Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons

Time Collapse

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, December 24, 2017, the fourth Sunday of Advent (and Christmas Eve).

Texts: Luke 1:46b-55, Luke 1:26-38 

 

Time is a funny thing.  I remember the feeling as a child that summer break or even a week at my grandparent’s home was such a long stretch of time…And having to wait for something for a month? Well, that was an eternity!  Somewhere along the line, I heard older folks talk about how, with every passing year, time seemed to fly by faster and faster.  As I’ve aged, I’ve learned I’m not a fan of flying time.  My equilibrium goes haywire when I realize that something I think happened last year actually occurred three years ago!  How can that be?!  Time seems to fold in on itself, to dissolve, to collapse.  At some point, I hope I have the time to read more about the experience of time at different ages and stages of human development.  My guess is that with so many responsibilities and distractions as we age, the minutes get so filled up that they seem smaller—less space in them to linger and breathe…

 

In preparation for today, I took at stab at reading about the science of time—the space-time continuum, relativity, and the like.  Maybe it’s just because it’s the end of such a challenging year, but I didn’t get very far.  My sense is that there’s something about how all time and space are somehow always “there” at different points on a kind of existence continuum.  Instead of time moving in a forward trajectory, all time exists in some sort of circle of eternal “now.”  Or something.  Maybe? I know there are profound spiritual insights to be had from physics on this topic.  Maybe I’ll have time in the next year to glean them more adeptly.  For today, what I know is that we’re experiencing another kind of “time collapse.”  The fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve exist in this time and space, in this “now.”  This doesn’t happen often and, for me, it feels a bit like we’ve been cheated out of our last week of preparation.  Normally, we’d have at least some days between lighting the fourth candle on our Advent Wreath and the big event.  But not today.  It’s all happening at once.  It’s all happening today. 

 

But maybe it’s not really a cheat, but instead a gift, an appropriate illustration and ending to our Anacrusis series here at Foundry.  We’ve been exploring the Christian understanding of time throughout the season of Advent using Anacrusis as our creative metaphor.  Anacrusis is a musical term describing the notes preceding the first full measure of a composition; it’s the beginning, the entry point. Advent may be the metaphorical “opening notes” to the Christian year, but the stories and spiritual preparation that mark the season are infused with both the past and the future.  Our vision of God’s intended future is informed by what God has done and revealed in the past.  The future vision is carried upon the wings of Spirit who nudges us in the present moment toward God and God’s way of love.  We breathe in the vision and it gives us life, it gives us guidance, it gives us energy to respond in concrete ways, to scatter seeds of God’s Kin-dom NOW.  You see, even though Advent is known as a time of waiting, a season when we are more aware of time than most others, using daily Advent calendars and weekly lighting of candles on the Advent Wreath, this season is really one in which time collapses—God’s promises and prophecies of generations past burst into the present, into the NOW with Jesus’ birth; and the way of life and love revealed in the flesh-and-blood Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s future.

 

In today’s familiar story, we hear echoes of past, present, and future in the words of God’s messenger to Mary.  “Now you will conceive,” Gabriel says. The child will—in the future—be great, be called the Son of the Most High, will sit on the throne of his ancestor David without end—eternally.  References to the “house of Jacob” and the “ancestor David” point back in time and history, energizing Gabriel’s visit with stirring memories of God’s activity and presence in the past. This is a moment when time collapses or—perhaps better and more theologically stated—when time becomes full.  The past, present, and future fold in and exist powerfully in one place and heart—in this case, in the heart of a young woman named Mary.

 

Every time this story comes up in our annual cycle, I stand amazed before Mary. What was her experience of time and space and reality?  I can only imagine the way that time must have stood still when this word came to her from God.  We don’t know about Mary’s past, her life prior to this moment.  But we do know a bit about Mary’s response.  Perhaps we’ve heard this story so many times that we don’t even think about the possibility that Mary could have said “NO.”  I mean, Mary was not like Elizabeth or other women in the Bible who had been praying and longing for a child.  Mary wasn’t even married yet.  However, when given the news by Gabriel, Mary—claiming her own voice, freedom, and agency—says, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”  Mary couldn’t have known all that would transpire in the future; though she surely must have imagined that her acceptance of this baby would mean losing Joseph, her betrothed, and that saying “Yes” to this pregnancy would mean being shunned from her community.  And even though tradition tells us that Joseph went through with the marriage and cared for the child they named Jesus, we would do well to remember that receiving this new life from God meant hardship for Mary for the rest of her life. 

