Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons

Singing By Heart - December 27th, 2020

Singing By Heart

A reflection shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, December 27, 2020, the first Sunday after Christmas.

          Text: Luke 2:22-40

Most people who share Christian faith will say they have a favorite Christmas carol, song, or album—or maybe several! I am on the “several” team… 

Music, for many of us is at the heart of our spiritual lives. 

Songs are experienced and shared in many ways, they come in different styles and with different vibes. 

And songs are part of our faith tradition from the ancient of days. Miriam and brother Moses sang a song of victory and joy at God’s liberating power to bring Israel out of slavery. There are the whole books of Lamentations—five dirges mourning the fall of Jerusalem and the Song of Songs—the love song to rule all others! And of course the Psalms are songs—“the hymnbook of the Bible.” There is the so-called “Christ hymn” found in Philippians 2. And in the Gospels we have Mary’s Magnificat and Zechariah’s song (Blessed be the God of Israel who comes to set us free… UMH 209). In both Matthew and Mark we are told that Jesus and the disciples sang hymns (Mt 26:30, Mk 14:26). And today we get yet another song. The song of prophet Simeon—“Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” The prophet Anna likely also had her own song of praise and proclamation, though that one isn’t included in the text. 

The song (or canticle) of Simeon is found in our UM Hymnal (#225) though I doubt that many of us know it. For many in other parts of the Christians family, it is known well because it’s part of the liturgy of the hours, a closing song for night prayer or compline. For those who pray using the hours, Simeon’s song is as familiar as your favorite carol. It’s a song many know by heart.

Think about that phrase “to know something by heart…” What a line! Something that you know without having to “think” about it, to know something from a “heart place,” a part of yourself that is deeper and perhaps more integrated into your being…  That’s the way much of our music is—and certainly for most of us, the music of this season. 

As I read this story we’ve received from Luke today, I also found myself resonating with the image of Mary and Joseph bringing Jesus to the temple for the religious rites. Lord, once we get out of this pandemic situation, I imagine there’s gonna be a run on folk bringing their little ones for the rites!! I always love this reminder that Jesus was raised up in the community of God’s people. Jesus was presented and circumcised as an infant—the Jewish rite of initiation into the covenant, made the annual religious pilgrimage with his family to Jerusalem for Passover (Luke 2:41ff.), and made a habit of going to synagogue on the sabbath day (Lk 4:16). No wonder he knew the scriptures and the songs of his faith. Anyone who knows a thing about child development is that what is learned and experienced in our earliest years are things that shape and form us and remain with us! And folk who know about human development generally know that things that are habitually repeated—words, actions, songs—become embedded in our DNA (I think of this as a unity, physical/spiritual/emotional). 

People have joked with me over the years about how it seems I know all the words to the songs in the hymnal. The truth is that I was raised singing these songs and have sung them pretty consistently all of my life. And in this Christmas season, there are certain songs—some in the hymnal and others not—that I began hearing as an infant. The words and melodies reside deep in my being. Over the years, I have come to understand just now foundational the songs I was taught as a child and youth are to my understanding of God. I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart! If the devil doesn’t like it he can sit on a tack! (Sacred Resistance!)...  I am a promise, I am a possibility, I am a promise, with a capital “P” I am a great big bundle of potentiality! And I am learning to hear God’s voice and I am trying to make the right choices. I’m a promise to be anything God wants me to be… O God of the stars, the sun, and the moon, O God of the wind and the sea, though you’re everywhere, how amazing it is that you can be here with me… As a youth, the music of Jim and Jean Strathdee was central to my experience. And little did I know that one of our favorite songs to sing at camp—“I am the Light of the World”—was teaching me a version of Howard Thurman’s reflection often called “the work of Christmas.” The lyrics I sang at Camp Egan near Tahlequah, Oklahoma included, “When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, with the kings and the shepherds have found their way home, the work of Christmas is begun… to find the lost and lonely one, to heal the broken soul with love, to feed the hungry children with warmth and good food, to feel the earth below the sky above!... to free the prisoner from all chains, to make the powerful care, to rebuild the nations with strength of good will, to see God’s children everywhere…. to bring hope to every task you do, to dance at a baby’s new birth, to make music in an old person’s heart and sing to the colours of the earth!... I am the light of the world! You people come and follow me. If you follow and love you’ll learn the mystery of what you were meant to do and be.”

