Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons

What Gift Can We Bring?

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC May 26, 2019, the sixth Sunday of Easter.

Acts 16:9-15, John 14:23-29

 

Watching birds has always been a favorite pastime for me.  Over the years, one of my favorite things has been to observe the birds making nests.  In one parsonage we lived in there were shutters on the windows and the sparrows nested behind one of the shutters—complete with bits of candy wrapper, long, draping weeds poking through the shutter, and colorful scraps of trash.  That little nest hatched at least 4 sparrows that spring. 

 

Often, birds build their nests in places that are quite guarded, with openings or entrances only accessible to the little family who inhabits the nest.  Part of the warmth and safety of the nest is in being closed-off to others who may want to come in.  We know that this is with good reason.  The natural world is full of predators just waiting to take advantage of the small and the vulnerable.  Even though it was messy, that nest poking through the shutters on my home gave me comfort.  I was glad the chicks were not out in the open, that they were guarded and safe.

 

I must admit, there is a part of me right now that would very much like to find a guarded place, a place shielded from critiques and attacks, from overwhelming responsibilities and tensions that are not readily eased, a place where I could retreat and only allow those whom I love and trust into my hiding place.  It would feel much safer if I could fortify my heart, creating a barrier to keep it from being broken.  Anyone with me?

 

So, of course, our scripture today has as its center an open heart.  Lydia’s open heart to be precise.  [But before we get to Lydia, I want to catch us up.  We’ve been hanging out with Peter for most of our time in Acts—with a detour onto the road to Damascus with Paul. A lot of territory gets covered between last week’s lectionary story in which Peter had a “bed, bath, and the great beyond” vision that broke the circle of God’s saving activity wide open, and today’s encounter at the river. Between Acts 11 and 16, Paul gets commissioned as a missionary, he and Barnabas have gone on a long mission trip, the apostle James has been killed by Herod, Peter has been imprisoned and freed by an angel, and there’s a big church meeting in Jerusalem to come to agreement on requirements for Gentile converts (known as the Jerusalem Council—#WayofJesusNext?).  In Acts 16, Paul has set out on his second missionary journey joined first by Silas and then Timothy. It’s during this trip that Paul has the vision and call to go to Macedonia, a Roman province in the northern region of the Greek peninsula.

 

That’s the written story.] The unwritten backstory of Lydia, the woman at the center of today’s encounter, must be inferred by details in the narrative.  Lydia is from Thyatira—across the Aegean Sea from Philippi—so she is a resident alien. She is the head of her household and a business woman, selling one of the most precious and expensive dyed cloths of the time—purple.  She is described as a “worshiper of God” and is leading a group of women in worship outside the gates at the river. In a place and time in which women were generally second-class citizens, with narrowly defined roles in society, they often gathered at the river or at wells, places to use their voices and create communities of solidarity and support.  We don’t know how Lydia came to have the means to create and sustain her business or how she came to be a leader in her new city, but we can assume that she is a strong, capable, savvy leader who has overcome many odds and crossed a great distance to be where she is—economically and socially. I can only imagine what she endured in order to survive and to thrive.

 

Paul and his companions meet Lydia and the other women at the river on the Sabbath day and share their message of God’s liberating love in Jesus Christ.  And the miracle of today’s story is that after everything Lydia has been through, her heart is open to eagerly receive it.  And from that open-hearted place, she invites strangers into her home. If you read to the end of chapter 16 you will see that the mission in Philippi begins and ends with references to Lydia. She was “homebase,” providing shelter and likely financial support for Paul, Silas, and Timothy throughout their stay.  Lydia’s open heart led to an open hand and open door. She shared the gifts she had to support God’s work of love and liberation.  Lydia May be the official saint of cloth dyers, but I see her as a saint of all those folks who have to overcome the odds just because of who they are to take their place among the beloved community—those who kept their hearts open even when it would have been easier to check out, to rage, to be on the defensive, to shut others out: Women in leadership who keep showing up and offering their gifts even though they are slandered, dismissed, and objectified; Persons of color who keep showing up and offering their gifts even though they are stereotyped, attacked, and demonized; LGBTQ folk who keep showing up and offering their gifts even though they are rejected, judged, and mocked; Immigrants, the poor, the unhoused, those who battle mental illness or addiction... If we had the time I could name so many who inspire and lead with an open heart even in the midst of hardship and attack.

 

On the Way of Jesus, we are consistently called to be open—to be open to new insight, to new directions, to new people, to new opportunities.  We are called to open our hands to share what we have, to open our doors to offer hospitality and sustenance for others, to open our hearts to both receive and give love.  I think of the big news this past week of Robert F. Smith’s extraordinary announcement during Morehouse College’s commencement ceremonies that, in addition to his already promised $1.5 million gift to the school, he would pay off all the student debt of the class of 2019. It also makes me think of the equally powerful witness of so many working families who save and scrimp to support their children—many of whom also work in addition to taking classes—so that they graduate with little or no debt.  Both of these are examples of bringing the gifts we have and using them for the sake of others. This is an open heart leading to an open—and generous—hand.

 

Because it’s been my resting place and self-care the past couple of days, I think of the life-changing gifts of the Fab 5 of the TV show Queer Eye. The men who are receiving support and guidance almost always have places in their lives that are overly guarded or closed off.  It is revelatory to watch how TLC, honesty, vulnerability and fabulosity help them begin to open up—their minds, their homes, their hearts.  If you’ve never seen the program, each of the five (gay) hosts has a particular skill they offer to the person seeking help. Even though it’s a television show, I find the relationships and human encounters that happen to be signs of hope and a witness to the power of open-hearted generosity and what can happen when we share our expertise to empower others to live more freely and fully.