 

But even in the midst of all the potential hardship and heartache, Mary’s response in the moment is full of courage, joy, gratitude, and deep faith.  Luke records Mary’s song of praise and prophecy—a song we call the “Magnificat.”  She sings:  “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for God has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.  Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed…” (Luke 1:46-55)

 

Mary’s song acknowledges that God is doing something new in and through her life.  But in many ways, what God is doing is nothing new.  History shows that God has a habit of doing extraordinary things through unlikely people.  King David wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth and wasn’t the obvious choice for that role—he was the youngest of his brothers and a shepherd.  God tends to do the unexpected, to turn things upside down and around so that the world might see things in a new way, so that we might begin to see and understand that what is most powerful just might be the small thing, the simple thing, the least expected…  Mary’s song and story highlights the way God works:  the powerful are brought down and the lowly are lifted up.  Those who are hungry and seeking are filled—and the rich, comfortable folk with full bellies are sent away empty because they already have enough.  (if I had more time this morning, I might elaborate on the point that God’s economy doesn’t include fattening up the rich so that more crumbs might fall from their table to the poor…)

 

God, the creator of the universe, the Word without whom no thing was made, begins life as a human creature in the womb of a young woman of no standing or account according to the world.  What we learn today is that our God, historically, has chosen to work in the world among lowly handmaids and barren women.  God sees those the world ignores; God knows and God sees gifts and strength and wisdom and power others miss.  It seems this has been true across time, eternally true. God delights to turn things around and to see the world surprised by the gifts of those who respond and bear the vision of love and justice into the world.

 

So, while much has changed in our world since the time of Mary, the way God comes into the world likely remains pretty much the same.  In a culture that values strength and control and wealth and confidence, in a culture that prizes “having it all together” and nearly constant activity, consider this: that God works in the world not through that part of us that swaggers and struts through life, confident and self-sufficient, but rather that God is most present in those empty places that need to be filled, in the quiet places that can’t find the words.  Perhaps part of the message for all of us is that God has a habit of coming to us in ways and places that we don’t expect—in the broken places, the fragmented places, the places that are weak and insecure and vulnerable to intrusions of the Spirit…  Recently, our nation has experienced the power of women and some men giving voice to the truth of their lives from places of deep pain and fear, naming the pervasive reality of harassment and abuse.  This brave truth-telling, saying “Here I am!” is powerful and has the capacity to turn some things around.  Rich and powerful men who think they can touch anyone and are, themselves, untouchable are thinking twice today—because through the prophetic witness of the abused, “God has shown strength with his arm/ God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts./ God has brought down the powerful from their thrones,/and lifted up the lowly.” (Lk 1:51-52) 

So in the place that feels like a weakness in your life, how is God trying to do a new thing?  What are you being asked to learn, to receive, to offer?  In the broken places in your life, how can your faithful, loving response bring about healing or new life for someone in the world?  How is God trying to use what is or has been difficult for you as a resource or a gift for those around you?  Do you have something to teach?  To share?  How might your own experience of vulnerability or need be directed by the Spirit toward a new ministry or relationship? 

 

Mary was vulnerable in many ways.  She was, after all, just an ordinary human being, just a woman preparing to be a mother for the first time.  But in her vulnerability, she became strong.  Because she was open to God—she received God—who recognized her strength and her grace and came to her when she least expected such a visit.  She was open and allowed herself to be filled.  Mary’s “Here am I” resounds through the ages, across all time:  Here am I.  I’m just me, but here I am. 

 

We, like Mary, are called to be bearers of God’s new life in the world.  I don’t know what this might mean for each of you.  But I trust that God’s messengers will visit you to help you figure it out in the fullness of time.  What I can say now is that, because of brave, faithful women like Mary, we are assured that we, in all our imperfection and insecurity, are worthy and probable participants in God’s wild and wonderful work in the world.  Because of Mary, we know that God chooses to use ordinary folks to make things new.  As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. 

