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Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
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Sunday Feb 22, 2015
Sunday Feb 22, 2015
Who’s Your Carrier?
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, February 22, 2015, the first Sunday of Lent.
Text: Luke 4:1-13
I think it is safe to say that the DC culture in which we live is particularly “image” conscious. Much of what we see in the media, in entertainment, and politics are people wearing masks, projecting a carefully constructed self that has been designed to win high approval ratings or higher salaries or higher Nielsen ratings or higher profits.
But this tendency to present a false self in order to get something we think we need is not only a reality in politics or media or business. It is part of the struggle of being human. We learn at an early age what kind of self will get our parents’ attention and approval and affection and love. We learn at an early age what kind of mask we need to wear to be accepted or rejected by our childhood peers. We begin to believe that the mask, the false self is real, is better than any other self we might be. We begin to believe that we are not lovable in ourselves as ourselves. We learn that we are lovable when we do what we are told or perform in an acceptable way or have the cool toys or meet someone’s expectations. Basil Pennington, the late Trappist monk and teacher of Centering Prayer, says that it doesn’t take long for the message from the world to get through to little ones. He writes, “Their value depends on what they have, what they do, what others—especially significant providers, real or potential—think of them. Others see them this way. And they begin to see themselves this way. This is the construct of the false self. It is made up of what I have, what I do, and what others think of me.”[i]
We think this false self is who we really are and the self that will keep us connected to what matters—because what we think matters—the thing we think will get us what we need—is doing, having, or impressing. // It is not uncommon these days to hear someone ask, “Who’s your carrier?” Of course the question has to do with who provides your phone service. At its most philosophical level, our carrier might be described as a conduit to connection—with other people and with the world. And a good carrier will provide good reception, a strong connection. What happens for us human beings is that we begin to make our false self our “carrier,” believing that it is the false self that will help us connect with others. We begin to depend upon the false self for a good reception in the world around us. And, as Pennington points out, we begin to identify with that false self, that identity constituted by what I have, what I do, and what others think of me.
Today we find Jesus in the wilderness being tempted to give in to the false self and be ruled by it, to buy in to the idea that doing, having, proving is what it’s all about. Notice that the devilish voice begins with the words, “If you are the son of God…” It’s a question of identity. Jesus finds himself wrestling with the question that we all wrestle with in one way or another: Who am I? What is my true identity?
The first temptation is for Jesus to establish himself by what he can do. “It would be easy enough for the man who would later feed five thousand from five loaves to create a tempting meal for himself.”[ii] The second temptation is for Jesus to establish his identity by having the glory and authority over “all the kingdoms of the world.” It seems that might have been a tempting option for the man whose primary teaching was about establishing the Reign of God. The third temptation is for Jesus to establish his identity by showing off in front of others to gain their acclaim. The busy courtyard of the Temple would be a great place to show what he could do.
But in all these temptations, Jesus says “no” to the false self, refusing to be ruled by the voice telling him that his identity was found in what he could do, what he had, or what others thought of him. I wonder if Jesus knew that as soon as he gave in to the temptation to make those things his “carrier,” his source of reception and connection, he would be carried off into a prison of his own making, a prison in which he would be forced to continue to serve the false self in order to keep it—DO more, HAVE more, IMPRESS more. It is a trap. And it is a lie.
We are tempted just as Jesus was, tempted to give in to and be ruled by the false self. We all struggle to say “no” and, therefore, end up living so much of our lives caught behind a mask. One of the great sages of rock & roll, Jim Morrison has this to say about it: “Most people love you for who you pretend to be. To keep their love, you keep pretending—performing. You get to love your pretense. It's true, we're locked in an image, an act—and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image, they grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are. And if you try to remind them, they hate you for it, they feel like you're trying to steal their most precious possession.”[iii]
It makes sense that we defend our familiar, false self. After all, it is hard to let go of who we really and truly think we are. When a person’s identity and sense of self has been primarily what they do, then what happens when they no longer are able to do what they’ve always done? When a person’s identity and sense of self has been primarily fueled by what they have, then what happens when events conspire to take it all away? When a person’s identity and sense of self has been organized around getting and having the approval of others, what happens when that is lost? We know that there will come a time—if it hasn’t already—when these things will fail or be taken away and we will find ourselves coming face to face with the question: Who am I without my title, my vocation, my house, my community, my health, my reputation, my parents’ approval… Who are you without what you do, what you have, or what others think of you?
The devilish voice of temptation trades in half-truths that sound quite reasonable. So we think to ourselves, “In our world, of course we have to do things, have things, and of course we want the affirmation of others.” That part is true. It is good to employ your life in work that is meaningful, creative, productive. It is important to be a good steward of the things that you have. It is not only desirable, but necessary to receive support and affirmation from other people. But these things are not who you ARE.
There is a YOU, a being, a self, that is real and alive and vital and precious. And that self is not dependent upon what you do or have or prove. Some of you will be familiar with Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras which teach a concept and practice of identifying with the “seer who dwells beyond the modifications of the mind” in order that the “seer” may rest in its true nature. The “seer” is the you that observes you. All the great spiritual traditions have some version of this teaching of letting go of outward falsehood in order to rest in the true self. Jesus says, “those who wish to save their life will lose it and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” (Mt. 16:25) Your true self isn’t something you have to create or earn, your true self is a gift received from God in each passing moment. Basil Pennington puts it this way, “At the center and heart of our being is the Divine Creative Energy, an Energy that is Love, each moment bringing us forth in love.”[iv] Jesus invites us to lose the false self so that we might find the true self that is, in each moment, available in and through God’s love.