 

And I think of the “UMC Next” gathering that happened this past week in Leawood, Kansas.  I knew the more than 600 people who gathered would bring all sorts of perspectives and attitudes and feelings with them.  I knew that there were more than a few folks struggling to keep an open mind and heart.  Some were determined not to.  There are good reasons for why this is so.  Hearts that have been offered and rejected or hurt over and over again are shy at best, well-defended to the point of untouchable at worst.  What I observed is that, for the most part, folks tried. There were moments when it felt like Spirit opened hearts to receive the gifts that were being offered through personal testimonies and invitations to be the church we long to be. It was a gift to observe the ways that persons engaged in meaningful and challenging conversation, bringing the gifts of their own insight and skill and experience to the work.  I want to let you know we are working on strategies to share information and engage with you about what happened in Minneapolis at the UM Forward gathering, in Leawood at the UMC Next gathering, and at our upcoming Annual Conference session.  For today, let me just share that this past week I witnessed extraordinary gifts being brought forward for the sake of a more loving, just, inclusive expression of Methodism in the future. This happened because, like Lydia, persons allowed their hearts to be opened, their minds to be opened, their skills and ultimately themselves to be shared.

 

We human beings are quite good at developing what psychologists call emotional and relational “defense mechanisms” (and sometimes these serve us quite well).  But we know the commandment of Jesus to love others as he loves us—with reckless abandon, with an openness of heart and spirit that doesn’t distinguish between clean and unclean and that leaves our hearts, in their openness, completely vulnerable and exposed.  In the Gospel text assigned for today Jesus has the nerve to say:  “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”  Be open and don’t be afraid.  Sure.  No problem.

 

Jesus also says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.”  What does the world give?  The world gives plenty of good reasons to have troubled and afraid hearts!  And what’s the difference between the world’s peace and Christ’s peace?  The world’s peace is of the kind that placates and soothes by drawing lines in the sand, by creating dividing walls both concretely and emotionally.  The world’s peace is like that sparrow’s nest, protected, guarded, closed-off, defensive, and even sometimes violent so as not to be hurt.  Christ’s peace is peace in the midst of suffering, not in absence of it.  Christ’s peace is a peace that comes from being open to the power and presence of God.  And when Jesus tells us not to be troubled or afraid, I think in part he is telling us to be open, like Lydia, to God’s knocking at the door of our hearts, to be open to the message of Christ’s word of love, to be open to the possibility that we are safe in our relationship with God, even as we may continue to be vulnerable in so many ways in the world. 

 

Many years ago now, I heard of an art contest run by a religious organization.  The contest asked artists to contribute images of peace drawn from the natural world.  Scores of photographs, paintings, and drawings were entered with pictures of pastoral scenes:  wheat fields gently blowing in the wind, a strong, solitary oak tree surrounded by a field of flowers, gardens, grazing animals, etc.  But the winning entry was not one of these images.  Rather it was a photograph of the raging, pounding rapids of a deep and powerful river, the water crashing around great, heavy boulders on its way downstream.  Reaching out over the swirling, destructive waters was the branch of a tree.  On the slender, lonely end of that branch was perched a bird’s nest full of small, vulnerable chicks.  This image is one in which the presence of danger and vulnerability are right there in your face, but in which the presence of being held in the embrace of home provides deep peace.

 

Resting in the peace of Christ, we are nurtured and fed and strengthened.  Resting in the peace of Christ, we are given the confidence to be who we are and to take risks and to care and to choose, because we know we are safe and we aren’t alone and we are loved.  Even when we know we are vulnerable, when we face illness or pain or challenge, and when we open ourselves up in ways that are scary, the peace of Christ is available to us to give us courage and peace of mind.

 

The more we are open to God, the more of God’s love and peace will overflow from us into the world, the more of our resources and skills and SELF we will be able to share for the sake of others’ flourishing.  As we open ourselves to the love and presence of God, we become instruments of God’s love and peace.  As we do that together, we become a congregation—and I pray a Methodist movement—that builds a nest for others suspended above the destructive realities of the world, a nest that provides an environment that nurtures and sustains new life and that values the gifts that each one brings, a nest that keeps growing to include any and all who seek the nurture of a family who knows that the river is crashing with great destructive power and that life is fragile and that love is vulnerability, but who have the courage to believe that hope and peace are real, too.  And that being open is worth it.

Are We Obstacles or Instruments?

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC May 19, 2019, the fifth Sunday of Easter. “Questions Along The Way” series.

                                                Texts:  Acts 11:1-18, (John 13:31-35)                                               

 This Spring season has been such a gift for me this year.  The birdsong, the breeze, the growing green, the waves of flowers, have all been like medicine for my weary spirit.  Perhaps you know what I mean.  Those of you who follow me on FaceBook may have seen the pictures of flowers in my yard…medicine!  Such beautiful diversity of color and texture in the garden… Diversity in a garden is beautiful and desirable and takes some work and planning but is fairly straight-forward to achieve. Diversity in human community is also beautiful and desirable… and makes everything harder.  Creating a healthy and just diverse human community is decidedly NOT straight-forward to achieve.