These words, together with the words of Charles Wesley, Fanny Crosby, Charles Tindley, and so many more are the ground from which all my understandings of God, other people, and my place in the world have grown. Singing seems to set the words in our spirits and to help them take root—Music helps us to “learn things by heart…” 

It was a joy to receive again our children singing on Christmas eve—that piece from the 2018 pageant was wonderful! And it makes me newly give thanks for the ways that we continue to create space for people of all ages to sing—as our ancestors have done through the ages—to sing praise and glory to God for all of God’s tender mercies and beautiful gifts. I give thanks for the ways that we continue to value singing and music—not as entertainment, but as worship, as prayer, as praise, as a proclamation, as a way for Spirit to teach us the faith, to help it lodge more deeply in our being. 

Thanks be to God for the best gift of all, Jesus, in whom all God’s promises are fulfilled, the one who teaches us not only to learn things by heart, to sing things by heart, but who takes residence in our heart and helps us have the courage to be truly led by heart…to free the prisoner from all chains, to make the powerful care, to rebuild the nations with strength of good will, to see God’s children everywhere…

https://foundryumc.org/

The Fullness of Time - December 24th, 2020

The Fullness of Time

A homily preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, December 24, 2020, Christmas Eve.

          Text: Luke 2:1-20

I’ve become increasingly tempted to purchase clever, comfy t-shirts. You know the ones I mean? The ones with quips like “Next week has been exhausting” or “Cupcakes are muffins that believed in miracles.” An early fave is: “Underestimate me. That’ll be fun.” This past week, I saw a new one, a simple line drawing of a glass filled about halfway. To the side there were two brackets measuring “1/2 water” and “1/2 air.” And the caption: “Technically, the glass is always full.”

2020 has been a year in which it may be difficult to perceive the glass as even half-full. Many have experienced loss—of jobs, loved ones, relationships, health. It is a year in which we as a nation have been reminded of vast, empty spaces in our country where compassion and grace for others belong. It’s a year that has revealed the ongoing deficit of equity and justice for our black, brown, indigenous, and impoverished siblings. 2020 has been a year of lack and emptiness in many ways. We’ve spoken about it throughout these months as a time of wilderness wandering—a place of uncertainty, danger, vulnerability, and unknowing.

In the Middle Eastern wilderness of old, there are no street lamps, no flashlights, no GPS gadgets, or cell phones; and if clouds cover the moon and stars, the terrain becomes not only dangerous, but impassable. If you get lost or separated from your people, well…it’s rough out there. 

But… That’s the first word of scripture we heard tonight: “But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish.” Another translation of Isaiah 9:1 is “Nevertheless, that time of darkness and despair shall not go on forever.” But…nevertheless…[the text continues] those who walked in darkness have seen a great light, upon them light has shined. (Is 9:2)

The shepherds were skillful at navigating the wilderness with their flocks, but when the beautiful dark sky becomes filled with God’s glory in an unfamiliar way they were terrified. “But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.” (Lk 2:10) 

And here’s some of that good news: When your cup seems empty of what’s needed most, when things are uncertain and unfamiliar making you fearful and anxious, when all you perceive is pain, grief, anger, loss, loneliness, or lack, when others look at you or a situation and say there is no hope, the Christmas story interrupts—not ignoring the realities of our lives and world—but saying: “Nevertheless this suffering will not last forever. For a child is born for us who is a light for our path, a guide for the Way, a Prince of Peace, one who comes to save us!”

And so we sing “Joy to the world! The Lord has come! Joy to the world! The Savior reigns with truth and grace, with righteousness and all the wonders of love!”

And we sing this song even as sirens of ambulance and firetruck speed by, even as those on earthly “thrones” of power and wealth withhold what’s needed for the survival of siblings who find themselves out in the cold, with insufficient or no shelter, hospitality, welcome, food, or experiencing other harsh conditions of this current wilderness. We sing our song even as injustice and bigotry are championed by the powers that be in ways that continue to make the world unsafe for impoverished infants like Jesus, refugee children like Jesus, little brown boys like Jesus.