Thomas Merton, another Trappist Monk and spiritual master, says, “There is in us an instinct…for renewal, for a liberation of creative power…which tells us that this change is a recovery of that which is deepest, most original, more personal in ourselves. To be born again is not to become somebody different, but to become ourselves.”[v] Jim Morrison in another moment of theological clarity says, “That’s what real love amounts to—letting a person be what he really is.”
And the devilish voice is determined to lure you away from the center and heart of your being, to lure you away from God and God’s love, to frighten you by making you think you don’t have what you need or that you aren’t enough, to make you think that you have to make your “mask” your carrier, your conduit to connection; the devilish voice desires to disconnect you from the peace, joy, and freedom that are the fruits of being your true self.
Jesus was tempted just as we are to lose connection with his true self but found guidance from the scriptures to keep him grounded. “One does not live by bread alone.” The rest of the verse from Deuteronomy 8 reads, “but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.” (Dt. 8:3) Our tradition teaches that God’s words create the world and us. Jesus speaks of serving God alone—quoting Deuteronomy 6:13—a passage that is in the context of the liberating power of God who brought the people out of slavery. Jesus speaks of not testing God, quoting Deuteronomy 6:16 which refers to the time God provided water from a rock at Massah. In other words, in the face of the temptation to lose connection with his true self, Jesus affirms that God is the source of his life, freedom, and sustenance. Perhaps it is this affirmation—this deep awareness and trust in God—that allows him to claim his true identity without having to do anything or have anything or get anyone’s approval. Jesus’ struggle began with “If you are the Son of God.” It ends with his knowing not only who he is, but also what his life is truly about. Jesus of Nazareth was the beloved son of God who was sent to proclaim good news to the poor, release to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to liberate the oppressed.
You and I are also beloved children of God. That is our true identity. It’s easy to forget or to just pay lip service to this most precious reality. But during the season of Lent, our call is to remember and to acknowledge where we have lost connection with what matters most of all.
Today, though the devilish voices are loud and strong, I pray that God’s voice will get through: One of the things that matters most of all is YOU. You are loved. You are carried, received, connected in God’s love. When you live out of your true self, you are connected not only to God, the source of your life, freedom and sustenance, but you’re also connected to your passion and the gifts that only you can share with others. // What is tempting you to pretend, to perform, to wear a mask, to remain imprisoned by the false self? Maybe today you can take a step on this forty day journey that will lead you to true freedom… Maybe today you can say with Jesus: I am a beloved child of God.
[i] M. Basil Pennington, True Self, False Self: Unmasking the Spirit Within, New York: Crossroad Publishing Company, 2000, p. 31.
[ii] Ibid., p. 34.
[iii] Found at http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/self-image on 2/20/2015.
[iv] Pennington, True Self, False Self: Unmasking the Spirit Within, p. 43.
[v] Ibid., p.88.
Sunday Feb 15, 2015
Sunday Feb 15, 2015
Listen!
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, February 15, 2015, Transfiguration Sunday.
Text: Mark 9:2-9
“Listen for what the Spirit is saying…” This is often the invitation as we prepare to hear the words of scripture here in worship. Listen and hear what the Spirit is saying… I remember how this invitation struck me my first Sunday here at Foundry. There is, it seems to me, an openness about it, an admission that there is meaning in and around and underneath the printed words, a message that may be for all of us and—on some occasions—something that the Spirit might be trying to say especially to me or you—something that others might not hear at all. The invitation to listen for the Spirit and to hear what the Spirit is saying also affirms that God is involved, that (as our United Church of Christ sisters and brothers remind us) God is still speaking.
I trust that we all know the challenges involved in truly listening. When I have counseled folks who are preparing for marriage, we spend time practicing “active listening” a process in which one person speaks and then the other person reflects back to the speaker what was heard. It doesn’t take long to realize just how much practice it takes to really listen and to hear what the other person is saying. Without practice, we end up receiving the other person’s words, but mostly hearing what we think they are going to say, or—even as they are still speaking—we are formulating our response. In other words, often when we think we are listening to someone else, we’re mostly hearing ourselves. Bede Griffiths, the late English Benedictine monk who founded an ashram in India, once said that he didn’t think “Western Christianity has the power to lead people to God anymore. All they keep doing is meeting themselves and calling it God.”[i] Though I think this is an exaggeration and that people in both East and West can fall into this trap, Griffith’s point certainly resonates. What he experienced in India were folks with the willingness to get themselves out of the way so that God could enter in.
Six days prior to the extraordinary events we read about today in our Gospel, Jesus told his disciples what was going to happen to him—that he would suffer, be rejected, killed, and then after three days rise again. Peter didn’t want to hear it. And Jesus’ response was, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” (Mk. 8:31ff.) Jesus goes on to speak to the disciples and the larger crowds about what a “divine thing” would look like: deny self, take up your cross, lose your life for Christ’s sake and for the sake of the gospel, because that is the only way to truly have or save or keep your life. And six days after Jesus shares these words, he takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain to pray. And in the midst of wondrous and fearful visions, difficult to explain, there comes one very clear message for everyone present: “This is my Beloved child. LISTEN to him.” Listen.
