92.4K
Downloads
667
Episodes
Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
Episodes
Monday Jan 03, 2022
Monday Jan 03, 2022
On the Path
A homily preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, January 2, 2022, Celebration of Epiphany, “Shine On!” series.
Text: Matthew 2:1-12
One of the things I’ve heard myself say to countless persons in various challenging contexts over the course of my ministry and particularly the past couple of years is: “Things are not always going to be this way. You’re not always going to be where you are right now. It’s a journey…” This is not only a pep talk, it’s a theological assertion and a statement of Christian faith. Because the story we tell is that God is with us, receives our cries, and brings us through suffering and struggle to a new place of freedom and life. From slavery to promised land, from tomb to broiled fish on the beach with friends, the story is consistent. God’s saving love and grace is assured.
This message has been key in the ongoing global pandemic and especially in the moments when many of us—either personally or collectively—have felt so profoundly stuck. Of course, we all know, really, that things change in our lives. Some of the changes are beyond our control. And some, we have agency to affect. And regardless of how changes happen in or around us, we always have the choice of how we’ll respond. How we choose to respond to new realities or challenges sets us on a particular path, puts us on a particular trajectory. It’s important to choose wisely.
At the beginning of a new calendar year, it is tradition for many to give thought to what kinds of changes they want to make in their lives. I have a love/hate relationship with new year’s resolutions. But the idea of it is frankly pretty good. If you’re going to change one way or another, it is wise to consider what direction you actually want to travel. Where are you trying to go? What are you trying to do? What steps can you take to move in that direction?
I’ve been thinking about this myself and I’ve decided I want to be like Betty White or Archbishop Desmond Tutu or Dolly Parton or José Andrés. There are others I could name, but these are currently front of mind. The point is that I’m thinking about legacy—about the story of my life I want others to be able to tell, about how I wish to be remembered as one who lives in the days we’re currently living. I’m thinking about what our lives mean in the larger world. And it’s not that we have to be famous as these I’ve named are. I also want to be like my Dad who is not famous at all. Fame is not the point. All of those I’ve named seem to have clarity about who they are and what gives their lives purpose and meaning. Dolly Parton describes what I’m after saying, “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” This kind of living makes an impact. Betty White said, “Everybody needs a passion. That’s what keeps life interesting. If you live without passion, you can go through life without leaving any footprints.” And the first lines of Howard Thurman I ever encountered many years ago are these, “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” // Whether known by a few or known the world over, the people whose lives make the deepest impact are those who have come alive.
I’m convinced that the closer we are to the source of life, the more we “come alive.” The closer we are to the heart of all that is, the more strongly our own heart will shine. And the Epiphany story we tell today, in its most broad terms, is a journey story on the path that leads to closer connection with the heart of God, with the life of God, with the love of God. The wise ones who came from afar in search of the prophesied new king, trained in the art of astronomy. I imagine it was their passion. And when they saw something changing in the sky, a herald of a promise, they made their journey, through danger and uncertainty, guided on the path by a star. They knew who they were, they had practiced their discipline, and they moved forward with intention to discover and honor the newborn king.
The truth is that we don’t know how many magi there really were, exactly where they came from, or what they hoped to gain from their encounter with Jesus. But whoever they were, their actions formed the kernel from which the ancient celebration of Epiphany springs. It is a celebration that reminds each of us to search for the holy one, to let nothing deter us on the way, to draw near, to offer the gifts of our lives, and then to be enlivened by the love of God revealed in Jesus. The nearer you are to the beating heart of God’s love and life, the more you will “come alive,” the more you will shine with God’s love.
And the world needs people who have “come alive.” But you may feel stuck and dull and exhausted today. And you may think you don’t have anything left to offer. And in a time like this with so many challenges, you may be tempted to think there is no point to trying. And it may seem difficult to believe that things will ever be different than they are today. But there are those who have shown us how to shine with the love, peace, and power of God even in the midst of overwhelming pain, injustice, and despair. The late South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu is one of those people. He said, “Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” You see, you don’t have to feed whole nations in the midst of a crisis like José Andrés, you just need to keep doing what you can. When the injustice and foolishness of the world threaten to overwhelm you, do your little bit of good and help overwhelm the world. A legacy, a life that makes a difference in others’ lives, doesn’t happen all at once. It is created along the way, little bit by little bit, choice by choice, response by response. And as we enter this new year, know there will be things that try to distract you and lead you into places of fear and danger. But also know God will guide your steps, will help you do your “little bit of good” day by day, will help you discern when to hold steady, to take a break, or (as with the magi in our story) to change course for your own safety.
