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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.
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Sunday Nov 10, 2019
Sunday Nov 10, 2019
Know Thyself
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, November 10, 2019, 22nd Sunday after Pentecost, “Becoming Beloved” series.
“I’ve seen better eyes on a potato!” I remember that particularly descriptive critique hurled at a referee during one of my high school basketball games. It’s fun and doesn’t cost a thing to sit on the sidelines and criticize what others are doing. Sometimes the critiques might have some merit. In the case of that ref, he did in fact—in a critical moment in a critical game—call a foul on me I know I didn’t commit. But nevertheless, everybody thinks they could do better than the one in the hotseat when they’re sitting in their comfy chair or even their uncomfortable bleacher with no real skin in the game.
It seems a rather persistent human pastime to look out at the people around us and assess, size up, critique, judge. It might be their behavior, their appearance, their leadership or perceived lack thereof, what they say or don’t say…really, we’re generally equal opportunity judgers. And today we get some truth bombs on this subject from Jesus in this next section of the Sermon on the Plain.
Before we get into that, though, a brief recap: Last week, we wandered into Jesus’ sermon, touching on the difficult teaching to love our enemies, to be merciful as God is merciful and to love as God loves. Key questions were “What do you allow your circumstances to do to your heart?” and “How does the state of your heart affect what you ‘do unto others’?” Today’s teaching flows from those “heart questions” that are really at the core of all the wisdom Jesus imparts in this sermon.
Howard Thurman, in his interpretation of Jesus of Nazareth, explains that “[Jesus’] message focused on the urgency of a radical change in the inner attitude of the people. He recognized fully that out of the heart are the issues of life and that no external force, however great and overwhelming, can at long last destroy a people if it does not first win the victory of the spirit against them. ‘To revile because one has been reviled—this is the real evil because it is the evil of the soul itself.’ Jesus saw this with almighty clarity. Again and again he came back to the inner life of the individual. With increasing insight and startling accuracy he placed his finger on the ‘inward center’ as the crucial arena where the issues would determine the destiny of his people.”[i] This focus on the inner attitude is not about disconnecting from the real suffering and injustice of the world, but is rather a way of not being utterly destroyed by it. It is a way of maintaining dignity and agency when everything around you wants to steal or destroy those sacred gifts. Thurman highlights Jesus’ focus on our heart, our “inward center,” as the locus of our primary spiritual work. Regardless of our outward circumstances, we have agency of our inner attitude. Our inner attitude affects our outward response and action.
The thing is, we can be pretty clueless about much of what’s swimming around in our “inward center.” In addition to all the shiny, happy people parts of ourselves we more easily claim, there are old hurts, ingrained, unchecked perspectives, cultural assumptions, deep prejudices, resentment, ignorance, unacknowledged complicities, blinding fears, unmet expectations, regrets, longings and all the rest. There’s a lot going on in there.
So before we start identifying someone else’s limitation or trying to remove another’s “issue,” perhaps, Jesus says, we should do what we can to deal with our own stuff. “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?”
“Know thyself” is an ancient maxim that has been interpreted in loads of ways—some helpful, others less so. For today’s purposes, my translation of “know thyself” from the ancient Greek is “Own your stuff.” A second translation might be, “Find the courage to face some hard truths.” And a third option, “At least try not to be a hypocrite.”
It has been said that truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable. Why is that? Because some truths about ourselves are icky. This is true for us as a nation, as a church, and as individuals.
Shall we start with our nation? The struggle for the soul of America continues as the realities of our historic brutality against Native peoples, enslaved Africans, and earth’s resources manifest in new ways, ways that come into conflict with the well-worn, white-washed narratives that have allowed us to imagine that we are a nation that truly desires life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all. I hope you are aware of the New York Times initiative entitled “The 1619 Project,”[ii] whose aim is to examine the legacy of slavery in the United States, timed for the 400th anniversary of the arrival in America of the first enslaved people from West Africa. The 1619 Project is a provocative and powerful resource to explore and wrestle with for anyone as yet unaware of big chunks of history that have not been generally acknowledged or taught beyond black churches and schools—and are even now being labeled by imperial powers as propaganda.[iii] We as Americans—particularly white Americans—need to own our stuff, have the courage to face hard truths, and at least try not to be hypocrites. And that’s just one place that we as a nation need to tell the truth. Because not telling the truth means death and suffering for beloved children of God, members of our human family, our American family. Other questions we could grapple with include: What do we worship in this country? Are policy decisions made based on the needs of the vulnerable or the common good? What really turns out the vote? How can we as citizens embody a patriotism that honors our highest ideals instead of champions imperial domination? The Rev. Dr. William Barber, II has famously preached about the heart of our nation needing a “moral defibrillator.” Are we willing as a nation to “know ourselves” fully, not just the good—of which there is much—but also the bad and the ugly? I understand this isn’t a feel-good word about our country on this weekend when we honor our veterans. But here’s the thing, I’d rather have our veterans serving and dying for a country that has at least tried to live up to its lofty vision instead of pretending that all our actions are somehow moral just because we overlay them with the Stars and Stripes.