One would think that such an amazing experience coupled with this clear message would have an impact on those present. But it seems that listening was just as hard for the first disciples as it is for us. Because Jesus has to keep repeating himself; the same scenario that happened before the trip up the mountain happens again—twice! Jesus speaks of his suffering, death, and resurrection. The disciples, clearly NOT practicing active listening, completely miss the point. The first time they immediately start arguing about who is greatest among them. And the next time James and John—who witnessed the vision on the mountain and heard the voice from the cloud—ask to be seated next to Jesus in his glorious reign to come. Both times, Jesus responds with the same message: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” (Mk. 9:35, 10:44) Die to self so that you can rise to a new life in God’s love, a life that manifests in self-giving service to others. Three times this pattern plays out; three times Jesus speaks of dying and rising. Why was it so hard for the first disciples to listen and to hear what the Spirit was saying? Why is it so difficult for us?
Well, I think Bede Griffiths was right about how difficult it is for us to get ourselves out of the way so that we can actually be open to receive from God, so that we can truly listen to a voice that is not just the echo of our own. And then, if we are able to grow quiet enough to get the message, the message itself presents its own challenge—even when we know, intellectually, its promise. Because Jesus’ teaching about dying to self and rising to a new life of loving service threatens the status quo of our lives—it requires change. Jesus’ words about denying the false self and claiming our true humanity is in direct opposition to the world that tells us to invest in self-help, self-promotion, and self-defense. Jesus’ insistence that we can both receive his message and follow him challenges any notion of ourselves as either too important or too insignificant to serve others. Jesus’ call to serve others is not a cozy, comfortable idea that we can accomplish by simply “liking” certain posts on FaceBook or reTweeting the pithy ideas of other people (though in my experience even doing that can put us in an uncomfortable position with friends and family). To really listen to Jesus is to hear ourselves being called out of complacency, to hear ourselves being given work to do, responsibility not only for ourselves and our own stuff, but for the loving care of all that we encounter. It is to hear a call to true solidarity with suffering, to sit with it in ourselves and with others and to allow brokenness to lead you where it will. Jesus knew where it was leading him. // And it was only after he was led there, all the way to the cross and beyond, that those first disciples really heard what the Spirit was saying. Their lives were changed forever.
I don’t know how we finally manage to get to the point where we get ourselves out of the way so that we can actually listen and to be changed by what we hear. My faith and experience suggest that God’s grace is the primary agent. But however it happens, I know it does, these moments of revelation when somehow the voice of God manages to get through. I’ve heard testimonies describing some of them: a vision in the desert, the consolation of friends in the midst of loss, a transcendent experience on a mission trip, the birth of a child, a moment of deep suffering... Spiritual writer, Frederick Buechner, tells of a moment in his life when something broke him open so that he could really listen. He received a phone call from a friend who was in crisis and needed help. At that time in his life, Buechner was in a kind of retreat from the pain and suffering of the world, trying to discover a sense of peace. But, he says, “my friend’s broken voice on the phone was a voice calling me out into that dangerous world not simply for his sake, as I suddenly saw it, but also for my sake. The shattering revelation of that moment was that true peace, the high and bidding peace that passeth all understanding, is to be had not in retreat from the battle, but only in the thick of the battle. To journey for the sake of saving our own lives is little by little to cease to live in any sense that really matters, even to ourselves, because it is only by journeying for the world’s sake—even when the world bores and sickens and scares you half to death—that little by little we start to come alive.”[ii]
This, it seems, is the deep truth that Kayla Mueller had discovered at a very young age. Like so many others, I have been inspired by Mueller, the 26 year old woman who was held hostage by Islamic State militants for 18 months and whose death was recently confirmed. She devoted her life to serving others, most recently working with Syrian refugees. In a letter she wrote to her family in 2011, Kayla says, “I find God in the suffering eyes reflected in mine…I've known for some time what my life’s work is, using my hands as tools to relieve suffering.”[iii] Somehow, Kayla Mueller not only listened and heard God’s voice, but was given grace and courage to respond and to be a loving, healing presence in the broken places of the world. Hers was a life of sacrificial love and service and is a powerful testimony to the impact that such a life can make—in life and even in death. And, I must add, I am thankful for Kayla’s life that truly reflects the beauty and the heart of our Christian faith in a time when, as one writer says, “a perverse form of Christianity has emerged in American culture: a Christianity that conflates the glorification of God and guns, that incites the hatred of Muslims, that sees wealth and power as signs of God's blessings.”[iv] The words and actions of Kayla Mueller offer a welcome corrective to these perversions of the Way of Jesus. She listened and heard the true call of the Gospel.
A couple of weeks ago, a post appeared on my FaceBook page from a young man I met four years ago in Liberia. Michael must be about 16 years old now. He was a student at the school where my former congregation is engaged in ongoing mission and, like most of the students there, faces a very challenging future with few resources. Every so often, I will receive a message from Michael, but the other day I found myself staring at the screen for longer than usual. His post simply said, “Don’t forget me.” Michael’s post seemed to slice through the inner prattling that would keep me from hearing him and I just held his words for a while. That same week, I had an encounter with a woman who said to me, “You don’t see me.” And another conversation with a man who said, “I want you to know me…so that I won’t feel so lonely.” And I began to hear a voice—as out of a cloud—saying “Listen! Listen to my beloved one…” Listen to Jesus in the voices of the vulnerable and the hurting and the angry. Listen for what the Spirit is saying even in the midst of overwhelming need, even in the midst of deep discomfort and struggle, even in the midst of heartbreaking loneliness… I have been bringing these thoughts and words and encounters into my prayers these past weeks, asking for guidance, mindful of the fact that I am finite and can only do what I can do. But I trust that God wants to teach me something or lead me somewhere or stretch me somehow to be a more humble, loving servant through the words I have received. I have been trying to listen.
