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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 Mar 10, 2019
Sunday Mar 10, 2019
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC March 10, 2019, First Sunday of Lent. “Traveling the Redemption Road” series.
Text: Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Where have you come from? Where are you now? And what have you come through to get there?
And as we begin this season of Lent, our focus is on the journey. We are traveling the redemption road, seeking to move from one place to another. We’re all at different places along the way. We have a variety of challenges, broken places, regrets, and more from which we hope to be redeemed—which is to be released, set free.
There are times when we may struggle to see how we will ever get free of the things that weigh us down and keep us stuck. It may be difficult to imagine a life free of guilt, free of destructive behaviors—or free of abuse and oppression that we experience from others. It will sometimes be hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel or to hold fast to the promise on the other side of the wilderness or the new life on the other side of the tomb.
This isn’t only true for us as individuals, but also for us as communities—our churches, cities, states, and nation have much from which we need to be redeemed. We have sinned and done great harm over the course of history. Sometimes we have knowingly done hateful, exclusive things and sometimes even our good intentions have brought about suffering and death for others.
Lent is the time set apart in our faith tradition to focus on these painful truths—the brokenness of our own lives and the sins of the communities of which we are a part. We don’t focus on guilt in order to wallow, but rather to get free, to do better, to move along the road toward redemption. This season is also a time when we are reminded of our dependence upon God to help lead us there. //
Our text today from Deuteronomy is toward the end of what is written as Moses’ long farewell speech to the Israelites as he prepared for his death. It is a description of the worship ritual to bless the “first fruits” as a remembrance and thanksgiving for God’s faithfulness. Embedded in the ritual is the ancient core of our faith story:
“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.” (Deut 26:5-9)
The core of our faith is that when we are lost, wandering, exiled, enslaved, afflicted, hungry, and in despair, God hears our cries and sets us free. God leads us through the wilderness. God wants to get us through the rough places and into a green pasture and beside a still water. God is about bringing life out of death. Of creating new life where we can only perceive decay. And—don’t we know it?—God has brought you through. God will bring us through. //
One of the most important conversations happening right now in the midst of the horrific outcome of the United Methodist General Conference in St. Louis is around intersectional justice and inclusion. I sense that this is a place that God is determined to lead us to and through. It’s a messy conversation, but so deeply important as we turn toward the future in our congregation and denomination. For some, there is concern that, in our denomination’s focus on LGBTQ persons’ inclusion or exclusion, other marginalized persons in our church and society are being silenced and their suffering ignored by the church. Systemic racism and white supremacy, violence against immigrant populations, poverty, climate change, and devaluing the voices and leadership of our young people are getting named as places where the church is overwhelmingly silent. Some local congregations and some of our United Methodist agencies focus a lot on these matters. But some are pressing for more.
Generally, folk are so conditioned in “either-or” thinking that it’s difficult to hold the tension of “both-and.” For example, we’re either engaging the struggle for LGBTQ equity or racial equity.
Intersectionality theory highlights how either-or thinking sets us up to leave people out and even make them invisible. We who want to love as Jesus loves will at least try to figure out how to perceive, include, and honor all among us, those at the margins and those who live at the intersection of multiple margins; might we train ourselves to lift up the sibling who, for example, is black and trans and poor? As I read the Bible, my guess is that’s a person Jesus would see in a crowd when no one else was paying any attention.
There are moments when we need to focus on one part of the human family because of acute assault—that’s what drives our advocacy for LGBTQ inclusion in the church right now. It’s also what fuels our consistent focus on racial justice. But if we’re not careful, we can trample the most vulnerable on our well-meaning quest. That’s the outcry from the margins in this moment of denominational crisis. If we’re going to try to do something for justice and inclusion, let’s really try to do justice.
Here at Foundry I am increasingly clear that part of the redemption road we need to travel includes moving toward a much greater understanding of intersectionality—the ways that power and privilege can functionally silence and “erase” partners in the struggle for justice (we’ll talk about that a bit in my upcoming class on Sacred Resistance). And I’m committed more than ever to a vision for Foundry that includes a robust effort to create beloved community—in the Howard Thurman mode. We are a both-and congregation and part of a Wesleyan spiritual tradition that is also both-and. In this moment of disruption in our denomination, I encourage us to move away from any temptation to either-or exclusions and journey toward the place where we acknowledge our struggle to perceive and honor the most vulnerable among us. This is the time to let go of any tendency to compare sufferings or to think that if we’re oppressed, we don’t oppress others. This is the time to take up the call to reflect in our membership the full range of beautiful diversity of our city. This is the time to actively engage in work that presses each of us to confront whatever privilege we have and to be honest about the ways white supremacy, patriarchy, and other systemic oppression functions within our congregation even though we desire that it isn’t so.
I encourage you to read books from our racial justice reading list, to engage in the conversations about LGBTQ inclusion, participate in the monthly Sacred Resistance studies and events, or join in the exciting vision emerging between Foundry, Asbury, and John Wesley AMEZ.