When it comes to “the church,” there is no shortage of things we could consider on the topic of judgmentalism and hypocrisy—just imagine all the “specks” we could identify! But it’s “know thyself” day so I’m going to focus on Foundry. “Becoming Beloved” is our theme this month and it reflects our call to beloved community in the Howard Thurman and Martin Luther King, Jr. mode. In various ways over many years, Foundry has sought to do the hard work of communal self-awareness, consciousness-raising, and relationship building. This congregation has a long and proud history of social justice advocacy and solidarity. These commitments are at the heart of our shared life. But if we think there isn’t more work to do we aren’t paying attention. And if we truly want to become a fully inclusive, anti-racist, anti-colonial faith community—beloved community!—that will require that we go deeper into our own communal “inward center” to see what gets in the way. Earlier this year results of a congregational survey revealed that in an area that we are known to be “all about”—inclusion—there are concerns that some may not feel included or welcome among us…based on political affiliation, economics, and a variety of other things. How do we truly hold respectful space for persons to have vastly differing theological and political beliefs? This past year, we’ve told again the shameful part of Foundry’s history of full participation in the white supremacist policies of the Methodist Church that led to the formation of Asbury United Methodist Church and John Wesley African Methodist Episcopal, Zion Church. And while we celebrate the relationships and possibility of our current partnership with those churches, there is so much work for us to do to uncover, acknowledge, repent and repair the past and present racism that persists among us. Part of our work in 2020 will be undertaking a significant process to begin that deep work. If we are to be a church that calls for a reformation of the whole UMC as fully inclusive, anti-racist, and anti-colonial, let’s try not to be hypocrites. If we say we love God and love each other, when people walk in our doors, God help us if they don’t see that in flesh. Let’s try not to be hypocrites.
And that of course, leads to our personal lives. We each have to take responsibility for our own stuff, for how we think of others, treat others, speak to others. We need to take advantage of opportunities to learn and to be stretched, to practice receiving information that is painful and uncomfortable, to look honestly at the state of our hearts and seek to uncover the things that try to hide—or that we’ve hidden out of fear or shame or pride.
Many if not most of us are likely intentionally or unintentionally ignoring some stuff in order to feel ok about ourselves or to maintain a narrative about our life we’re comfortable with. Where does racism or colorism hide? Where do we want to deny our personal complicity in the privileges of empire? Where are the unacknowledged gaps between our stated values and our investments of time and money? What does all this do to your heart, to your “inward center”...and to your outward actions?
Years ago, a familiar voice sang the call of the Gospel today in words I imagine many of us still remember:
I'm gonna make a change,
For once I'm my life
It's gonna feel real good,
Gonna make a difference
Gonna make it right
[As I, turn up the collar on
My favorite winter coat
This wind is blowing my mind
I see the kids in the streets,
With not enough to eat
Who am I to be blind?
Pretending not to see their needs
I've been a victim of a selfish kind of love
It's time that I realize
That there are some with no home, not a nickel to loan
Could it be really me, pretending that they're not alone?]
I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you want to make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself, and then make a change[iv]
Michael Jackson sang those words; and Jesus said, “You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.”
“Knowing yourself”—owning your own stuff, facing hard truths, and trying not to be a hypocrite—is life-long work. The good news is that Jesus begins his sermon by saying, “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.” Jesus isn’t saying that your efforts to not judge and condemn will mean other people reciprocate that effort. We know better and so did Jesus. In the teaching, Jesus uses the future passive form of the verbs, indicating that the action here is God’s. When you are trying to be merciful and patient, to refrain from judgy ugliness, God sees you. God knows your heart. God knows when you’re trying. God is merciful. God will not condemn. God loves you.
If you know yourself to be a beloved child of God with inherent dignity and worth you will not need to tear others down in order to build yourself up. If you know yourself to be a beloved child of God, you will know that every other person is God’s beloved, too. If you know yourself to be the beneficiary of an unlimited grace and mercy, you won’t need to deny those gifts to others because you’ll know it’s not a zero-sum game. If deep in your heart you know yourself to be loved by God, you know the most important thing. And that will make all the difference.
[i] Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited, Boston: Beacon Press, 1976, p. 11.
[ii] https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/08/14/magazine/1619-america-slavery.html
[iii] https://www.vox.com/identities/2019/8/19/20812238/1619-project-slavery-conservatives
[iv] Source: LyricFind, Songwriters: Glen Ballard / Siedah Garrett, Man in the Mirror lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management, Songtrust Ave
Sunday Oct 20, 2019
Sunday Oct 20, 2019
Losing My Religion
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC October 20, 2019, the 19th Sunday after Pentecost. “Fearless Generosity: Deepening Faith” series.
Text: Jeremiah 31:31-34, Luke 18:1-8
In 1991, a song called “Losing My Religion” was a gigantic hit for the alt-rock band R.E.M. I wasn’t one of those super cool people who already knew the band—but I loved this song and became a fan. It became a thing to try to figure out the images in the music video and what in the world the lyrics meant. There are lots of theories. But this past week, I did some intentional digging to see if there was insight into the original meaning of the lyrics. What I learned is that lyricist Michael Stipe simply wrapped evocative religious and poetic imagery around an old southern expression—“I’m losing my religion.” The expression means being at the end of one’s rope, and the moment when politeness gives way to anger.[i] Imagine a friend recounting an experience at the DMV, for example, in which they’ve carefully prepared all the documents they need to accomplish their task, they explain how they waited in line for over an hour, got checked in, waited in the holding area for an hour, and when their number is finally called, are blandly, dismissively told that they need a document that hadn’t been mentioned anywhere on the website; and your friend closes by saying, “by the time I demanded a supervisor’s intervention, I was losing my religion!”
It is interesting to me that in this southern idiom religion is associated with being polite, with not being angry, with a sense of propriety. Merriam-Webster defines “polite” in these ways: a: showing or characterized by correct social usage b: marked by an appearance of consideration, tact, deference, or courtesy c: marked by a lack of roughness or crudities…
I’m all for being polite when it is in order. But there are times when being polite is decidedly NOT what is needed. A politeness that is more concerned with avoiding conflict than addressing injustice is not religious. Furthermore, a fake “politeness” when what is going on under the surface is judgment and hatred is hypocrisy. And about that the Judeo-Christian prophets, including Jesus, had some choice words.