 

Today we read of an extraordinary moment in the early church as it tried to figure out how to live as a community according to the Way of Jesus:  The story opens with Peter being challenged by the Jewish Christians in Judea because they’ve heard that Peter shared the gospel with Gentiles and baptized them!  You see, the United Methodist Church is not the first community of Jesus followers to struggle with issues of diversity and to have conflict over who is “in” and who is “out.”  In the earliest days of the church, there were great disputes about who could be included in the church’s ranks; one main issue was whether to be a member of The Way, one needed to be circumcised—that is, either a born Jew or a Jewish convert.  Prejudice on this point was as virulent as any prejudice we are familiar with today. 

 

Peter defends his actions by sharing a vision he had received while still in Joppa and recounting what happened as a result. Peter’s vision is odd (as visions often are) and came to Peter while he was praying and distracted by hunger. At that moment “something like a large sheet” descends from heaven (a sign that the vision is from God). The sheet holds all kinds of animals—in fact, the list is a conventional classification of creatures for the literature of the time—“four-footed creatures and beasts of prey and reptiles and birds of the air.” A voice from heaven urges Peter to kill and eat up!  Peter protests, citing his interpretation and practice of orthodoxy—“I’ve never eaten anything that is profane or unclean.”  And the voice gives a correction, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” This animal-laden sheet appearance, the voice, the protest by Peter, and the corrective repeat three times.

 

One of our Foundry folk (Lorrea Stallard) has given me a new shorthand for Peter’s vision encounter: it’s “bed, bath, and the great beyond!”  But what is going on here?  It is important to remember that, like Jesus, Peter and all the original twelve apostles were observant Jews.  There were very strict rules about food—what was “kosher” and what was considered “unclean.”  Peter reacts to the animals on the sheet as if all were unclean—though that’s not the case. Some of the animals listed would have been OK to eat according to the food laws.  So there’s something “off” about Peter’s perception or interpretation of either the religious law or of what he was seeing displayed on the sheet.  What Peter thought was the right thing to do was corrected not once, but three times.  Peter was puzzled. //

 

Now another vision occurred the day before Peter’s—received by one Cornelius of Caesarea, a Gentile.  Cornelius is described as a devout man who “gave alms generously to the people and prayed constantly to God” (Acts 10:2). The message he received in his vision was to send for Peter. Cornelius dispatches some from his household to fetch Peter from Joppa.

These are the messengers who appear as Peter is trying to make sense of his “bed, bath, and the great beyond” vision.  And what Peter recounts to his up-in-arms colleagues in Judea, is that when the messengers from Caesarea arrived, “the Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us.”  Once he arrived in the home of Cornelius he shared the good news of Jesus Christ, the news of peace and power and healing and release from oppression and new life and forgiveness (Acts 10:34-43).  And then, he reports, “the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning.”  Acts 10:45 records, “The circumcised believers who had come with Peter (to Caesarea) were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles…” Astounded. God’s grace, God’s Spirit, God’s love was not reserved only for them. God’s gifts were shared with those who were different from them.  Astounding.

 

This story contains one of the most important tenets of our faith:  The good news of Jesus Christ is for ALL…the Holy Spirit is a gift for ALL…the saving love and power of God is for ALL.  Followers of the Way of Jesus are called from the very beginning “not to make a distinction between ‘them’ and ‘us,’” to cross boundaries in order to share the love, mercy, and justice of God with everyone. 

 

This story marks a turning point for the early church, a new way of understanding what God is doing.  For it becomes clear that God, in Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit has expanded the saving territory beyond the boundary of the “chosen people” the Jews and truly beyond any boundary!  Peter, seeing that the Holy Spirit was received by the Gentiles he met in Caesarea, says this astonishing thing:  “If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” 

 

And this gets us to our question for today:  Are we obstacles or instruments?  God is always trying to draw the circle wider, to do something new in us, to expand hearts and minds, to bring reconciliation and justice, to tear down the walls of division.  And we can so easily get in the way; wittingly or not, we can hinder what God is up to.  Any of the persons in the story might have been an obstacle to God’s movement.  Cornelius could have been an obstacle to his household receiving the good news of God’s love in Jesus and receiving the Holy Spirit—if he had ignored or rejected the message he received in prayer.  The messengers could have been obstacles by not agreeing to relay the invitation to Peter.  Peter could have been an obstacle by refusing to receive the correction to his limited and likely erroneous perception of the religious law or by refusing to go to Caesarea.  Peter’s companions could have been obstacles if they had tried to keep those in Cornelius’ home from being baptized.  But all along the way, these folks allow God to work in and through them; they are like what the 14^th century mystic poet, Hafiz, describes when he says, “I am a hole in a flute that the Christ’s breath moves through.”  They are not obstacles, but instruments, open to Spirit to move through and move them to embrace, include, and love.  I think of the prayer of St. Francis that begins, “Make me an instrument of your peace…”

 

In the story, there is a moment of truth: will the “apostles and the believers who were in Judea”—those who hadn’t had a personal experience of these Gentiles—will they be obstacles to what God is up to, holding fast to the old rule, clinging to the well-known requirements as gatekeepers of their tribe?  Or will they be instruments, allowing the breath of Christ to move through them and open their minds and hearts to the expanded community God is offering?  The story makes it sound so easy!  Peter and the others tell the story…and those in Judea who are opposed to this radical shift in “the way we’ve always done it” are silenced in their objections and give praise to God.