This work is so hard and getting free of our stuff is not easy. We will likely wander in confusion and be held captive by old thinking again and again. But we’re not on the journey alone. The redemption road is frequented by a God who wants to take us to a place of freedom, a place of promise, a place where we keep moving but do so with a greater awareness of who’s on the journey all around us and who may need a helping hand to keep moving at various points along the way.
The exodus story is a journey story, a redemption story, an Easter story. It’s our story. Thanks be to God.
Sunday Feb 17, 2019
Sunday Feb 17, 2019
Tested Minds, Searched Hearts
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC February 17, 2019, the sixth Sunday after Epiphany. “This Is Us” series.
Text: Jeremiah 17:5-10
Jeremiah’s prophecy reveals that God will “test the mind and search the heart, to give to all according to their ways, according to the fruit of their doings.”
If God were to test your mind and search your heart today, what would God find? Where are you putting your energy? What or who gets your love and your trust?
One of the most consistent messages throughout the Bible is that where you place your trust and devotion determines so much about your life. And the unwavering call is to trust God above all else—not because God will get mad at us if we don’t, but because trusting God will set us free to live even in the most threatening circumstances.
We know from human experience that without trust, life is a small, fearful thing. Or, said positively, trust is what allows freedom, courage, and growth.
If I trust you, then I will be willing to go with you into something that would otherwise make me nervous. If you trust me, you will believe me when I explain that the words I said weren’t meant in the way you heard them—and you’ll allow me to explain. When a trusted teacher, boss, or coach is hard on you, pushing and expecting more and more of you, it is possible to believe they aren’t punishing you, but believing in you and encouraging you. If I trust my doctor, my whole being will be more receptive to healing. In these and so many other instances, trust is what makes it possible to step into new things, nerve-wracking things, challenging things. Trust frees us from the fear that would hold us back. Trust helps us be vulnerable and brave. Trust expands our horizons.
We also know from human experience that sometimes trust is difficult. Our family histories and cultural experience may make it challenging to extend trust to anyone. Our hearts get broken and betrayed in so many ways in this life, making us guarded and shy to share ourselves again. From parents to politicians to pastors to partners, human beings are fallible and finite. We can really do numbers on each other… And while it is one of the greatest gifts in human life to be able to trust our heart with another person, we know, if we’re paying attention, that there is no person—and certainly no thing—that can meet all our needs or sustain our whole life or keep from hurting us or letting us down at some point.
Jeremiah prophesies, “Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength, whose hearts turn away from the LORD. They shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when relief comes. They shall live in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land.” Throughout the Bible, we hear God calling us to turn away from false Gods, calling us to stop putting our trust in things or in earthly leaders that will not give life. Those who make themselves “lords” over others and who look to their own strength and wealth and power and control as the locus of their trust will find themselves, sooner or later, in a painful place. Jeremiah’s image is of a parched place, a “salt land” where nothing can grow, and the “shrub” in that place isn’t even able to see when something hopeful is on the horizon.
Jeremiah describes the alternative in this beautiful way: “Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit.”
The good news is that we’re not asked to trust God without evidence that God is trustworthy. Our Judeo-Christian family history has shown that God can be trusted. God receives the cries of God’s people and journeys with us from slavery into freedom. God calls people from every walk of life and grants grace and power to participate in mighty acts of mending and saving. God is gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love. God has promised to never leave us nor forsake us and has shown us again and again—and supremely in Jesus—that the promise is kept.
God knows what we need. God longs for us to thrive, to be free from anxiety, and to bear fruit. And God alone is the one who can be trusted to lead us and feed us and ground us in the kind of perfect love that is life and health and peace. It’s not that we cannot or should not trust one another, it’s that we cannot expect any human being to be God, to be able to perfectly love us, to see us in our fullness, to know our whole capacity, to hold us accountable and push us to grow, to give us everything we need to thrive, to never break our trust.
When we are able to put our trust in God’s love, mercy, and providence, we are free to risk trusting others, knowing that even when we get hurt, God will be there to hold us and wipe away our tears. When we experience the trustworthy presence and love of God, we learn something of how we are called to be in relationship to others. We know we can’t be God for others, that we will fail and will hurt others…but God will give us grace to grow in integrity, patience, and courage, and care. God will help us be the kind of persons with whom others will trust their hearts…
As [some of us enter covenant with this congregation today], as we move into this week’s General Conference—and any other challenge you may be facing in your life—the invitation is to let God test your mind and search your heart. Let God show you—and help you release!—things that don’t deserve your attention and energy and trust. Let God work within you to help you trust God’s love and providence more than anything else. Let God help you trust God more than you distrust anyone else!