But it doesn’t surprise me that there is a strain in our culture that would connect religion to being polite. Even though scripture doesn’t support it, so often religion—that is the communal practices and organized gatherings and beliefs of persons of faith—settles into club mentality, a place where the goal is primarily to avoid anything that might create conflict, to be affirmed in already-held positions and ideas, to feel warm feelings, to check some box that is disconnected from any other noticeable part of our lives. We know that what we profess as “religious” people often doesn’t show up in our priorities. How do we spend time? How hard do we work to see others as beloved children of God? Where do we spend our money? Who gets our support and advocacy? With whom do we stand?
Lord knows we’ve got some easy targets in the public square right now on this stuff—it’s enough to make me “lose my religion!” But I want us to be careful to acknowledge that none of us can claim we get it together all the time. Even when we have the best of intentions we fall into the old Pauline conundrum: we don’t do the good we want, but rather the bad we don’t want. (cf. Romans 7:19) We always need to own our own stuff, but we also need to call out the injustice we see around us. The teachings of Jesus to bring good news to the poor, lost, captive, vulnerable, and oppressed—and to do so through solidarity and with humility and generosity—these teachings are being perverted or completely ignored by many “Christian” voices who are influencing masses of people. On top of that too many churches still support theologies and practices that harm people and the creation. Currently on display all over the place are those who publicly tout their hypocrisy and practice serious theological and biblical malfeasance.
I think that these issues contribute in a significant way to the latest studies showing that people really are, literally, losing their religion. The Pew Survey released within the last few days says, “the U.S. is steadily becoming less Christian and less religiously observant as the share of adults who are not religious grows.” The percentage of American adults who describe themselves as Christian has gone from 77 percent to 65 percent, representing a 12 percentage point decrease over the last 10 years. Not only has the number of those who identify as Christians decreased, the number of people who identify as either atheist, agnostic, or “nothing in particular” has risen from 17 percent to 26 percent over the past decade.[ii]
Politeness that translates into dishonesty and avoidance, hypocrisy, injustice, spiritual violence, and outright scandal—all of this makes it pretty tempting to join those who don’t want to claim the name “Christian.” That name has become, in so many places, a codeword for bigotry, imperial values, and oppression.
Of course, that is the direct opposite of what we find in the Gospel. // Our text from Luke immediately follows a very challenging description by Jesus of false prophets, turmoil, temptations, and distractions, of suffering and confusion both present and to come. “Then,” the story goes, “Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” The parable Jesus tells highlights a widow who is in the midst of suffering herself. And this woman is not hiding behind politeness or propriety. In fact, she breaks all the rules. Understand that at the time Jesus tells this story, the widow would have had no rights and simply because she was a woman wouldn’t have access to a judge in a formal procedure of law. Women were restricted to roles of little to no authority; we weren’t supposed to talk with men who weren’t part of our family, or sometimes even appear in public without a husband or father…With all this background we see that the story Jesus tells is “loaded with ironic fantasy. This woman can only cry out to the judge unofficially. Perhaps she calls to him as he passes her on his way to the city gates to judge the disputes and charges of the men for the day. The cries of the woman eventually sway the cold heart of the judge who gives in to her request.”[iii]
The woman’s actions—I call it her “religious practice” of claiming her sacred worth, claiming her voice, and then breaking the rules and advocating for justice even when things were disheartening and seemingly hopeless—that is what Jesus features in this story. By doing so, Jesus affirms the woman’s worth, her voice, her perseverance, and her demand, deeply undermining the unjust exclusions of the time. In addition, this short parable of Jesus highlights the faithfulness of God to respond. That point is made by comparison—if even a jerk will respond to persistent cries, how much more will our God—who loves us!—respond when we are in need?
It seems to me that if more churches included and affirmed among their religious offerings the kind of subversive, life-affirming, justice-seeking practice we see in our Gospel today, some of the growing numbers of folk who “love Jesus but not the church”[iv] might happily reconnect; some others might discover that religion isn’t, in and of itself, a dirty word…some might even find that religious practice becomes a life-giving and encouraging thing.
The larger question bubbling under the surface for me throughout my reflections is this: what is the connection between religion and faith? As I’ve already mentioned, “religion” that does harm or is hypocritical or makes no connection to their daily lives, has led many people to step off the faith train altogether. For others, they’ve held onto faith, but left the church—sometimes not out of wounding but simply because it seems they can practice their faith without the hassle of “going to church.”
I firmly believe that God is with us wherever we are on the spiritual journey, that detours and spiritual dryness along the journey are to be expected, and that we can experience God and grace in ways that deepen our faith in a wide variety of contexts that have no discernable connection to “religion” or church. AND I’m also stubborn when it comes to my insistence that the church matters. I believe that the regular, intentional, organized/disorganized religious gatherings, observances, and practices of a Jesus-centered community gathered around our sacred story, Baptismal Font, and Communion Table are a powerful and even primary way that persons learn how to love and be loved, to take risks and discern when not to, to forgive and be forgiven, to be humble and powerful. And the fact that church is always messy and imperfect and full of a wide diversity of people is part of the way we practice being and becoming more human and able to function in the world as people of real faith and not just politeness. The yoga I have studied over the years talks about practicing the asanas or postures on the mat, but then taking the practice “off the mat” into your life. Church—our shared, public, communal religious life—is the “mat” where we practice so that we can take that practice off the mat and into the world.