 

We know it’s not so easy, though. Letting go of the familiar and comfortable is never easy. Letting go of what has given us a sense of order and identity is never easy.  And the call of God to “make no distinctions between ‘us’ and ‘them,’” while beautiful and powerful, isn’t easy either.  To make no distinction between “them” and “us” is not to erase the real differences that exist in the human family.  Human beings come from different places, have different strengths and weaknesses, and have different cultural, racial, political, theological, and sexual and gender identities.  We communicate in very different ways, we have different love languages and priorities and perspectives and preferences—from music to food to art to sports team loyalties…  This is the way it is.  And to be Christian doesn’t mean that we are to ignore these diversities or to try to make everyone the same.  Far from it.  A community in which everyone looks, thinks, acts, and reacts the same way would be a boring fiction—and might describe the goal of some human political factions, clubs, or even church communities.  But that isn’t what authentic Christian community is—and it is not the way God created the creation.  To make no distinction between “them” and “us” in the church means that we recognize that, regardless of who a person is, where they come from, how they act or think or love—that person is a child of God, that person has received (or has the capacity to receive) the Holy Spirit, that person is a fellow member WITH US of the Body of Christ. 

That is not easy—not ever—and especially not in these polarized and anxious days in which we live.  It’s one reason why so many Christians and churches find themselves being obstacles instead of instruments of God’s grace and love.

 

Right now at Foundry and across the United Methodist Church, we are grappling with all of this—really at every level.  Here at Foundry we are committed to practice healthy relationships with one another, to extend grace and compassion, to be accountable with each other, to do justice, to be humble, to listen, to honor the beautiful diversity within our community and to try to remove obstacles that get in the way of greater diversity and creation of true beloved community.  We are engaged directly and meaningfully in all the conversations happening locally and nationally to create a church that is fully inclusive of LGBTQ persons.  I hope you read last month’s Forge piece that shared the resolution by the Board—to more deeply and intentionally address issues and opportunities to strengthen our practices for racial equity and justice.  And this next issue will share an excerpt from and link to an essay I wrote for The Circuit Rider online journal that reflects on what I see as the opportunities God is giving us right now as a denomination.  I believe God is calling us to repent of an unjust past—related to everything from race to colonial practices to gender inequity to exclusion of LGBTQ folks.  And I also believe God is calling us to reset for a revitalized, faithful, dynamic, fully inclusive, anti-racist, anti-colonial future that draws upon the best of our Wesleyan tradition. 

 

The challenge for us is that to practice the Way of Jesus is to love like Jesus.   Jesus knows how to love the beautifully diverse human family.  We continue to struggle to get it quite right.  But we can choose to be open, to be responsive to God’s movement in our lives, to be instruments through which Christ’s breath can create something new, something beautiful.  By God’s grace, we might be like those in Judea whose concern and anxiety was turned to praise for the surprising, amazing grace of God that melts away the walls that divide people into clean and unclean, praise for the love of God that is poured out on all so that abundant life might be a possibility.  Who are we to hinder God??  Today I invite you to consider where you might be— intentionally or not—hindering God…where you need to get out of the way… and where you are being invited to be an instrument of God’s peace, hope, compassion, justice, and love in the world…

 

We are at a turning point in our communal life as the United Methodist Church and at Foundry as a result. Will you be an obstacle or an instrument for God’s leading?

 

 

 

 

What Is Our Role in Healing?

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC May 12, 2019, the fourth Sunday of Easter. “Questions Along The Way” series.

 Text: Acts 9:36-43

One of the things I’ve been aware of as we’ve been telling the stories in Acts the past few Sundays is how full of miracles they are! It makes sense in terms of the flow of the narrative, since Acts is about the beginnings of the Jesus movement, a movement fueled by the awe and wonder of Jesus’ resurrection—kinda the miracle. And the trajectory of the story in Acts is that the same resurrecting-new life-giving-power of God that was in Jesus is at work in Jesus’ disciples through the power of the Spirit.  And today we get a whopper of a story: Peter brings Tabitha back to life!

 

This isn’t a sermon about miracles per se, but I imagine that some of you wonder about it.  Let me just say, for full disclosure, that I tend to believe things that seem impossible or supernatural have happened or can happen.  This, for me, is not a rejection of science, it’s humility before the power and ever-unfolding mystery of creation and of God.  However, there have been some perversions of our theology about miracles that lead to deep suffering—particularly when it comes to what we are capable of doing or what we should even want or try to do.  A powerful and formative moment in my early ministry came in relationship with a retired man whose wife had died of cancer. This deeply faithful man simply could not reconcile the fact that he had prayed and prayed for his beloved wife’s healing and it didn’t “work.” She died.  He felt he had failed—that he didn’t have enough faith or didn’t know how to pray the right way.  If Peter could do it like in our story today, if “the prayer of faith will save the sick” as it is written in the biblical letter of James (5:15), then why didn’t his prayer work?  His grief was compounded by his sense of failure and powerlessness. I don’t think adding suffering to suffering is what God desires…

 

There are also assumptions often made in biblical interpretation that persons with bodies that are differently abled automatically need or want to be “healed”—that is, to see, hear, walk, or whatever. Sometimes in the Bible—and in our current context—people ask for something about their body or life to be changed, but not always.  To assume that a person needs to be “fixed” is to miss the inherent gifts that person offers precisely through their particular, embodied experience.