As we put our trust in God we’ll have no need to fear when heat comes, and we won’t need to be anxious in a moment of drought. We don’t need to fear a vote or a distressing possible outcome. We don’t need to be anxious about what others will do or say. We don’t even need to fear suffering and death. Because our trust is in a God whose love flows, a river of life in which we all are invited to play, from which we are all invited to drink, upon which we are all carried into a future life that is assured. Because our trust is in a God who holds us and loves us and guards us and goes before us, as a shield and encircle, we can be bold and brave and alive in love and compassion. This trust gives us peace beyond all human understanding. This trust sets us free.
Monday Feb 11, 2019
Monday Feb 11, 2019
Call and Response
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC February 10, 2019, the fifth Sunday after Epiphany. “This Is Us” series.
Text: Isaiah 6:1-13
A long time ago, in a place called Judah, there was a King named Uzziah who reigned for 52 years. During and after good King Uzziah’s reign, Judah rebelled against God’s ways (Is 1:2). Injustice, greed, hypocrisy, lies, arrogance, and power grabs were everywhere (Isaiah 1, 5). Still, while Uzziah was alive there was relative stability—at least you knew what to expect. But then Uzziah died. That year must have felt like things were falling apart, like nothing made sense, leaving people in shock—like when airplanes fly into the World Trade Center or when a gunshot ends the life of a prophet or a president.
In the year that King Uzziah died—around 738 BCE—a guy named Isaiah went to worship…maybe because he was a regular attendee or maybe because when everything is hitting the fan sanctuaries tend to get full. Whatever brought Isaiah to the temple, I wonder if, looking back on it, he ever wished he’d have skipped church that day…
Why? Well, first of all, Isaiah experiences God’s glory and a flying choir whose “Holy, holy, holy” seemed to make the whole temple shake and fill with smoke. We might imagine this would make Isaiah bliss out or get his praise on. Instead this vision elicits a searing awareness of Isaiah’s own lostness and unclean lips (another word for “hypocrisy”). Isaiah comes face to face with his smallness and sin. That’s never fun.
And that un-fun awareness is met with the divine-vision-version of a common scene in movies, in which the villain of the piece plucks a burning coal from a fire with tongs and draws near the person’s face in a menacing way. In this instance, the coal is not meant to do harm, but to symbolize a purification from sin—it’s a sign of mercy! Remember the refiner’s fire? All I can say is, “ouch!”
And then, if all that weren’t enough, convicted and forgiven Isaiah (bless him, this was some day in church!) hears a question from God that likely haunts him for the rest of his days: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” This is like the template for bad church servant leader recruitment through the centuries: God doesn’t provide a position description. There’s no term of service or goal clarity or outline of supportive relationships and feedback loops, no clarity around the budget for the ministry.
Even so, Isaiah—all purified up and ready to speak—blurts out “Here I am, send me!”
Only then does the picture start to emerge: Isaiah is called to speak to the people of Judah in such a way that they will not open their hearts and minds and arms to God. Instead, they will continue along their merry way—their way of denial, hypocrisy, greed, injustice, and self-destruction, hurtling toward ruin…
We see Isaiah start to wake up to what he’s signed up for as he asks, “How long, O Lord??” And the answer comes: Until nothing but a tiny, holy seed of the nation is left…
Sometimes things have to get to a very bad place before we are ready or able to change, to turn toward a new way of life, to do things differently, to repent. [Hello, United Methodist Church!]
And Isaiah, before he even knew what he was doing, signed up to prophesy to a people seemingly intent on self-destruction…
Isaiah shows us so much of the prophetic call. // That call begins with being humble enough to know our own sinfulness and weakness—and the systemic sin in which we swim (“among a people of unclean lips!”)—and to allow not only God’s light to reveal it but also God’s love and mercy to heal it. Humility keeps a prophet from thinking she’s somehow better than “them” and always aware that “There, but for the grace of God go I…” Isaiah also shows that the prophetic call is to keep reminding people of God’s love, God’s way of justice, God’s faithfulness, God’s desire for relationship—even when people can’t or won’t receive the message. It’s to continue doing the hard and loving and just thing even when we find ourselves crying “How long, O Lord!” or—with Fannie Lou Hamer—“I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired!”
And as we continue our “This Is Us” series, I want us to claim and respond to our prophetic call as Foundry Church, starting from a place of humility. We know we are far from having it all together as a community. There are gaps and gaffes that happen here and there and now and again in all sorts of ways and places—at every level of our fellowship. And, thanks be to God, as United Methodists, grace is a centerpiece of our theology and so we believe, by grace, we are always “going on to perfection!” We are humble enough to never claim that we are already there…even as we re-commit to do and be better today than we were yesterday. We also call upon the power of Spirit not only to reveal our hypocrisy and sin but to heal it and to show us how to truly repent.
And while we know that we are always working our growing edges as a congregation, we also claim the power God gives us to speak and witness in prophetic ways. Our strategy at Foundry is to focus on several key initiatives, realizing that focused resources can make larger impact. We make long-term commitments, are determined to go deep in the work of effecting systemic change, and only put ourselves fully “out there” once we know what we are willing to risk and sacrifice for the sake of those with whom we stand.