We sing our songs nevertheless not because we are ignoring or accepting those realities but because we have received the great gift of Jesus in whom “all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,” (Col 1:19) the one who has come into the world in flesh and blood just like ours and touched through personal experience all the vulnerable, broken places in our lives and our world and infused them with divine presence, the one who showed us how to sing songs of love and joy even in the midst of struggle and pain.

“The fullness of time” generally refers to a time when things are ready or ripe, the “right time” for something to occur. My journey through the 2020 Advent season has led me to a new understanding of what the “fullness of time” can mean: in every moment of life, there is always present or possible both sorrow and joy, acts of hatred and acts of sacrificial love, doors closing and others opening. Some among us have experienced amazing joys in 2020—births, new opportunities, insight, marriage or new relationships, liberation of various kinds AND this while also experiencing the pain and fear and rage and loss of the pandemics marking this time. Others have struggled mightily through deaths and job loss and illness and other painful realities of life this year AND have found moments of extraordinary beauty and joy even still. 

It struck me yesterday as I sat in the Foundry sanctuary, newly grappling with the reality that the livestream for tonight couldn’t happen there due to connectivity issues...and the Foundry bells were ringing their noonday reminder of God’s presence when, all of a sudden the fire alarm started going off, complete with loud, honking chirps and flashing lights. And I thought, “This is the way it is: our time is always full of both danger and vulnerability and the beauty and power of God’s love and mercy.” The disappointment for me of not being in our sanctuary tonight, simply highlights what a gift our experiences in community truly are and offers an opportunity for gratitude and joy…and not taking such good gifts for granted.

God really is Emmanuel. God is with us, perceived or not. When the glass seems half empty, God’s presence not only fills the other half, but bubbles up like a wellspring and our cup overflows. The wellspring begins in God’s own heart, a heart so full of love and mercy that it spills over into Jesus of Nazareth whose love and mercy spills over into all creation. We’re told in scripture that happened “in the fullness of time.” (Gal 4:4) Jesus lived all his life as a witness to the power of love, grace, justice, and compassion. Jesus lived all his life with open arms and heart extending to each and to all the wonders of God’s love. 

And as we gather as Foundry and as a human family tonight, spread out across the city, region, nation, and world, we sing again our songs of joy. Because the hopes and fears of all the years are met in Jesus tonight, the dear Christ enters into every beautiful, broken heart and, by God’s tender grace, teaches each one how to be open and then… filled to overflowing. 

https://foundryumc.org/

Now…Nothing Will Be Impossible - December 20th, 2020

Now…Nothing Will Be Impossible

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, December 20, 2020, “The Fullness of Time” series.

      Text: Luke 1:26-38, 46b-55

“Mary…you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus…And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren.”

And NOW…what has seemed impossible will be revealed as… possible? But, seriously, should we be surprised that old Zechariah had some questions when God’s messenger, Gabriel, announced that Elizabeth would conceive a son after all indicators pointed to “past it?”  Should we be surprised that it took Mary a minute to catch up with what was happening, that she was “perplexed” at the arrival and greeting of Gabriel? After all, she was a 14 year old girl without flashy pedigree, husband, or cultural agency—she did not live in a time and place where young women were given voice or choice. Pregnancy out of wedlock was a crime and would threaten both hers and the child’s life and her betrothed, well, that was probably over. And yet she is singled out by God with he assurance that the child will not only survive but thrive. She is singled out by God as worthy of being mother of a king. This simply isn’t how things are done. This isn’t how the world works. This isn’t possible. And notice that Gabriel doesn’t just deliver this proclamation and depart, but evidently waits around to see if Mary is in, a signal that Mary was given at least some measure of agency. “Here am I…Let it be with me according to your word.” Gabriel then departs with the good news: “She said yes!”