 

I don’t believe that the point of our scriptural stories and teachings about prayer, healing, and miracle is that we are supposed to be able to keep people from dying or “fix” people to fit some human-determined vision or standard.  That way of thinking seems pretty dehumanizing to me.  Further, while some amazing and truly life-giving things are being accomplished in medicine and reconstructive surgeries and prosthetics for traumatic injuries, some of the current scientific and cosmetic efforts to control life and death or to “preserve” or modify bodies also seem deeply dehumanizing. //

 

And that is really where I want to focus the rest of our reflection together today.  In this present moment of chaos and crisis (in society, in politics, in the environment, in the church), dehumanization is rampant—causing deep rifts in the fabric of communal life.  Stereotypes are in high circulation, people are objectified, groups are labeled less than human, persons get played like pawns on a game board by those with power, polarization and exclusion and the resurgence of active hate groups are both the effect and the fuel of all kinds of reptilian brain reactivity, including fear, mistrust, anger, and violence.  Loneliness, isolation, overwork, and the pressures of a culture that prizes unhealthy standards of achievement or appearance leave many feeling disintegrated, depressed, and discouraged—like there’s something wrong with them or like they’re failing all the time. 

 

In this moment of deep demoralization and dehumanization what is needed most of all are people who are at least trying to be less “reptilian” and more human.  What I have observed in my life and in communities that are experiencing great anxiety and brokenness is that the simple presence of a person or persons whose hearts are open, calm, loving, compassionate and responsive in the moment without anxiety can be an incredibly powerful and healing thing.  Perhaps our first role in healing is to try to be and to become more like that, more human. //

 

This past week, Jean Vanier died. Jean Vanier was a Catholic philosopher and the founder of L’Arche, an international organization that creates communities where people with intellectual disabilities and those who assist them share life together. Vanier himself lived in this intentional community for more than 50 years.  His writings are among the most poignant and powerful I have ever read when it comes to Christ-like living. I commend to you anything he wrote. It will bless you. One of his best-known books is entitled Becoming Human. In the introduction he writes,

Aren’t we already human? How can we become what we already are?...We humans are conscious of our growth from the nakedness of birth to the nakedness of death, and we are conscious of the freedom we have to orientate our lives in one direction or another. This freedom can lead us into anguish and a fear of becoming, or it can lead us into growth and new life.[i]

 

Throughout the book, Vanier makes a connection between becoming human and new life. And this work begins in the heart—yours and mine.  He says,

The heart, the metaphorical heart, the basis of all relationships, is what is deepest in each one of us.[ii] …To speak of the heart is not to speak of vaguely defined emotions but to speak of the very core of our being. At the core, we all know we can be strengthened and rendered more truthful and more alive.[iii]

 

What Vanier teaches is that doing work that heals our own hearts—work that liberates our heart from chaos and loneliness, from fears that lead us to exclude and reject other people—this heart-healing work helps us grow mature and move away from self-centeredness and a focus on our own inner hurts towards a capacity to perceive our common humanity with others.[iv] The point is not only to experience life more fully and freely for ourselves, but also to become agents of healing and liberation for others.  Vanier says:

Our hearts can become hard like stone or tender like flesh. We have to create situations where our hearts can be fortified and nourished. In this way, we can be more sensitive to others, to their needs, their cries, their inner pain, their tenderness, and their gifts of love…It is only once a heart has become mature in love that it can take the road of insecurity, putting its trust in God. It is a heart that can make wise decisions; it has learned to discern and to take risks that bring life…The free heart frees others.[v]  …To have an open heart that lets the waters of compassion, of understanding, and of forgiveness flow forth is a sign of a mature person. Maybe once in our lives we will be fortunate enough to meet such a person; we will feel cleansed, affirmed... Then we, too, will walk towards greater freedom and let waters flow onto others, healing them and finding healing through them.[vi]

 

What we encounter in our text from Acts today is a story involving two persons with hearts that have been freed and healed by the love of Jesus Christ. The disciple Tabitha had clearly made a profound impact in her community through her acts of generosity, caring, and love toward those who were vulnerable in society. When she dies, Peter is summoned—without any request other than to come and be with those who grieve. When Peter arrives, the widows—often among the most vulnerable—show and tell of the one they know as Dorcas and of her kind deeds.  It reminds me of so many wakes, visitations and receptions, when photos and stories get shared about the person whose life has touched so many others. 

 

And Peter—historically hot-headed and impulsive (the one, I imagine, who would show up and make everyone anxious!)—has, through his journey with Jesus both before and after the resurrection, become a powerful preacher and source of healing for others. I’m always moved in this story to notice Peter’s simple, humanizing actions in the room once he’s alone with the body of Tabitha. He kneels and prays. Following his prayer, perhaps having received some leading from Christ, he turns toward Tabitha and speaks to her directly. Peter is there when Tabitha opens her eyes—perhaps a bit startling, but also reassuring. And then, my favorite, “He gave her his hand and helped her up.” (Acts 9:41) I have not witnessed a literal resurrection, but I have seen persons whose simple acts of faith, presence, and kindness have made another person’s heart beat in a new way that has led to new life.

 

Tabitha and Peter are both persons well on their way toward becoming human, their hearts are freed by love to share love.  Their actions convey compassion, tenderness, and a sense of common humanity with others, including those whom others would discount or marginalize.  All these things are signs of liberated, maturing hearts! And one such heart in the room is pretty darn powerful. But what happens when you’ve got two in the same space? Something like a miracle. New life. Resurrection and restoration. Imagine what might happen with more than two! //

Our question today isn’t Do we have a role in healing… Our call as followers of the Way of Jesus is to participate in the healing and mending work of God in the world. How do we do that?  We begin by attending to our own hearts, acknowledging the illusions, prejudices, hatred, and lies that harbor there and then, with God’s help, working to become liberated from them. We are called to do the hard work of admitting our vulnerability and our fears and our hurts. It’s the work of knowing yourself, of taking off your masks, of trusting God, of knowing yourself to be beloved and forgiven. It’s the work of becoming more truly human.  The more we attend to that work, the greater chance we will have of showing up in healing ways in moments of crisis in our families or our church, the better chance we’ll have of showing up in healing ways alongside a dying loved one or a struggling friend—not for the purpose of fixing them, but simply to connect, one human heart to another, to say “I see you and honor you and am with you in compassion and love. Let’s try to be human together in this moment of pain or struggle.”  God has a habit of bringing new life out of moments like that.