One of our long-term commitments is to stand in solidarity with our lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer siblings and to provide leadership within the United Methodist Church in the fight for full inclusion of LGBTQ persons in the life and ministry of the church. Foundry has long sought to create a welcoming and safe space for persons of all sexual orientations and gender identities through what we say, how we look, by adapting our physical spaces, and through advocacy and public witness. In 2010, Foundry made a deeply-discerned commitment to practice marriage equality in principled defiance of the restrictive rules found in the United Methodist Book of Discipline. At Foundry, families representing a rainbow of configurations are truly and fully part of this family. And while we celebrate this as a gift, we also proclaim this as simply the way it should be everywhere. But it’s not this way everywhere.
Currently, the only members of God’s family who are systematically, legislatively excluded from certain roles and blessings within the United Methodist Church are LGBTQ persons. This is not to say that systemic racism doesn’t still plague our denomination at every level. This is not to say that gender and culture and ability bias is not present within our congregations. It is simply to say that since 1972 statements and rules within the Discipline have denied ordination and Christian marriage to our siblings who are LGBTQ. Pastors are officially prohibited from performing same gender weddings and congregations from allowing these ceremonies in their buildings—under threat of trial. And, regardless of gifts, graces, and clarity of God’s call, LGBTQ persons are excluded from Elders and Deacons Orders—they officially “shall not be” ordained.
We all know that you can’t legislate morality—if we could, the United Methodist Church would be purged of racism, sexism, and lots of other things. We have clear statements denouncing such prejudices and legislating inclusion and affirmation for every part of the human family…except LGBTQ family members. We can’t legislate changed hearts and minds, but legislation—laws—provide protection and preserve dignity. As a wise colleague and civil rights leader said to me as we talked about this yesterday, “Laws fix behaviors immediately, and attitudes eventually. If a law changes, behavior changes. If it’s illegal for me to deny you a seat on the bus, then when you get on the bus, I can’t keep you from sitting down. If I don’t want to sit next to you, I can stand up. The bus is going to keep on rolling and I may get tired; I may eventually realize that I’d rather sit back down, that sitting next to you doesn’t mean whatever I was taught.”[i]
One critical objective for Foundry over many years has been to remove the discriminatory language related to LGBTQ persons from the United Methodist Book of Discipline. Leading up to the 2012 General Conference, there was great hope this would finally be accomplished. What followed was one of the most bruising and discouraging General Conferences folks remember. In 2016, things came to a head with the movement to exclude and deny exerting the full strength of its power…I—together with the more than 30 lay people from Foundry who were there—witnessed what felt like the church careening toward a very bad place. And then, in what could only have been movement of Spirit, the body took a breath and voted to do something new. The Commission on a Way Forward was the result, a diverse group charged by the bishops to study and discern a way forward that allowed for as much contextuality in ministry as possible and as much unity as possible. And then came the special called General Conference that will begin in 13 days in St. Louis, Missouri. I am one of six clergy delegates along with six lay delegates from the Baltimore-Washington Conference who will join a body of 865 elected delegates from the U.S., the Philippines, Europe, and Africa to vote on how we as a denomination will be in ministry with and for the LGBTQ members of our churches and of our local communities in the future. Knowing this historic moment would occur this year, Foundry’s Management Board named our engagement with this work among our strategic priorities for 2019. Today and next Sunday there are opportunities to learn more about General Conference, The Book of Discipline, and Foundry’s engagement in this work over many years. I encourage you to participate, to write your prayers on a prayer flag that will be taken by members of Foundry as a visual witness in St. Louis, and to pray…
What I want to say to all of you today is that our commitment to remove the discriminatory language and provisions from the Book of Discipline is strong as ever. Along with this objective, I also believe that holding the denomination together as much as possible is also critical to our solidarity with LGBTQ family members; church unity is important not for the sake of “saving an institution,” but so that churches like Foundry can continue to be lifelines for United Methodist children, youth, and adults who may be members of churches that don’t fully embrace them or, worse, that actively reject them. I am encouraged by the ways that faithful United Methodists are working together across what have been previously uncrossed boundaries to move us toward a more inclusive, grace-filled, and just Church, grounded in scripture and in our true Wesleyan theological heritage. I am hopeful for what might be accomplished at the special General Conference at the end of this month.
And I also want to say that no matter what happens in St. Louis, Foundry will still be Foundry. Our ministry will still embrace and support all people, we will continue to worship God with our whole being, to ground and guide our witness in challenging study, to care and pray for one another as one family in Christ; we will continue to speak love into places of hate, to practice inclusion even if bad church law demands exclusion, to risk our own security for sake of the oppressed, to give fearlessly to support those who are denied what they need to thrive. We have been called to offer a prophetic word and witness to the world and we will continue to respond—humbly, peacefully, and in the power of God’s love. No matter what.
