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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
Sunday Feb 02, 2020
Sunday Jan 26, 2020
Sunday Jan 26, 2020
“The Tie That Unbinds”
Preached by Will Ed Green on Sunday January 26th, 2020
Foundry United Methodist Church
Prayer before sermon:
Lord Jesus Christ, you have called to be those who proclaim your Gospel. Who together—united in the beautiful, messy realities of our diverse human experience—witness through our work and worship what is possible when we lay down our division for the sake of the kin-dom to which we’re called. So come now, and move ocne more among your people. May your Spirit breathe life into these words of Scripture that they may take root in our hearts. May your Love be shed upon every spirit here, that we may be ever more transformed into your image. Hide me now behind the cross of Christ, that it, and it's promise, power, and grace will be what is spoken of in these next moments. For it is through that cross you have called us, and by that cross you have set us free. Amen.
Sermon text:
There was something wrong in Corinth. By the time Paul wrote the words we read today, the community was being torn apart by factions who insisted that they—and not whoever their “them” was—had cornered the marked on correct Christianity. The word commonly interpreted as “division” here is ‘schisma,’ or schism—literally a tear or rift—in their community. The growing factionalism that was beginnging to define their life together was ripping a hole in the fabric of their witness and preventing them from fully living into the work to which they’d been called.
Paul doesn’t mince words in his response. He calls the people to be united—that is rejoined or knit together—by remembering who it was that called them and to what they’d been called in first place. It’s important to note here that this isn’t about ending disagreement or avoiding conflict. Nor is it about insisting on doctrinal conformity or institutional authority. Paul doesn’t have any time for that. No, the words he uses, in their original form, remind the ancient reader that God knits us together in a common identity IN diversity from which we derive strength, hope, wisdom, and power—not so that we gain status or righteousness—but so that we can be who God calls us to be in the world for the sake OF the world and one another. Anything which detracts from that identity and work has no place in Christian community.
This begins, he concludes, with the radical re-orientation of the Corinthian mindset accomplished not through cults of personality or popular preachers or right liturgical observance, but through the simple and confounding message of the cross—the symbol of Roman oppression and state-sanctioned violence which through Christ’s death and resurrection became for the believer a symbol, in the words prophet-teacher James Cone “of God’s solidarity with the oppressed and power to bring hope out of despair, victory out of defeat, and life out of death.”
Gathered in the shadow of the cross, on which Jesus’ model of self-sacrificial love hangs, there is no time for social climbing or political posturing. There’s no room for those who would prefer to procure power at all costs or insist upon the absolute authority of their interpretation or perspective. There’s no sense in protecting or perfecting institutional hierarchies. Because if our model for life together is the cross, if that’s the tie that binds us together in community, then it insists upon the urgency of a life lived—and even lost—for the sake of those God calls us to serve.
But doesn’t it feel good to draw a line in the sand? For all the eloquent words preachers and teachers and modern-day gurus can offer about unity in diversity and recognizing our common humanity, there’s something so natural to the human heart to withdraw into community with those of like mind and affect, and position ourselves—define ourselves even—by the the ways that others are different from us. Democrats and republicans and libertarians and socialists. Methodists and baptists and presbyterians and non-denominationalists. Reconciling Congregations and Wesley Covenant Associations and UM Forward-ers and goodness only knows what comes next. We’re a people who love circling the wagons and making sure folks know we aren’t them, whoever our them might be.
Now, I’m not sure that Paul would find any fault in gathering like-minded folk together. I’m not even convinced he’d condemn the multiplicity of denominations, sects, political affiliations, or theological ideologies so common in the world today. But I am convinced—especially for those who call themselves Christian—that he would most certainly challenge any sectarian inclination among us that distracts us from the common identity we share in Jesus Christ and the common work of liberation, justice, mercy, and love which to which Christ calls us.
Christianity is not, after all, a competitive sport. Our work is not to win out in the theological or political free-for-alls in which we currently find ourselves. Our mission is not to convert those on the other side of whichever aisle we find ourselves to our perspective on things. Our call is not to build up institutions to protect our particular identity or ideology.
Instead, our work is to heal the sick, feed the hungry, liberate the oppressed, and proclaim the freedom offered to us through God’s love. Our mission is to live a life so transformed by the Gospel of Jesus Christ that it invites the whole world to come and see what God’s love holds for them. Our call is to be faithful in living in right relationship with God and with one another, trusting that despite our differences when we are faithful to that call God will be faithful to bringing to fruition in us God’s purpose and plan.