 

As a closing word, I share this from Jean Vanier of blessed memory:

Wherever we may be—in our families, our work places, with friends, or in places of worship or of leisure—we can rise up and become agents of a new land. But let us not put our sights too high. We do not have to be saviours of the world! We are simply human beings, enfolded in weakness and in hope, called together to change our world one heart at a time.[vii]

 

May it be so. Amen.

 

 

[i] Jean Vanier, Becoming Human, New York: Paulist Press, 1998, p. 2-3.

[ii] Ibid., p. 85.

[iii] Ibid., p. 87.

[iv] Ibid., p. 5.

[v] Ibid., p. 87.

[vi] Ibid., p. 102.

[vii] Ibid., p. 163.

Can Enemies Become Friends?

Can Enemies Become Friends?

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC May 5, 2019, the third Sunday of Easter. “Questions Along The Way” series.

 Text: Acts 9: 1-20

 

What is your definition of “enemy”? As I thought about it, I realized from just how many perspectives and contexts we may come at our question today. Enemies may be groups, or individuals. Enemies may be persons who have done harm to loved ones or to us directly. Enemies may be bullies or those who threaten us. The threat might be to bodies (physical harm) or even to ideologies or ways of life. Enemies may also be personal things with which we struggle—spiritual, physical, or emotional (“depression is the enemy”). We may see others as enemies because of who they are, what they say, or what they do.

 

It’s common across cultures and centuries for people to grow up being told a story about “those people” as our enemies—that family, town, religion, race, tribe, nation…  All the deep-seated and systemic human “isms” and phobias fuel enemy-making movements.  What all this has in common is that anything or anyone deemed an enemy, we’re against.

 

For those of us who’ve spent some time in the Gospel stories and teachings of Jesus, you will know that some of the most radical words Jesus spoke are these: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” (Luke 6:27-28)  And, as usual, Jesus walks the talk. He didn’t allow violence to be done against those who were threatening violence to him. Jesus prayed for mercy and forgiveness for those who killed him—not after he was all new lifey on the other side of death, but while he was dying. The shock and challenge of this teaching of Jesus never really eases, even after all these years.  It’s hard.  I mean, we struggle to even comprehend what it means to love a neighbor—remember the one who wanted Jesus to give him some kind of justification for loving only certain people? (Lk 10:29ff.)  Jesus followed with a story of a despised—enemy—Samaritan caring for the wounded one along the road. Jesus wasn’t playing.

 

Our story from Acts today focuses on a known enemy of those who “belonged to the Way” of Jesus. (Acts 9:2)  Saul of Tarsus was like the KKK Grand Master of his time and place except instead of racial violence (justified by a perverse claim to Christianity), his violence focused on the followers of Jesus’ Way of life (driven by a twisted version of his Jewish identity).  Saul first appears in the story giving approval of the stoning of Stephen for his witness to Jesus (Acts 7:58); and is then described as “ravaging the church by entering house after house; dragging off both men and women,” and committing “them to prison.” (Acts 8:3)  Saul is a known killer, a nasty piece of work, the villain of the story. Today’s story recounts Saul traveling to Damascus, some sixty miles from Jerusalem, to hunt down people of the Way who live there.

 

As Saul makes the journey, the storyteller gives us several common literary cues to know that God is up to something—it’s like the background music in a film that lets you know to brace yourself.  We get three classics:  “suddenly a light from heaven flashed,” Saul “fell to the ground,” and a voice speaks using the double name address: “Saul, Saul.”  This is all serious God stuff!  The voice is that of Jesus who doesn’t condemn Saul, but simply asks the question: Why?  Why are you doing these terrible things? 

 

I want to pause for just a moment with this question Jesus asks: Why? Why do we persecute one another?  Why do we seem to intent on nursing our grievance or prejudice or defensiveness against others?  Is it fear?  Revenge for some slight or injury from the past? The need to exert control over others or to make ourselves feel better than others?  These are questions that could be asked at any time throughout human history.  The days in which we live are extraordinary insofar as it’s not only the normal interpersonal stuff or the current, obvious divisions and heinous injustices that stir the pot.  There’s a new dynamic I’m unable to concisely define, but that I perceive with growing regularity and intensity.  My sense is that it grows out of the shattered public trust in just about anything coupled with great anxiety.  I’ve spoken to folks who do counseling and coaching across both religious and secular communities who are finding that even folks who are on the same team for good purposes are turning on one another in ways that are disturbing. So-called liberals or progressives have been great at this for a long time. It is worse than ever. We’re not just dealing with the question of whether enemies may become friends, but whether friends will keep from becoming enemies.  I hear Jesus asking, “Why?? And—while I’m asking, why are people who claim my name among the worst perpetrators of hateful judgment and persecution?” 

