Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons

Nearness - November 28th, 2021

Nearness

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC November 28, 2021, Advent 1.

Text:  Luke 21:25-36

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” // Perhaps it seems strange to begin an Advent series on “Good Tidings” with these apocalyptic words. Where is the good news here? 

We will get to that. But first, I want to remind all of us that our text today is part of a longer passage in Luke 21 of apocalyptic writing. Apocalyptic is a specific genre within the Bible. The word “apocalypse” is derived from a Greek word meaning to “uncover, disclose, or reveal” something—an unveiling. Apocalyptic writing tends to focus on “end of the age” or “end times” and is often thought of as “doom and gloom”—understandable, I guess, based on what we receive in our text today… “distress…fear, and forboding.” At its most basic, however, apocalyptic is meant to wake us up, to remind us that things will change, that something is going to happen, that something—or someone—is drawing near. 

And so it makes some sense that we’d be given a text like today’s at the beginning of the season of Advent, the annual time of preparation for the coming of Christ. The word “Advent” derives from the Latin adventus, which means “coming,” “arrival,” “approach,” or “appearance.” The emphasis at this time of year is often on what has already occurred, the coming of Christ in baby Jesus who grew up and showed us what God’s love and justice look like in human flesh. But on the first Sunday of Advent, we’re reminded that there is another promise yet to be fully realized: the coming of Christ into the world in a new way that embraces all peoples and all of creation, the fulfillment of our prayer that the Kin-dom appear in all the earth as in heaven. 

In the years following Jesus’s death, some early Christian communities, living under tremendous persecution and the despair caused by events like the destruction of the Jerusalem temple, expected the world as they knew it to end at any moment, they expected Christ to come again with cataclysmic flashes of lightning and all the rest. Yet, as time passed and the injustice and oppression of the world continued, that expectation began to fade. Christians had to learn how to wait, how to not give up on the whole thing, how to remain a people of hopeful expectation in the tension between the historical events of Jesus’ life and the desire that God’s realm be fulfilled on earth. 

This is the tension we find in our text today from Luke. We, like the earliest Christian communities live in the in-between time, wondering “How much longer, for crying out loud?!” But really the emphasis in our scripture is less about providing a timetable of events and more about what to do, how to be, every day. We are encouraged to remain awake and alert to what is happening around us, to pay attention to what is happening in the created order, to pay attention to the fear and distress among the nations, and, as we do so, not to allow ourselves to get dragged down into the worries of this life (Lk 34) but to remember that in moments of turmoil, danger, and upheaval, God draws especially near. The implication of the text in its context is that we are to keep the faith in the midst of fear and exhaustion and worry—and that means not just thinking faithy things, but concretely responding to what’s going on in and around us in ways that align with the Kin-dom of God, that embody the words of Jesus. You know, doing justice, practicing hesed (lovingkindness or unearned love), and walking humbly with God… 

The call of Jesus is for us to be a people of active faith and hopeful expectation in the time in between the reality of a difficult now and the hopeful vision of the promised Kin-dom come.

But sometimes life eats away at our ability to remain a people of hopeful expectation. Sometimes it’s hard to be hopeful that we as individuals or as a people can grow and change, that the world can be different, or that all that seems so helpless and hopeless can be redeemed. Our Gospel today doesn’t pretend that human hearts are untouched by the worries of this life; and yet it still calls us to hope. And so, though we find ourselves often expecting the worst, we gather as a people, at the beginning of every new Christian year, to expect the best, to experience again the ancient tale of One who came into the world to save it, the one who came to show us that our hope is not in vain. Thousands of years have passed and still we cry out, “Come, thou long-expected Jesus.” We gather this week and the next three weeks to find the courage to hope. We walk into, literally, the darkest days of the earth’s cycle, trying to have our eyes and hearts open to the light we believe is coming—not just looking back at what God has already done in Jesus, but looking at what God is doing and will yet do.