Things are not always going to be this way. You’re not always going to be where you are right now. You and I are on the path. God is with us, receives our cries, and brings us through suffering and struggle to a new place of freedom and life. From slavery to promised land, from cross to resurrection. From faraway places to the intimate, life-renewing presence of God’s love in Christ Jesus. God’s saving love and grace is assured on the path. Whether by the light of a star, the witness of others’ courage, good humor, perseverance, and generosity, or the simple encouragement of a loved one, God will guide us, go before us, and help us get to the other side.
Archbishop Tutu’s affirmation of faith, set to music by John Bell, are where I’ll end. May this song be our traveling music for the journey of 2022:
Goodness is stronger than evil;
Love is stronger than hate;
Light is stronger than darkness;
Life is stronger than death;
Victory is ours through Him who loves us.
https://foundryumc.org/archive
Monday Dec 27, 2021
Monday Dec 27, 2021
Great Joy For All
A Christmas Homily shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC on December 24th, 2021.
https://foundryumc.org/archive
Monday Dec 20, 2021
Monday Dec 20, 2021
Luke 1:39-45
Rev. K.C. Van Atta-Casebier
A Sermon for Foundry UMC
12.19.21
Let’s Pray. God, for Your wisdom and revelation and hope, we pray now. Amen.
Well, this is a very embodied story, a story of two pregnant women. While I hope I have done faithful work to make this story both accessible and gentle, I do want to offer this word, keep watch over your heart. Breathe deeply and take breaks if you need to.
Have you ever felt like you just knew something? Call it intuition or spiritual connection or universe electricity or just a well developed gut. Recently I answered a phone call, and I just knew what was waiting on the other end before the other person had spoken a word. I’m sure many of you have had moments where you felt Spirit pointing to something with about a thousand neon lighted arrows. As if to say, RIGHT HERE. This is the thing. This is your next step. Or take this path or this leap. Slow down. Breathe deep.
Occasionally in the noise of it all, that divine voice of inner wisdom can get absorbed into the frequency of our environment. For this reason, I can hear my gut best when I am quiet and still, and when I allow my body to sink into itself. But not only is it difficult to hear, sometimes it can be hard to differentiate between what we are hearing from our inner truth and (I’m going to put this bluntly) downright mind tricks. Dangerous lies. And when my mind dupes me, I cope by spending a lot of time in a hypercritical flurry of preparation - pre-grief, pre-anxiety, pre-leading, pre-stress, pre-organizing, pre-worrying. And while yes, some of these things can be immensely helpful in the event of a crisis, the truth of the matter, even though it may be hard to see it, is that sometimes things work out. Even after you’ve stopped believing, even in the face of all of your preparatory grief or stress. Even if just for a moment. Sometimes, in the most unlikely circumstance what we get instead of a tragedy is a blessing. A humble God, a willingness to learn, a love that wins again and again, healing from trauma - a little bit at a time, survival, an unexpected miracle, a star in the night sky, a brave mother.
A few years ago I was sitting in a surgical waiting room, the kind where every half hour or so a surgeon will come in and announce a name. The family members to whom that name belongs will approach the doctor, and right there in the waiting room they tell you the fate of your loved one. I listened as a surgeon came in, announced the name, “Lisa,” and waited for the family to approach. I saw from across the room, a woman start to gather her things and get up. She comes running over to the doctor. The doctor says, “Are you here for Lisa?” “Yes,” the woman replies. And then I watched as this doctor struggled to make sense of their relationship,
all while holding the most precious information of this woman’s life. Are you her friend….or her sister...or an aunt? As he continued to struggle, I saw the pain in her eyes. “No, I’m her wife,” she said quietly. The doctor then told her that her beloved Lisa was going to live, that he had gotten all of the cancer with clean margins. She wept openly as she wandered back to her waiting room seat. Something within me said, “Go to her.” I tried to fight this urge with all of my might. I was there for my family. I was not there in any official capacity. But still, the energy stirred. “Go to her,” it said. I could feel my shoulders tense, my abdomen tighten, my breath quicken. Something dared me to move. And it always feels like a dare, really. Because there is always something at stake - even if it’s just our comfort. So I went, but not before I had a tug-of-war in my head or what I have begun to call - indefatigable mind sparring. Eventually, my gut won. And this was clear because before my mind could catch up, I was already walking toward her. I asked if I could give her a hug, and apologized for the doctor. She said, “I’m just so glad she’s okay. And I’m not sure what made you come over here, but I am so glad you did. We drove many miles to come have this complicated surgery done by the best surgeon we could find. I have felt so alone.” She asked why I was in the waiting room and offered kind words of support. We talked until it was time for her to go see Lisa in recovery. Through tears we said goodbye.