This is why the unity Paul’s talking about, and the common foundation of the cross he emphasizes, is so important. When we fall into the false security of segregating ourselves along political, theological, or ideological lines we dilute the power of that work and risk reducing our witness to a moment in history rather than a movement which is building up the Kin-dom of God. When we limit our ‘them-s’ “those peoples” to the narrow categories we create for them we denying the power of God to transform and change even the most hardened of hearts—and assume it’s their hearts, and not our own, which are hardened in the first place. When we limit our own identity to a particular tribe, or define ourselves solely in opposition to another, we limit the ways that God may be calling us to grow and work in the world.
The power of the cross is precisely in the fact it does not do these things. Rather than pointing to a God who exacts vengeance, we receive the love of a God who desires reconciliation with the world. Rather than pointing to a God who draws lines between the righteous and unrighteousness, we hear Jesus say to one crucified next to him, today you will be with me in paradise. Rather than pointing to a god who’s kingdom is built upon the doctrine of might makes right, we see a God who’s kin-dom rests upon life lived for the sake of others and love shared so freely that anyone who desires to do so can find their place in it.
The cross stands—as one hymnist writes—“o’r the wrecks of time” as a testament to what we can accomplish when we reject the idea that we must be defined by our differences and reclaim the power that comes when we speak with one heart and mind. The cross offers life which denominational squabbling and doctrinal division and all the raging of those who would pit us against one another cannot kill. The cross which offers the gift of love freely to all who would receive it, erasing the need for “them” and “us” and establishing a way of life in which unity is found in the richness of our diversity, not in absolutism or conformity.
So who is your “them”? Those people over there who do those things you’re too good to do? The ones you’re too smart for. Too progressive for. Too conservative for.
Who are they? Do you know their names? Their stories? Their fears and doubts? Their joys and hopes? Or have they just become objects in your mind around which you build a sense of self? How much energy do you expend keeping them at arms length? How much energy might you have—to live with greater joy, to love more abundantly, to laugh with greater abandon—if you didn’t? What might we be able to do if instead of limiting ourselves to us and them we spoke with one voice on behalf of those the world gives no voice at all?
The gift of Christ’s love—given freely on the cross—is that it liberates us from a world of them-s and those people so that the whole world might be free. It is the tie that binds our hearts to one another and liberates us—unbinds us—to fully live as those who need no them’s or those people at all. As we lean into whatever comes next for us—as a nation, as a denomination, as a congregation, as the human family—I pray that we might find that freedom. And that, through it, we might be together a church and world united not by ideological purity or conformity, but in the beauty and wonder of our diversity.
Sunday Jan 19, 2020
Sunday Jan 12, 2020
Sunday Jan 12, 2020
This Is Me
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC January 12, 2020, the Baptism of the Lord.
Text: Matthew 3:13-17
In many churches, parents who bring a baby for baptism are asked, “What name has been given this child?” It is a question that isn’t officially included in our United Methodist ritual and I must say that I miss it. Names are powerful markers of identity. The “given” name from a parent or parents is one special piece…and the “family name”—or surname—is another significant piece.
Sometimes the names we are given get overridden by affectionate nicknames—I have a dear friend whose name is Lillian but is known by those who know her well as Fuzzy. Performers and writers may have pen or stage names which provide a whole separate identity from their day to day life. Immigrants at some times in history have chosen to adjust their names in order to fit in. Some folks have had their names taken from them in acts of violence. For transgender or non-binary siblings, the name given at birth often doesn’t fit and so a new name is taken.
Names are important and powerful and, when we claim them as our own, can be gifts of connection and identity. It is deeply affirming to have someone call you by name. But there’s a kind of “name-calling” that is the direct opposite of affirmation. Bullying, calling people names, labeling, stereotyping…all of these are damaging, disconnecting, and dehumanizing.
And we are in a moment in history in which the changes, tensions, and prejudice in our world are spinning people up into rage and fear and an incapacity to perceive the dignity and worth of every human life. The technologies available to us make it terribly easy to say terrible things about people and call people names that are shameful and shaming with absolutely no accountability or interconnection. Of course—out of some perverse sense of normality or self-righteousness—there are always persons who don’t mind being cruel right to someone’s face. From playgrounds to pulpits, from lunchrooms to bedrooms, from board tables to kitchen tables, people get called stupid, animals, abomination, disappointing, worthless, ugly, and every other kind of horrible, hurtful thing.