 

In our story, Jesus who endured all the worst human nastiness and violence and returned to assure us that God’s love remains steadfast even so—that is the one who appears to Saul.  I find it curious that the only direction Saul is given is to get up, continue to his destination, and trust that someone will tell him what all this is about.  He follows instructions even though he is”—literally and figuratively—“in the dark” for three full days.  Maybe, through this divine encounter, Saul realized those he was killing might be telling the truth about Jesus after all.  Maybe, in the light of Jesus’ presence and question, Saul became aware of the absurdity and shame of his hatred and violence.  Maybe Saul was changed because the one he was persecuting appeared to him without revenge or judgment, but with grace and an invitation to a new possibility for life. Whatever it was, Saul’s journey may have continued to Damascus but it was an entirely new path.

 

Saul isn’t the only one, however, who was called to do something confusing and life-changing in this story. In a vision, Jesus visited Ananias, a disciple who lived in Damascus, and told him to go and minister to the infamous persecutor, Saul of Tarsus. And not only that, but Ananias learns that Saul—who hunts down and does in followers of the Way—has seen in a vision his face and knows his name! (Acts 9:12) That alone would have made many seek cover. But Ananias fulfills the call of Jesus and crosses enemy lines. Ananias shows up in both vulnerability and power. He knows what Saul has done, knows what Saul could do to him and those he cares about; but the call and presence of the living Christ gives him power to be both brave and compassionate in this moment. Saul had set out to do violence against Ananias and instead of running away or hiding or—worse—doing violence to Saul, Ananias brings restoration and healing for his enemy.

 

Human community, history, international relations, and interpersonal relationships are complex and full of nuance. There’s no simple or singular answer to our question today of whether enemies can become friends. I might venture to say that sometimes enemies can become friends.  But even when it is not possible for an enemy to be a friend, the call is still to love.  And, as a reminder, that doesn’t mean having warm, positive feelings about the enemy.  It does mean, at a minimum, doing no harm to them.  Sometimes, it may mean doing some good.

 

What we learn from our story today is that the call of love and compassion, so perfectly embodied in Jesus, has a way of setting us on new paths of relationship and reconciliation. Sometimes this may take dramatic form—as with Saul and Ananias or like the well-documented stories of victims of violent crimes becoming friends with the incarcerated person who committed the harmful act.[i]  But I imagine most of the time, our experience will be much smaller in scale, though no less life-changing.  Because when we are able—by God’s grace and mercy—to release our hatred or anger or defensiveness or prejudice toward someone and move toward reconciliation, our lives change.  It’s like a cleansing, a healing, a liberation.  It just feels better—body and soul.

 

What we learn as we travel the Way of Jesus is that we are not created to be against one another, but rather designed to live with and for one another.  Why is that so difficult?

 

 

 

[i] http://www.unlikelyfriendsforgive.com/about

When is Disobedience Faithful?

When Is Disobedience Faithful?

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC April 28, 2019, the second Sunday of Easter. “Questions Along The Way” series.

Text: Acts 5:27-32

As we turn a corner into a new stretch of spiritual road—from the Lenten journey to what our tradition calls “The Great Fifty Days of Easter—we are jumping into the book called “The Acts of the Apostles” or “Acts” for short. This book is part two of the Gospel according to Luke.  It was written by the same author, provides the sequel to Jesus’ life, and is a narrative about the early experiences of the communities formed in the way of life taught and modeled by Jesus.  These early followers of Jesus were known as people of “The Way.”  Something you might consider between now and the end of the Great Fifty Days (June 9^th) is to read Luke and Acts as you would any short(ish) story. If you’d like some occasional reflections on the texts, check out the CEB Women’s Bible—I wrote the introductions and reflections for these two books in that volume. Through that work, I came to more fully appreciate the way that Acts—Part II—is unfinished. It’s like a movie that ends on a cliffhanger that never gets resolved. I’m pretty sure this is intentional, since the author of Luke and Acts is a skilled storyteller. The point seems to be that the story is still getting written, chapter after chapter written through the lives of followers of The Way from the time of the original apostles up until today…

 

In order to set today’s text’s showdown between the apostles and that sect of the Sadducees in proper context, let me highlight a bit of what has transpired before.  The Acts of the Apostles begins with Jesus still among the people. Before he leaves, he orders them to stay in Jerusalem and gives them this promise/commission:  “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” The apostles and key women leaders do as they are instructed, and in Jerusalem on the day of the Jewish festival of Pentecost, Jesus’ promise is realized: God’s Spirit descends upon them, enlivening them and empowering them to be brave and bold in proclaiming the good news of Jesus’ liberating love and resurrection.

 

The story continues as Peter preaches boldly about Jesus’ life and resurrection and calls people to repent—to turn away from deathly things and toward life in God. The apostles are reported as accomplishing signs and wonders and the people as living together in disciplined and peaceful mutuality (Acts 2:43-47). People flock to the apostles seeking healing—and they receive it! The ruling classes become concerned about this message of new life and liberation that is mobilizing the people and so they bring Peter and John in for questioning.  The story makes the point that the political power brokers saw Peter and John were “uneducated and ordinary” men and were amazed that these were the people responsible for what was happening. (Acts 4:13) The followers of The Way of Jesus are doing radical things like not claiming private ownership of anything, but sharing their possessions to care for the needs of all the members of the community. (Acts 4:32-35)

 

Throughout all of this, the message is that it is not the apostles themselves accomplishing signs and wonders, but God at work through them. They were being obedient to The Way of Jesus, they were making themselves available, staying close to God through prayer, stepping out with boldness, and allowing the life-giving power of God to flow through their lives for the good of others. They were telling the story of Jesus—of his life, his unjust death, and his resurrection—and were calling upon the name of Jesus to bring liberation and healing to people who cried out for care.