The angel communicates to Mary that some things “will” take place. “You will conceive”… “He will be great”… “of his kingdom there will be no end”… “The power of the Most High will overshadow you”… “the child to be born will be holy…the Son of God.” It’s all just words at that point…Gabe pulling up saying, “Hey Mary, these impossible things will be…trust me.” And in the bit of the narrative not received aloud today, after her encounter with Gabriel, Mary travels to her six-months-pregnant cousin, Elizabeth, who says of Mary, “blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” (Lk 1:45)

It’s among the first of the Christmas wonders, this belief. So much in our world—then and now—might suggest that we choose otherwise. Why did Mary believe when everything about the situation was impossible? Evidently, she knew the stories of her Jewish faith, like the story of Hannah who sang at her long-awaited child Samuel’s birth. Mary’s song echoes her ancestor Hannah and is traditionally called the “Magnificat.” It paints a portrait of a certain kind of God who is merciful, strong, impatient with destructive pride, disruptive of the status quo, a God who overturns the “way things work” so that the hungry and lowly ones receive the good things usually reserved for the rich and powerful. 

This is the God Mary knows—and these things are not, in her song, things that “will be,” but are proclaimed as things that are, things that have already taken place. This is the way our God acts, she sings. This is what our God does from generation to generation, she proclaims. And in the song, Mary recognizes that she has been added to God’s mighty acts, that she is now part of God’s revolutionary love story: “Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me.”

Throughout this Advent season, our reflections have pulled words from the Gospel texts that highlight the dynamic time-infused nature of the story we tell and point to God’s engagement with the human family throughout time. “After that suffering”… “The beginning of the good news”… “The One who is coming after”… “Now…nothing will be impossible.” Advent is supposed to be a season of waiting and anticipation, a season of trusting the promise that the birth of Jesus, the birth of perfect love, justice, wisdom, compassion, and mercy will be born again in our time. And yet when it comes right down to it—maybe it’s just me—I am weary of waiting…and so wander back into where we began: “How long, O Lord?” If all that justice and stuff are what you do from generation to generation, why not get from “will be” to “now?” 

How long, O Lord? How long until the “Proud Boys” are scattered in the racist imaginations of their hearts? How long until those in the halls of government at every level who abuse their power are truly dethroned and their sway dismantled? How long until privilege is not reserved for those with the least melanin in their skin? How long until those brought low by the pandemics of white supremacy and COVID receive good things like debt, rent, and student loan forgiveness, gap pay, reparations, equity in healthcare, and living wages instead of empty promises and crumbs? How long until it would be unthinkable that as one scholar has suggested “America’s billionaires could give everybody in the country a $3000 stimulus check and still be richer than they were before the pandemic?” 

We may be tempted to get twisted up in disappointment and cynicism, we may settle for egg nog or cookies or sparkly things as the only sources of joy, giving up the energy it takes to keep hoping the story we receive at Christmas is believable in any way. And I’m not even talking about believing any particular assertion of angelic beings or “a virgin birth,” I’m talking about the belief in a God who actually does act with a mighty arm on behalf of the impoverished and oppressed, the unexpected and simple ones. We can lose our faith in God. That’s an option. Or we might pause and remember that, throughout all of time, God doesn’t lose faith in us even with our miserable track record as a human family. 

The story we tell today is a shining example of some humans who were worthy of God’s faith.  They recognized that, in order for the things God says will be to occur sooner, they had to do their part now. Mary and Elizabeth respond in their time, their “now,” and bear new life into their generation, new life that flows into every generation to come. Without Elizabeth, there’s no John the Baptizer, no preparer of the Way. Without Mary and her “yes,” there is no Jesus and all the life and hope and saving grace he brings. In short, what Elizabeth and Mary did in their “now” made possible the promised “will be.” We exist now as this faith community because Mary not only believed that God was able to fulfill the promise of new life, but also said, “Here am I…”

