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Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
Episodes
Monday Aug 31, 2020
Monday Aug 31, 2020
Not Today, Satan - Romans 12:9-21; Matthew 16:21-28
Current Series: Close Encounters With The Living God
Rev. William E. Green
A Sermon for Foundry UMC
8.30.20
Monday Aug 24, 2020
Monday Aug 24, 2020
The Divine Shelf - Matthew 16:13-20
Rev. K.C. Van Atta-Casebier
A Sermon for Foundry UMC
8.23.20
Let’s Pray. God, for Your wisdom and revelation and hope, we pray now. Amen.
In our text for this morning and the surrounding texts, there is this symphonic interplay of Christ’s divinity and humanity that prepares us for this critical question...Who do you say that I am? And honestly to us it could seem like an invitation to pick one. Is what we’ve heard about you true? Are you the child of God? Or are you the human that was birthed and given life by Mary, a perpetual-includer, a hope-giver, a challenger (I’ll admit a little angry for my taste sometimes), a guide for the way of peace and liberation? Divinity or humanity: how should we identify you here, Jesus? And in the text as an answer to this question Who do you say that I am?, Peter responds YOU ARE THE MESSIAH, perhaps unaware that he is unlocking a significant piece of the gospel story. And Jesus’ response is YES, I am that. And oh by the way also, I want you, Peter, to be the foundation for the space the Messiah inhabits in the world. Someone will need the keys to open the doors to my people at all hours of the night, to fire up the ovens in the kitchen for bread-baking, to collect alms and distribute them. Be careful with these keys, though Peter, because they also lock doors and can bar them shut and can be used for defensive posturing at best and ethnic cleansing at worst. These keys also lock chains, Peter, and whatever is bound on earth, will be bound in Heaven. This word for bound is used in every other place by the author of Matthew as a synonym for what happens just before death. Bind it and then we will burn it. Bind him, and throw him into the darkness. Bind him and deliver him to Pilate. And in many ways it's worse than the death it foreshadows. It’s an agent of humiliation, a tool of torture, a sure-fire way to exclude (or at the very least place out of sight) people from the family. It’s a big job, Peter. Just as we don’t get Jesus’ divinity without Jesus’ humanity, we also don’t get to claim a divine promise of Messianic fruition and salvation as ours without being handed the keys to the whole dang thing. Peter’s ability to move forward in this calling as the rock and foundation for the ekklesia (the church) is shaped by his understanding of who Jesus is. A gift, the author says, given to Peter from Heaven.
This question for the disciples is one we should be reckoning with every day. Who will we say Jesus is? The struggle of recognizing who Jesus is in the world is an ongoing, ever-present, deeply theological question which considers the collision of Jesus’ divinity and humanity, and it directly affects our relationship to the ekklesia, to divine work, and to the Kindom origin of the Messiah.
I have this theory that claiming Jesus’ divinity and salvific power without accountability to the work of figuring out what that actually means is the equivalent of holding up a divine shelf to ensure that the Kindom doesn’t crash down and leak all over the systems and institutions that we’ve crafted around our apologetics and often poorly examined portraits of Jesus…and what we’re supposed to do (or perhaps, more prevalently, not do) about it. Institutions and systems that are built with gatekeepers (and their protection at all costs) in mind. But the incarnation cuts out the middle person…on…purpose. If it was up to Peter to conjure the Messianic idea or have it told to him through someone else, this text might have gone in a different direction. But because of impediment-free revelation, it’s an opportunity to lean into what is to come and from that moment, the author says, Jesus began to tell the disciples about the great suffering that lay ahead. Which may not feel like good news. The leak from Heaven, though, is a consequential next step in the harrowing journey to the Golgotha and the life that lies beyond it.
And I want to challenge us to not continue to put all of our effort into holding up the divine shelf. Especially if it is just for the sake of continuing a fruitless dichotomy, to appeal to our binary mindsets or our separatist ideals. If we’re just doing it because we need here and there, we need us and them, we need now and later…we might be calling the Messiah by the wrong name or giving the Messiah the wrong title.
Here’s what I want us to hear, it is an enterprise to keep the Kindom of heaven where it is, to prevent a more close encounter...to keep Jesus’ Messianic revelation up on the divine shelf as a separate characteristic and to claim it without accountability to it, to use it as proof rhetoric for our own Christological convictions that tell us we’re home team, and that we are fine to keep on pretending that somehow not interacting with the world is what will save us and that there will be hell to pay for the ones who dare to try. People make millions of dollars and “save millions of souls” by holding up the divine shelf and keeping it as a distant ideal. It can be sold, because it promises that full investments in capitalist theocracies are rewarded with impunity. And it is controlled by those in power, who sit on thrones of supremacy and bathe under faucets of privilege, who collect rugs to sweep things under and co-sign unwritten rules, and who benefit most from its right-side up, uninterrogated narrative that holiness or salvation was bought by the shedding blood of a brown-skinned immigrant in chains with no realization that the whip is an extension of their very own hand. … Keep it out, keep Jesus’ melanin Messiahship and our role as “bringers-about” of an upside-down Kindom out. Hold up that shelf, hire people to help us if we have to. Repackage it. Commodify it. Keep ourselves clean and white and unaccountable. Let the Messiah sort it out. We’ll wait.