I don’t wish to suggest there is any easy excuse for such name-calling or try to make this phenomenon more simple than it is. But I do believe that at the core of human hatred, prejudice, and cruelty is fear. Fear of being overlooked, of being insignificant, of being hurt (again), weak, devalued, unwanted, unloved. In order to try to get or keep something that provides a sense of identity, safety, and worth, a person can do incredibly awful things. In order to make themselves feel like they are “up” some will put others “down.” Many of you will have heard the saying that hurt people hurt people. Sometimes wounded people do their personal work so that their wounds stop fueling harm to others. Sometimes they don’t.
Regardless, for all the vast diversity that exists in the human family, I think a thing we all share is the ridiculously powerful and insidious temptation to allow fear to disconnect us from our true selves and from other people.
Our text from Matthew is the beginning of the story of Jesus’ adult, public life, a life that shares and confronts all our human fears with courage and love. “Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan to be baptized by him.” According to cousin John’s understanding, Jesus has gotten confused somewhere along the way into the wilderness. John’s out there unabashedly preaching Jesus as the awaited power player who will size folks up and sort them out and be the SuperBaptizer with Spirit and fire. The plan—and what John signaled to his considerable following—is that he (John) will be the one to humble himself and be baptized by the long-expected one, Jesus. But Jesus doesn’t swoop in with pyrotechnics or power plays. Jesus upends John’s expectation saying, basically, “You’re right that I’ve come ‘to fulfill all righteousness’—to show and restore right relationship—and the way that begins is for me, Jesus, to be baptized by you, John.” And with that, Jesus steps into the waters that had touched countless human bodies, wades into the flow of all that humanity, all the debris that comes out in the wash, all the beauty and mess of our common, human life.
Jesus first public act is to humble himself, to disappoint expectations, and to align himself with the likes of you and me. I assume he did this because it seemed like the right thing to do. And, according to the story, it seems God agreed. // I imagine John asking just before he dunks his cousin, “What name has been given this child?” And at the moment Jesus emerges from the water, the answer comes, “This is my Son, the Beloved.” Here, Jesus is given his true family name: Beloved. It is an affirmation and confirmation of who Jesus is, of his identity and connection not just to God but to the whole human family. Sometimes people have joked that we think of “Christ” as Jesus’ last name. But Christ is his job title (“anointed one,” savior). I would argue that Jesus’ family name is “Beloved.” And because he is a Beloved and knows that is his name, Jesus is able to be brave, to stand up to all the temptations and challenges to come, and to continue to be himself. Jesus knows where he comes from, who he comes from, and who has his back.
And the onslaught against Jesus Beloved begins immediately as he is led into the wilderness and tempted by the devilish voice to fill his belly, to fill his coffers, to fill his ego—to recant his baptism and put himself ahead of others, to serve himself rather than serve others, to trust the fearful promises of idols for his security and value rather than clinging to the love of God. Jesus lives the rest of his short life constantly under attack. He is praised when he goes to his home church—until he reveals who he really is; then his people kick him out and try to kill him. He is distanced from his family, called all sorts of names (including Satan himself), cheered and jeered by the public, rejected by many he came to serve, and betrayed and denied by his closest friends. Ultimately Jesus was arrested on false charges, publicly humiliated, became a scapegoat for the mob’s own fears, and was killed. When he returned from the dead, he greeted those who had hurt and disappointed him with peace and with open arms that revealed the wounds of his life not as symbols of shame but of triumph. He met and welcomed people in all their skepticism and fear in all the places we still get locked up and isolated and called us to step out into a life of freedom, and courage and love modeled on his own.