And that is what we are all asked to do today, to try to listen. And to remember that what we’re asked to listen to is both spoken by Jesus and embodied by him: humble service and self-giving love. No one of us can meet every need. Only some will be led to refugee camps and foreign countries. But we can pray for the grace to truly hear the voice of Christ—in the words of scripture, in the witness of the saints past and present, in the voices of those all around us who may be saying things hard to hear—and to be open to the particular ways that God is speaking, calling, acting in our own lives. Listen for what the Spirit is saying in the suffering of your life as much as in the joy, in the anxiety as much as in the peaceful place, in the drudgery as much as in the beauty. Listen with a humble heart, a quiet mind, an open door. And be ready to step back onto the journey from the place of revelation and transfiguration to wherever the path—and God’s love—leads. It won’t be simple or easy—that is certain. But what is even more certain still is that life, deep and true, awaits.
[i] Bede Griffiths quoted in Richard Rohr’s Radical Grace: Daily Meditations, Cincinnati: Franciscan Media, 1995, p. 95.
[ii] Frederick Buechner, Listening to Your Life, HarperSanFrancisco, 1992, p. 22
[iii] Found at http://ncronline.org/blogs/grace-margins/kayla-muellers-encounter-suffering-god on 2/14/2015.
[iv] Ibid.
Sunday Feb 08, 2015
Sunday Feb 08, 2015
The Sound of Silence
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, February 8, 2015.
Text: 1 Kings 19:9-12
The headlines in Elijah’s day would sound painfully familiar to us these days. In fact the news recorded in the books of First and Second Kings—a record spanning 400 years and the reigns of forty kings and one queen—chronicles coups, assassinations, civil wars, scheming to consolidate power, a division into north and south, and idolatry, lots and lots of idolatry. The writer of 1-2 Kings describes all but two kings (Hezekiah in 2 Kings 18:3 and Josiah in 2 Kings 22) as doing “evil in the sight of the Lord.”[i] Even with all the glory of Solomon (the architect of empire for better or worse), when taken together, the history portrayed in these books is pretty bleak and always undergirded by the ominous foreboding of the exile that is to come.
The particular context for our text today is a holy war between the rulers of Israel, Ahab, Jezebel, and their Phoenician Ba’al worship and the prophets of Israel who were faithful to the God of Israel. It is in the midst of this conflict that Elijah emerges as a prophet of God. Just prior to today’s reading, we find the story of one of the greatest showdowns in all of scripture: Elijah, standing alone, challenges the 450 prophets of Ba’al to put their god into the ring with the God of Israel. Both parties will place a sacrifice upon their altar and call upon their god to accept the offering. Elijah says, “The god who answers by fire is indeed God.” The crowds love the spectacle—and to make it even more dramatic, Elijah makes a point of pouring water on the wood and on the offering of his altar. Elijah triumphs in grand fashion that day on Mount Carmel; while the prayers of Ba’al’s prophets yield nothing, at Elijah’s word, “the fire of the Lord fell and consumed the burnt offering, the wood, the stones, and the dust, and even licked up the water that was in the trench.” (1 Kgs. 18:38) And the gathered crowds proclaim that the God of Israel has won the title: “The Lord is indeed God.” (1 Kgs. 18:39)
And then, in the name of the God of Israel, Elijah orders the people to seize all the 450 prophets of Ba’al and kill them. // This is the way things go, again and again. The headlines are always the same. And sometimes I wish I could give myself permission to follow Thomas Jefferson’s lead and simply cut out of the Bible the parts that I don’t like. I know that Elijah is a faithful prophet of the God whom we worship and is revered within our Judeo-Christian tradition. So there must be some rational explanation for the portrayal of our God and the prophets of God as agents of mass murder. I can point to the larger prophetic tradition that speaks to Yahweh’s vision of justice, kindness, and care for all peoples. I could argue that Elijah in this instance was courageously facing down the corrupt and murderous political powers of his day on behalf of the powerless and vulnerable—and that, in context, violence is simply the way the game is played. I can argue that these stories simply represent one historical perspective within our tradition in what is a continuing evolution of our understanding of the nature of God. And, as a follower of Jesus, I turn to the sermon on the mount and Jesus’ own non-violent practices and self-giving love as the lens through which I try to read every other text in the Bible. But I must admit that as I studied the context of today’s scripture passage, seeped as it is with sectarian violence on all sides, I couldn’t help but call to mind the headlines today. The headlines of a man burned alive by a brutal religious faction, of sectarian violence in Syria, Nigeria, Israel, Palestine, and many other places around the world, and of a truly stunning outcry from some sectors at President Obama’s naming of America’s own history of religiously sanctioned violence through slavery and Jim Crow. The more things change, the more they stay the same… As I sat with this awareness, it occurred to me that, like it or not, our Judeo-Christian tradition forces us to reckon with the seemingly boundless human capacity for violence, pride, and cruelty. Like it or not, the story of 1 and 2 Kings is part of our story, including the part where God gets used as both the reason and rationalization for all kinds of destructive human behavior.
With my head and heart swimming in this maelstrom of questions, outrage, grief, and weariness, I found myself trying to get close to Elijah, to listen for what he might have to say or reveal in the midst of his ordeal. Because when we meet him today he is fleeing for his life, knowing his actions and commitments have made him Public Enemy #1. He is in the midst of a cycle of violent retaliation and sees no way out but death. In his fear and despair, he feels absolutely alone (“I alone am left”) and is obsessed with the threatening words of Jezebel. And yet in the midst of all that, he is led onto a familiar path—it is the path through the wilderness that Moses and the Israelites had traveled years before. But interestingly, Elijah is going in reverse. We are told in chapter 19 verse 8 that he traveled 40 days and nights in the wilderness until he arrived at Horeb the mount of God. In other words, Elijah is led back to the beginning, to the very mountain where Moses had encountered God in the fire of a burning bush (Exodus 3:1f). It was at that mountain, also called Mount Sinai, that God had given the law to Moses amid fire, smoke, and thunder (Exodus 19:16f).