How long? Even to the point of nothing being left but a seed…and if that be the case, we will roll up our sleeves and till the soil, trusting God for the rest.
[i] Rev. Jesse Jackson
Sunday Oct 28, 2018
Sunday Oct 28, 2018
Fearless Giving
A sermon shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, October28, 2018, the twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost and Commitment Sunday. “Fearless Generosity” series.
Text: Mark 10:46-52
There once was a man named Bartimaeus who, at one time, had been able to see. But now he is blind and sitting in a prominent place on a prominent road. He is a beggar, a “nobody,” discounted by passers-by as one who was of no good to anyone. As he sits, he clutches his cloak. This, you see, is his comfort, it is his warmth, it is his security. By day, he spreads his cloak out in his lap to catch the coins that are tossed his way and by night that same cloak is his blanket. He clings to his cloak, his security blanket; holding on for dear life to the comforting, familiar contours of the thing that defines his way of life.
Over the years, Bartimaeus has come to believe what others say about him. He has grown comfortable with the “facts” of his situation. “It is what it is…” I imagine him thinking, “I am what I am…and I can’t trust anyone and I can’t be different than I am today. I am hurt and rejected, called a sinner because of my state, blamed for my own suffering. If I move from my spot here, someone else will come and take over my prime position by this road so I’m stuck here. People come and go in the busy-ness of their lives, all passing me by.”
But one day, Bartimaeus hears that Jesus of Nazareth is setting out for a journey along that prominent road from Jericho to Jerusalem. And somehow, from somewhere deep in his soul, Bartimaeus remembers who he really is. Like the son who had ventured far from his father’s home and had squandered all the gifts that he had freely received, Bartimaeus “came to himself.” He knew Jesus was near and so he cried “Mercy!” Those who were with Jesus only saw a nuisance, a nobody, a beggar—they were quick to remind Bartimaeus that he didn’t merit any notice, that he didn’t belong in their group, that he needed to keep his mouth shut. But Bartimaeus called out again to Jesus as the Messiah: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
And then the most wonderful and surprising thing happened. The surprise is not that Jesus stopped in his tracks or that Jesus heard Bartimaeus’ cries or that Jesus called the man to himself. No, the surprise—the miracle—is that Bartimaeus threw off his cloak and sprang up. In that moment, this man sheds all the security and comfort and familiarity of his old way of life. He throws off the cloak of an identity and reality that kept him quiet, that left him feeling resentful and powerless, an identity that was deeply ingrained in his very being. And when Jesus asks what it is that Bartimaeus wants, the blind man does not ask for a lifetime supply of blankets, he doesn’t ask for a way to continue more comfortably in the life that he is living. Instead, Bartimaeus presents himself with the strange and faith-filled expectation that he can be changed, that he can become someone not entirely new, but more of who he knows himself, in his heart of hearts to be. He asks to see again. Bartimaeus’ faith in Jesus’ care for him gives him the power to reclaim his life, to stand up and to speak out, to take his rightful place in the journey towards Jerusalem, to regain what he had lost. From this place of faith-filled power, Bartimaeus joins Jesus, following the messiah on the way to the cross.
The story of Bartimaeus is the story of our lives in so many ways. No matter what our circumstances, all of us have security blankets that, if we’re not careful, hold us back, keep us silent and sidelined, make us believe all those old limiting messages received from people in our past about who we are and what we’re capable of, make us cling to idols we think will save us. And Jesus draws near to all of us—whether we perceive that nearness or not—and is so generous. “What do you want me to do for you?” This is the question Jesus asked of James and John when they came with their demands (Mk 10:36) and it is the question Jesus asked of Bartimaeus when he cried out for mercy (Mk 10:51). I believe it’s the question Jesus asks of us all. Our God is so generous with us, wanting to give us not just what we think we want, but the deepest desire of our hearts—to be free of what binds us, to know ourselves held and loved by God, to have purpose and meaning for the living of our days.
These are the gifts that make it possible to live with less fear. But to truly receive them means we will have to throw off our proverbial “cloaks,” our false security blankets, and move toward and with Jesus. These past weeks, Foundry has been engaging with our “extended family” congregations, Asbury UMC and John Wesley AMEZ, in a study of Howard Thurman, the brilliant and influential pastor, teacher, and author who deeply influenced the civil rights and social justice movements of the past 100 years. In his book Jesus and the Disinherited Thurman speaks directly to our theme for today saying, “Nothing less than a great daring in the face of overwhelming odds can achieve the inner security in which fear cannot possibly survive. It is true that a man cannot be serene unless he possesses something about which to be serene. Here we reach the high-water mark of prophetic religion, and it is of the essence of the religion of Jesus of Nazareth. Of course God cares for the grass of the field, which lives a day and is no more, or the sparrow that falls unnoticed by the wayside. He also holds the stars in their appointed places, leaves his mark in every living thing. And [God] cares for me! To be assured of this becomes the answer to the threat of violence—yea, to violence itself. To the degree to which a [person] knows [that God cares about them], [that person] is unconquerable from within and without.”