Weeks ago as we were making preparations for this Fearless Generosity: Deepening Faith series, I wrote these words: “My heart’s desire is for Foundry to be for you a wellspring of spiritual nurture, challenge, insight, growth, and encouragement—like waters that go deep to the roots of a tree—to help you stand firm in the face of the storms of life and to feel grounded and strong in moments of calm. Whether you receive sustenance through music and worship, service and advocacy, study and exploration, or trusted friendships and community, Foundry offers resources—concrete practices and opportunities—to help you deepen your faith.” That is one vision of how I understand the connection between religion and faith. It’s not that faith can’t exist outside of communal religious practice, but rather that faith may not receive the full range of sustenance required to go to the deepest levels and highest heights without it.
My hope is that our continued strong support of Foundry will allow this congregation to practice and embody the kind of religion that people don’t “lose” but rather seek out when they’re at the end of their rope. I pray that we will financially and prayerfully support Foundry’s efforts to be impolite when we need to speak truth to power and to resist evil, injustice and oppression. I hope our financial support will strengthen Foundry to even more consistently offer opportunities for persons to come to know that they have sacred worth and are beloved children of an ever-present and faithful God.
I believe that there are so many times when people who have “lost their religion” all of a sudden find themselves needing the church. When that time comes, will they find one that isn’t an embarrassment? Will they find ways to learn and practice faith on earth? What will they find here?
[i] Evan Schlansky, “What is the meaning of R.E.M., ‘Losing My Religion,’” https://americansongwriter.com/2019/10/behind-the-song-r-e-m-losing-my-religion/
[ii] https://churchleaders.com/news/364277-latest-pew-survey-christianity-in-america-is-declining-still.html?fbclid=IwAR3SFah1UYoJmIClBNPNY8_zGVXYG_L0-4tLxupv5x1frlK6S8vAI5J7vmE
[iii] Peter Woods, https://thelisteninghermit.com/2010/10/11/why-god-doesn%e2%80%99t/?t%2F
[iv] https://www.barna.com/research/meet-love-jesus-not-church/
Sunday Oct 13, 2019
Sunday Oct 13, 2019
Reception Perception
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC October 13, 2019, the 18th Sunday after Pentecost. “Fearless Generosity: Deepening Faith” series.
Text: Luke 17:11-19
I have been what I call “under water” for several weeks. What began about a year ago as a carefully curated calendar that included exciting things here at Foundry as well as a couple of outside gigs I was really looking forward to got blown up by the necessity of meetings and responsibilities related to the issues facing the United Methodist Church. It may go without saying, but being under water is not a comfortable place to be—unless you’re equipped with scuba gear! I didn’t have the oxygen mask. Being under water doesn’t inspire or allow me to be “my best self.” And this last little while is just a more intense version of what life tends to be like these days on the regular—not just for me but for many of us. We have schedules that are full of important things, meaningful things, necessary things—with other things we really want to do crammed in where we can manage them. And in the midst of it all, we can struggle to give the people around us—family, friends, even co-workers—the time or attention that they deserve or need. If we’re not careful, we can end up taking people for granted; and as is often the case, those closest to us can be taken for granted most easily because we figure they’ll always be there and they know what we’re going through after all...
I once asked the folks in a church gathering what words or phrases they most longed to hear. Of course “I love you” was up at the top. Coming in a close second was “thank you.” “Thank you.” Such small words that hold such power… While doing some reading for today, I was struck by one commentator’s reflections on the ways that saying “thank you” can make a profound difference. Here is what he shares:
“In the film The Remains of the Day, Anthony Hopkins plays a butler to a super-rich family. While researching this role, Mr. Hopkins interviewed a real-life butler. This butler told Hopkins that his goal in life is complete and total obsequiousness—a skilled ability to blend into the woodwork of any room like a mere fixture, on a par with table lamps and andirons. In fact, Anthony Hopkins said one sentence he will never forget is when this man said that you can sum up an excellent butler this way: “The room seems emptier when he's in it.” The room seems emptier when he’s in it. The goal is to do your work, fill your wine glasses, clear the plates and silverware without being noticed, much less thanked. But that's just the problem with routine ingratitude: it makes people disappear. You are the center of your own universe and others don’t warrant entree into that inner sanctum of yourself. But a simple word of thanks makes people visible again, it humanizes them.”[i]
To say “thank you” is to acknowledge gratitude for what someone does or who someone is. But at an even more basic level, to say “thank you” is to see someone, to perceive their presence, it is to acknowledge them as a fellow human being, as a human being who is part of your life. When we get too wrapped up in our own stuff and take others for granted, the ones we take for granted can begin to feel invisible. And, I contend, even those who aren’t keen on being in the spotlight still need to feel seen, acknowledged, appreciated by those closest to them. Children who are starved for attention will act out in order to get what they need. And, quite frankly, so will adults. When we say “thank you” to another person, the other person becomes visible, they become more real, more human—and I would argue that when we offer thanks we, ourselves become a little more truly human as well. An example: when I get so busy and wrapped up in my work or my own projects that I fail to say thank you to Anthony for the ways that he supports and cares for me and for our shared life, then it is easy for me to forget all the ways that he supports and cares for me and our shared life. I can begin to feel “on my own” and put out and weary… I can grow self-righteous and resentful—ways of being that do not expand my humanity, but rather wear me down to a nub. Gratitude is life-giving for all involved; saying “thank you” is no small thing.