And, as if on cue, a great wind, an earthquake, and a fire appear one following the other. But, unlike the burning bush or the event on Mt. Carmel where God “answers by fire,” this time God’s presence isn’t to be found in the fire or the earthquake or the wind. Following this great tempest on the mountain of God in the wilderness there follows a qol dĕmāmâh daqah, translated
the sound of a soft breath, a gentle and quiet whisper, a soft whisper of a voice, a sound of a gentle blowing, a still, small voice, a sound of sheer silence.
In the midst of the maelstrom, at the heart of despair and fear, the prophet Elijah is led to a place that precedes all the signs and wonders, all the mighty acts of the ancestors, a place of sheer silence. It is the place of encounter with God in its most simple and stripped-down form. And that place can be more terrifying than wind, earthquake, and fire. Because in silence, real silence, we cannot escape ourselves, our questions, our confusion, our griefs, our brokenness, our ego, our own capacity for brutality, the realities of the world around us, and our collusion with injustice. In silence, we are naked before God, vulnerable and exposed, with all our masks and tribal loyalties and rationalizations shown for what they are. There is a reason that so many folks express discomfort with long periods of silence. // In my own experience, when I enter into silence I realize just how much noise I carry around with me without any outside help. It’s like there are winds and earthquakes and fire in my head that have to pass by and be quelled before I can truly come to that place of silent breath. Amid the random songs, images, and to-do lists that run along the top, a little deeper I start to hear all those familiar messages of fear and insecurity, the things people have said or done that hurt, the memories of things I have done or left undone for which I feel regret, my itching ego, my worry about people and situations…and then there’s the grief…and peppered into all of that “Oh look! Something shiny!” Distractions abound.
As difficult as it is and as terrifying as it can be, why should we bother trying to follow the ancients to this place of silent encounter? Why not just keep the T.V. on all the time while we check FaceBook and talk on the phone? I’ve been re-reading Howard Thurman’s seminal text, Jesus and the Disinherited, a book first published in 1949 that helped inspire and give shape to the civil rights movement. In the book, Thurman points out that Jesus’ “message focused on the urgency of a radical change in the inner attitude of the people. He recognized fully that out of the heart are the issues of life and that no external force, however great and overwhelming, can at long last destroy a people if it does not first win the victory of the spirit against them. ‘To revile because one has been reviled—this is the real evil because it is the evil of the soul itself.’ Jesus saw this with almighty clarity. Again and again he came back to the inner life of the individual. With increasing insight and startling accuracy he placed his finger on the ‘inward center’ as the crucial arena where the issues would determine the destiny of his people.”[ii] Thurman’s deep wisdom is to highlight the spiritual work that guards against permitting anyone other than God to determine the quality of our inner life. He writes, “if the individual puts at the disposal of the Spirit the needful dedication and discipline, he can live effectively in the chaos of the present the high destiny of a [child] of God.”[iii] In other words, the strength and nature of the Spirit within is made manifest in the ability to live a life that reflects the character of God’s Kin-dom of peace, mercy, and justice for all people—and that even in the midst of injustice and violence.
This, it seems to me, is a strong case for tending to the work of our inner life, work that cannot be achieved without traveling to that place of simple, stripped-down, silent encounter with God. My friend and colleague, Father Tom Ryan, leads folks into Centering Prayer with the invitation to “bring yourself to be before the One Who Is in full, loving availability.” This is another way of saying that we need to “put ourselves at the disposal of the Spirit” to let the Spirit work on our hearts. And through this discipline of prayer, Thurman says, we will be given guidance and strength to “live effectively in the chaos of the present the high destiny of a child of God.”
Following his encounter with the still, small voice, Elijah emerges from the cave—not magically changed; actually he seems strikingly unchanged. But even still, God gives Elijah direction for his life—a life and mission that was not over, in spite of what Jezebel said; Elijah was also reminded that he was not the only one left to stand against oppression—Elisha the prophet and seven thousand Israelites will stand with him. (1 Kgs. 19:16, 18) Elijah is still caught in the narrative of sectarian violence and vengeance, a narrative that other prophetic voices throughout the ages challenge and one that Jesus rejected utterly. But in his time and in his place, Elijah emerged from the silence empowered to live in the chaos as a child and prophet of God.
Today, there may be some among us who are feeling like Elijah, in despair, alone, seeing no way out, feeling like no one else is fighting the good fight. Some here today may, like Elijah, be struggling to let go of hurtful, threatening words. Some in our number today may be overcome with fear or may find yourself shrinking from the tasks that are before you. Some may feel forgotten, unseen, unknown. Some may be ready to give up on the whole religious or spiritual enterprise in the midst of the chaos and violence that religion continues to inspire.