“Go to her,” is what I imagine Mary heard from within her. An 80 mile, harrowing journey to look her dear cousin in the eye and say, “me too.” When she arrived, I can only imagine their exchange. Did an angel come to you, too? Was it scary for you, also? Look at us, just a couple of outcasts, seemingly unable or incapable of hosting life…and yet here we are looking into
each others eyes and feeling in our bodies the most impossible thing of all…that in the fullness of the unlikelihood of these circumstances…one thing is TRUE. For now, it seems to be working out. Mary and Elizabeth had both a human and divine connection. They really saw each other. The divine within Elizabeth recognizes the divine in Mary. The life within Mary sees the life within Elizabeth. And at that moment, I don’t know this for sure, but I hazard a guess that they weren’t trying to anticipate or help or advise or fix or teach. I think Mary and Elizabeth sat there with their umbilical connection - feeding one another presence and goodness and solidarity and hope.
I think I always thought this story was about the baby, or in this case, babies. I thought that my Mothering and my Motherhood gave me a unique entry point into this story and the Gospel as a whole for that matter. And for many years I have said that it is a shame that we don’t talk about infertility and childbirth and pregnancy in the church….primarily because in the story that is upon us, that is LITERALLY how God comes to us. And in its specificity, it is true. The story is about a young pregnant mother and an older unlikely mother and their babies and exchanges of blessings… but what if that's not the whole story? What if it’s not actually about the baby? At least not yet. The story of the baby is coming soon, but it's not here. And babies and birth are sometimes an inaccessible and painful story for some of us. So, let's not skip ahead. Let’s stay right here with Mary and Elizabeth for now. Take a break from the preparation and the “what ifs”, the mind sparring, and all that tinsel. Just sit right here with me for a minute. Listen, women and birthing people. Listen, men and non-birthing people. Listen, those who are struggling with fertility. Listen, those who don’t have kids by choice or by circumstance. What if the blessing isn’t just the baby? What if the good news, the fulfillment of the promise, the
blessing… isn’t actually about our ability to bear children at all? What if it’s about our ability to bear God? The kind of bearing where the divine They rests in love and in shared life, all while conjuring our brew of inner knowing. And I have a few questions. If we know we’re all God bearers, can we be kinder to ourselves? Maybe speak to and about ourselves in ways that honor our belovedness? Can we see the blessings kept in us? Can we see them in one another? Can we stop trying to control others' bodies because we’re not really great at controlling our own? Can we stop laying claim to others bodies? Can we know, as Mary did, that we are God bearers? And then can we sing as Mary does, holy and unabashedly?
But not that one song… Mary, did you know? No offense to the Gaithers…or actually definite offense to the Gaithers for writing perhaps the most Biblically unlettered song ever. Did Mary know? Yeah, Mary knew. She knew deep in her soul. She knew with her eyes and her arms and her legs and her abdomen. She knew in her body. And despite what everyone had likely said about her body, it was God’s dwelling place. And the same is true about us. Our bodies are God’s dwelling place. Our insides are remarkably capable to bear not only the name of Christ, but the ACTUAL CHRIST. And it would be great if we continue to speak kindly to them and about them and to create safe space for Emmanuel. And when we feel a holy nudging in our inner knowing, may we follow it, if necessary, all the way to the outskirts of town to find the blessing of human and divine connection so strong that we actually feel God leap within us.
https://foundryumc.org/archive
Monday Dec 13, 2021
Monday Dec 13, 2021
Renewal
A meditation shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC on December 12, 2021, the third Sunday of Advent. “Good Tidings” series.