There is a lot more than an example of saying “thank you” going on in our Gospel passage today—issues of purity codes, insiders and outsiders, divine healing, and more are all wrapped up in this little story. Lepers were “unclean” according to the law and therefore were forced to live outside the boundaries of human community. They suffered what theologian Simone Weil calls “affliction”—a complete suffering that includes the physical, social, political, emotional and spiritual dimensions of their lives. There was little comfort for lepers, little hope that anything would ever change for the better. When they cry out to Jesus for mercy—even while keeping their distance as they had been taught to do—Jesus responds by telling them to go and show themselves to the priests. It amazes me that they did as they were told—considering that as they set off to present themselves for the purity inspection they were still leprous. What an act of faith—or desperation—to head off in the direction of hope before they saw any change in their condition! But, as they went on their way, they were made clean—that is, they were healed of their leprosy. Then, in a surprising turn of events, the one among the group who was especially afflicted—the Samaritan (despised by and ostracized from the orthodox Jewish establishment) doesn’t just keep going on his healed, merry way to present himself to the Samaritan priest. Something in him wells up and needs to be expressed. Perhaps this Samaritan’s different choice from the others is precisely because he was likely looked down upon even within the little community of outcasts. Someone who has known such deep rejection will be much less likely to take it for granted when healing and justice comes. For whatever reason, what the Samaritan does first is change his schedule—he changes course and turns back; he praises God, then he bows before Jesus and thanks him. Jesus notices that it is the foreigner, the outsider, who is bowed before him in gratitude and then he says a curious thing, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.” Wasn’t the Samaritan already healed? Evidently to be made well as Jesus means it is more than to be cured of a physical ailment. The Greek word translated “made well”, from the root sozo, can be translated to be made whole, to be restored, to be cured, to be saved. I mentioned before that the lepers suffered total affliction—cut-off from hope in every possible aspect of their lives. To be healed of the physical ailment of leprosy would allow them entry back into human community and many aspects of their lives would be restored. However, there is something else that is going on between the Samaritan and Jesus in this story: “Your faith has made you well” seems to point to a deeper restoration, a broader connection, a more holistic healing.
The Samaritan acts upon an impulse—an impulse of praise and gratitude to God. In essence, in this story, the Samaritan is the only one who we can be sure didn’t take God’s love and mercy for granted. By his praise and thanksgiving, the Samaritan shows that he knows his physical healing was an unexpected gift of grace from God. His vision and concern is larger than just his own immediate, personal relief. He doesn’t just get what he wanted and then move on as though it had been his persistence or his own strength that had brought about the radical change in his circumstances. [I noted at the beginning that I was under water without what I needed…but the truth is that if I hadn’t had what I needed, I wouldn’t be standing here right now… “morning by morning, new mercies I see…!] This one’s expression of gratitude puts his life and his relationship with God in proper perspective. The Samaritan is the beloved child, dependent, humbled, held and ultimately healed by the loving Lord of all life. He perceives the One in whom he has found life. His perception and turning to God in gratitude brings about healing and wellness beyond the merely physical—he becomes more whole in his body, mind, and spirit—he becomes more human—that is, he becomes more closely who God has created him to be. The Samaritan—the outsider and the afflicted—by his perceiving, his turning, his praising, his thanksgiving, becomes for us a sign of the coming Kin-dom of God—a sign of what is possible: restoration and wholeness, lives transformed by encounter with the Holy One.
Perhaps today—in addition to committing to perceive and say “thank you” to the people in our lives—we might also consider the ways that we acknowledge God as the source of our lives, as the sustainer of our lives, as the source of grace and strength, as the One who holds us and helps us to stand in times of trial and challenge. Perhaps we might also consider the role Foundry plays in helping us stay connected to God, providing ways for us to participate in God’s work in the world, and to practice love and forgiveness and grace and justice in community. When and how do you say “thank you?” In the midst of good, full, busy lives, it’s important to be intentional about these things. One of the ways we can return our thanks is through our generosity. Last week we reflected on how the spiritual practice of giving is a primary way for us to practice the leap of faith. This week, I want to suggest that giving is a powerful way to express gratitude. What if you made a commitment that, every time you write a check or see the recurring gift to Foundry show up on your statement or put money into the offering plate, you consciously say “thank you”—thank you God, thank you Foundry. This practice can help us not take God’s love and grace for granted. It can help us not take Foundry for granted. It can help us perceive all that we receive. Our invitation is to travel the way of gratitude…for it is on this way that we become more human, more connected to God and to those we are given to love in this life.
At the end of the story, Jesus tells him to “go on his way”—and I like to think that this extraordinary event in the Samaritan’s life might mean that his “way” will now forever be the way of gratitude. The temptation, of course, is that somewhere along the way, the healed Samaritan gets overly comfortable with God and his life once again becomes filled with a restored social calendar and various other human concerns; the schedule gets changed less and less to include an intentional turning to God in praise and gratitude; and God begins to fade out of the picture. Do you suppose this could happen?
[i] Scott Hoezee, This Week at the Center for Excellence in Preaching, http://cep.calvinseminary.edu/thisWeek/index.php
Sunday Sep 15, 2019
Sunday Sep 15, 2019
A Good Curse
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC September 15th, 2019, the fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost. “Do Justice!” sermon series.
Texts: Psalm 19; Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28
“It’s poor religion that can’t provide a sufficient curse when needed…” If these words of poet, prophet, and farmer Wendell Berry are correct, then our religion can’t be called “poor.” There are some pretty good curses in the Bible—and today prophet Jeremiah relays these un-minced words: “my people are foolish, they do not know me; they are stupid children, they have no understanding. They are skilled in doing evil, but do not know how to do good.” (4:22) And so a hot wind—hot and fierce as God’s anger—is promised.