 

 

Call Time

This is a sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli on Sunday, December 17, 2017 at Foundry UMC in Washington, D.C. 

 

Text: Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; John 1:6-8, 19-28

 

Update 12/21/2017: We are working to provide a sermon transcript. Thank you for your patience. 

In Breath

 

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, December 10, 2017, the second Sunday of Advent.

Texts:  Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8

 

Foundry’s music-inspired annual theme gives us opportunity to lift up a little-known word and concept: anacrusis.  An “anacrusis” consists of the note or notes that are the “lead-in” or “pick-up” notes for a melody before what’s called the first “down beat” of the song. You don’t have to understand the music theory of it to appreciate the metaphor. A musical anacrusis is the beginning, the entry point into a song. Advent is the beginning, the entry point into the Christian year. 

 

Last week we introduced a resource provided for you this Advent season, a weekly prayer card including a scripture verse and invitation to practice breath prayer. Our hope is that the prayer card will be an “anacrusis”—an entry point into moments of mindfulness with God.  This week’s prayer is…

 

Breathe…pray…silence…

 

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Our worship today is filled with music and singing. I learned to sing in the children’s choir of First UMC, Sapulpa, Oklahoma. I learned about harmony and creating a “blend” of sound with other voices. I learned that singing depends on breath and was taught how to use my breath to create and sustain sound.  Brass and woodwind instruments also make sound only with breath—and to make the music we’re hearing today requires highly developed use of the breath!  Some who may not be singers or musicians but practice yoga will have experience with what I’m talking about through chanting “OM”—always preceded by an intentional, deep in-breath… The out breath carries the sound; the deeper the inbreath, the more sustained the chant. The precursor for chanting, singing, for speaking, for crying out is breath. Without breath, there’s no sound, no music.  So the first thing you need to do if you’re going to sing is take a breath IN. //

 

Today we hear the first lines from what is believed to be the oldest account of Jesus’s life—the Gospel of Mark.  And in Mark’s story of Jesus, there’s no Bethlehem or heavenly host or glowing starlight.  As I’ve said before, Mark’s drama is less Hallmark Channel and more independent film.  And the scene picks up with a character whose appearance must have been odd even for his own day.  It’s rare that someone’s attire or menu selection is mentioned in scripture—and yet the characteristically spare language of the author of Mark includes these details.  So it’s unlikely that John’s wildness and weirdness are described only for entertainment value.  Instead, I imagine, it’s part of the point, part of the message.  Just to look at John heralds something different, something jarring, something uncomfortable. And then he cries out. And what does he cry? Repent! Confess! John’s voice is even more alarming than his appearance, it’s a voice crying out for things to change, for hearts and lives to change, for people to get ready for something—someone—who is coming, one who will be even more disruptive still.

 

John is the fulfillment of the prophecy from Isaiah, is the voice crying out, the one sent to prepare the way of the Lord.  But to cry out with such power requires a deep in-breath. Before John cried out, “Repent!” what did he breathe IN?  Well, in addition to a big gust of the Holy Spirit (in Hebrew and Greek Spirit also means “breath”)--I contend that the “in breath” fueling John’s proclamation, the thing John breathed in is the vision of a changed world, the prophetic vision of God’s reign of peace. The inbreath is the vision of God’s Kindom we pray comes to earth as it is in heaven. The vision is of a reality in which bodies—black and brown bodies, female bodies, trans bodies, bodies of every gender, shape, and ability—are treated with tenderness and respect and not as objects to be used or violated or abused; the vision is a reality in which earth, sea, sky, and all that dwell therein are nurtured in interdependence instead of exploited for financial gain or cheap comfort; the in-breath fueling John’s proclamation is a vision of a reality in which people share their gifts so that children and the most vulnerable are fed and safe, a reality in which provision is made for the stranger and sojourner, a reality in which families are not ripped apart by bad and unevenly applied laws, a reality in which the healing arts are extended to those who are sick regardless of whether they are rich or poor; the in-breath fueling John’s cry is the vision of a reality in which people are not afraid of difference, but delight in the rich variety within the human family, a reality in which guns are transformed into farming tools, a reality in which slavery and the violence that roams in the night is a thing of distant memory.