It’s curious to me that so much of our collective energy in response to apocalyptic revelation of what God will yet do has tended to be fearful. It makes sense that if we know we’ve fallen off the wagon of trying to love God and neighbor, the words we hear today can unsettle and nudge us to make some changes. I imagine that a lot of the fear is the result of bad theology that characterizes God as a smiter rather than a savior. If you think that the character of God is that of a bully or someone who delights in punishing you for any failure then standing before that God in the future is fearful indeed. 

But think for just a moment about being in an airport to pick up a loved one…you check the arrival monitor, you figure out what baggage carousel is the place to wait, and then you watch, aware of all the other persons streaming by, but anxiously anticipating the familiar gait, the familiar face of your beloved. What we’re told today is that the one who is coming into the world then, now, and in the future is a familiar face, the face of the One who loves you most of all, the face of the One who is always working for your good and for good in the whole world. 

Here is the good news today: “Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” The one who is coming is not some avenging stranger, it is Jesus, the Christ who’s been with you all along, who knows you and loves you and wants nothing more than your highest good. We need not fear or hide our faces in shame or insecurity, but rather we are told to stand up and raise our heads because God’s redeeming love and presence is drawing near. The loving, redemptive presence of Christ gives us grace to persevere in hope, to remain aware, to keep from falling into despair in the face of our own struggles and failures or in the wake of COVID mutation after mutation and midst fears and injustices of every kind. Our text brings us good tidings that our redeeming God is near.

The story we tell isn’t that Jesus came once upon a time, gave us a great annual holiday, dropped some wisdom, left the building, and abandoned us until some future pyrotechnic event. Christ is adventus, is arriving, every day.

Perhaps when Jesus says “when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near” it means that in every moment of distress in our lives, a door opens for us to enter the Kin-dom, to embody the way of Jesus such that the Kin-dom is made real in that moment… Imagine a portal that is always there and all it takes for the portal to be unveiled is for us to stay awake and alert to Christ’s presence and receive the grace we’re given to respond with love, care, and justice instead of as impatient, distracted, fearful jerks. You know the Kin-dom is near when you’re given an opportunity to reach out to hurting ones, to be a companion with those who are nurturing new life or grieving in the face of death, to celebrate with siblings when justice has been done and to mourn at the pain of justice denied. You know the Kin-dom is near when the oceans roar and signs in the earth show distress, and you can do something to participate in God’s work of mending the earth. And let me be clear, it’s not just in the big events of the world that the Kin-dom “portal”—the Kin-dom opportunity—is near. It is there at the kitchen table, as you tuck the kids in to bed, on your daily commute, all along the path of your daily rounds. In this in-between time, today and every day, Christ is arriving through the presence of Holy Spirit to inspire, agitate, and encourage us, and to help us live and love and choose and give as citizens of the Kin-dom of God even in the mundane and murky moments. 

So be alert. Pay attention. Raise your head. Look for the familiar face, the familiar presence of Christ. Look for the ways that God is at work—even in small ways. Remain open to the nudging of Spirit always providing what you need to keep faith, hope, and love, to do what is needed, what is just, what is truly yours to do for the Kin-dom. Bask in the light that has already come and cling to the hope that someday—probably when you’re busy making other plans—the unfinished, unfilled promises and possibilities of your life, your relationships, your church, our world, will be fulfilled and redeemed…fully.  And…finally!

https://foundryumc.org/archive

Pursued in Love…Always - November 21st, 2021

“Pursued in Love…Always”

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, November 21, 2021. Reign of Christ and Consecration Sunday, “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series. 

  Texts: Psalm 23, Revelation 1:4b-8

Over the past seven weeks, we have been guided by the Lord, our shepherd, in Psalm 23. And on this last Sunday of the Christian liturgical year, the last Sunday before Advent, and the day often celebrated as the Reign of Christ or Christ the King, we receive the final verse of the Psalm. The familiar-to-many King James Version reads: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

Years ago I learned that the verb translated “follow” is more intense in the original Hebrew: “Surely goodness and mercy shall pursue me…” This is not only an image of these graces passively lurking about or showing up here and there. It’s that God’s goodness and mercy “will run after me and find me wherever I am!” It strikes me that this is where we began the journey, with the ancient image of God, not as a conquering king, but as a humble, strong, shepherd and the affirmation that God is with us, no matter what. 