Texts: Zephaniah 3:14-20
I have a plant that is dear to me because it was a memorial gift received for my father’s funeral service six years ago. It was small enough that I could carry it home with me on the plane. This plant is very good at telling me when it needs water. Its leaves begin to look thin and droop, unable to remain upright due to lack of their most vital requirement. As soon as I give it a drink, the response is dramatic. The plant is restored right before my eyes; the water renews its strength.
Perhaps this image first came to mind as I reflected upon the words of the prophet Zephaniah because among all the good tidings from our text, the part that most struck me is, “God will renew you in his love.” At the end of this long year that has felt strangely short, I am painfully aware of how thin my resources are, how difficult it is to “keep my chin up” as daddy would say, how I often feel droopy like my plant when it’s thirsty. I’m aware of my own need for renewal—and I know I’m not alone. I observe frayed relationships and grieving families and whole communities grappling with trauma and anxiety. I’m aware of colleagues in ministry and school teachers and medical professionals who are burned out to the point of walking away from their vocations. I’m aware of the weary ones who continue to try to carry the banner for racial, gender, and economic equity and justice, for common sense gun laws, for access to education and health care and so much more. I’m aware of children and youth falling behind the learning curve and grappling with spikes in anxiety and depression. And, mercy, just think of the communities destroyed in minutes from tornadoes this week and all those still recovering from fires, floods and other increasingly intense natural disasters as a result of climate change. // “God will renew you…” Those are words I need to hear.
The original audience needed these words as well. Zephaniah prophesied in Judah during the early years of King Josiah, around 640 BCE and before the king’s reforms address the mess Israel had made of things. Much of the short book (only three chapters) is searing judgment upon Israel for idolatry and syncretism (1:4-6), complacency (1:12), corrupt leadership (3:3-4), and injustice (3:1, 5). And yet quite abruptly the message shifts. The last word of the book—the way Zephaniah’s prophecy ends—is what we receive today: “Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!” And why the rejoicing? Because “The Lord has taken away the judgments against you…the Lord your God is in your midst…God will renew you in his love…God will deal with all your oppressors…will save the outcast…will bring you home…”
Picture it in your mind’s eye…a whole community—weighed down with the human mix of guilt, fear, anxiety, weariness, apathy and all the fruits of injustice—everyone drooping and weak, parched for what is most needed... and then news arrives that God is on the way and will not destroy, but save them. Like a drink of cool water, mercy and help and relief and guidance and love flow into the parched places. God’s love renews them all.
The end of Zephaniah feels a little bit like a stock photo, the old Deus ex machina, the knight in shining armor, Tammy Wynette “standing by her man.” It feels too easy, a bit contrived, a predictable ending to God’s love story.
But I gotta say, right now, predictable love stories are giving me life and not a small measure of joy. Whether it’s Hallmark or Lifetime or Netflix or wherever, I’m quite happy to spend some time with completely overused plot points like two romantically challenged characters who meet, realize they’re destined to be together, encounter a series of problems meant to separate them, and by the end are wrapped in each other’s arms. Or two people meet and immediately think the other is awful only later to discover that arguing with each other is better than any conversation with anyone else ever. Or two people who usually don’t get along agree to pretend they are together to satisfy family expectations or make an ex jealous and, well, you know how the story goes…
And I’ll quickly say that the renewal I get from 90 minutes of contrived plot points and charming country Christmas villages with quirky characters is NOT because I lack for love in my life. It’s because sometimes you just need to experience the predictable love story, to be reminded that desire for love is universal, that to love and be loved is life-giving and joy producing. And, of course, there’s the side benefit of shutting off large parts of your brain so that it can get a little break. That is renewing in a whole other way.
Today and throughout this season, we receive again the familiar story of God’s love affair with us. It goes something like this:
God loves us and provides guidance and resources for our lives to flourish; we blow God off in one form or fashion doing harm to others and ourselves in the process; God sends prophets and teachers to try to get our attention; and when we make even the smallest turn toward God, create even the slightest opening in our heart to God, God rushes in with grace and love and compassion and forgiveness. Rejoicing ensues and the credits roll… And then people create a series of sequels that have a very similar plot.