But what we are given today is a path and a reason to walk it. If you’re willing, follow the path with Elijah through the wilderness back to the beginning. There the One Who Is waits to meet you—not in acts of great power or flashy proofs—but in the sound of sheer silence. And as you enter into that space, you will be remembered, you will be seen, you will be deeply known. You will be reminded of what is real: that you never stand alone and that the human capacity for good is stronger than our penchant for harm. And you will be given what you need—humility, a reality check, encouragement, forgiveness, direction, and, above all, love. Because when you bring yourself to be before the One Who Is, you are held and enfolded in the infinite love and mercy of God. It is that love that allows you to resist giving in to the tempting narrative of revenge and violence and, instead, to live with dignity, compassion, and kindness. Friends, carve out some silence in your life—hang in there with the noise within until it passes by, and make yourself available to receive whatever you need to live in the chaos of the present the high destiny of a child of God. That is your destiny and mine. Thanks be to God.
Sunday Feb 01, 2015
Sunday Feb 01, 2015
The Case of the Missing God
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, February 1, 2015.
Text: Exodus 17:1-7
Years ago, I heard a powerful preacher describe her experience at the bedside of her dying son as “the case of the missing God.” She felt abandoned, like she needed God and searched, but God was nowhere to be found. I’ve never forgotten this phrase—and it comes back to me again and again as I hear people young and old tell me that they feel they’re on that same case. When depression sets in or loneliness weighs heavy…when the earth rises up in whirlwind and flood and homes and lives are lost…when diseases steal vitality and cut life short… the case of the missing God… when nations, races, religions seem incapable of finding even a tenuous, much less a permanent peace… when loved ones are in pain and hopelessness and helplessness threaten to undo us… when injustice and violence and greed keep food out of hungry mouths and medicine out of suffering bodies…when the capitol city of this great nation allows a 13% increase in homelessness in 2014 leaving 7,748 folks without shelter, with this year threatening yet another increase in this number.…the case of the missing God… in moments of betrayal…when work dries up and we find ourselves struggling to put food on the table or to pay the bills… in the chains of addiction and abusive cycles, when best efforts and intentions seem to come to nothing…the case of the missing God… Where is God? Is the Lord among us or not?
The question is not new…in fact, it’s very, very old. We hear the question in our text from Exodus this morning. The text is part of the story that the Israelites tell about their time in the wilderness. And this small part of the story is actually pretty typical. The larger context is this: the Israelites had been slaves in Egypt. And God called Moses to lead them out of slavery and into a land “flowing with milk and honey.” Moses has done all that he was asked to do and God has done what God said God would do…the people have been led out of their bondage and are on their way, journeying by stages toward the land that God promised. But we are brought into the story this morning while they’re still out there in the desert—no milk and honey in sight. The people are thirsty and complain to Moses, laying the guilt on thick: “why did you bring me out of Egypt just to kill me and my children with thirst in the desert?” What’s typical here is the fact that the people are quarreling and testing God…that they are grumbling and questioning God’s presence…they do it over and over… The fact is that just before this episode in the story, they complained and grumbled and God provided manna for them in the desert to feed their hunger. How quickly they forget. Not to mention the fact that the people seem to have pretty handily forgotten the reality of their enslavement in Egypt and the way that God provided the means to accomplish their release. The point is that it doesn’t take long in the midst of a challenge for the people to doubt the presence of God—even though they have experienced God as saving them from slavery, parting the waters of the sea for them to cross to safety, and feeding them with manna in the wilderness.
Some might interpret this story as suggesting that it’s not acceptable to question God’s presence in a time of need. But in the face of the realities we face in our world—war, starvation, cancer, homelessness, racism, AIDS, abuse—how can we not struggle with the question: Where is God? Is the Lord among us or not?
Perhaps one way to think about these things is this: to be human is to ask the question, to struggle with the pain and suffering and confusion in the world and to want a good God to make it stop. Perhaps in the present, life looks grim or you are lost in confusion, wandering in the wilderness, facing loss or illness, or just a transition that is scary. And in the midst of it all, sometimes we wonder what God’s going to do about it…why God allows it… sometimes we wonder where God is…sometimes it makes us wonder if God is… That’s an understandable place to be and it would be dishonest to suggest that we never had those kinds of questions. They’re human questions—but they’re not the only, or the last, truly human response. Human beings have been given the gift of memory—and so it is also profoundly human to remember, to honor the gifts that have been received in the past, and to hope. This is why all the grumbling stories show up in the Bible—let’s face it, these stories the Israelites tell on themselves aren’t the most flattering. But they repeat them so that they will remember: “in the midst of our difficulties and suffering” (they seem to say), “when we are needy, whiny, suspicious, forgetful, malcontented folks, God is consistently present, faithful, creative, sustaining, liberating.” Story after story is told to remind the people that they can trust God, that they can hope for the future because of what God has done in the past. So for us, when we find ourselves grumbling, crying out, impatient at the seeming absence of God, we are invited to take a breath and remember God’s providence and grace. To remember is a form of prayer. Remember the moments in your life when you experienced something sacred, when you experienced joy, grace, forgiveness, hope, love, God. Remember the experiences of transformation in your life and relationships—moments of wonder and new life and new love. Remember the stories of the faith—the signs and wonders that God has shown through the ages, liberation of enslaved peasants from the empires of the world, nobodies becoming somebodies through the mystery of God’s Spirit, chains broken and demons cast out that once kept lives in bondage, mourning turned to dancing, alienation transformed to love, death to life. Remember and, from that remembrance, be encouraged and strengthened to keep moving forward; the God who has brought you through this far is out ahead, ready to bring you into a new place of promise. The remembrance of God isn’t an incantation that will magically transport you from the wilderness or make a painful reality vanish, but it can (as the great hymn of the church says) give us “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.” And that is something I’m guessing we all need.