 

This vision of peace and care is a vision of God’s Kin-dom fulfilled; it’s a certainly incomplete composite of prophetic promises and when the vision will come to fruition is known only to God.  This vision of God’s future is the metaphorical in-breath of John and every prophet before and since. John breathed in the vision of God’s Kin-dom of peace and love and justice.  And then—only then—could he cry out with such strength and clarity: “repent!” Because the wilderness John inhabited is much like the one in which we stand today. And where we stand today doesn’t look like God’s reign of peace.

 

John’s proclamation is not a buttoned up, status quo, eggnog and cheeseball, bought-with-a-credit-card kind of thing. It is, rather, a cry reaching for something very, very different. For a world, for people, to be very, very different. Repentance, a dramatic turn from all that is wrong and a turn toward the ways of God’s love and peace—that is what’s clearly needed. Things need to change. And the prophetic vision—then as now—is both the fuel and the goal, both the inspiration and the focal point for that change.

 

Pastor Ben Roberts, our Director of Social Justice Ministries, shared a fascinating phenomenon with our worship team as we began thinking about how we would celebrate Advent at Foundry this year.  Here’s the upshot: A human being who is blindfolded can’t walk in anything remotely resembling a straight line.  When blindfolded, people end up going in circles and often end up where they started.  Studies show this is true when folks are placed in any context—an open field, a forest, a beach.  Without blindfolds, weather conditions affect the outcome. When the sun is shining, folks go in a straight line; cloudy, foggy days result in more circles. Researchers have yet to find any biological reason for this. As one author writes, “Humans, apparently, slip into circles when we can't see an external focal point, like a mountain top, a sun, a moon. Without a corrective, our insides take over and there's something inside us that won't stay straight.”[i]  So it seems that in order to get to a destination, we need to have a clear vision of where we want to arrive in the future. Having that vision affects each step we take in the present.

 

Our external focal point is the Kin-dom of God, the vision of a world at peace and living with love and justice. That is what gives us direction and a sense of peace—or at least encouragement that going in circles in the wilderness isn’t the only option.  The Kin-dom is our preferred destination and that vision affects the steps and direction of our lives today.  We have a fancy word for this in Christian metaphysics: “eschatology” is the study of how the vision of the future shapes the present.

 

John—in his appearance and his words—won’t let us forget that reaching the future vision requires change, requires repentance—and not just from others.  Unless you have already arrived at the perfect love and peace of life in God’s Kin-dom, free of any temptation, resentment, or apathy then you—like me—need to repent, to change.  But you can count on this: God wants to help you and God’s love and mercy are eternally present.  So breathe deeply today the hopeful vision of God’s reign of peace and love, and allow that in-breath to fuel your life and hope and grant you the ability to lift up your voice with strength, to sing God’s song of humility, justice, generosity, and love.

 

Perhaps we don’t have voices like our soloists today, or the breath and skill to play the instruments we hear; perhaps you don’t have the wild charisma of John the Baptizer; but as people who have taken in the good news of God’s love and the promise of a world transformed, our lives and voices and choices just might become what points others in a direction that gets us all where we want to go.

 

 

[i] Robert Krulwich, “A Mystery: Why can’t we walk straight?” https://www.npr.org/sections/krulwich/2011/06/01/131050832/a-mystery-why-can-t-we-walk-straight

When?

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC December 3, 2017, the first Sunday of Advent.

 

Texts: Isaiah 64:1-9, Mark 13:24-37

 

Today we begin a new Christian year. Just as there is a unique Chinese calendar and Jewish calendar (and many others across cultures), the Christian community has its own cycle of seasons to give shape and meaning to time and to delineate days of special celebration and remembrance. Advent is the first season—the entry point—of the Christian year and is a time of preparation for the great feast of the Incarnation, what we commonly call Christmas. Advent includes simple practices—like the lighting of candles and the use of sacred symbols like evergreens, circular wreaths, stars, and the like—to stir our senses and awaken us to beauty and to an awareness of God. At Foundry this year, our music-inspired annual theme provides an opportunity to learn what will be, for many, a new word and concept.  An “anacrusis” consists of the note or notes that are the “lead-in” or “pick-up” notes for a melody.  I’ll use a familiar song to illustrate (appropriate for an anticipated birth).  [sing “Happy Birthday” but start with “birthday to you…”] The “happy” at the beginning of the song is the anacrusis. Just as an anacrusis is the beginning, the entry point into a song, Advent is the entry point into the Christian year.  