The curses of both Berry and Jeremiah are inspired by the destruction of creation and human culpability. Jeremiah says, “the whole land shall be a desolation.” (4:27) In the same poem that speaks of “a sufficient curse,” Berry relays a litany of curses against those things that wound the creation—against “bank accounts, inflated / by the spent breath of all the earth, / of species forever changed to money.” He curses “legal falsehoods, corpses / incorporated that cannot see / or feel, think or care, that eat / the world and [excrete] money…the alien slop and fume / that spoil the air, the water, and all / the living world, sold, soiled, or burned…”[i] //
A sixteen year-old Swedish prophet in our midst right now, Greta Thunberg, also knows how to speak a sufficiently strong word. The young climate crisis activist and Nobel Peace Prize nominee has spurred a youth movement around the world and has been in the news as she’s spoken in protest here in D.C. ahead of next week’s U.N. Climate Action Summit in New York City. In December, 2018, she (then only 15) addressed leaders of the United Nations saying this: “You are not mature enough to tell it like it is. Even that burden you leave to us children. But I don't care about being popular. I care about climate justice and the Living Planet. Our civilization is being sacrificed for …a very small number of people to continue making enormous amounts of money. Our biosphere is being sacrificed so that rich people in countries like mine can live in luxury. It is the sufferings of the many which pay for the luxuries of the few.
The year 2078 I will celebrate my 75th birthday. If I have children maybe they will spend that day with me. Maybe they will ask me about you. Maybe they will ask why you didn’t do anything while there still was time to act. You say you love your children above all else and yet you’re stealing their future in front of their very eyes. Until you start focusing on what needs to be done rather than what is politically possible there is no hope.”[ii] That is a “sufficient curse.” And a good curse in our faith context is meant to shake people into awareness and action.
Sadly—and it frankly boggles my mind—there are people in the world who still deny that climate change is real. There are people who believe that all the data, scientific reports, and predictions of loss of life and habitat and balance on this planet are nothing more than a politically-motivated conspiracy dreamed up by stubborn, leftist tree-huggers. And even those who recognize that there really are scary consequences for the pollution and mindless destruction that humans have inflicted on creation seem to so often disconnect this painful reality from their lives of faith.
The fact is that our Judeo-Christian faith specifically calls us to a deep and intentional connection with all of creation. Not only are we called to be caretakers of the world, its earth, air, water, and creatures, but we are also reminded that we are, ourselves, part of the creation. In Genesis 1 we see humankind take our place in the lineup of those made by God…we are creatures, the human animal, made in the image of God.
The words from Jeremiah echo those of Genesis 1, but are the antithesis of the creation story. Jeremiah prophesies not just random destruction, but rather a very specific “de-creation” or “uncreation” of creation. In Genesis, the wind moved over the deep waters and brought order and creation out of chaos and nothingness. In Jeremiah, the wind of God isn’t a nurturing, creative force, but blows hot as a judgment and curse. And we find in Jeremiah 4:23 the phrase “waste and void”—in Hebrew, tohu vabohu. This occurs only one other place in all of scripture, in Genesis 1:2, where NRSV translates it “formless void.” Jeremiah’s prophecy parallels Genesis 1 in reverse… there is no light, the earth—once separated from the waters to provide a firm place to stand—now shakes, there are no birds of the air, there is “no one at all,” the fruitful land is laid bare, and communities and cities are rubble.
Our faith story is clear that in the beginning, the human creatures were given the sacred responsibility to tend and care for God’s good creation. And what we have done instead is to participate in the de-creation of creation, we are agents of tohu wabohu…waste and void.
And why? Why do we participate in our own destruction? I don’t believe that most people want to destroy the earth. I believe we’ve been sold a bill of goods to make our lives “easier”—everything from poison-chemical-filled cleaning products to gas-fueled cars to machines made with a short half-life intended to increase re-purchase, to hormone and chemically “enhanced” food and so on. We are entrenched in habits that seem harmless and we even change some behaviors to try to do better. But at this point, things have reached a crisis moment. “Our house is on fire,” as Greta Thunberg says.
Wendell Berry is clear—as is Thunberg and prophets through the ages—that much of what drives the de-creation of creation is greed. Greed—money!—is why in the U.S. more than 80 environmental rules and regulations over the past several years have been rolled back (as reported in The New York Times last week).[iii] Many endangered species are once again, literally, “fair game.” Chemicals can be dumped in waterways again or used in close proximity to creeks and rivers, many emissions controls are gone, and more of all of this is happening in the name of easing the burden on industry, big business, and economic development. Who needs plants and animals and air and water and good earth if the bottom line is healthy? I believe Jeremiah could get behind Berry’s curse against “bank accounts, inflated / by… species forever changed to money.”
Many social and cultural factors have conditioned us these days to miss the breadth and depth of our responsibility to and interconnectedness with one another and all of creation. We have been taught to really believe our lives, our stuff, our planet, our time, the very air we breathe is our own. It’s MINE, we think… and we begin thinking that way at an early age—just check out this list of 10 “toddler property laws”:
- If I like it, it’s mine.
- If it’s in my hand, it’s mine.
- If I can take it from you, it’s mine.
- If I had it a little while ago, it’s mine.
- If it’s mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.
- If I’m doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
- If it looks just like mine, it’s mine.
- If I think it’s mine, it’s mine.
- If it’s yours and I steal it, it’s mine.
- If I saw it first, or last, makes no difference, it’s still mine.
While this tends to be the way that not only toddlers, but human beings generally, think—it is up to people of conscience—people of faith—to counter this tendency with wisdom, care and justice. “Our” stuff, “our” land, all of it—belongs to God. We didn’t do anything to deserve the beauty of the earth or the flesh and blood of our lives. They are gifts to us from Creator God.
Our failure as a human race to remember this truth and honor it above the lust for ease and wealth has led to the devastation of habitats, the pollution of waters, the extinction of unique creatures, whole eco-systems being thrown into imbalance and chaos, and the poor of the earth bearing the brunt of the damage. When we lose our sense of being creatures within the created order, our sense of being in a mutual relationship, with the responsibility to care for the planet and its other creatures, we begin to think that it’s our “right” to take, to destroy, to dump, to do the convenient thing instead of the just and loving thing. It’s our “right” to buy products that pollute. It’s “our” land so we can do with it whatever we want. And when the animals who have lost their homes move into “our space” then it’s their fault for complicating or endangering “our” lives.