When I was a teenager, our youth camp worship would use “sing along slides” to guide our singing of a variety of songs, including pop songs. As I prepared for today, meditating on this profound promise of God’s loving presence, I was transported back to evening worship in Miller Hall at Canyon Camp and again heard God in the distinctive form of Cyndi Lauper’s voice: “If you're lost you can look and you will find me/ Time after time/ If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting/ Time after time.” 

The Lord, our shepherd pursues us, time after time, wherever we are and no matter how we got there. And, if we are willing to follow, God’s goodness guides us into places of beauty, green places of nourishment, still places of peace, places where our soul may be restored; God’s goodness guides us on roundabout paths that get us where we need to go, guides us through the valleys of life, makes sure we eat something when we are overwhelmed with fear, danger, or grief, and tenderly loves us, anointing us as valued and called.

An important word in verse six is the word translated “mercy,” in Hebrew it is hesed, and usually is translated “lovingkindness.” Rabbi Harold Kushner thinks of it as “unearned love.” Unearned love. God’s goodness and unearned love pursue us… What an extraordinary challenge to the culture in which we live. 

The common wisdom is that nothing in the world is free, that we have to look a certain way, act a certain way, have certain things to be loved. We have to have this to get that. How many children are taught—implicitly or explicitly—that they are bad, wrong, worthless, unlovable because they don’t meet their parent’s or teachers’ expectations? How much energy flows into trying at every age and stage of life to earn or prove or buy our worth and lovability? How much money gets made by clever people who exploit our insecurities with the lure of “miracle” products and schemes? How often do lives full of potential get coopted and corrupted by gangs—on the streets or in the lunch room or in the marbled and paneled halls of power? The exploitation in all these things depends on human insecurity, on the lie that any one of us is unworthy of love, goodness, and mercy. 

And when everything we’ve tried still leaves us feeling unloved or devalued, we can fall into all sorts of destructive things. Our own insecurity can trigger an impulse to knock others down so we can stand over them, our boots on their necks, to feel bigger or like we have some power. Our own insecurity makes us turn on ourselves in self-loathing and on others with envy and resentment, all out of self-defense for our wounded hearts. Whether or not you figure out how to navigate the worldly macro or micro accounting of earned interest in who you are, it is a struggle to believe that there is any such thing as unearned interest, unearned love. In this world, the relational economy is so often quid pro quo, based on exploitation, or simply governed by run-of-the-mill human brokenness. 

But God’s economy is altogether different. The Lord, our shepherd—as we’ve been singing these past weeks—is the king of love not the king of empires or courts or councils or turfs. And the Kin-dom of God doesn’t require three forms of legal documentation where all the names exactly match for entry. Because God knows your name and loves you and wants to be close to you! Kin-dom economy with a shepherd in charge is truly different than what we’re used to. Jesus didn’t test people’s theological knowledge or work history before giving them food. Jesus didn’t pay the latecomer less than the first to clock in. Jesus didn’t play with the devil’s shiny advertisements for comfort, prestige, and power. Jesus didn’t do violence or execute people, Jesus allowed himself to be publicly executed so that we might finally recognize that buying “peace” or “justice” with another human life yields neither peace nor justice. Jesus didn’t raise an army, Jesus raised lives. Jesus embodied God’s love and revealed again and again that only love has the power to bring about the healing that will truly set us free.

The Lord, our shepherd, pursues us not to blame or test or bully us. God pursues us because God loves us and wants to be with us, to help us, to give us what we need to live lives filled with beauty, meaning, justice, and joy. God’s love for you and for me is absolute and it is unearned. God, in love, is always present, always reaching out and waiting for your heart to open wide to receive the overflow. 

As the sheep of God’s pasture, as citizens of Christ’s Kin-dom, we are taught that we love because God first loved us. All our acts of goodness and lovingkindness, all our acts of justice and unearned love, all our acts of generosity and care, all our acts of praise and thanksgiving are in response to God’s abundant grace. As we, like a cup, receive and are filled with God’s goodness and unearned love, we overflow in acts of gratitude, justice, and joy. 