But the divine shelf must fall.
It has to clang in its reentry and crash our parties of complacency. Those words, “You are the Messiah,” need to make an absolute mess of this place. Because divine work doesn’t solely exist in ethereality, divine work happens when the disciples are invited into the sea of doubt and offered a courageous, faithful, and yes, even faltering witness, when Jesus feels compelled to change his mind, to shift away from stereotypes and insults hurled at a woman desperately trying to save her child, and to expand his definition of community, of who is welcome at the table. It happens when we are given permission for imperfection, when our impossible standards for ourselves and others bear no fruit and are yanked out of the ground like the weeds they are. It happens when we find a sacred, stolen moment or breathing space to connect cosmically to the fuel station of the universe. When “this is what it feels like to do the thing” becomes an empowering mantra rather than a crippling cry. Its in whispers, in shouts of protest, in the wails of grief, in the songs of hope and of HOSANNA. AND it happens when we invest in the streets and work for racial and economic justice and access to affordable housing and healthcare. It echoes in the halls of lawmakers as we organize against the crafting of evil and unjust policies. It reverberates in prisons as we visit AND as we work to dismantle the system that unjustly locks folx away in the first place. Jesus is the Messiah, the anointed one, the bringer of divine promise and liberation and resurrection. The personification of the Kindom. And also, the Messiahship is incomplete without the audacity of the flesh. Every instrument in the symphony must be played. We need to float through all of the movements –proclamation and the pain, the rising and the reconciliation.
May we get the music stuck in our head, commit its chords to our heart. And even when we feel out of touch or like its meaning is muddied more than ever before or when something is attempting to shout or tweet louder, may we find ourselves humming the melody of the Messiah, reminding ourselves that what we know about the Messiah is true - that the Messiah is BOTH - the circle-expander, the un-binder, the challenger, Mary’s child, AND the long-awaited fulfillment of a divine promise of liberation, that we are also accountable to see carried out in the world.
The Messiah isn’t a reinforcer of separation, or roll calling on an ‘us and them’ roster. ‘You are the Messiah’ is an indicator that the way we live and go about divine work matters, that the Kindom is leaking, and it’s our job to let it (as painful as it might be for our privilege or assuredness)…so that we might continue the work of living in a community of open doors that breaks bread, collects and distributes alms, AND is mindful of the intersections of oppression and the way that the (Big C) church has co-opted those stories. A community that acknowledges its pools of power and does the work to bring more folx to the table, a home for every person to feel safe to show up and not be loved ‘in spite of who they are,’ but in the FULLNESS of who they are. It’s a big job, and it takes waiting and working and suffering and resting…questioning, regrouping, refueling and carrying on in the long-term work. Because the Messiah is not a trend, it’s a revolution.
And the beauty is that we can’t keep the Kindom out even if we try. We can’t hold up the divine shelf or plug the Messianic leak. No matter how many gatekeepers we hire. No matter how much we insist on investing in our comfort, predictability, and stiltedness. No matter our paralysis in visceral pain, grief, or illness. No matter our perceived failure or hesitation at the starting line. Our shoulders will begin to recognize the weight that we bear. And the divine shelf will fall mightily.
This quote from Meister Eckhart demonstrates why:
Earth cannot escape heaven, flee it by going up, or flee it by going down.
Heaven still invades the earth, energizes it, makes it sacred…
God is at home (here). It is we who have gone out for a walk.
Let’s Pray.
God whatever we’ve unfaithfully bound, may you come and help us loosen it. May we be emboldened to sing loudly the symphony of who you are in the world and know that with each note, we have a responsibility to be agents for your liberation - for others and for ourselves. Give us the strength we need for this thing and the next. Gather us up in community as witnesses and reminders of your holy work in us and in the world. Whisper to us each morning that you have not abandoned us. Breathe life and hope into the ekklesia, Lord. We’ll continue to unlock it. In the name of the Trinitarian God we pray together, Amen.
Benediction:
Who is it that you say that I am? I am the Messiah?
Then Foundry it’s time for the divine shelf to fall
To remember who we are
To invite perfection into a nasty fall from grace
To unfold every corner
To relocate our humanity in the divine work
And to take these keys and go on a spree of unbinding.