I contend that there is nothing wrong with asking the question “where is God?” or with asking God in prayer for what we feel we need or want. If to ask these questions is sin, then Jesus was a sinner—because in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus asked for what he wanted—for God to let the cup of suffering and death pass from him…on the cross, Jesus asks the same question we so often ask, “My God why have you forsaken me?” But Jesus, the fully, truly human one, shows us that even in the midst of these questions there is another step to take: remembrance and trust. Jesus’ prayer in the garden doesn’t end with “let this cup pass from me” but goes on to say “but not my will, but yours be done.” Jesus remembers who God is, Jesus trusts God’s love even in the face of the worst the world can do. And, by that trust, Jesus shows us the best that we can do—shows us our own human potential for faith, hope, and loving surrender into God’s arms.
At the end of the day, rational “proofs” of God and of God’s presence are as difficult to hold onto as water in our hand. The only thing we have is the story of God’s mysterious, saving presence—in the stories of human lives—past and present. We can look not only at Jesus, but also at people in our families and among our friends and church family to be reminded of God’s never-failing presence and provision. We know how much folks have come through and we have seen evidence of transformation and healing and wisdom that have been borne through God’s grace in difficult places. We know these things…we just need to remember.
And that is what we do as we come to this Table. We eat and drink in remembrance. We call to mind God’s mighty, merciful, and loving acts in Jesus Christ. We remember what God has done in the past and celebrate that God is still at work loving and redeeming us. And we remember the promise of a fully reconciled world to come where all will be invited to the heavenly banquet to feast together in peace and joy. If you’re trying to solve the case of the missing God today, then this Table provides what you need. If you can’t feel God’s presence and can’t believe God’s promise today, you’re still invited to come and receive, for you are part of the gathered Body who will hold you and keep the faith on your behalf. Stumbling or striding, confident or uncertain, we are all invited to come and to share in this mystery—God’s own presence in Jesus Christ to sustain and strengthen our souls. Come, receive and remember that God—even today—even when you may not be able to see or feel it—is holding you and will never let you go…and give thanks.
Sunday Jan 25, 2015
Sunday Jan 25, 2015
CONNEXION: PRIMARY CONNECTION
Let Us Pray…and Laugh
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC January 25, 2015.
Text: Luke 11:1-13
This past week the World Economic Forum met in Switzerland. Google chairman Eric Schmidt was one of the presenters and I’ve stumbled across several reactions to his comments. One Schmidt claim that “made heads spin” (and got my attention) is that “The Internet will disappear.” This is the chairman of GOOGLE, so he must have some insider, web-guru mojo that leads him to predict such a thing, right? As it turns out, it was just a hook. Schmidt’s point and prediction is actually that “the Internet will become so seamlessly integrated into our daily lives that it will simply fade into the background.” As things called “wearables” become more prevalent and, as one report described it “our homes become smarter and more connected, Schmidt sees a future where the Internet is all around us. ‘It will be part of your presence all the time,’ Schmidt said.”[i] Schmidt also said, “Almost all of the problems we debate can be solved literally with more broadband connectivity… broadband is how you address the governance issues, the information issues, the education issues, the personal security issues, the human rights issues, the women’s empowerment issues.”[ii] Do you hear a theme in these comments? An omnipresent force in our lives that holds the power to save us from our greatest human challenges…Schmidt appears to be the devotee of a broadband god. In some ways, I can see the appeal of this religion. After all, on Google you really can seek and find, all in the speed of a click. // I don’t doubt that technology is a tool that—when used ethically and responsibly—can have a positive impact on human flourishing. And folks that know a lot more than I do about the implications of technological advances (positive and negative) will have to be the ones to truly debate and weigh the claims made by the Eric Schmidts of the world. However, as we begin this four week series entitled “Primary Connection” in which we will explore our relationship and connection with God, it seems apropos to point out that the presence of God is not dependent upon broadband technology; prayer isn’t a “search engine” or an ATM machine through which you put in your request and information or money pops out; God’s grace—the liberating love of God that sets us free to truly live the life we’re made for—can’t be controlled or programmed, only received. Our primary connection—the connection that grounds us, imbues us with dignity, reminds us what it means to be truly human, and challenges us to grow in love and compassion—is God. We nurture this primary connection most intimately through prayer.
Over the years, I have taught a course on prayer—both at the local and district level—and I’ve consistently heard about how difficult it is for folks to pray. Why is a God who is so available so difficult to connect with? Making time in busy schedules, doubts and struggles with faith, and anger at God were often among the challenges folks named. Three other obstacles to connecting with God in prayer that I regularly heard about are highlighted by Dr. Roberta Bondi, a retired church historian who has written extensively on prayer: First, folks feel intimidated by the very idea of prayer and often worry that they are not “doing it right.” Second, people tend to think of prayer in terms of duty, that is, as something that they are required to do (and, while that may be motivation for some, it creates a real obstacle for many). Many of us perceive duty as drudgery—certainly not something that would be enjoyable or fun. And third, so many of us have images of God in our heads and hearts that are off-putting—that is, images of God as scary, judgmental, distant, even abusive.[iii]
In today’s Gospel text, Jesus provides a concrete response to each of the obstacles to prayer that Bondi mentions. Jesus addresses our anxiety about getting prayer “wrong” by acknowledging that it is helpful to have a template when we pray; and so he gives us some words to use. It is helpful to have a guide in our praying, especially when we struggle to find the words to express the deep longings of our hearts. The Psalms, devotional guides, the traditional prayers of the Church, forms of meditation and Lectio Divina, the Lord’s Prayer, all of these are gifts to help us, perhaps, feel a bit less intimidated—like it’s not all up to us to figure out how to pray or how to find the words. Jesus gives the disciples the words to use. When you pray, this is what to say. One can imagine the disciples solemnly nodding and thinking to themselves, “Here endeth the lesson…” After all, prayer is serious business.