 

One of the particular practices of this season, is the intentional marking of time. Advent is a time of waiting and watching, of opening our eyes and hearts through spiritual practices. With all the hustle and bustle of the season, pausing for even a few moments to light a candle and say a prayer can be profound. This year, Foundry is providing a resource for each week during Advent, a prayer card drawing from the week’s scriptures. The prayer cards are an invitation to practice breath prayer. This simple prayer practice can be done anywhere. Use it as a mantra, as a brief prayer in the morning, evening or throughout the day. Use it as Spirit leads. I hope the prayer card will itself be an “anacrusis”—an entry point into moments of mindfulness with God.  The cards will be available as you exit worship today…

 

Explain breath prayer and practice it for a few seconds…

 

+++++++++++

 

What is the world coming to?  Well, I’m afraid it’s coming to a place where empire is strong as ever.  I know there’s a new Star Wars movie coming out next week, and even though there are plenty of narrative resonances between that saga and the world we inhabit, that’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is empire as reflected in our ancient texts and experienced right up to our own day.  I’m talking about empire that consists of consolidation of power by a small, wealthy ruling class, the abuse of people and the planet for economic gain, the shameless rationalizations of these practices by religious leaders who are in bed with those pulling the strings, and the public promotion of the voices of those religious leaders to provide legitimation for injustice.

 

Last year at this time, we grappled with our prophetic call, a call to challenge empire, to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.  The words of Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann challenged us to understand that living under the conditions of empire threatens a slide into a “numbed consciousness of denial.”[i]  The imperial reality distracts, rationalizes, and drugs the populace so that people fall asleep, so that the awareness of human pain and struggle won’t get in the way of business as usual and a healthy bottom line for those in the top 1%.  Bread and circuses, smoke and mirrors, flash and spin… Empire employs these and many other tactics to tempt us to turn toward ourselves, to be protective of our own comfort, fearful for our own safety, so distracted by all the chaos and shiny objects swirling around us that we lose sight of what matters most of all—so distracted that we lose sight of one another; so distracted that we lose sight of God.

 

What is this world coming to? I see this world cozying up to empire… And, oh, how easy it is to grow numb… How easy to look upon the state of the world with either heartbroken despair or with hatred and blame.  Because it sure seems like the world is coming to a whole lot of more of the same evil, injustice, and oppression that the prophets have been railing against since the earliest recorded prophets back in the 8^th century BCE. When will it be different?

 

I just celebrated a birthday—not quite hitting the 5-0 mark, but within close range.  And I find myself thinking a lot about the passage of time.  As I’ve meditated upon the state of the world and of the church, I’ve also thought about folks who’ve been alive a lot longer than me and those whose experiences have been so different from my own due to race, gender, identity, orientation, opportunity, and more—and I wonder what they’ve seen, I wonder what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling now.  As we observed World AIDS day I’ve thought about those of you who lived through the terrifying, devastating initial outbreak back in the 1980s, who lost countless friends and loved ones and those who are living with HIV today.  As I realized it was 62 years ago this past Friday that Rosa Parks stood up for justice and her own dignity by sitting down in a bus, I thought about those of you who’ve been in the struggle for racial equity and justice your whole lives because of the color of your skin and of those who have long labored to be allies in that struggle.  When I feel weary or am tempted to despair, when I become mindful of my own failures, foibles, selfishness, and complicity, it’s helpful to think of you who’ve been at this thing called life and faith for so long, who’ve labored to know God and to know yourselves, who’ve been through so much, and—nevertheless—keep showing up, keep acting up, keep standing up for love and mercy, in faith, hope, and love.

 

In my musings upon time, I’ve also pondered how it will feel to preach on the traditional Advent scriptures twenty years from now.  Today, we’ve heard what’s called the “little apocalypse” of Mark. Those who first heard these words had done their best to resist empire. They had organized and rebelled against the Roman occupying force. And it had ended in disaster and devastation. Their hopes were dashed and the sacred center of their lives—the Jewish Temple—had been destroyed.  It is this context that gave rise to the words we hear today.