From generation to generation, God gives us what we need to do what is right, to bring healing, to live justly, to share life together such that all have what they need, to let go the need to steal or to overpower or harm others. God helps us recognize that what we already have is enough to do some good in the world with and for others. God has given us everything, promised everything, hung in there with us when we turn up our noses, when we receive a divine message and respond with some version of “That’s asking too much. That’s too expensive. I don’t have time. Someone else will take care of it. I am not equipped. Thanks anyway.” If we all did our part, focusing our energy and resources on responding with a “Here I am!” to God’s call, the moral arc might get bent more quickly. The “How long?” question is partly ours to answer! And this is our now.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke of “the fierce urgency of now.” In his brave and deeply controversial speech at Riverside Church, challenging the U.S. war in Vietnam he said, “We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history, there ‘is’ such a thing as being too late. This is no time for apathy or complacency. This is a time for vigorous and positive action.” We as Foundry Church have focused a great deal over these past months on our call for “such a time as this.” I have pressed again and again the point that this is our stretch of a long journey toward God’s vision of a truly just and gentle world. Our time is now. In the midst of the pandemics of systemic racism and COVID, deepening political and relational divides, and crises of health, education, employment, environment, and more, there is no time for apathy or complacency or pushing off responsibility onto God as though we couldn’t get something done if we each did our part. What are you doing now for justice, for peace, for love? If Josie Wright Martin at age 11 can raise and contribute over $6000 to Foundry’s work, well…? Pray, befriend, serve, lead, teach, give…

At the end of this challenging year, we look ahead not only to things that will be but to what God is doing right now. We as Foundry are called to participate, to play a role in the mending work of God, to engage and do and dream and share things in the months ahead that will be life-changing, life-giving, that will change the world. Some may worry whether we’ll have enough money, commitment, creativity, perseverance to discern, much less do, all we’re given to do and to be and to become. But I believe that everything we need is already present among us, that we are worthy of God’s faith in us, and that, as we respond to God’s call and each do what we can do now, the will be will… BE.  For nothing will be impossible with God! 

https://foundryumc.org/

The One Who Is Coming - December 13th, 2020

The One Who Is Coming

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, December 13, 2020, “The Fullness of Time” series.

      Text: John 1:6-8, 19-28

November 4th, 2020 was a Wednesday. It was the day after the election. And, since it was Wednesday, it was a day I set up my stack of boxes on top of an ottoman in the purple parlor of my home, ran an ethernet cable from the second floor interwebs box down the stairs to plug into my laptop perched on the boxes, rigged the stationary sheer curtain on the picture window behind me with a random curtain rod to provide protection from glare, and then sat in on the sofa for a while in the swirl of emotion and thoughts stirred by that particular, historical moment. I was preparing, of course, for my weekly FaceBook Live “ponderings,” my unscripted, mid-week message that has become part of my—and Foundry’s—weekly rhythm through the pandemics of 2020.

What I shared that day was a reminder that our work in the world is the same regardless of who is president—because our God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. But what caught me off-guard as I began to speak was the joy I felt and proclaimed in that moment of deep uncertainty. I was surprised to hear myself proclaim “this is the day the Lord has made, let’s rejoice.” Because in addition to uncertainty, I was among those feeling deep disappointment (and maybe some despair) that so many in our nation maintained or added their support for a person whose racism, bullying, narcissism, and ineptitude around not only COVID but other issues and crises continue to cause damage and are well documented—regardless of how vociferously some claim otherwise. I share this not as a jab at those who disagree with me politically, but simply as an example of the way that joy can surprise us sometimes. And, regardless of where you find yourself politically, there has been pretty widespread distress over the chasm that so starkly divides the people of this nation and the ongoing vitriol and violence being perpetrated as a result. I felt strange and perhaps guilty that day proclaiming any message of rejoicing. And yet, in my unscripted sermon, it was joy that emerged.

Today is the third Sunday of Advent—or Gaudete/Rejoice (Latin) Sunday. The traditional focus is on “joy.”  The pink color of the candle we light on this Sunday is a symbol of the joy that emerges as we draw closer to the birth of Christ. And it seems that every year as this Sunday rolls around the tension between the painful realities in the world and the invitation to joy is so taut that it could snap at any moment…  If that has been true in past years, Lord knows it is true in 2020. COVID cases and deaths are surging just as was predicted by scientists; awareness of the U.S.-sanctioned executions of imprisoned siblings is once again making headlines—as if the atrocity of the death penalty is a new thing in our land; the energies of white supremacy continue to roil all around and within us doing ongoing damage to black and brown siblings in every possible way; more than 10 million persons are unemployed in this nation even as the gap between rich and poor continues to grow; a “tsunami” of evictions looms; we see no end in sight for the dog-whistling and mobilization of hate groups to “stand by”; therapists and pastors and social workers are overrun with folk needing their care; so many hearts are lonely and bodies hungry… In the midst of all this and so much more, we are invited to contemplate joy. Joy.