Liberation from fear requires “great daring in the face of overwhelming odds.” That’s what we’re after around here. We at Foundry sit in a prominent place on a prominent road. And we intentionally stand in solidarity with those who live on the edge or are pushed to the margins. And we call out injustice and suffering even when others say we should keep our mouths shut. And we are doing all we can to make sure that folks don’t just pass us by, but have their lives or hearts impacted by our presence here; that the passers-by are challenged and inspired, maybe even drawn to the shared life and work and vision that is available in and through our congregation. And we are laboring to help those whose dignity and identity has been trampled or denied remember and believe that they are beautiful and beloved, that they can live fully and freely in the liberating love of God. And the only way we can do any of it is if we, like Bartimaeus, show great daring in the face of overwhelming odds, trust God’s love and care for us, throw off our security blankets, and get on the journey toward the cross and resurrection.
One of the primary ways we do that is through our giving. These past weeks, we’ve been talking about generosity, about how children remind us what fearless generosity looks like, about the way Jesus gets all up in our business and pushes our buttons about our relationship with our money and possessions, about the challenge to risk failure for the sake of love and justice. We’ve learned from our month-long study of the 10th chapter of Mark that giving without fear is a way to practice living without fear. And today we find ourselves in our prominent place on this prominent road and Jesus is drawing near and calling to us. We are being called to throw off the cloak of scarcity—the lie that we don’t have the financial resources among and between us to fund the vision for 2019 and keep our incredible forward movement going. Our fearless giving is what will make it possible to reach more people with the Gospel message of love and inclusion and hope and justice we proclaim. Our fearless giving is what will make it possible to feed, stand in solidarity, advocate, and serve in even more profound ways. Our fearless giving is what will make it possible to experience ever more transcendent worship, to support the growing numbers of babies, children, and youth that are all around us, and to be and become true beloved community.
And, yes, I know the markets tanked this past week. That just makes this moment even more poignant and significant. Even when the markets are great, giving money is a huge leap of faith. And in this moment I am asking that each one of us—in an act of great daring—truly gives as much as we can; I’m asking that you don’t just fill out the estimate card on auto-pilot but consider whether you can be one of at least 200 folks who will give for the first time or increase your gift for 2019 in the amount of $2000. It may be that some of you can cover five of your siblings who are unable to participate by contributing $10,000 or there might even be someone among us who can cover 50 folks with a gift of $100,000. Others may only be able to give or increase $1000 of $100. If you want to count yourself among those who will help us raise the additional $400,000 we need for 2019, I invite you to note that by writing “fearless” on your estimate of giving card. //
A story is told of an incredible tightrope walker who would do tightrope acts at tremendously scary heights all over Paris. And he not only crossed the rope, but would do it blindfolded, then he would go across the tightrope, blindfolded, pushing a wheelbarrow. An American promoter (who didn’t think it could be done) challenged the tightrope walker to do his act over Niagara Falls. The reply came, “Sir, although I’ve never been to America and seen the Falls, I’d love to come.” After a lot of promotion and setting the whole thing up, many people came to see the event. The tightrope walker was to start on the Canadian side and come to the American side. Drums roll, and he comes across the rope which is suspended over the treacherous part of the falls—he does this blindfolded! He makes it across easily. The crowds go wild, and he comes to the promoter and says, “Well, now do you believe I can do it?” “Well of course I do, I mean, I just saw you do it.” “No, do you really believe I can do it?” “Well of course I do, you just did it.” “No, no, no, do you believe I can do it?” “Yes, I believe you can do it.” “Good, then you get into the wheelbarrow.”
Today is the day Jesus asks us to get into the wheelbarrow. Throwing off the cloaks of our old way of living, throwing off the cloaks of our false security and control, throwing off the cloaks of what we’re comfortable and familiar with—these are profound acts of faith in Christ. It means that we’re willing not just to call out to Jesus, not just to speak the words of faith—“O yes, Jesus, I believe in your power”—but to change our behavior, risk failure and loss, give fearlessly to practice living fearlessly. It means that we put ourselves in the wheelbarrow, trusting that Christ can and will sustain us. It means giving fearlessly so that all kinds of new life might emerge…
Sunday Oct 21, 2018
Sunday Oct 21, 2018
Fearless Service
A sermon shared by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, October 21, 2018, the twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost. “Fearless Generosity” series.
Text: Mark 10:35-45
What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? I don’t remember the first time I heard that question, but it has stayed with me for years. It’s a powerful question for me—because one of my biggest fears is failure. Maybe some of you will relate. The fear of failure can keep me—or any of us—from stepping out and trying something or doing the thing that we really want to do. I realized at one point that my ability to even name what I really want had atrophied as a side effect of this fear. I’ve always been in awe of folks who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to ask for it—demand it even—those folks who would just go for it.