 

Apocalyptic is a genre of sacred writing whose function is to respond to moments of crisis with revelation of things to come. Folks tend to think of apocalypse as the end of the world.  That is kind of true, but only if “the end of the world” is understood as the band R.E.M. sang about it—the end of the world as we know it.  As Dr. Karoline Lewis writes, “When apocalyptic shows up in biblical writings, you know time has changed, time is changing, and it’s time to pay attention—not to prepare for the end of time, as this genre is so frequently misunderstood, but to expect the revelation of God in our time. And not just God’s arrival, but God’s ongoing presence and God’s certain reign that transforms our time. God’s control of time. God’s directing of time toward all that is good and perfect and true.”[ii]

 

Apocalyptic speaks of the revelation of God’s presence, the revelation of God’s activity, the anticipation of God’s in-breaking, of God’s drawing near. These writings are usually cryptic and dramatic, poetic and often scary.  But they are meant to evoke awe and to wake people up to anticipate God’s arrival.  Apocalyptic doesn’t ultimately signal what the world’s coming to, but what’s coming to the world—who’s coming to the world.[iii]

 

Apocalyptic writing calls us to expect God to show up and do something good. But, as so many of you have said to me, some days it’s difficult to see or to expect anything good, perfect, or true to appear. That difficulty may be the result of mental or physical illness or struggle against addiction or being worn out and overwhelmed or being in a relationship that feels on the verge of implosion or of the general state of the world and the oppressive tyranny of empire.  In my darkest moments, I worry and wonder: in twenty or forty years, when I stand to preach these texts yet again, will time have been transformed at all?  If not, will I have the faith I see in so many of you?—a strong, stubborn, commitment to compassion and to hope even when things seem hopeless… I worry and wonder: Will the world have come to anything resembling the Kin-dom or will empire continue its mind- and heart-numbing churn, its boot still ground into the necks of the vulnerable as it has for century upon century upon century?  How long, O Lord? When will the times be different than they are today? 

 

“About that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.  Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.” (Mk 13:32-33)

 

That’s just aggravating. But even though we may want something else, we are given something. We are given clear instruction: in a time of crisis and turmoil and all the chaos of empire, stay awake and look for God to show up. And, when I let go of my weariness and worry, I remember—and perhaps you will too—moments that prove that when God shows up, things do change—time shifts from measured minutes and seconds into timeless moments and never-forgotten memories. When God draws near, we find our voice or the strength to keep going, we discover we’re not alone, that even with all our imperfections and fears we possess gifts to share, we see here and there the ways that our choices have made a positive difference.  When God intervenes, love happens, ways get made when there really is no way, death is no longer the end, and despair is overcome with hope.  Our hope is possible because even when it seems the world is coming to no good, God comes to the world.  Every time.

 

[i] Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination, Second Edition, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001, p. 81

[ii] Karoline Lewis, “Advent Time,” http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5007

[iii] Jim Harnish, “What’s Coming?” https://jimharnish.org/2017/11/30/whats-coming/

"Don't Hold Back"

 

A sermon preached by T.C. Morrow at Foundry United Methodist Church in Washington, DC on November 26, 2017.

 

Scripture: 1 Samuel 3:8-18

 

 

Good morning.  We are in the midst of a year long theme of Faith Remastered, a distinctly musically inspired theme playing off of technologies that allow for enhancing sound quality of recordings.  We’re looking afresh at scripture and other practices in our tradition – you may recall our readings from John Wesley’s 1761 “Directions for Singing” –  looking at how they can be dusted off and relevant for the living out of our days. 

 

Our current sermon series theme is on mashups – the sometimes good and sometimes bad blending and merging of lyrics and tunes from two distinct songs.  Our relationships are like that too – bringing together distinct personalities and desires in blends that can have all kinds of results.  In a week with Thanksgiving, whether spending time with family that you grew up with or chosen family, we are perhaps extra attuned to the colorful tapestry woven together from our relationships --- loose threads, spectacular patterns and all.