Prophets are called to wake us up and get us to perceive what’s going on. Four times Jeremiah says, “I looked…and lo”—“lo” meaning “behold.” Look. YOU look! The call is for us to perceive what the prophet is perceiving, to perceive what we don’t really want to perceive, to behold our own culpability for what is happening. As we know full well, it’s only possible to fix a problem if we truly admit that we have a problem. When Greta Thunberg demanded action on climate change by government officials in Sweden, they said, “It doesn’t matter what we do, just look at the U.S.!”[iv] And when I looked at the comments online responding to Thunberg’s U.S. visit, there was comment after comment about how we (the U.S.) really needed to look at China or India… Everyone wants to say it’s someone else’s fault, someone else’s problem. As I said in my sermon at Asbury UMC last week, we point fingers at or look for action from “them” without realizing that it’s all “us”—we are in this life together whether we like it or not and the Kin-dom coming on earth as in heaven requires something not from some nebulous “them” but from all of US. And in the meantime, while we rearrange the deck chairs on the Titanic and blame other people, our earth mourns (4:28), the earth weeps. That’s what Jeremiah says…
It’s poor religion that can’t provide a sufficient curse when needed. That is true. It is also true that it’s poor religion that can’t provide a word of hope. That word for us today is that we can do something, we can vote and help register others to vote, we can make concrete changes and choices in our everyday lives to care for creation. We are making concrete changes here at Foundry and will be regularly offering tips, information, and guidance for ways that you can live your faith and do justice in the earth. By the grace of God and for the sake of all we hold dear in this life, I pray we will allow the prophetic “curse” to do some good and lead us to be done with de-creation. Re-creation and mending is our work. So let’s get to it.
[i] Wendell Berry, 2010:VI, This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems, Berkeley: Counterpoint, 2013, p. 349.
[ii] https://www.fridaysforfuture.org/greta-speeches#greta_speech_feb21_2019
[iii] “85 Environmental Rules Being Rolled Back Under Trump,” The New York Times, Nadja Popovich, Livia Albeck-Ripka and Kendra Pierre-Louis, September 12, 2019.
[iv] https://www.npr.org/2019/09/13/760538254/greta-thunberg-to-u-s-you-have-a-moral-responsibility-on-climate-change
Sunday Sep 01, 2019
Sunday Sep 01, 2019
“Living Water, Holy Fire”
A sermon offered by Will Ed Green at Foundry United Methodist Church—Sept. 1st, 2019
“Do Justice!” seems like an easy command when injustice is the status quo. Pastoral insights and prophetic pronouncements are not needed to understand the profound violence done at our borders and on our streets. In a city where the victims of every unsolved homicide this year are persons of color. In a nation where the debate about the worth of an enslaved person’s humanity has simply become about the valuation of refugees based upon their nation of origin. In a denomination which holds so primary the power of grace that has the gall to debate access to that grace because of a person’s sexuality or gender identity. We’re not hurting for opportunities to “do justice” these days.
But our new sermon series isn’t necessarily about the injustices of this present age, but how we—rooted in the promises of God and modeling ourselves in the way of Jesus Christ—are pursuing that justice. It’s about helping us ensure that—as disciples of Jesus who are compelled by our baptismal vows to “resist evil, injustice, and oppression in ALL forms they present themselves,”—we are doing so in a way that sustains not a moment in our collective history but participates in the movement of God through which all people experience liberation and abundant life.
Now may the words of my mouth, and the meditation of all our hearts, be pleasing to you for you, and you alone, are our rock and our redeemer. Amen.
To best understand the Book of Jeremiah, we need to take a step back in time to a moment when the people called Israel were in bondage in Egypt. When they escaped the oppression of Pharaoh and began their 40-year sojourn in the desert, they were a rag-tag bunch of enslaved persons whose only unifying characteristic was that they WEREN’T Egyptian. But through covenantal promises made with God on Mount Sinai, they became a PEOPLE with a common purpose: to live as a testimony to the unifying power of God’s grace and serve as a witness in the world to God’s liberating love. And their job was to pour out the waters of justice and love for all people.
In the intervening years, however, the tribes of Israel had only once—and for a brief 79 years—achieved any real semblance or recognition as a divinely chosen people. Following the reigns of King David and Solomon, the nation of Israel split into two kingdoms which were themselves at war with one another. The northern Kingdom of Israel fell—and was as an independent nation obliterated—in 721 by the Assyrian Empire while Judah, the southern Kingdom, became an Assyrian vassal-state.
This is important background information, to understand Jeremiah and our readings during this series. Because Jeremiah’s ministry begins at time when—for the first time in recent memory—things seemed to be looking up for Judah.
Now, there were wars and rumors of war. But that was because the Assyrian empire was collapsing under pressure from the new imperial power on the block, Babylon. And this meant that for the first time in forever the people were free from Assyrian oversight and control. Under the reign of King Josiah, the nation’s borders were expanding and there was a renewed sense of national pride and superiority. The economy was booming! Taxes were low! And even the religious fervor of the people, long suppressed, was renewed under Josiah’s reform of the temple, signaling what should have been a renewed understanding and commitment to their covenantal role as God’s people.
The picture seemed rosy, and an altogether odd background for the prophetic word we’ve read today. The reluctant boy called to be a prophet to the nations is gone. Instead replaced with a fiery Jeremiah launching his public ministry with the damning condemnation we’ve heard today. For Jeremiah, the rosy picture is a sham, and no one gets off the hook for not seeing it. Not the ancestors, not the kings, not the prophets or the priests. They may have looked like God’s chosen people, sure. But their iwitness was self-centered, self-righteous, self-aggrandizing. A light to the nation that had turned its light inward, to build up and protect itself, rather than risk itself for the sake of the world they were called to save.