Notice I did not say to feel joy as if we could manufacture it. As with that moment during my livestream, joy appears when it will. And it doesn’t equate to being “happy.” It is something else altogether.

The late Orthodox Christian Priest Alexander Schmemann once wrote, “The knowledge of the fallen world does not kill joy, which emanates in this world, always, constantly, as a bright sorrow.”

I have been captivated by the phrase “a bright sorrow” all the years since first encountering these words. It captures the tension that seems inherent in any honest experience of joy. Describing joy as an emanation of “a bright sorrow” is enigmatic but seems, somehow, true. Within the context of our spiritual tradition, the pain and injustice of this broken world may kill many things, but cannot kill joy.

As I pondered all this I wondered why those who organized the Revised Common Lectionary selected this encore story of John right after last week’s story of John—really just two different gospel accounts of the same story. And why would they select this gospel story for “Rejoice Sunday?” 

Certainly the emphasis is different between the two accounts of John. But do we really need both of these texts so close to each other? Maybe someone remembered how quickly we move on, how easy and typical it is for us to ignore the prophets. 

After all, prophets often rub us the wrong way. They repeat themselves. They won’t let things go. They won’t let us off the hook. They have seen into the depth of pain and suffering around us such that they will not rest until freedom comes. Spirit has touched them so that they care less about their own daily rounds and more about the propagation of food for the hungry, shelter for the unhoused, sustenance for those who are impoverished, friendship with the outcast and the lonely, dignity and equity for the oppressed, and renewal for societies breaking under the weight of shiny, fast things like words and bullets and needles and machines and the siren call of excess. Prophets could give a flip about our respectability politics and are impatient with things that don’t matter to the nourishment of human bodies and spirits and are fearless in advocacy against all that does harm. Prophets are always trying to get up in our business!

Maybe the setup of the lectionary is a way to mimic the actual activity of wilderness criers across the ages, the way they show up again and again and again crying out in hope that someone will finally get the message. This prophet, John, baptizes with water and points to the one who is coming after…the one more powerful, the one who baptizes with Holy Spirit, the one who is the light of the world. Are we paying attention? Are we willing to stay in the flow of the river of grace and mercy long enough to step into a truly new way of being in the world? Are we receiving what John is saying? 

The one who is coming with Holy Spirit power and as light seen by people who walk in darkness is prophesied in the book of Isaiah. And both these prophecies were received in times of temptation to idolatry, times of upheaval and danger for the nation of Israel. Just as we experience today, fear, anxiety, distraction, violence, vulnerability, and discouragement were all part of the picture. So much of the wilderness criers’ message is a warning and a call to repentance…but here and there and now and again, all of a sudden, the prophetic texts are punctuated with lines like these—like joy that bubbles up out of nowhere:

The people who walked in darkness
    have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
    on them light has shined.
3 You have multiplied the nation,
    you have increased its joy;…
4 For the yoke of their burden,
    and the bar across their shoulders,
    the rod of their oppressor,
    you have broken…

6 For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

7 His authority shall grow continually,
    and there shall be endless peace…

    He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness... (Isaiah 9:2-7, selected)

And these…

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
    because the Lord has anointed me;
… to bring good news to the oppressed,
    to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
    and release to the prisoners;
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor,…
    to comfort all who mourn;…
4 They shall build up the ancient ruins,
    they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
    the devastations of many generations.

For I the Lord love justice... (Isaiah 61:1-4, 8, selected)

These ancient words give content to our Advent hope and undergird the prophecy of John centuries later. Notice that the promise is liberation, peace, righteousness, justice. Notice that the anointed one comes to set people free so that they might participate in building up, raising up, repairing what has been devastated over many generations. // And perhaps this is the heart of the matter.

John was raised up—like the prophet Isaiah—as a witness to God and reminds us again and again, Advent after Advent, year after year, (and this year) week after week, that God is at work, that One more powerful is coming to meet us in the wildernesses and tensions and broken places of our lives, and that, with God’s help, we ourselves have a part to play in what God is doing in the world.  