 

Two weeks ago Pastor Will examined Ruth and Naomi, showing how authentic relationship does not simply commodify our interactions, warning us of the pitfalls of participating in a “consumptive relational economy” as Pastor Will named it.  Last week Pastor Dawn explored the story of Cain and Abel, looking at the messiness of our relationships – and the importance of how we respond, how we rise given the troubles and messiness.  This week we turn to Samuel and Eli.

 

Will you join me in prayer:  May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O God, our rock and redeemer.  Amen.

 

Don’t even think about hiding anything from me.  Don’t hold back!

 

Samuel’s maybe ten or twelve years old when he hears this admonition from his mentor, his foster father Eli.  Since he was just a few years old, he has lived with the priest Eli at Shiloh, the main worship site for the Israelite people before the construction of the first temple in Jerusalem.

 

Eli trained Samuel as a priest, though this role was not initially one of Samuel’s own choosing.  While still an infant, Samuel’s mother Hannah made promises for Samuel’s life.  The text says that she decided he would be a nazirite from birth, someone set apart for God’s service with some special rules like no wine and no cutting of your hair.  Surely Samuel could have ignored his mother’s faithful dedication of her first born to God’s service and God’s subsequent call, but sometimes even when we land in circumstances not entirely of our own choosing, we nonetheless embrace them.  Samuel embraces the path before him and goes on to become a prophet and leader, ushering in the transition into a monarchy, unifying the disparate tribes of Israelites.

 

So your mother has dropped you off to live with some guy, whose own sons were engaging in one might call extravagant living – enjoying the company of women who were not their wives and skimming off the best portions of the meat that the people were offering to God.  Eli’s sons corrupted their roles as religious leaders and while it may sound as harsh to you as it does to me, the text says that God punished their despicable, greedy behavior by essentially cursing their family.

 

Samuel has lived with Eli for maybe a decade at this point, but the text says that “Samuel did not yet know the Lord.” (1 Samuel 3:7) He knew his religious duties, but there was something more to know.

 

“Samuel! Samuel!”  It’s the middle of the night when Eli says once and then again, “No, I’m not calling you.” (1 Samuel 3:4-6)  Only on the third time does Eli understand what’s going on.  Eli understands that God is calling Samuel.  In his role as spiritual mentor, Eli guides Samuel into a receptive state to hear from God.  Ironically, in equipping Samuel to understand that it is God calling, Eli empowers Samuel to hear a word against Eli’s family.  Samuel receives a vison that he is afraid to share the information with Eli.  And rightly so.

 

“What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you.” (1 Samuel 3:17)

 

Eli wants Samuel to hide nothing from the vision.  We manage a lot of our relationships hiding something, or telling part truths or what we think someone wants to hear.  You can imagine Samuel interpreting the vision into something like: Well, the actions of your kids leave a lot of room for improvement. 

 

Eli demands that Samuel hide nothing, and in doing so demands from himself that he pay attention to what Samuel says.

 

Eli gets ahead of any half-truths, insisting that Samuel tell him everything.  Authentic relationship demands the hard work of truth-telling.  When we hide things, we are in control.  On the other hand, truth telling leaves us vulnerable.  Vulnerable to not being believed, vulnerable to attack, vulnerable to being shunned or ostracized.  But the cost of hiding things can be high as well.

 

Authentic relationship also demands the hard work of truth-listening.  To hear someone else’s experience means risking your own comfort, risking the possibility that you will have to adjust your own understandings.  But that is what living in authentic community demands. 

 

In a time of technology allowing for tremendous communications, fake news is perhaps an inevitable consequence of the desire to control messaging.  Both saying and receiving real news, real facts, real feelings takes intention and courage.  When Eli tells Samuel to hide nothing, it means Eli is also telling himself to hear what is being said.

 

In thinking about truth-telling and truth-listening, I can’t help but think about the many women, and some men, who have been moved recently to share their experiences of sexual harassment and sexual assault.  Even here in 1 Samuel, we read of power dynamics and sexual impropriety.  God holds to account the sons of Eli for taking advantage of their religious roles and having sex with the women who served as greeters at the worship site at Shiloh.