In other words, Judah was walking the walk and talking the talk, but when it came to fulfilling the call God gave them they were off-course, off-script, and off-putting. Even then, it’s not their failure to live up to the covenantal standards that’s sin. No! It’s that they have have rejected the living waters of God’s justice, mercy, and love which had set them free and sent them to serve. That they’d abandoned the divine dream of a people through which the world might be set free, and become a people whose self-focused ambition—even if well-intended—resulted in an empty witness which couldn’t hold, let alone pour out for others, the liberating love of God.
In other words, the holy fire which had first burned within them, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty the oppressed, to welcome the stranger and announce that they time had come when God would save all people, had burned out apart from a deep and abiding connection to God’s purpose and presence in their lives.
Our reading ends today without resolution, and if you’re feeling a little whiplash, it’s ok. But it also leaves us with a critical question: as we pursue the kin-dom goals of liberation, healing, restoration and renewal—as WE do justice—who’s dream are we dreaming? As we protest and pray and engage in sacred resistance, what vision of the world are we pursuing. Are we drawing from the spring of living water, the faithful love of God which from generation to generation has strengthened and nourished us, or are we building empty cisterns of self-congratulation and personal ambition?
Jeremiah makes the case, as many prophets throughout history, that rootedness in a shared sense of call and purpose allows us to fully enflesh God’s dream of liberation and abundant life for all. Not simply a desire to look good or feel good.
Make no mistake—these things matter. We didn’t make up the play book for social justice here at Foundry. We don’t talk about sacred resistance because Pastor Ginger wrote a book about it. We are doing it as people whose identity is deeply rooted in the story of God’s liberating love which seeks out the most vulnerable and marginalized, which rejects systems of power which disenfranchise, silence, and oppress, and which actively works to dismantle them in every single place we find them.
Apart from this identity, we have a disturbing tendency to pursue the dreams and desires of other gods. And these little gods—like wealth, power, status, and personal success—do not bring justice, at least not really. They deal in death and result in emptiness. Consider the work of well-intentioned White abolitionists who fought to end slavery only to adopt assimilationist attitudes that did and do colonize black and brown bodies with the notion that “they’d be better off if they looked like, acted like, or were educated like us.” That’s not justice. It’s racism parading as progress.
What about LGBTQ+ people of color, and our trans siblings, who along with the whole LGBTQ+ community labored for marriage equality. When white, middle-class, and mostly male people—like me—decided that liberation had come with the Supreme Court’s ruling and declared the struggle for queer liberation complete, their bodies were left continuing to bear the brunt of queer oppression. Friends, that is not justice. It is privileged ambivalence.
Consider folks—and we all know them—that say they’re seeking liberation or justice, so-called social justice warriors seeking equity and inclusion. Those who protest and pray and preach and show up and show out when harm is being done to their chosen constituency, but who refuse to build relationships or understanding with those they disagree with. Who leave behind people in their communities who may not yet be where they are. They may be convincing and compelling, but this is not liberation. It’s lip-service.
These things all have the appearance of justice: an end to slavery, equal rights for LGBTQ+ folk who want to get married, talking a good game about liberation. But when they’re done on behalf of these little gods they accomplish at best temporary returns. Leaving us, when the going gets tough and the work seems impossible, divorced from the living water which gives us life, burnt out, jaded, and unable to do the work to which Christ calls us.
So what about it, Foundry Church? From which well are we drawing as we seek sustenance for the justice journey? At who’s altar are we worshipping as we seek to build the anti-racist, anti-colonial beloved community to which we are called? Because if our answer is anything less than this thing we do at that table, creating an ever-widening community, grounded in the welcome of Christ, in which all people find place and space to know themselves as beloved children of God, we’ve got some self-examination to do.
Y’all look. I know we’re proud of the witness we offer to our denomination and world. But if we’re doing the work because the preacher told us to from the pulpit or because we’re looking for a pat on the back and praise for being “good progressive Christians,” if we’re showing up just because we want to make ourselves look the part of a “leader in our denomination” or cultivate the image of a social justice church, then chances are what we do in a moment won’t last beyond it.
But if we want sustain a movement toward justice, to be a light to the world and a witness to the power of God’s love, we must remain rooted in the things that matter—breaking bread and passing cup to remember our common identity at the table of Christ. Grounding ourselves in the common waters of baptism through which Christ calls us to proclaim “Good news!” to the poor and recovery of sight to the blind and liberation to the captive and restoration to the oppressed. Remembering that the justice we seek—God’s justice—values diversity over conformity and relationships over lines in the sand. Investing not because we want power or praise, or are convinced of our ability or necessity in the work, but because we want to faithful to the one who has called us. Then, friends, then I dare anyone to stop what God can do with us.
And hear this Good News! That even when we get it twisted. When we forget and fail and falter. That spring of living water does not dry up. God does not abandon us. Even as the people’s failure is condemned in Jeremiah’s prophecy, God STILL calls them “my People.” You—we—are God’s people, each of you perfectly gifted, absolutely called, unequivocally capable of doing and being and becoming the beloved community we’re called to be.
So then, beloved, as we do justice this week, this month, and throughout our lives do not forget who has called you. A God whose faithfulness breaks the power of Pharaoh’s grasp to liberate the captive and in the face of Disciplinary violence excites a revolution against injustice. Do not rush past, in your work toward justice, the simple acts of prayer at the beginning of a meeting or study of scripture or a chance to check in and remember that we don’t do this work alone. Fuel the holy fire for justice with the living water we are offered as the Body of Christ. And watch, just watch, what God can do.
Amen.