James and John are those kind of folks. Hey Jesus, give us cabinet positions in your administration! Jesus—who had just for the third time said that he was going to be arrested, humiliated, killed, and rise again (Mk 10:32-34)—would have had cause to simply respond with a face palm. Really dudes? This is your response to my impending suffering, death, and resurrection? Maybe James and John just heard the “after three days rise again” part—kinda like lots of us do during Holy Week, thinking that we get to Easter without traveling the road that takes us to and through the tomb… But Jesus forgoes the facepalm and tries to bring the disciples along. Even when the others get their backs up over the audacity of their colleagues, Jesus simply reminds all of them what they signed up for: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Mk 10:43-45)
To be clear, there is “glory” in following Jesus, the glory of new life and eternal joy and liberating love—but first comes the agony of defeat, of suffering, of death, of failure. You don’t get to “greatness” in the Kin-dom of God except by serving others, by humbling yourself, by experiencing loss and emptiness. I wonder if part of the teaching is that the power of self-giving love is the real power. And self-giving love will intentionally assume a posture of service and of solidarity with those who suffer. Taking such a posture will mean vulnerability; it will invite ridicule from those who don’t understand such a stance, those who believe the only way to get by in this life is to manipulate, overpower, control, or intimidate others. But the power of self-giving love is the kind of power that works in mysterious ways, making hard hearts tender at least around the edges and chipping away at crusty prejudices and seemingly intractable injustice.
It occurs to me that, living as we do on the other side of the first Easter morning, we might begin to understand that the question to ask is not what we would do if we knew we couldn’t fail, but what failure we’re willing to risk for the cause of love and justice. Jesus faced into the very worst of the world—took on the full weight of empire’s fury—evidently knowing he would have to lay down his life, in order to bring liberation and new life to all God’s children. Jesus risked absolute failure for the sake of love for the world. This the one we’ve thrown our lot in with. Our call is to embody the same kind of fearless service as Jesus.
I often get push back on this, hearing some version of, “Jesus had that whole ‘being God’ thing going for him and I’m just me.” But here’s the thing: we know there are people in the world down through the centuries who reflect the self-giving love of Christ and who remind us that fearless service is not just a nice idea, but is really possible through the love and grace of God.
Last Sunday, we officially named three spaces in our physical plant that honor folks who are part of the fabric of Foundry Church and whose fearless service has impacted the life and witness not only of Foundry but of our denomination and larger world. Norman and Frances Prince, Arthur and Bernice Flemming, and Bill and Vivian Kirk. I’ve been particularly thinking about Dr. William Astor Kirk over these past months as the United Methodist Church ramps up to the special called General Conference of 2019 that will impact not only the future of the denomination’s stance related to LGBTQ persons, but also the future of the UMC as a whole. Dr. Kirk is one I wish were still around for me to talk with and to receive counsel from about these weighty matters.
Dr. Kirk is a breathtaking example of our topic today—the kind of self-giving love and fearless service to which we are all called to aspire. Over a lifetime of fighting for justice, he must have risked failure after failure and yet he persevered. I encourage you to look him up and see what I’m talking about. Some highlights of his fearless service:
“Upon completing his Master's degree in Government from Howard University in 1974, Dr. Kirk and wife Vivian relocated to Austin, Texas where he assumed the position of professor of Government and Economics at Huston-Tillotson College. Dr. Kirk, active in Austin civic life was an organizer in the local chapter of the NAACP and arranged peaceful protests that led to desegregation of the Austin Public Library and many other public facilities. Dr. Kirk's work against discrimination also focused on the University of Texas where he applied and was
admitted to a PhD Program. Dr. Kirk's refusal to study in segregated classes prompted a lawsuit by the Austin chapter of the NAACP. Subsequently Kirk, in 1958…became the first African American to earn and receive a Doctorate in Political Science from the University of Texas.”[i]
Dr. Kirk was the sustaining force in the long but ultimately successful effort to end the “separate but equal” Central Jurisdiction and integrate the United Methodist Church. He was first Secretary and later Chair of the Committee of Five that set out in 1960 to dissolve the Central Jurisdiction and end the apartheid-like structure of The Methodist Church. “Kirk was chosen as an alternate delegate to represent the church body at the 1964 General Conference of the Methodist Church. At this national meeting, the Church Union Commission voted to maintain its policy of segregation. Kirk was aghast. In his own words he found himself ‘completely dumbfounded. My emotions ranged from deep anger to almost uncontrollable outrage to profound sorrow.’ Kirk responded by passionately and eloquently arguing against this decision. Hours of debate ensued, and finally ‘The Kirk Amendment’ was passed. This amendment established a denominational ‘commitment to end institutional segregation’ within the church. When Southern church leaders challenged this at the 1965 judicial council claiming local autonomy, Kirk argued that the denomination did have the authority to end segregation. His arguments were so effective that the council’s 1965 Judicial Decision No. 232 canonized ‘the creation of a racially inclusive church.’”[ii]