Just as at his Baptism, throughout his public life Jesus was told to be other than he was, was told to run away, to hide, to pipe down, to keep his hands off, to be a different kind of leader, a different kind of savior. But he just kept presenting himself in love and humility and vulnerability and courage saying, in essence, I know who I am, who I’m meant to be. This is me… Jesus joins us here today as we gather again at the Baptismal waters and says, “Your life is a life I share. And because of that, my life is a life you can share. And you don’t need to be afraid. You don’t need to be anyone other than who you are. No matter what people call you, say or do to you, you are a member of my family. We emerge from the same waters, are held in the same love, are fueled by the same grace and Spirit. You are a Beloved! This is your family name! This gives you all you need to be brave, to stand up to all the temptations and challenges to come, and to continue to be yourself. Remember where you come from, who you come from, and who has your back.” //
Many of you will know the story told in the 2017 movie musical, The Greatest Showman. It is a fanciful re-telling of the story of J.T. Barnum’s creation of “The Barnum & Bailey Circus.” One of the attractions Barnum brought to the public were performers described by some as “human oddities”—persons who didn’t fit in to polite society, like the so-called “Bearded Lady” and “General Tom Thumb.” In the film we see folks who had been cast off, ridiculed, and excluded from public life form community and claim their lives and their gifts without shame. The anthem and rallying cry in the film begins with the bearded lady, Lettie Lutz, singing these words:
I am not a stranger to the dark
Hide away, they say
‘Cause we don't want your broken parts
I've learned to be ashamed of all my scars
Run away, they say
No one'll love you as you are[i]
Just the other day, I was reminded that such words are not only spoken by those who have been most hurt and ostracized. My heart ached to read that my amazing, accomplished 24 year old niece struggles with feelings of shame and that if things don’t go well it’s her fault and that she is “bad.” And then I remembered that is the deep human fear—that we’re not right, that we’re not OK, that we’re messing up, that no one will love us as we are. It’s in all of us and is amplified and exploited in anyone who is the slightest bit vulnerable or outside the “norm.” Jesus’ life and example gives us encouragement that we are called to be exactly who we are and that we need not fear. And the song from The Greatest Showman provides new words to claim our strength as God’s children, bearing the name “Beloved.” //
I won't let them break me down to dust
I know that there’s a place for us
For we are glorious
When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be, this is me [ii]
Today, the waters of holy Baptism flow to drown out any voice that wants to cut you down or make you forget who you are. You are a Beloved! That is your family name. It is our human family name. And we are glorious!
[i] Justin Paul / Benj Pasek, lyrics. “This Is Me,” https://www.google.com/search?q=this+is+me+lyrics&rlz=1C1GCEA_enUS849US849&oq=this+is+me+lyrics&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.2138j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
[ii] Ibid.
Sunday Jan 05, 2020
Sunday Jan 05, 2020
Rising Stars
A homily preached by Rev. Ginger Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC January 5, 2020, the Epiphany of the Lord.
Text: Matthew 2:1-12
If you follow me on FaceBook you will know that responding to Friday’s breaking news related to the United Methodist Church kept me from writing a word of my sermon that day (Normally I do the lion’s share of writing on Fridays). I posted a picture of my computer screen, blank, save for the sermon title at the top, with a prayer for help from “Sweet Baby Jesus.” In response, I received many encouraging words, some very funny. My colleague, Magrey DeVega went so far as to write a sermon for me: “Some days, you just need a warm hug and a glass of wine. Today is one of those days. So let me just say: God loves you. So do I. Let us pray.” So helpful!
As tempting as it is to let that be it, today is the first Sunday of a shiny, new year. It’s also the day we observe the Epiphany, an even more ancient celebration among Christians than Christmas. Epiphany marks the end of the Christmas Cycle, which began the First Sunday of Advent and completes the 12 days of Christmas. It is the festival of the manifestation of God’s Word made flesh, honored by the gifts from all nations and peoples. The story we tell on this day is of the magi who “observed his star at its rising” and were the first to bring gifts to lay before the Prince of Peace. And we tell that story today in the midst of deadly violence and threats of more war. With all that, it seems that perhaps a bit more than a warm hug and wine is in order.
But the message I want to share today is pretty simple. When things are most complicated, uncertain and scary, simple truths can be very helpful anchors in the storm… At the heart of our story today is a quest, a search made by “wise men from the East.” Truth is, we don’t know much about the folks who “traverse afar” following “yonder star.” But what is clear is that they’d studied both prophecy and the stars, understood that something big was happening, and were determined to find the baby who was prophesied. I don’t know what they thought was on the horizon with the birth of Jesus. But we who live all these years later have some data. We know that the promise extended to us in Jesus the Christ is unconditional love, grace, guidance, encouragement, insight, and vision for our own lives and for the life of our communities and world. The promise is life in the kin-dom of God, a taste of mercy and of justice, of peace even when things are hard and of hope even in the face of fear. We know that Jesus created unlikely communities made up of unlikely people to do wondrous things. We know that Jesus sacrificed comfort, reputation, fame, fortune, power, and every other human temptation in order to be in relationship with and for the impoverished, the oppressed, the silenced, the forgotten ones. Ultimately, we know that Jesus sacrificed his life because he was unwilling to run away from the powers hell-bent on injustice, violence, and cruelty. He was unwilling to give up on love, on reconciliation, on the human capacity to grow and to change and become more loving, gentle, and wise.