 

I’ve appreciated the “we hear you. we believe you.” messages I’ve seen on social media as people share their stories of surviving sexual harassment and sexual assault.  These are important first steps, but it will take significant cultural change to fully shift away from the vestiges of the notion that women are property.  You don’t need to treat women as you would treat your mother or your sister – though I understand the sentiment – it should not be a radical notion to treat women as human beings.  Gentlemen, a few social media posts, especially of the “well, I respect women” type do not necessarily mean you are fully an ally to women.  I invite you to engage in some truth-listening, you may learn an additional way or two that you can more authentically respect women.  If you have already been doing so, I am at least one woman who says thank you. 

 

Also, I want to emphasize that changing laws does not change behavior and attitudes.  It may do so, and is a vital step, but not decisive.  From addressing pay gaps to comments like “well, what did she expect?”, it will take determination to overcome even the most seemingly benign sexism, not to mention the outright misogyny all too prevalent.  It will take not just truth-telling, but truth-listening.

 

While there are all kinds of truth-telling that take place in one on one relationships, communities and societies, the role of prophet is both naming what needs changed and giving a vision of how things can be ordered to get just a little closer to embodying the kin-dom of God.  Samuel is afraid because he has to tell Eli some really bad news about his family.  However, the content of the vision implies that Eli already knew the bad news.  So other than it being awkward to talk to your foster Dad about the actions of his grown sons, what did Samuel have to fear?  I think Samuel is afraid because receiving a vision from God, receiving a call from God can be really scary.  If this vision came, what else might come?

 

Eli gives Samuel a gift – a clear instruction on what to do with a vision: Don’t hold back!

 

Their relationship allows Samuel to learn to speak the truth from God, to learn to respond to God’s call to share a prophetic word.  Responding to a call from God takes discernment.  The voice of God is all around but do we recognize it?  Samuel didn’t even put together what was happening right away. 

 

This passage illustrates the need for that discernment to take place in community.  Eli is the one who recognizes God, and then gives the encouragement for Samuel to share the message he received from God.  Prophetic leadership requires authentic relationships.  This passage serves as a dramatic introduction to Samuel’s role as a prophet.  The prophets do not only call out what is wrong, what is out of sync, but they name what can be.

 

Of course God speaking aloud doesn’t happen too much these days, but there are those who can testify to receiving a word from the Lord, a vision of what can be.  There are those who we think of like Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. or Rev. Dr. William Barber.  But also Bill Kirk comes to mind, a Foundry member for almost 30 years until his death in 2011, who helped end the institutionalized racism of the Central Jurisdiction of The Methodist Church upon the merger into The United Methodist Church. 

 

Several of the ministries of this congregation give prophetic leadership in civil and religious spheres.  Yet even as we strive to be truth-tellers, we must always remember to be truth-listeners as well.  This includes being in ministry “with” and not “to”, building relationships and being open to transformation ourselves.

 

Also, in order to continue to refine how we are best ordering ourselves – and it is nothing like the Israelites’ shift from judges to kings as told in the next few chapters of 1 Samuel  –we are embarking on a period of some structural change here at Foundry in order to even better serve our mission to love God, love each other and change the world.  We are moving toward a new staffing pattern and I invite you to hold the staff and Foundry lay leadership in prayer during this upcoming time of transition.

 

Truth-telling and truth-listening – the mashup of Samuel and Eli shows us that authentic relationships with each other, and indeed with God, requires speaking the truth and listening to the truth.

 

Don’t hold back your hope, your pain, your joy, your torment, your peace, your brokenness. 

Don’t hold back in building authentic relationships, where your vulnerability might allow for another’s vulnerability to break through.

Don’t hold back in naming your own experience. 

Don’t hold back in speaking truth to power. 

Don’t hold back from resisting evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.

Don’t hold back in speaking truth in love for the sake of the kin-dom of God. 

Don’t hold back from knowing you are a beloved child of God, just as is baby Anna who is getting baptized today. 

Don’t hold back from being open to the transformative power of the one who shattered expectations and brings new life, the one who we strive to follow on this Reign of Christ Sunday.

Don’t hold back from seeing Christ in the stranger, the imprisoned, the unhoused, the hungry, the naked, those who are sick and need healthcare.

Don’t hold back from responding to God’s call.  God calls you and you and you and me and all of us – individually and together as the Foundry community.

And when God gives you a vision, don’t hold back from sharing that vision.

Don’t hold back.

Amen.