Go now and may grace and peace abound with us on the journey, Amen.
Monday Aug 17, 2020
Monday Aug 17, 2020
A sermon preached by Rev. Ben Roberts for Foundry UMC August 16th,
2020. “Close Encounters with the Living God” series.
Monday Aug 10, 2020
Monday Aug 10, 2020
Grappling with God
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli for Foundry UMC August 9, 2020, tenth Sunday after Pentecost. “Close Encounters with the Living God” series.
Text: Genesis 32:22-31
It’s a scene tailor-made for a movie script or a budding psychoanalyst’s dissertation. The archetypes are stacked one upon another—estranged twin brothers who have different ways of being in the world; a shadowy antagonist; a struggle alongside a river crossing with foreboding heavy on both sides; the thin place that exists in the hours just as day is breaking.
Jacob is at the center of this scene. Over the centuries, he’s become a kind of stock character, a trickster, a hustler—his name is translated “he supplants” or “heel”—for he was born holding the heel of his twin brother Esau. From the beginning of his life he’s engaged in one kind of struggle after another, working angles, trying to get ahead. And he always seems to come out smelling like a rose, always one step ahead of danger. But on this night, Jacob knows that his life may have finally caught up in a way that could be the death of him.
You see, at God’s leading (Gen 31:3), after around 20 years away, Jacob is heading back home after some trouble with his father in law. His brother Esau, still living in their hometown, vowed to kill Jacob back in the day for taking his birthright and his blessing. Jacob sends word to his brother that he’s coming, that he’s done alright for himself, and hopes that they can, you know, make up (Gen 32:3-5). The response is swift: Esau is on the march to meet Jacob with four hundred men. Cue the ominous orchestral theme… Jacob does several things at this point. He prays to God, humbly but directly—“I am not worthy of the least of all the steadfast love and all the faithfulness that you have shown” (32:10)—“I am afraid of him…” (and then, in case God forgot) “Yet you have said ‘I will surely do you good…’” (32:11-12) He sends gifts ahead to try to appease his brother. And he sends his wives and children ahead of him as well, never knowing if he’ll see any of them again.
Jacob has done everything he can, worked the only angles he’s got, he’s prayed, he’s planned, he’s gifted. And now he is alone.
Imagine Jacob, afraid and knowing he may die, reflecting upon his life… The way he came into the world holding on to his brother. The way that relationship got twisted—in part through the actions of their parents. How Jacob developed his own strengths of quick wit and cleverness, so different from his brother’s strength in the hunt and the fields. How he had gone through an elaborate ruse to try to be like his brother so that he might receive blessing from his father. How, in the process, he hurt his brother and humiliated his father and was forced to leave home and his mother’s fierce love and protection. I imagine Jacob remembering all the highs and lows of love and marriage, the complications with Leah and Rachel, and with his father in law, Laban. He might also have played back the dreams and visions he’d been given, images of his children’s faces, the beauty and bounty he’d experienced…as well as all he’d said and done that was unkind, unjust, deceitful and hurtful. I imagine Jacob looking back over his life with gratitude and regret and guilt and fear and hope all tumbling over his mind like a creek flowing over rocks.
And when night fell the wrestling began…
Can you relate? Ever found yourself awake in the wee hours of night in a kind of wrestling match in your mind and heart? Your story won’t include the details of Jacob’s life. But who among us doesn’t grapple with fear? Who among us doesn’t carry things from childhood forward that we are bound to run into on our life’s journey? Who among us is without the marks of our parental or sibling relationships on our psyches? We have all made decisions that led us down one path or another, sometimes into danger and regret and other times into freedom and joy. There are different energies within us, like twins who have different gifts and strengths, all deserving nurture and love—but often it’s difficult to honor it all and hold these energies together with any sense of wholeness. What have you done in order to try to get love? What have you sacrificed in order to try to earn the blessing you crave? Who have you been willing to hurt in order to gain wealth or comfort or pleasure? What losses have you suffered that are yet uncared for, what wounds are untended? What are you proud of in your life and what would you give anything to do over?...
When we are alone, when it is clear we are vulnerable, that things are going to be different one way or another, that we must confront the reality of our life—all our history, our personality, our gifts, our mistakes, our strengths, our woundedness, all our complications—in those moments, there is struggle. There is wrestling.
That’s what happened with Jacob. Is he fighting with himself (like Luke Skywalker in the cave)? Is it a demon? An angel? Is it God? The struggle is intense and it leaves Jacob limping. But he holds on. He holds on even when the man tells him to let go. He holds on even when he doesn’t have a clue who he’s wrestling. He holds on when it seems it would have been a big relief to let the mystery assailant go on his merry way. But Jacob would not let go. And it is here that the story turns.