Because God prepares the table for us, we prepare the table for others. And, by God’s grace, our offerings will create the best “pot luck” ever! By God’s grace overflowing in generosity, we will set a table with love of God and neighbor as the centerpiece, a table that is anti-racist, fully inclusive and affirming, creative, committed, courageous, and full of friendship, support, and laughter; we will set a table big and wide enough so that everyone has a place. On this Consecration Sunday, we’re reminded that God gives us everything, holds nothing back, pursues us in love, time after time, so that you will have life and so that we as the people of God called Foundry can prepare the table with justice and joy. What will you return in gratitude?

https://foundryumc.org/archive

Abundance! - November 14th, 2021

“Abundance!”

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, November 14, 2021. “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series. 

Texts: Psalm 23:1-5, Mark 12: 38-44

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” 

Last week, I noted that the psalmist shifted from speaking about God to talking with God. And verse five continues in that direct communication and in a very personal way. I want to invite us to draw near to the metaphorical table God prepares and to explore each part of what we find there.

God prepares a table for us…

Think for a moment about what it takes to prepare a table for others… Or think about what it’s like when someone prepares a table for you that makes you feel cared for: your needs are known, allergies remembered, favorites waiting… things have been done to make room for you and anyone or anything you need to bring with you—a partner, child, accommodation for any physical needs… A table prepared with love is filled with beauty, bounty, thoughtfulness, and reflects generosity of time and resources. Now think about what this: God prepares a table for you. Imagine that table in your mind’s eye…

In the presence of my enemies… What’s that about?

It’s not about showing off, not about “my God loves me and not you” or about winning a prize and lording it over our enemies… It’s about God’s care and protection and sustenance even in moments of challenge and danger. In the midst of things, feelings, temptations, or persons that threaten us, God provides for us. When we are eaten up with fear or worry over broken relationships, when we feel alone, misunderstood, under attack, or simply not being able to receive what we need from others, God makes sure we eat! God sustains us. God prepares the table that gives us what we need. 

We may be given a listening ear. It may be a “come to Jesus” talk we’re given at the table. It might be some humble pie we need to consume. It might be extra protein to build our strength or soup to heal an illness. It might be comfort food to soothe our weary soul or broken heart. God’s table is abundant with grace sufficient for every need.

God anoints my head with oil…

In India I was invited into the small home of a new friend in the Dalit village where we stayed overnight. After being there a short time, the woman asked if she could do something with my hair. She poured perfumed oil over my head and then adorned my hair with a flower garland. In ancient Indian sanskrit, the word sneha means “to oil,” as well as “to love”—and to oil another’s hair is a tradition of bonding. What I was offered that afternoon in India was such a generous gift, an act of hospitality, a tender loving act, an honor. 

In the Bible, anointing is associated with honor of a different kind. It has to do with chosenness—as a king, queen, or messiah (“anointed one”). But its more general connotation is that the one who receives the oil is simply special, designated for greatness, called to do something big. 

Holy oil is used by many Christian traditions at the moment of Baptism or Confirmation, a ritual act that hearkens back to the biblical stories and, for Christians, connects us to our calling to follow God’s anointed one, Jesus.

At the table prepared for us by God, God anoints our head with oil! Us! You and me… not just one of us, ALL of us… we are identified by God as special, as those called to be and to do something big, what only we can. We are special in the eyes of God, valued and beloved. //

[move to table and pour water into chalice, overflowing to small bowl, overflowing to larger bowl…]

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil…” In these opening words of verse 5, the psalmist affirms that no matter what other people think of you or do to you, God provides for you, sustains you, values you, calls you, and loves you.

No wonder the next line is “My cup runs over!” This is a metaphor for gratitude, an awareness of the fullness of what is given. The abundance of God’s table, God’s provision, God’s grace, and God’s love is more than can be contained.

Sometimes in our lives we can get caught in a glass half full, glass half empty debate… When we’re overwhelmed and weary, the glass can seem not only half empty, but all the way empty… It’s easy to lose the larger perspective. Psalm 23 calls us back to that larger vision.