Like the wise men before us, we seek the promised messiah. Like the wise men before us, our spiritual journey has as its destination finding and drawing near to Christ. We search for the kind of life Jesus reveals, a life of meaning, purpose, love, and wholeness. But what is it that guides us in our search? The biblical wise ones followed a rising star. Their clear focus kept them on track even in the midst of danger and uncertainty. What do we follow that will lead us to life? What are our rising, guiding stars?
The first “guiding star” I’ll mention is bright, shining, clarity about what you are after. What is the reality that you are trying to live into? In our personal lives, relationships, work, or congregation, clear vision for what you are trying to get to provides you with direction and, if you take the vision seriously, keeping your eyes fixed upon it, will help you know when to change course or say “no” or do something painful or difficult. Over the course of these past years in the United Methodist Church, it has been very important for me and for us as Foundry Church to be clear about our goals as they relate to the struggle in the denomination. Some of our goals have been: full inclusion of LGBTQ persons, removal of discriminatory language in The Book of Discipline, solidarity through presence and advocacy with those stranded in vulnerable places, a commitment to our Wesleyan emphasis on grace and “going on to perfection,” and to providing leadership in the denomination. We have been at all this for at least 25 years so it is clear we’re in it for the long haul. When pushback comes or things get tough, knowing what we’re after—and why—is essential in order to have the energy to stay engaged and to know which path to take.
Another source of guiding light for us is discernment through practices such as prayer, study, and meditation. Clarity about direction for our lives, projects, or relationships requires some silence, some listening to the wisdom of others, some intentional Sabbath time resting in the presence of God. In moments of turmoil, anxiety, and confusion, these practices of discernment allow for us to regain perspective, to perceive things that we would miss if we didn’t hit the pause button, to connect to our humanity instead of reverting to reptilian antics. In this moment in our church and world—and in many moments over the past years—it is so important to receive news, documents, plans with a deep breath and a commitment to be thoughtful, prayerful, and measured in our response. Simple and intentional practices of discernment give us a much better chance of being helpfully responsive to emerging realities instead of destructively reactive.
Another source of light-filled guidance is people. I remember a time at Camp Egan in Tahlequah, Oklahoma on family retreat with my church, 1st Methodist of Sapulpa. I was about 12 years old, we were in the outdoor “Tabernacle” near the creek; and at the end of the session, for reasons unknown, Cliff Brown—a man I had known as part of my church family since I was a toddler—said directly to me, “Listen, God loves you. And there’s nothing you can do about it…” And then he went on to quote from Romans 8: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39) Why do I remember this so clearly? Well, it was a bright, shining, moment when I was offered an assurance of God’s love for me, a sign of Cliff’s love for me, and a powerful witness of faith. Cliff held the light of Christ for me. There are countless others who have been light-filled guides along my way inside and outside the church. I imagine you could say the same.
Over these past years, in the midst of what’s been such a difficult time in the United Methodist Church, your faces, your stories, my love for you and yours for me, are lights that have guided my footsteps. And one of the beautiful gifts in the midst of the mess is that I have gotten to know and come to love some of the most amazing people who are serving at all levels of the church and fighting the good fight for the sake of love and justice. // I encourage you, in the midst of every twist and turn on your life’s journey, look to the people who love you, who push you to be better, who inspire you, who make you laugh, who prove their friendship through true solidarity, kindness, grace, and generosity. It has been very important to discern who I could trust along the journey of life and ministry and leadership and who I could look to for support and guidance. Discern carefully and then remember—the thing I also learned at camp—the “take a buddy” rule and stay connected to those who will be true companions, who will be light for you in dark places.
Regardless of our good discernment, even the strongest and best people we know will falter here and there, will make missteps and disappoint us. We’re all human. And so if we are wise, as the wise ones of old, we seek the One whose love, friendship, solidarity, and compassion never falter or fail. Jesus the Christ is worthy of our trust, our hope, our devotion, and our love. The perfect light of God’s love and loving intention for us and for the whole world is found in Christ. Our call is to faithfully follow the guiding stars in life so that perfect light and love might fall upon us and be reflected in us. Such reflection may make you a rising star for others. What a gift. Thanks be to God.