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Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
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Sunday Mar 20, 2016
Sunday Mar 20, 2016
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, March 20,2016, Palm Sunday.
Texts:Philippians 2:1-11, Luke 19:28-48
What kind of God do we believe in? The answer to this question affects the whole of our lives: how we understand what it means to be human, the nature of creation and our place in it, relationships with others, our social and political engagement, how we set priorities, how we spend our time and money, what we’re willing to take on, what we’re willing to give up. If we believe in a God who is supremely interested in the letter of the law, in rules and regulations, who stands ready to smack us or cut us off as soon as we get out of line, that will certainly affect not only what we do and how we treat others, but how we feel about God and how we understand the way the world works. If we believe in a God who is distant and only mildly interested in the goings-on of humankind or the plight of the planet, that too will guide us into particular ways of thinking and acting. Anthony and I recently finished the first season of the television show “House of Cards” and so have become acquainted with the character of Frank Underwood. For those uninitiated, suffice it to say that Frank is a ruthless politician. I bring him up because of a scene in which, on his knees in a church, Frank says this to God: “Every time I've spoken to you, you've never spoken back, although given our mutual disdain, I can't blame you for the silent treatment.” And then he says to the viewing audience:“There is no solace above or below. Only us. Small. Solitary. Striving. Battling one another. I pray to myself. For myself.” There are myriad ways that people conceptualize and relate to God—not always consciously, but always with concrete consequences.
As we have been playing with the notion of “renovation” throughout Lent, I have repeatedly suggested that the goal of renovation is to make things like new, to mend, to restore, to make things what they are meant to be. In order to know what things are meant to be,we have to have some guide, some vision for what is intended. In seminary I took a year-long course called “Christian art and architecture: changing forms and functions.” It was the first time I had consciously thought about the relationship between form and function; that is, the ways that the function of something provides the vision for its form. In the course we also explored how the forms themselves function to communicate ideas and theologies. A simple example is the way that so many old Protestant churches had a large central pulpit in front of the sanctuary,clearly communicating the primacy of Scripture and the preached word in the functioning of the congregation. Sanctuaries designed “in the round,” a prominent central altar, simple structures without any adornment… All these forms communicate something about both the theology of the community and the functions that take place in the various spaces.
Today in the letter to the Philippians we hear a lot about the “form” of Christ. Though eternally in “the form of God” he emptied himself, humbled himself and took on the form of a human—a finite, limited, subject-to-pain-and-death human. But what was the function of taking on human form? What does this form communicate? Why would anyone willingly resign from a position of absolute power, harmony, peace and joy and take on a task that will most certainly involve ridicule, conflict, violence, and grief? Why would anyone resign from being God to become…us? The only feasible answer is insanity—or love. The only reason we ever freely do anything sacrificial is out of love. Out of love the Christ of God took on flesh and became human. And in human form,Jesus the Christ revealed to us as much as we’ll ever see of the kind of God we are gathered here to worship today. Our God is a God of mercy and compassion, a God of pardon and peace, a God of reconciliation and justice, a God of love and grace. Our God doesn’t ride into town on a war horse as a conquering hero, but on a donkey who he liberated from its bondage, on a donkey in solidarity with all that are humble and carry heavy burdens. Our God draws crowds not because of his wealth or the ways that he cuts others off, but because of his mighty deeds of healing, reconciliation, and inclusion. Our God is not a businessman interested in the bottom line, but a loving Creator who is in the business of turning the tables on those who take advantage of their power by defrauding the poor. Jesus didn’t take just any human form, but took human form as a poor, homeless child. Jesus came not to win votes but to preach good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free (Lk 4:18-19). Jesus took human form to show us the form of God—to show us more fully the God whose image we all bear.
But what difference does it make? Well,it led to what seems to be a fun rally, complete with a parade and audience participation. That is, it seems the crowds in our Gospel today got the message. Perhaps they even picked up on the prophetic sign from Zechariah—that of a king who comes to Jerusalem “triumphant and victorious…humble and riding on a donkey.” (Zech 9:9) But, come on, we know the rest of the story. Even though many were “spellbound” by Jesus how long did it take for the mood of the crowd to turn? I imagine there were those among the throng who remained loyal but, out of fear for their lives or livelihoods, sought cover when things started to go south. But how many others simply couldn’t continue to go along with Jesus when they realized that the whole “humble and riding on a donkey” thing wasn’t just an act to get attention, but a revelation that God really isn’t a war-god after all but rather a God who is truly more interested in solidarity with the poor and humble self-giving? How many people were unwilling to hang in there with Jesus as it became clear that he was not going to save Jerusalem from itself, but rather prophesy its destruction (Lk 19:41-44)? How many decided they were done with him once they realized that Jesus wasn’t going to set up his sycophants in positions of power in the temple system, but intended to turn the whole power and privilege system upside down? What difference did it really make that Jesus reveals God’s love and mercy, God’s care for the poor and oppressed, God’s commitment to peace and reconciliation? It didn’t make much difference at all. At least that’s one way you could look at it. After all, people rejected the God Jesus revealed, rejected Jesus’s way, rejected Jesus. They crucified him.