Rabbi Harold Kushner says, “Much of the time, we have as little control over the events of our lives as we do over the weather. But as with the weather, we have a great deal of control over the way we choose to see those events and respond to them. Reading between the lines, we can infer that the author of the Twenty-third Psalm did not have a life free from pain and problems. He has had to confront enemies. He has known the feeling of finding himself in the valley of the shadow of death. He can praise and thank God for all that God has done, not because life has been easy but precisely because life has often been hard and God has seen him through the hard times. If his eyes are dim with age, he thanks God that he can still see…If people close to him have died, he is grateful to have known their love. For the psalmist, the issue is not whether the cup is half full or half empty. Because he has learned to see everything in his life, including life itself, as a gift, his cup of blessings overflows.”  

Kushner goes on to remind us of the story from 2 Kings 4 in which a woman begs Elisha for help because her husband has died leaving her and her children with many debts. She says she has nothing to eat, but only one small jar of oil. The prophet tells her to gather as many vessels as possible and to pour the oil out. Her children gather jars and vessels from the community and the woman pours. The oil keeps flowing until the last container is filled. Rabbi Kushner says, “Our ability to enjoy God’s blessings is more a function of our capacity to receive them than of any limitations on God’s ability to bless us.”  There is no limit to God’s goodness and desire to bless us. Do we have the capacity to receive all that God desires to give? 

I love connecting this verse from Psalm 23 with the story of the woman and the oil. It not only provides another example of God’s desire to provide for us, but also reminds us that when members of the community offer what they have, God’s blessings continue to flow. The communal contribution of jars and vessels allowed the oil to continually be poured out, collected, and then used for food and for anointing—to save not only the woman and her children, but to sustain and bless others! It was only when there were no more jars that the oil stopped flowing.

Early in this series, I said that there is no reason for us to struggle to sustain the ministry and mission of Foundry. There is such abundance among us. It only requires that each of us truly give as much as we can, even if it seems that our very best is just a small jar of oil or worth only a widow’s mite. Every year, I share with you that I never ask you to do anything that I’m not willing to do myself. I give to Foundry well over a tithe (10%) of my net pay and increase what I give every year, even if it’s only a little, as my commitment to grow toward a tithe of my total compensation. This is a stretch and a spiritual discipline for me, a way of concretely putting my trust in God and demonstrating my gratitude for the overflowing gift and grace of God’s love and activity in my life and in and through Foundry.

God prepares a table for you and for me and for us as this Foundry family. The abundance of the table is amazing. There is no need for us get caught in fear about our cup being half empty. God’s blessing flows into our lives in so many ways and as we allow those blessings to overflow in gratitude and generosity, our contributions provide the means for others to be blessed in all the ways that happen through our shared mission and ministry. As we draw the circle wider, as we welcome all to the table, as we prepare a table as Foundry with justice and joy, God’s abundance will not only fill our communal cup, but will overflow. What can you offer to make it so? What will you return to God in gratitude and love? How will you help prepare a table big enough to receive all that God wishes to share?

https://foundryumc.org/archive/prepare-the-table-with-justice-and-joy

Shepherded Through the Valley - November 7th, 2021

“Shepherded Through the Valley”

A meditation shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, November 7, 2021, observation of All Saints Sunday. “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series. 

  Texts: Psalm 23:1-4, John 11:32-44

I don’t know how old I was the summer my Nana decided to give me a penny for every verse of the 23rd Psalm I could recite from memory. Each day of my visit, I was asked to add another verse. And the version of the Psalm I was given to memorize was the King James version: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” As a little one, I was uncertain why I’d say “yay” about walking through a place that sounded scary and sad. And I had no clue what it meant to say that God’s rod and staff comfort me. I didn’t know then that the King James translation likely mistook the Hebrew word tzalamut which means “deep darkness” for the two words tzal mavet meaning “the shadow of death.” But there is something in the poetry of the King James that captures something so profound, so true that I believe its deepest meaning got through to my child’s heart anyway. In fact, it is in this verse that we really get to heart of this Psalm. 