You can characterize Jacob in all sorts of ways. But the thing that seems consistent throughout his story is that he is determined to fight for the life he longs for. And he’s not afraid to ask for the blessing that he needs. “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” The response to Jacob is simple: “What is your name?”
All Jacob has is the name he was given, “Jacob”—the supplanter, the usurper, the “heel.” In speaking his name, Jacob makes a kind of confession, an admission of the mix and mess and striving of his life. Here I am, alone—no “Jacob, son of Isaac, son of Abraham.” Just Jacob. And this one with whom Jacob has been wrestling has something to say to that. “That name, that narrative, is not all of who you are. All the striving of your life—the struggle with humans, with yourself, and with me has led you to this moment. And when you cross the river, when you pass into this new day dawning, when you leave this place walking differently as a result of your hip, I will call you Israel.” Jacob asks the man’s name. And the implication is beginning to get clear—this is God! And God asks, “Do you really need to ask my name?” There God blessed Jacob/Israel. I wonder whether the whole encounter was the blessing, this close encounter with the living God…
What does Jacob’s grappling with self, others, and God teach us about our own?
If Jacob’s story is any indication, we learn that the whole of our lives is held in God—the painful bits and the joyful surprises and the tensions and the triumphs. God is always at work for good—not just in the world around us, but in our world. Paul writes, “all things work together for good for those who love God who are called according to God’s purpose.” (Romans 8:28) Lately, this verse has made more and more sense to me. It isn’t that God causes everything that happens to you, but that God is with you in all of it and desires nothing more than to help you come through, to survive, stronger, wiser, with more compassion and love.
Jacob’s story reminds us that God knows all of you, so you might as well be honest. God knows you better than you know yourself—knows not only what you’ve done, but why. God knows everything you’ve experienced, suffered, offered, achieved, everything you’ve sacrificed, everything you’ve dreamed, how hard you try and how much you’re carrying. God knows what you’ve done that was harmful or hurtful. God knows it all.
If you read the whole of Jacob’s story, you’ll see how God just keeps showing up even when we might think Jacob doesn’t deserve it. Morning by morning, new mercies are received…over and over.
I am increasingly convinced that the most difficult thing for many of us to grapple with is God’s mercy. To acknowledge who you are—all of it—and then to receive God’s mercy is a deeply humbling, awe-full experience because you know you didn’t earn it, but that somehow God believes you’re worthy. Receiving God’s mercy is a blessing that, if fully received, changes us because we begin to recognize the depth of God’s love and the stubbornness of God who is determined to get it through our thick heads that we’re more than the worst thing we’ve done, that we’re more than the self-limiting names that we or others assign to us. We struggle to believe that God cares so much, that God loves us and wants to bless us. Jacob is a champion of demanding the blessing which God always wants to give.
Many among us are metaphorically at the ford of the Jabbok river right now.
Some are facing difficult decisions, perhaps feeling stranded and afraid, uncertain about the future or how to proceed, having worked every angle and done everything you know how to do. Many among us are weary and worn down with grief and rage and loneliness and stress. Some among us are paralyzed with guilt and regret, a sense of unworthiness or emptiness. Others are trying to discern how to step into life as it continues to shift and change all around us, how to adapt and find ways to thrive and to serve and to grow.
As a nation we are standing at the river being asked who we are, being asked to tell the truth about our whitewashed history, being asked if we’re willing to hold on even though it’s painful to acknowledge our nation’s sins, being asked whether we’re willing to meet as siblings and write a new narrative of true liberty and justice for all, whether we’re willing to be substantively changed so that we move together in a new way.
And when we find ourselves at this point, when things get really difficult, when we feel most vulnerable, weary, guilty, wounded, uncertain, angry, and afraid, knowing that things in our lives need to change, the temptation is to just give in—to shut down or let go of our faith, our hope, our love. At this point God always shows up and takes hold of us—sometimes as a parent tenderly holds a child and sometimes like a mysterious wrestling partner. In any case, like Jacob, our part is to hold on, to persevere, to not let go before we step into the new day dawning.
As we hold on to God, trusting God to hold on to us as we step up to face what is before us, we eventually learn to let go of our idols of self-sufficiency, control and comfort, to let go of the names and narratives that hold us back from life God knows is ours to live, to let go of our deepest fears and self-loathing.
As we hold on to God, Jacob teaches us not only to expect but to ask for God’s blessing. That blessing may not be what you imagine, but it will be life for you. Because it will always be some form of God’s tender mercy and liberating love. And that’s something you won’t want to let go—even if you could.
Wednesday Aug 05, 2020
Wednesday Aug 05, 2020
Stepping Out of the Boat
A sermon preached by Rev. Kelly L. Grimes for Foundry UMC August 2nd, 2020.. “Close Encounters with the Living God” series.
Text: Matthew 14:22-33