Furthermore, Jerusalem is still the deeply broken capital city of Israel, a country that bears such a painful history and seems in a chronic state of violent conflict. The safety and security of Israel is the focus of the American Israel Public Affairs Committee Policy Convention that begins today right herein DC. I don’t pretend to know all the various buttons I’ve just pushed by even mentioning AIPAC, but the reason I take the risk is due to the extraordinary juxtaposition that helps to set the issue at hand in stark relief: “power players” including most of the presidential candidates are riding into DC to talk about the politically-charged (and, for many, religiously fueled)relationship between the U.S. and Israel even as we tell the story of Jesus who—in the midst of political and religious tension and turmoil—rides into the capital city of Israel to talk about peace, mercy, and the Kin-dom of God. Do Jesus’s actions and words resonate or make any difference in the talks that will occur over the next couple of days? Or will “security” for Israel still be primarily discussed in terms of military might and money, reconciliation and peace in the region remain a faint hope at best, and the burden of the ongoing conflict fall, as it always does, upon the most vulnerable—the poor, the children, the elderly, the oppressed?
And for those of us living in this part of the world, has Jesus’s revelation of God’s loving, peaceful, merciful,humble form and function made any difference? One way to gauge our answer is to ask another question: If Jesus ran for president, would we vote for him? Be mindful if your gut response is “yes.” History suggests otherwise. The fact is that the conversations and dynamics in the public square today are so often devoid of anything remotely resembling the revelation of Jesus and much is in direct contrast to the sermon on the mount (cf. Mt . 5-6, Lk 6:20-49)—what I like to call “Jesus’s Greatest Hits.” We are singing a different song; we’re out of tune with Jesus. These words of comedian Stephen Colbert come to mind: “If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn’t help the poor, either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we’ve got to acknowledge that He commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don’t want to do it.”[i]
What kind of God do we really believe in and serve? What kind of God do YOU believe in and serve? It is easy—and painfully common these days—to point the finger at others, to point out the ways others are failing to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. But today the question is this: Is the God YOU march with today the God revealed by Jesus or one of your own making? We can choose to look to other saviors or pray to ourselves, we can make Jesus into a mouthpiece for our own liberal or conservative perspectives or a “supply-side” Christ who is really there to line our pockets, we can fashion a god who celebrates our creative rationalizations and who blesses our violence, our prejudice, our denial, our hypocrisy, our laziness—that is our prerogative.
But thanks be that it’s God’s prerogative to have mercy on us. Thanks be that in Jesus we see that our God is radically free and will not be compromised or silenced or coopted to serve selfish, oppressive, violent human desires. Thanks be that our God hangs in there with us even when we want to trade God in for another model. Thanks be that the form of God is love and the function of God is to freely share love. Thanks be that, even with so much evidence to the contrary, humankind is created in the image of that God. Thanks be that Jesus took the form of a humble, human servant so that we might take the form of a loving, merciful God.
Whatdifference would it make if we—and all who claim the name “Christian”—finallyfunctioned according to our intended form?
Sunday Mar 13, 2016
Sunday Mar 13, 2016
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC March 13, 2016, the fifth Sunday in Lent.
Text: John 12:1-8
What will it cost? That is a critical question in any renovation project. And the “renovation reality” is that it almost always costs more than planned. Behind door number three might be gorgeous original tile OR black mold, unexpected wiring, or termites. Or perhaps there are costly delays thanks to the weather…or DCRA. Renovations are expensive, one way or another.
Renovation is the work of making things new, the work of restoring, mending, making things what they are meant to be. In our lives, this work is about being and becoming who we really are—truly, fully, freely ourselves as God intended. Anyone who’s been alive a while—no matter how long—knows that being yourself can be risky and costly. As a child, being strong or sensitive or loud or a dreamer, being shy, competitive, meticulous, or “bookish”—any of these things (and countless others!) can draw criticism and judgment, teasing or jealousy. How do you look? Where do you live? What language does your family speak in your home? How do you…smell?…I can recall the brutal treatment of one of my childhood classmates who would come to school smelling like bonfire smoke and as if her clothes hadn’t been washed in a very long time. Eventually I learned that her family lived in a metal shack not far from my home and that their only heat source was to burn trash in a barrel. For her and her siblings, the realities of extreme poverty made just showing up at school a costly experience because of what they had to endure.