The poetic phrase “the valley of the shadow of death” paints a picture of deep valleys where the light of the sun is blocked by the mountains all around, leaving nothing but shadows. In that shadowy place the Psalmist says “I fear no evil”—not that there is no evil, but there is no need to fear. Why? “Thou art with me.” 

In the places of our lives that are overshadowed with fear, uncertainty, confusion, pain, and grief that brings us to our knees, our God is with us. Perhaps amid a life-threatening diagnosis for yourself someone has shown up so that you weren’t alone. Or maybe when a loved one is awaiting test results, is critically ill, or has died, you’ve experienced a person just being there with you in whatever state you’re in, tacitly giving permission for you to be however you needed to be…available to do something or nothing, to talk or to be silent. In my experience, the “being there” is the most important thing. The Psalmist experienced God in just that kind of way. In this verse, the writer shifts from talking about God the shepherd, to conversing with the Shepherd who is with them and who will guide them through the valley. 

In such deep darkness, finding our way over the mountains or through the valley can feel impossible. We can’t imagine ever feeling the proverbial warmth of the sun again. In that space, there are sometimes persons in our lives who know just how and when to gently remind us that the shadows need not be our dwelling place forever, those with the sensitivity to understand how to nudge us to shift, to take a step. The Lord, our shepherd, is present with us in the deepest darkness, God’s rod and staff—assurance of God’s justice and God’s compassion—comfort and help us in that place. And God is like that sensitive friend who nudges us a the right time. The Good Shepherd doesn’t desire that we remain in the places of suffering, pain, and grief. 

Of course, it is part of being human to travel those paths—at least if we have any love within us. We will find ourselves in the valley of the shadow of death at one point or another because human life is fragile and precious and it hurts when we come to our end or when those we love die an earthly death and are no longer part of our experience here. Jesus wept at the pain of death and at the suffering that death caused for those he loved. For those grieving the loss of a child, a partner, spouse, parent, sibling, dear friend, it can feel like we are shut up in the grave with the one we love. I know some persons who really struggle to not allow their whole lives—their own identity—to be defined by the loss they have suffered. For many others, to contemplate moving out of the shadows of grief feels like dishonoring the one we love; we may worry that we’ll forget or lose them if we move out of the valley.

Rabbi Harold Kushner explains that this is “why the Jewish calendar asks [adherents] to pause five times a year, on the four holiday seasons and on the anniversary of a death, to remember those whom we have loved and lost. It is a way of giving us permission to go on with our lives without having to fear that we will forget, that we will leave precious but painful memories behind.” Our annual All Saints celebration is one of those days in our Christian tradition, a time to give thanks and to remember those whose lives have enriched our own. It is a sad time, particularly for those whose grief is fresh, but also for all of us as we think about how much we miss our loved ones. 

But it is also a time of joy for the profound gift of loving and being loved, of learning from and being inspired by those we remember. And this day, as Kushner suggests, can be a reminder that we can go on with our lives, that we aren’t forgetting our loved ones. We have permission to live, to allow God to help us move through the valley and step into a new stretch of our life’s journey. Think about how you want your loved ones to live following your own departure from this life. Isn’t it a beautiful gift to imagine that your life can inspire others to keep loving when its hard, to keep going when the shadows are long and the terrain rocky and steep? Do you want your loved ones to remain stuck, to lose themselves, to stop living when you die?

Rabbi Kushner observes that the author of the 23rd Psalm was one who “knew from personal experience what it feels like [to be] in the valley of the shadow. But…also knew that the valley is a temporary lodging, not a permanent home…[They came to learn that God’s role is not to protect us from pain and loss, but to protect us from letting pain and loss define our lives. The psalmist turned to God and God worked a miracle. The miracle was not that a loved one came back to life. The miracle was that the psalmist found their way out of the valley of the shadow. And that is a miracle.”

In our Gospel today, Jesus came to the place of death and grieving. He was present with his dear friends and shared in their pain. And he did a miracle that revealed the power of God’s love to bring life out of death, new creation out of the place of grief. Jesus calls all of us out of the place of grief and shadows. Not when others thought it was the right time, but when God knew it was the right time. 