The rejoicing isn’t because we’re off the hook, but because we realize we’re loved “even while we are yet sinners.” (as our communion liturgy affirms) // In my experience, water is sweeter when I’m parched. Mercy and forgiveness are cause for humble rejoicing when I know I’ve messed up. Assurance that I’m not alone and that I’m loved is nice enough when I am feeling strong, but that assurance is new life and strength when I’m feeling weak. Good tidings are only good when we know we stand in need of them…
And the good tidings of Zephaniah’s prophesy reminds us that renewal is God’s desire for us. God knows what we need. We are assured that as we respond to God’s love, strengthened to try to do and be better, to live together in peace with justice, to care for others as we care for ourselves, God is in our midst as our advocate and guide, our protector, and the one who loves us best.
So rejoice!
The plot twist, no longer such a twist for those who’ve seen the movie before, is that we aren’t the only ones singing for joy. In verse 17 it is God who is rejoicing! “God will rejoice over you with gladness, God will renew you in his love; God will exult over you with loud singing!”
God’s love story may have a predictable ending. But it never gets old. For God so loves the world that, well, you know how the story goes (cf. John 3:16-17). Let’s rejoice that in these holy days we receive the story and God’s amazing grace… again.
https://foundryumc.org/archive
Monday Dec 06, 2021
Monday Dec 06, 2021
“Forgiveness”
A sermon preached by Rev. Will Ed Green for Foundry United Methodist Church Sunday, December 5th, 2021
What would you do if you were you were really free? Free from things that trip you up, habits and attitudes that keep you from really living life fully? Free from guilt and shame that keeps you rooted in past wrongs and old regrets? Free from believing something you’ve done makes you less worthy of God’s love or capable of doing of God’s kin-dom work?
On this second Sunday of Advent, John’s good tidings of God’s forgiveness come to us from an unexpected place. Not halls of earthly power where past wrongs are adjudicated by corrupt court systems. Not pulpits of religious power where divisions between right and wrong and welcome and unwelcome are laid down. No, God’s word comes from to John in what the Scripture calls ‘eramos’ the deserted places, the wilderness. Places which represented vulnerability and risk, which existed outside the realms of what was tame, safe, or familiar. These are good tidings find us in places we don’t expect to find them.
Once invited to the wilderness we’re called to us to ‘metanoia,’ or to change our minds, the word translated here as repentance—and in the verses proceeding the ones read today—doesn’t mince any words in demanding it. This isn’t a simple sojourn for a quiet picnic in the woods. It is a spiritual experience which invites intentional examination, one in which things that limit our perception and insulate us from truth are stripped away. We’re called to confront the truth about who we are. The truth about how we live. The truth about how both of these reflect—or do not—the values we profess.
Now. Let me pause lest you think I’m going to go all “Sinners in the Hands of Angry God” you here. Centuries of bad theology have left us associating repentance with street-corner preachers proclaiming our impending doom and destruction. But Luke’s ‘metanoia’ isn’t about shame, and it’s certainly not about damnation. It is a free gift of God’s grace—the kind John Wesley called ‘justifying grace’—that invites us to confront and honestly address the spiritual and emotional baggage that weights us down in life so that we can we can move more freely in our relationship with God and with others. These good tidings aren’t just about confrontation, they are the promise of transformation.
John’s baptism of repentance is the first step on a journey of ‘afesis,’ the word translated as forgiveness. It literally means ‘a release from bondage, a letting go of the former things as if they’d never happened at all.’ If these are good tidings of confrontation, they are also good tidings of invitation. An invitation to freedom from anything that prevents us from receiving the hope of God’s love and our call to be that hope made alive for others in the world.
Luke echoes the ancient words of the prophets Isaiah and Malachi—each of whom themselves wrote from wilderness places at wilderness moments in the lives of God’s people—offering hope that our present realities and possible futures are not bound to, or by, our previous mistakes. Even in the wildernesses of our sin and brokenness, where our lives are full of trip hazards like regret and shame and constant detours caused by habits and ways of thinking we know we need to change, God comes to be with us. Helps us face, without fear or shame, the fact that we don’t always get it right. That we’re fallible. That we fudge up.
And then, get this! God helps us clear up that clutter that’s clogged our paths. Grants us grace to map out a new way, to change our minds about the directions we’ve been journeying and sets us on a new path where we are free to live more freely and fully in the light of God’s love. These are good tidings of freedom and hope.
The question is, I suppose, whether or not we’re really ready to receive them. I grew up in a family system where we were really good at apologizing for every little transgression. Quick to say I’m sorry, in no small part I’m sure, lest someone hold our error against us, but also in the firm belief something fundamental about who we were was broken.