Dr. Kirk’s commitment to civil rights in church and society (he served five presidential administrations) extended to all who are marginalized and oppressed. During Foundry’s “Summer of Great Discernment” around Marriage Equality in 2010, I was told that Bill Kirk is singlehandedly responsible for the inclusion of one of the most important lines in our marriage equality statement. After the first draft was painstakingly prepared and proudly presented to the leadership, Dr. Kirk offered a critical piece of feedback. Here’s what I was told by one of the principle authors of the final statement: “Bill Kirk pointed out that we were focused on the negative parts of The Book of Discipline and had neglected to include the more positive—and controlling—language from the Constitution [of the UMC]. As soon as he said it, I was like “Of course!” It was immediately satisfying not just [to all the legal minds involved] but all the way around. Because there was a tremendous amount of anxiety at the time about what would happen if we thumbed our nose at the denomination so pointedly. It transformed the document into a more affirmative rather than confrontational message. It gave a lot of folks some confidence that we were actually on firm ground. And I still believe that this argument is the one that may lead us home—that the language of the Discipline if not actually ‘unconstitutional’ is essentially so. But it took a wise and courageous old veteran of prior UMC equality struggles to point out what our strongest point was—what a whole bunch of us, supposedly smart, people had completely missed. I will always be grateful. And humbled.”
As I understand it from my predecessor the Rev. Dean Snyder, Dr. Kirk—from his hospital room in 2011—was working on the presentation he’d been invited to make at the 2012 General Conference entitled, “Ending Discrimination in the UMC: How Can the Past Inform the Future?”
Sadly, he was unable to make that presentation due to his death in August of 2011.
To a person, all who knew Dr. Kirk attest to the fact that he was unassuming and simply presented himself as a fellow member of Foundry. This humble stance in day to day relations and his courageous, “all in” commitment to justice and equality for all people amidst great challenges and entrenched prejudice and bigotry are a powerful testimony to the Christ-like, fearless service in which we can all participate.
Dr. Kirk’s witness is an example of the kind of commitment that so many people bring to our shared life here at Foundry. I am daily humbled to learn of what y’all are out there doing in the world—of the places you go and people whose lives you impact for good and the challenges you face and the sacrifices you make for the sake of doing the right and just and brave thing. And together as a congregation, we continue to do all we can to offer spiritual sustenance and support for each one of you wherever you serve—whether that is in the classroom, boardroom, bandroom, courtroom, newsroom, studio, backyard, kitchen or street.
Dr. Kirk also embodies our calling as a congregation. Together, as we bring all our experiences, skills, resources, and insights and humbly offer them to God—we are empowered by grace to Love God, love others, and change the world. Our commitment to social justice and fearless service is a hallmark of Foundry Church and it takes shape in everything from our Great Days of Service to our members and clergy demanding sanctuary for immigrant neighbors, proclaiming Black Lives Matter, promoting common sense gun legislation and climate justice, to feeding hungry people, offering free English as a Second Language classes, tracking down vital documents for unhoused neighbors and decorating the Baltimore-Washington Conference Center with rainbows in protest of unjust treatment of LGBTQ persons. Fearless service is at the heart of our witness as Foundry church. Our gifts are what fuel this witness of bold service and solidarity. It’s why I am so proud to tithe—that is give 10% of my income—to Foundry. I’m currently tithing a number between my net and my gross pay with a personal commitment to keep growing the number until, when able, I not only tithe the full amount but surpass it.
People from across the connection look to us to support and raise up voices like Bill Kirk and to show up in force wherever there is injustice to advocate for love, mercy, and justice in the manner of Jesus. This is our calling and our commitment and it is only possible to live into this high calling through the generous financial contributions of each one of us. // I’ve been sitting with the thought that trying to increase our budget for 2019 by hundreds of thousands of dollars might be foolish. But then I think about the calling that we share and the consequences if Foundry Church falters and of the flame that Spirit is igniting among us that I can feel itching to catch fire in ways as yet unknown. I think about the resources I know we need to keep momentum going and to fuel the growth that will sustain this great institution called Foundry into the next century and I ask myself, “What failure am I willing to risk as a leader for the sake of love and justice?” What are we willing to risk? Will we try?
Are we able to serve as Jesus serves? To love as Jesus loves? To give as Jesus gives? The good news is that we can try—without any fear—because even when we fail miserably or experience setbacks as we seek to serve and love and give, God will always hang in there with us and help us not only move through any loss or suffering, but God will take us all the way to glory, all the way to new life.
[i] https://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/pkg/CREC-2011-09-15/html/CREC-2011-09-15-pt1-PgE1638-4.htm
[ii] https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fki73