As we remember this day, calling the names of those we love and see no more, may we also hear Jesus calling our names, inviting us to honor the loves we have known by stepping out again and again into a new day, feeling sunlight on our face, facing the future unafraid. Because the Lord is our shepherd, and even when we journey through the most painful places we need not fear, for our loving God is with us, we are assured of God’s justice and compassion and, while the shadows grow long and threaten to overtake us, the promise, always, is that morning is coming. And “joy comes with the morning!” (Ps 30:5) 

https://foundryumc.org/archive

Are We There Yet - Oct 31st, 2021

“Are We There Yet?”

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, October 31, 2021, the twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost. “Prepare the Table with Justice and Joy” series. 

  Texts: Psalm 23:1-3, Mark 12:28-34

We are taking our time on our journey through the 23rd Psalm. Two and a half verses have taken us 4 weeks and we’ll get through the final three verses by Thanksgiving. Today, we are in the middle of the journey, verse 3b: “God leads me in right paths for His name’s sake.”

 

We live in a culture that isn’t always so good at taking our time. Waiting is generally not high on our “favorite things to do” lists. The path we tend to want is one that gets us where we are going as soon as possible. I think about how excited I am when my navigation app interrupts regularly-scheduled programming to announce I could save 4 minutes by taking a different route! Yes! Of course I want to do that! 

I often wish God was more like my navigation app. I wish I could plug in my preferred destination in life and get not only turn-by-turn guidance, but an ETA. Over the course of the pandemic, I reflected much about the extreme disorientation caused by not knowing how long a thing is going to last. Early on it was how long do we have to stay in quarantine and when will there be a vaccine? Then how long until we can safely gather in worship? When will it be safe to sing without masks? How long until our children will finally be vaccinated? Added to that, of course, are the questions about when our nation might finally grow the collective moral spine to put into policy and practice the high ideals we profess in our words. How long will it take to not just talk about but truly live “liberty and justice for ALL?” 

 

If God the good shepherd is leading us on a path, I want both the illustrated picture with turn-by-turn guidance AND an estimated time for when we’ll reach the longed-for destination. Whether the uncertainty and waiting is related to pandemics or relationships or vocation or clarity of direction or spiritual growth or health or whatever, the not knowing how long is beyond difficult. …I hear my brother, sister, and me as children in the back seat on one of our many trips to Arkansas or Texas to see our grandparents—you know the refrain: Are we there yet? How much longer?

 

Where is God with the directions for how to accomplish what we’re trying so hard to do and to get us to the finish line? Where is God with the time-saving option to get us where we want to be? Because we want to get there NOW.

 

Rabbi Harold Kushner says, “There is a story in the Talmud about the traveler who asks a child, ‘Is there a shortcut to such-and-such a village?’ The child answers, ‘There is a shortcut that is long and a long way that is short.’” Kushner then shares that the Hebrew phrase in verse 3b is more complex than can be easily captured in translation. He says “right paths” “literally means ‘roundabout ways that end up in the right direction.’” So, as the child says, there may be shortcuts or “easier” paths to our destination, but they could end up taking longer, being harder, and costing more in the end. 

 

I was curious about Kushner’s translation of “right paths” and discovered that the Hebrew word translated “path” (בְמַעְגְּלֵי־—ma’aglei –mah-gaw lah) literally means a circumvallation, an entrenchment—or figuratively, a wagon track. And the word shows up in biblical stories as the “circle of the camp.” Some resources translate the word simply “in circles.” Kushner’s nuanced Hebrew helps us understand that the “path” is not a straight line from point A to point B. It has a circular tendency, is a “roundabout way that ends up in the right direction.” It is “dug in”—not in the sense of stubbornness, but of being an intentional path, a worn path, a path with a purpose. //

 

Today we celebrate Holy Baptism. This is not the beginning of God’s love in Lillian-Pierce’s life, but it the beginning of an intentional journey as part of the Body of Christ, the church. It is the beginning of a life-long path, a long and winding road of learning and growing in God’s love and grace. Every person’s journey is deeply unique and the promise is that God is with each of us to guide us. Everything we go through from the highest joys to the experiences that, in the moment, we find unbearably painful, disappointing, or even dull are all things that shape and form us and can provide us with resources for living more wisely, with greater self-awareness, humility, and strength. Our commitment to one another as Foundry family is that, at every age and stage of our lives, all along the “roundabout” path of our lives, relationships and resources will be available to nurture, explore, and sustain our spiritual journey. No matter what. 