You and I will be baptized with Holy Spirit! You and I will be given light when the night is long so that we might journey through until the storm passes over and the morning comes. And this, so that you and I will be set free and given power to participate with God in God’s mighty acts of salvation, love, justice, and reparation of the devastation of generations… We can be part of God’s work in the world! Our time is connected to God’s time, our history is part of God’s salvation history, our lives—even yours and mine—are called to participate in the prophetic work of God’s mending and movement toward the divine vision of creation restored in all wholeness.

I once wrote, “Prophetic witness will always cry out in grief over the suffering of innocents, the callous inhumanity of so many in power, the greedy destruction of what is good and true and beautiful. Because a prophet looks upon the world and sees beauty and goodness, love and harmony, sees both what is and what can be.” To perceive even in or through the pain of the present moment “what can be” might be described as an emanation of “a bright sorrow”…a longing for that which is possible. To look deeply into the now and yet perceive One who is coming into the world to enfold and energize us with purposeful lives and with a love that, in the final analysis, will always win…that might inspire at least an inkling…of joy.

https://foundryumc.org/

The Beginning of the Good News - December 6th, 2020

The Beginning of the Good News

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, October December 6, 2020, “The Fullness of Time” series.

  Text: Mark 1:1-8

“Once upon a time...” “In the beginning was...” That’s the way it always starts off. Every story, gospel, history, chronicle, myth, legend, folktale, or old wives’ tale blues riff begins with “Woke up this mornin’...” Rock legend Steven Tyler is the source of this little truth nugget. Stories have a beginning. And in the span of human time, every beginning means that something is ending or, at least, changing. If a new story is told, the existing story is amended or released.

“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

The beginning of the gospel according to Mark begins with a fragment, a sentence with no ending. I guess I’d always known that, but it struck me in a peculiar way this year. I found myself puzzling over it—probably more than it warrants. Steven Tyler came to the rescue, reminding me that maybe this sentence fragment is simply the way stories begin, a signal of a new chapter in the human story.

And what a gift to receive a new chapter that begins with the promise of good news! // When bad news has been our daily bread, when we’ve had to labor to hold on to hope, when we’ve been bombarded with confusion and gaslighting and reports of violence and abuses of every kind, our bodies and spirits long for a good word, some good news. Bring on the εὐαγγελίου (euangeliou), the “gospel,” of Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, the anointed one in whom the fullness of God was pleased to dwell!

Lest we get ahead of ourselves, notice that the most ancient account of the good news of Jesus begins in the wilderness. It doesn’t begin in the party hall or throne room. It doesn’t begin in a time of peace and plenty. It doesn’t even begin in a bucolic and potentially sappified setting with a manger and glowing light. No. In Mark’s version the beginning is in the wilderness. The wilderness is where Israel rebelled against God—not once, not twice, but again and again. The wilderness is also where God continued to show up with mercy, sustenance, and guidance bringing water from a rock, manna from heaven, and elemental signs to lead the people forward.

And the Jordan river where John does his baptizing runs through the wilderness and is a symbolic place of crossing over from one life to the next. Having visited that place for the first time in January of this year, I can tell you the Jordan is not a clear, sparkling river. Anthony accidentally drank some of the water I’d set aside to bring home and was afraid he was a goner. Just sayin. That place now as then is a place surrounded by violence and struggle and deep-seated enmity among people and nations.

The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ starts with a fragment, echoes of prophecy cried out by John, reverberating across the stark wilderness landscape of an occupied land filled with ancient enmities and alighting on the waters of a murky river. The good news begins right where it is needed—in places of struggle and uncertainty.

And then, as now, good news was a draw. We are told that “all the people of Jerusalem were going out” to receive John’s “baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Would that be received by us as “good news” today? The words—“repentance”…“sins”—have become heavy with the baggage laid upon them, so heavy that they might sink to the bottom of the river once we have thrown them away. But I hope we won’t throw out the gospel truth with the bath water. And there is gospel—good news—to be found here.

To repent is to acknowledge something is wrong and turn away from it. It is being honest about our sin, about the things that we have done and left undone that separate us from God and other people, things that have done harm. Just imagine if you had to eternally drag around all that baggage…imagine if there was no facility available for clearing our conscience, writing a new chapter, making new choices and commitments about how to live?