 

This leads the apostles to be put in prison. But the story goes that during the night an angel of God (literally “messenger”) snuck them out during the night and told them to “Go, stand in the temple and tell the people the whole message about this life.” (Acts 5:20)

 

This brings us to our story today. Certain leaders within the religious establishment had given orders—they had perhaps even passed legislation—outlawing the invocation of Jesus’ name and the proclamation of Jesus’ teaching.  But Peter and the others were clear that no human decree would keep them from obeying the word and Way of Jesus. They were commissioned by Jesus to be his witnesses and they were empowered by the Spirit to do just that. And so they proclaim, “We must obey God rather than any human authority.”  Their disobedience almost got them killed, but thanks to the intercession of a wise Pharisee named Gamaliel, they were flogged and released.  The story ends with them rejoicing that they were deemed worthy to suffer for the sake of the name of Jesus. (I’m not suggesting an equivalency, but I remember the way I felt when the folks from Westboro Baptist gleefully spat hateful words at me every time I walked past them outside General Conference in St. Louis. I literally rejoiced when they called me a “nasty woman!”). The last line of this story reads, “Every day in the temple and at home they did not cease to teach and proclaim Jesus as the Messiah.” (Acts 5:42) From the beginning right through to the end of the book of Acts, those who follow The Way of Jesus refuse to be silenced by persecution.

 

Now all this can be easily coopted by persons or groups from a variety of perspectives. As one biblical scholar says, the idea of obeying God rather than the will of human beings is an important principle, but “has a bad and a good history.  Some of the problems facing the world today arise from people’s conviction that they need to obey God—and not listen to reason or see the effects of their actions. On the other hand, some of the world’s problems also arise because people obey the dictates generated by the interests around them instead of by what, before God, they know is right. Getting people to see and do what is right remains extraordinarily difficult—both at a personal and at a political level.”[i] 

 

Our debates over “religious liberty” fall firmly in this territory. (To bake or not to bake?) And certainly our current situation in the United Methodist Church lives here as well.  There are those who think that obedience to God means excluding LGBTQ persons from ordination and covenant marriage.  There are those who may be sympathetic—and may even desire full inclusion for LGBTQ persons—but who believe obeying the human crafted rules in the Book of Discipline is the faithful thing to do.  Others may be uncomfortable with breaking the rules or the agreement made at ordination, but feel compelled to do so because prayerful discernment leads them to believe that some rules are in conflict with the word and Way of Jesus. This is the grounding for the sacred resistance movement Bishop Mel Talbert coined as “Biblical Obedience.”  

 

The latter is where I—and we at Foundry—clearly stand. We are not called, commissioned, and empowered by Spirit to be witnesses to harmful church law. We are called, commissioned, and empowered by Spirit to be witnesses to the power of God poured out upon ALL flesh (Acts 2:17), the liberating power of Jesus working through ALL those who God calls (Acts 2:39), and the life-giving power of God’s love for all God’s beloved children. 

 

The thing is, figuring out how to be obedient to God’s Way of life and love isn’t always clear. Breaking rules, engaging in civil or ecclesiastical disobedience, and practicing sacred resistance—all of this requires discernment. It isn’t something to be taken lightly. When is disobedience faithful? 

 

As people of The Way of Jesus, it makes sense for us to look at Jesus’ teaching as the model.  My shorthand for this:  God loves the world. God desires life to flourish, God heeds the cries of the suffering, and always works for good in the world. God empowers us to participate in caring for the life of the world. Love God. Love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus embodied all of this in his life on earth and in his death on the cross.  Jesus’ obedience to God’s law of love and justice set him in opposition—disobedience—to the human laws that literally and figuratively stole life from people—and ultimately stole his human life. 

 

We are called to be witnesses and to obey Jesus, the crucified one. And this means that we identify with those who are “crucified” in our own day—the innocent victims, the scapegoats, the ones crying out for justice. As another scholar says, when “the powerful of the world have gone too far…When the powerless are victimized—whether this means powerless people or powerless creatures of any sort, and whether this means physical victimization or more subtle types of oppression—then the faithful church resists.[ii]

 

It is obedience to the crucified one that helps us stand firm as we disobey harmful church law and participate in actions that disrupt the unjust status quo in our civic and political life.  It is our obedience to the crucified one that fuels our proclamation that it is faithful to disobey any voice that tries to convince you that you are not beautiful and beloved, that you are less than someone else, that you’re a “nobody,” that you don’t matter, that you don’t have something to offer, that you deserve to be treated as a second-class citizen or second-class church member.

 

As I was thinking about our topic for today, a line from one of our prayers of confession kept floating through my mind:  “Free us for joyful obedience.”  And then I thought of the early followers of Jesus rejoicing even when their obedience to God meant disobedience to the earthly powers and how that, in turn, led to persecution and violence against them.

 

Those early followers of The Way were filled with Spirit and with love and with boldness and with courage. They, like Jesus, wouldn’t be controlled by the powers that denied healing, liberation and new life for those on the margins, for the suffering, and oppressed.  These weren’t superheroes who worked wonders of God’s love. They were “uneducated and ordinary.” They were people like you and me who prayed together, studied together, shared their resources with one another and with those in need, dealt with conflict and challenge together, ate together, and then—having discerned the best they could—stepped out into the world to disobey anything that was counter to The Way of Jesus, no matter the consequence. May we write the next chapter in that story…

 

 

 

 

[i] William Loader, http://wwwstaff.murdoch.edu.au/~loader/CActsEaster2.htm

[ii] Douglas John Hall, The Confessing Church, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996, p. 133