But forgiveness, the kind we receive today, turns this relational economy on its head.In a world where we’re pre-conditioned to keep score, where Santa’s making a list of who’s naughty and who’s nice, we learn quickly how to define ourselves by the worst we’re capable of. God’s promise of, as the old hymn puts it “grace that is greater than all our sin,” means that we loose a vital part of how we’re taught to judge ourselves and others in the world. It’s easy to say I’m sorry. And it can be so much harder to believe it.
This week I returned to my long-time spiritual companion Henri Nouwen for insight into what good tidings the word ‘forgiveness’ might hold. He points out that the real work of forgiveness begins only when we first allow ourselves to be forgiven. “It is very hard to say,” he writes,“Without your forgiveness I am still bound to what happened between us. Only you can set me free.” He goes on, “That requires not only a confession that we have hurt somebody but also the humility to acknowledge our dependency on others.”
I remember a Christmas some 20 years ago when my siblings and I all got chocolate malt balls in our stockings. Midway through the afternoon we realized my younger brother was missing…along with all the chocolate balls. So we began to frantically search the house not really clear which one we wanted to find more. Eventually we found them both together, my brothers feet sticking out from underneath his bed and, when we pulled him out tinfoil and chocolate covering his face as he frantically shoved every piece of candy he could grab into his mouth.
My mother, ever ready to teach us a lesson, invited us all into the living room. After a stern talking to about not taking other peoples things she told my brother that we were going to forgive him once he apologized, and it would be like it never happened. Immediately he burst into tears, and when she calmed him enough to speak, he told her he didn’t want to be forgiven. If we for gave him, that meant he'd have to forgive us someday too.
I think of him there now, face still glittering with foil and tears running down his cheeks, befuddled at the idea that we weren’t going to hold this moment over his head— except for the occasional sermon illustration—any more than he could hold our wrongs against him over ours. Sick to his stomach, not only because of the chocolate, but perhaps
because there was nothing he could do to fix what he’d done—there was no way we were getting the chocolate back—and that meant he had to rely upon someone else to receive it.
That’s the thing about these good tidings of forgiveness that can be so hard to grasp. We don’t earn them. We can’t buy them. No amount of keeping score or stock of our past wrongs, no amount of self-loathing and regret will somehow make us worthy of them. They simply are. Flowing into the wilderness places of our lives where we’ve become lost wandering down roads of past wrongdoing and regret. Into the backroads and byways we’ve built to protect ourselves from our need for others or from confronting the fact we are—despite our temptation to occasionally believe otherwise—masters of our own destiny.
But Emmanuel, God with us, forgives freely and with no other purpose but to set us free. And does so, over and over again, no matter how many times it takes, until we’re able to really receive that gift. So we gather, lighting candles to brighten the gloom of the wildernesses in which we wander. We come to the table, proclaiming “in the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven,” to help us remember that Our God meets us in our wilderness places, amidst the tangled messiness of our lives. Invites us to face the facts of our past mistakes, our old hurts and long-lived resentments, not to shame us our drive us to different behavior through guilt, but to help us lay them down and walk away. To trust that we are in fact who God has said we were since the Spirit hovered over creation’s waters, beloved.
And when it’s hard, the old lies of naughty and nice, of worthlessness, of fear, creep in, God gives us grace, sanctifying grace, new each day, that is big enough to hold the truth of our brokenness and possibility of our becoming whole. You are beautiful. You are beloved. You are worthy of freedom. And there’s nothing in this world—no power, no preacher, no denomination or political party—that can change that fundamental truth God has baked into your being.
It is not lost on me that here, at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in Luke chapter 3, the path laid out begins with forgiveness. With freedom from our sin so we’re able to participate fully in what Christ is up to in the world, so that “all flesh can see the salvation of God.” Everything else Jesus does, all the miraculous signs and wonders, all the moments of teaching and reprimand, every table overturned and belly filled, begins with the belief that God, by God’s grace and with our assent, “forgives our sins.”
Advent is not simply a season of waiting. It is also an invitation to holy preparation. To go with boldness into the wilderness places of our lives, to examine where we’re getting tripped up or bogged down or detoured. And to let God to come and do what God does best. “Come, thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free. From our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee.” What would you do if you were you were really free? This Advent, my hope of us—for you and for me—is that we find out.
Amen.
https://foundryumc.org/archive