A baptism with water, even iffy, murky water as found in today’s Jordan River, is a washing, a cleansing. And that is a good feeling! Think about any time in your life when you’ve not been able to have a bath or shower for a time. Perhaps it was during a hospitalization or on a mission trip or work assignment without the kinds of facilities available to most of us; or perhaps for some of us, it was during a time lived on the street or in our car. Those moments help us understand what a privilege it is to get to take a shower! After many days or weeks, you emerge from the water, feeling like a new person! 

And water baptism is, at its most elemental level, a washing facility. The water baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins is an opportunity to remove at least a layer of the gunk that clogs the arteries of our hearts so that love can’t flow freely, the grime of resentment and regret that has built up on our being over the years making us—if we’re being honest—small-minded and ashamed, the prejudicial gack that has been smeared over our proverbial eyes that keeps us from perceiving what is real, from perceiving every human as our family. A water baptism is very good news! Because it means that, should we so choose, we can present ourselves acknowledging we are in need of a scrub… and emerge from the waters lighter, free, and shining…maybe like a new person!

This baptism is not only found at the beginning of the good news but is, itself, the beginning of the good news. It is the necessary preparation for what comes next.

Repentance and forgiveness of our sins, removes all that gunk that gets in the way and takes up space better filled with what Jesus comes to offer. John proclaims that Jesus comes to baptize us with Holy Spirit, the very breath of life and conscience and creativity and prophetic power. Prepare the way of the Lord! Take a bath! A repentance bath…forgiveness and mercy are in the water. And those beautiful, humbling gifts liberate us, open us, to receive and share the life that God promises in and through the one who is coming, Jesus.

What comes next in Jesus is more powerful than our most stubborn excuses and rationalizations, more powerful than empire and all its agents and effects, more powerful than bullies, more powerful than our neuroses and our addictions, more power than the voices in our head trying to convince us we can’t be forgiven, more powerful than prejudices and bigotry encrusted in our psyches through centuries, more powerful than water, that elemental symbol of chaos and destruction, water that Jesus calms with a word, so that it drapes in gentle folds about his feet. //

Writer Kathleen Norris tells of how, in her work as an artist-in-residence at parochial schools, she uses the Psalms as examples of poetry. The children, she says, are often surprised about the Psalms—the way the poetic prayers of the Bible don’t mince words or leave out painful things in human life. And Norris says the children’s writing captures much of that emotional directness and honesty. She goes on to share this:

“Once a little boy wrote a poem called ‘The Monster Who Was Sorry.’ He began by admitting that he hates it when his father yells at him; his response in the poem is to throw his sister down the stairs, and then to wreck his room, and finally to wreck the whole town. The poem concludes: ‘Then I sit in my messy house and say to myself, ‘I shouldn’t have done all that.’” ‘My messy house’ says it all: with more honesty than most adults could have mustered, the boy made a metaphor for himself that admitted the depth of his rage and also gave him a way out. If that boy had been a novice in the fourth-century monastic desert, his elders might have told him that he was well on the way toward repentance, not such a monster after all, but only human. If the house is messy, they might have said, why not clean it up, why not make it into a place where God might wish to dwell?”

And there it is. The beginning of the good news is a clean up job, it is a preparation of our “house” to receive Christ who fills us with new life in the power of Spirit. It doesn’t just magically happen. We’ve got to show up and do our work. We’ve got to get into the water with John. Honesty and vulnerability are required of us. Fessing up and Self-love and open hearts are required of us. But even in the wilderness, even in these days of pandemic, even in the swirl and churn of these difficult days in our nation and world, we can do something. We can do those things—honesty, vulnerability, fessing up, self-love, open heartedness—right? We are not powerless.

We can wake up each morning with our minds stayed on Jesus, proclaiming that new every morning is God’s love and mercy, new every morning is a new beginning…We can look around at the mess made after we’ve made it again and say “I shouldn’t have done all that.” And then get busy cleaning it up. And, by doing so…once again, in the wilderness, in the mess, the good news is proclaimed, a new chapter begins…and we prepare the way for Christ to be born again.

https://foundryumc.org/