 

And just as with any one person, every community of faith has its own unique twisty, turny journey of growth and development. For more than 207 years, through challenging seasons, moments of conflict or tension, big decision points, times of great change and times when it seemed nothing much was happening or we were just getting through—in and through all of that, God has been at work, guiding and calling and offering opportunities for the people of Foundry to be curious, to wonder, to wrestle with things, to learn and to grow as a congregation. Foundry Church has been in the midst of culture change for many recent years, seeking to be adaptive and responsive to the shifting landscape of the world, to the experiences of persons around us, and the needs of this generation of the Foundry family. To be a midwife of new life through culture change in congregations is the work God has given me again and again. The work is messy, surprising, and not accomplished in a day, a year, or even several. While there are signposts along the way for those who know where to look, culture change is a largely unmapped sojourn of unknown duration—often through wilderness places—where I inevitably join the chorus of God’s people who’ve long cried, “How long, O Lord? Are we there yet??” As with our lives, the promise—and my personal experience—is that, when we truly seek God’s guidance, the Good Shepherd, who is always at work in our midst, will bring us around to an experience of greater health and flourishing. God will get us where we need to go. There will likely be construction delays, accidents, and a variety of other things that will slow our roll to orange or red…but God will get us through.

 

It often feels or appears that things aren’t moving or changing at all. The “circular tendency” of the “right path” can simply leave us feeling like we’re going in circles, stuck in cycles that will never really change. Recently, I’ve heard more than one reaction to reading Chocolate City: A History of Race and Democracy in the Nation’s Capital expressing some level of despair over the way that the more things change, the more they stay the same. And I remember a conversation with a close friend who expressed frustration that he seemed to be going in circles, thinking he had made some progress but then grappling with the very same issues over and over again. 

 

The spiritual practice of traveling the labyrinth path is instructive here. The labyrinth is not a maze, a puzzle, or a trap, but are rather a continuous path that twists and turns, eventually leading to the center. There are no dead ends. It is a circular journey that continually invites you to meet yourself at the same place, yet not quite. It feels that you are going in circles as you find yourself meeting a familiar issue again, but with every revolution, the path is taking you deeper toward the center of the circle. Every revolution changes you because you have taken another turn. And even though you can’t perceive it, you have come a long way. One of my mentors, Rev. Jesse Jackson, Sr., is good at reminding all of us that the challenges to achieving racial equity and justice are the same as always, but significant things have been achieved, things have changed, we are dealing with the same issues, but at a whole new level. With each revolution, we grow closer to the center we seek. //

 

It has been interesting to see how the Gospel passages from the lectionary have paired with our focus text from Psalm 23. Today, we receive from Jesus the words that give shape to Foundry’s mission and vision, the words of the “great commandment”—to love God with all we are and to love our neighbor as ourselves. The center of the Gospel is simply this: love. The center into which God guides us “in roundabout ways” is love. The right path is love. Loving God and neighbor is not a short-term project or a simple, obstacle-free line from point A to point B. It is not without its wilderness places and unknowns, its conflicts and disappointments. Loving God and neighbor requires work and commitment, grace and forgiveness. It is the work of a lifetime, learning to love as God loves.

 

Are we there yet? By God’s grace and with the guidance of the Good Shepherd, we are on the path of love, humility, compassion, mercy, and justice in our lives and as Foundry Church. And so, on that path, even when we don’t know how long it will take or what to expect, we can receive with assurance the words spoken by Jesus to the scribe: You are not far from the Kin-dom of heaven. 

 

Are we there yet? God, our shepherd, guides us on right paths…we are not far. So for God’s sake, for our neighbors’ lives, and our own, let’s keep going.