But then Jesus goes on to tell the somewhat convoluted parable of the sleepy friend—at least it sounds convoluted in translation. My friend and colleague Patrick Willson describes the parable this way: “Suppose your friend comes unexpectedly to visit late at night. Your friend has been out on the road all day and half the night with nothing to eat, so what are you going to do? You’re going to put something on the table for your friend, aren’t you? Isn’t that what friends do for each other? …There’s a problem, however: you don’t have anything in the house to eat…The refrigerator is empty, the pantry is bare. What are you going to do? You go to another friend. What are friends for, anyway? You run next door. Next door is your typical first century Palestinian friend bedded down in his typical first century Palestinian home. It has one room. Mom, dad, all six children, half a dozen chickens, the dog and a goat all sleep in the same room. That the way it is if you live like most people lived. If you were wealthier, you had a spare bedroom for the goat. So you come pounding on the door asking for bread. What’s your friend going to do? He’s going to give you some bread, isn’t he? If he won’t give you bread just because you’re such good friends, he’ll give you bread just to get rid of you because if you keep pounding on the door you’ll wake up the dog and if that happens everyone is finished sleeping for the night. Sure, you’ll get what you ask for!”[iv]
This, my friends, is a funny story, an “earthy” story. And it is about friendship and the way that real life is lived together with friends. By sharing this story with us, Jesus accomplishes at least two things. He reminds us to lighten up a little bit for one, and he also teaches us that prayer is about friendship. In our relationships with our friends, there are times that we may act out of a sense of duty on their behalf—when they are in need, for example—but mostly we relate to our friends out of a sense of love and care and mutual support; we spend time with our friends because with true friends we can be ourselves, we can be real, we can share our struggles and our successes. True friends are honest with us; they don’t let us off the hook; they remind us of who we are and of who we can become; they help us when we are down and out, wanting us to ask for what we need. They are there for us. They laugh with us! What if prayer is like that?
If your image of God is fearful and judgmental, it can certainly be difficult to imagine developing a friendship with God. I mean, who wants to befriend someone who just makes you feel badly about yourself or who intentionally hurts you? Jesus goes on to teach us that God is not out to get us or trick us. We know how much we mess up our relationships and how we can do things that are harmful to others, but Jesus reminds us that, even still, when it comes to our children, we would never intentionally harm them. The comparison to a loving human parent helps us understand the nature of God—as a loving parent who wants us to be well, to grow, to have what we need. Perhaps, if we can risk letting go the fearful images of God and believing that this is so, friendship with God is possible after all.
When we take the teachings and example of Jesus on prayer into account, we learn that what it’s really about is developing a relationship with God, becoming close to God, in the same way you become close to your human friends. And if friendship with God is the goal, then it’s as much a matter of showing up as anything else. Just being there, being close, being real—all the time. You may find yourself saying to God, as you have said to a friend, “I don’t really know what I need or what to say, I just need to be with you.” What if prayer is like that?
We often turn to God only when we’re afraid, sad, or suffering. And, of course, as with any real friendship we can bring our grief, our questions, our doubts, our anger, our confusion, our confession, our guilt, trusting that we will still be held and loved. But today I believe that at least part of Jesus’ teaching is that God wants to hang out with us in our joy, our praise, our celebrations, our silliness, the mundane and the absurd parts of life, all of it. We get it wrong if we believe that our spiritual lives always have to be somber, dealing only with the challenges of life. Rev. Peter DeGroote shared with me that when I ask, “Will you pray with me?” He often hears it as, “Will you PLAY with me?” I love that. Come and play as we encounter God in scripture. Come and play as we develop friendship with God.
One of the places I turn when I need to be reminded of the day-in, day-out invitation to close friendship with God is (surprise, surprise) NOT the internet, but instead a fourteenth century Sufi mystic poet named Hafiz, who has an earthy style and insistence on the sacred presence showing up everywhere. One of the first poems I memorized from the collection of his writings entitled, The Gift, is this one:
God
And I have become
Like two giant fat people
Living in a
Tiny boat.
We
Keep
Bumping into each other and
L
a
u
g
h
i
n
g
.[v]
I can imagine Jesus quoting these words as well. My guess is that there was more laughter involved in Jesus’ life than we have often considered. And it certainly seems that he and God were so close that they couldn’t help but bump into one another. What if prayer is like that? Like two giant fat people living in a tiny boat, so close that they can’t help but bump into one another…Perhaps the question to ask today is this: What obstacle keeps you from being that close to God?
[i] “Why Eric Schmidt Believes the Internet will Disappear,” by Alyssa Newcomb, Jan 23, 2015, 9:14 AM ET, http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/google-chairman-eric-schmidt-believes-internet-disappear/story?id=28426913
[ii] “The Alchemist’s delusion,” http://www.roughtype.com/?p=5466
[iii] “Learning to Pray: An Interview with Roberta C. Bondi,” www.religion-online.org, This article appeared in The Christian Century march 20-27, 1996. ©The Christian Century Foundation.
[iv] Patrick J. Willson, “Laughing Through the Prayers: Luke 11:1-13,” found at www.textweek.org.
[v] Hafiz, “Two Giant Fat People,” in The Gift, trans. Daniel Ladinsky, New York, NY: Penguin Compass, 1999, p. 199.