…) one of the options for those of us who have privilege in this world is distance. On any given day, I can step back and I can step out. I can turn off my television, my radio, step away from my newsfeed. I can close my front door, or go for a walk in the woods, or go look at the lake, or immerse in a good book that carries me far away.
Now I do want to encourage all of us to do all of those things, or some semblance of them on a very regular basis. Woods are good for us. Large bodies of water that can quiet our minds and still our souls are good too and being faithfully discerning about input is an increasingly critical skill these days. Creating time that is “separation from it all” is healthy and serves us well, and ultimately allows us to serve better than we otherwise would. So I urge all of us to do those kinds of things on a very regular basis. And I promise to focus in a little more on that dimension of faith in another sermon.
But today I hear the prophet Micah, I hear Jesus teach the Beatitudes and I hear the cries of this world and the option for distance is one that I need to faithfully surrender. And I invite you to surrender a bit also. “What does the Lord require of us?” the prophet asks, “To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.”
For over three months now we have been waiting for the Garang family to come and live in our Parish House. The announcement of this refugee family’s pending arrival has run in our bulletins for all these weeks. We are set to be hosts through Bethany Christian Services and in partnership with St Francis Catholic parish who has taken the lead on this important ministry.
The Parish House was made ready – it’s beds have been made, furniture donated from St Francis and Grace folks. The kitchen is set up with dishes and utensils; there are spoons and forks and cups and plates and teams are waiting to help in areas such as education, language support, transportation, health care needs, employment, food. Our youth group put together a very thoughtful and educational power point that we’ve run in the Commons and shared with various Grace groups. Even the neighborhood has a group of folks prepared to welcome and serve this family as they arrive and begin to settle in.
The Garang family is a family of five. Grandmother, Tabitha, Mother, Awak. They are an 18-year old boy, Deng, 16-year old girl, Abuk and 7-year old boy Ajang. They also have numbers on the printouts we’ve received. In the system they are known as “Aliens Numbers 212-895-605 through 609”. They have numbers. They are people. They are Sudanese refugees. They have lived in a camp in Kenya for years and years and years and they have been participating in a very thorough and unsettling resettlement process for a very long time. And they have names.
When the Garangs were asked the question that we’ve been asking ourselves these last couple of weeks, “What are you looking for? What is it you seek?” They responded. They are looking for safety and they seek a place to call home. And so they took the risk of entering the refugee process. They took the risk of hoping for and looking forward to a new place to be.
And this week we got word not only that they still await one visa, but that they will very possibly not be allowed into our country. I am grateful for the calls and emails I got from many of you this week indicating your awareness and your concern. They were among the most frequently asked questions as you arrived at Grace this morning. And I’m grateful for that.
Now I realize that this is a very complicated issue, with many layers and levels. I know that there is much that I do not know sitting in my distant place here in Holland, Michigan. But I also believe, we can do so much better than this. I and thousands of other Christian leaders and bodies around our country spanning a wide breadth of denominations and non-denominational organizations signed on to letters to Congress in support of refugee resettlement. Bethany Christian (which for the record is not exactly a bastion of extreme liberal politics) issued a similar statement too.
We believe that rather than enhanced separation at this time, we need to faithfully surrender our distance. We need to be sanctuary in the sense of “safe place,” because of our faith. We need to offer home-away-from-home for those who have been unsettled for long enough. These people have names. And we can offer them what they seek.
I would add that a Grace member and I are directly in touch with our congressman’s office and with their immigration specialist. They’ve been responsive, indicated a willingness to listen and to help if they can, at least with this family. And so, we’ll see.
“Blessed are the poor,” Jesus said. “Blessed are those who mourn and the meek too for theirs is the kingdom of God. They will be comforted and they will inherit the earth. Blessed are the hungry, the merciful, the pure in heart and the peacemakers,” Jesus said. “For they will be fed, and receive mercy; they will see God and they will be called not by number but by the name given us all – ‘children of God’. Blessed are those who are persecuted and those who are reviled for they are like the prophets who came before. Their reward will be great.”
In the midst of very disorienting times, (no more or less disorienting by the way than the time of Micah or the time of Jesus…) in the midst of our disorienting time, Jesus orients us in the direction of the hurting of this world. So a good basic principle to guide us is that we can’t go wrong if were looking in that direction. We can’t go wrong if that’s where we’re looking, where we’re listening, where we’re working. We can’t go wrong if that’s where we are settling ourselves. If we orient toward the hurting, ourselves included – along with those who are “them” to us – there are blessings to be had.
Now our local community is not lacking with regard to need. It’s true. But as a very talented and resourced Body of Christ, we can multitask. I’m sure of it. I’ve seen it happen. We have the ability to respond to ourselves, those next to us in the pew, to those in our local community AND to those who are camping out differently than we, but every bit as human as we in the camp in Kenya. Contrary to what is becoming far too popular thought, there is enough mercy to go around. And when it’s lacking we can muster even more.
Distance in this instance will not heal. It will not heal them nor will it heal us. Mercy and kindness and justice will. And it is our responsibility as people of faith, with other people of faith to stand up and say so.
There are blessings to be had, blessings to be shared and according to Jesus those blessings abound! They abound in surprising ways and among those whom the world would tell us are the least likely to bear them.
And so I invite you to learn names of some “others” these days. Together we will continue to pray for and to work for the Garang family. Do take time in the woods and don’t forget the beauty of the Lake that is our neighbor too. Through it all may we find the strength to surrender some of the distance that comes with the lives we lead. May we hold our doors open, our hearts and our minds too. May we gather utensils, make beds, pull of a chair and set tables for those who seek home as we seek to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with our God.
Amen.