“Being ourselves” involves the things that simply are—our race, gender, sexual orientation, economic reality, physical ability—and those other parts of ourselves that comprise our personality, skills, passions, strengths, weaknesses, and quirks. Being who we are in the world without trying to fit into others’ expectations or cultural constrictions can cost us friends and family. Being black or gay or transgender can cost us our lives. Being who we are can cost a great deal.
I wonder what Mary—sister of Martha and Lazarus—would have to say about all this. In two different books of the Bible Mary gets called out for who she is and what she does. In Luke, Martha gets angry at Mary for sitting at Jesus feet listening to him instead of helping in the kitchen (see Lk 10:38-42). And as we heard today in John, Judas attacks Mary for anointing Jesus’s feet. In both instances, Mary wasn’t acting in the conventional way for women. Men were those who studied with Rabbis and “sat at their feet” listening. And this business of anointing Jesus’s feet, well, where does one even begin? It was customary for a servant of the home to wash a guest’s feet; Mary takes Jesus’s feet into her own hands. For a woman to touch any man other than her husband—and in public!—was simply not done. A woman’s hair was considered a quite sensual and private part of her appearance to be seen only by her husband and family; Mary not only shows her hair, but uses it for the anointing. And if all this weren’t enough, Mary brings forth an extravagant gift—nard, an intensely aromatic, amber-colored essential oil derived from spikenard root—likely costing a years’ wages for a peasant laborer.
It seems likely that Mary, Martha, and Lazarus are a family with some means and social status in the greater Jerusalem area. Because of this, Mary was likely privy to the fact that, since the time Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead (Jn 11), those in power were looking to arrest and kill him because they were threatened by his influence. So when Jesus visits her home on his way to Jerusalem, Mary knew what was coming. She knew that Jesus was going to die and in a terrible way. As people gathered around the table for the feast, perhaps trying to avoid talking about what loomed in Jerusalem, Mary laid it all out there, refusing to avoid or deny what was happening, seizing the opportunity to care for Jesus whom she loved, to touch and anoint his body, an act that would likely be denied after his murder. Mary broke all the rules to show her love.
In the midst of Mary’s vulnerable, sensuous, intimate, generous offering Judas pipes up about the cost of the perfume. Seriously, dude? This woman is clued in to what is really happening and has the backbone to name it for what it is. She is a prophetic leader, proclaiming through her acts that Jesus is going to die and then doing something concrete to prepare for that loss. She has the means to be generous and recognizes that this particular opportunity won’t ever come again. Mary gives of herself in every possible way without counting the cost—the cost to her reputation, the cost to her heart, the cost to her bank account. And in the face of this extraordinary moment of raw, emotional, wise, self-giving love, Judas (driven by selfish motives) changes the subject.
I have had women’s issues on my mind a lot lately. I recently traveled to Nashville to film promotional videos for the soon to be published Abingdon CEB Women’s Bible for which I am an editor. Reflecting on the project, I was reminded of the degree to which women’s stories and voices in the Bible are, with rare exception, relegated to the background if they appear at all. Part of the gift of this new Bible is that every woman—named or unnamed in the text—is lifted up and given some attention.
Just before that trip, an article appeared in The Christian Century magazine highlighting the continued gender gaps within the church—in terms of leadership and pay.[i] A former classmate from YDS, Mike Kinman, now Dean of Christ Episcopal Cathedral in St. Louis, Missouri, wrote a powerful blog[ii] in response, naming the women who lead and inspire him—the women who are leading the Black Lives Matter movement and female colleagues who are changing the church. He notes that these leaders have had to deal all along the way with men who try to silence, ignore, and belittle them, that they have had to work twice as hard to get half as far. Mike is clear about the fact that women of color face exponentially greater obstacles—and I would add lesbian and transgender women as well. And he goes on to acknowledge the ways that the church throughout history has been among the worst offenders in terms of treatment of women. We’re doing alright here at Foundry…but let’s not kid ourselves, there is still work to do.
I have also been ruminating on the gender dynamics playing out in the current election cycle. It is a fascinating phenomenon to observe the attitudes and feelings among women of different generations. It has been interesting to reflect on my own perspective as a Gen X-er. And I have found it important—quite apart from any political advocacy—to highlight through my social media presence the extraordinary double standards at play for Hillary Clinton as a woman running for the presidency. Plenty has been written about that [iii] and, of course, it is not new for women in high profile public leadership to face double standards and to be subjected to things that would never happen to a man. Women leaders in any field are always navigating a minefield of projections, latent expectations, unconscious assumptions, and more.
I admit that all this shone a particular kind of light upon my reading of today’s Gospel. Mary takes the risk to offer her gifts publicly in a way that challenges convention and without holding anything back. In response, a man completely ignores the power and wisdom of what she is actually doing, and then changes the subject and levels a personal attack. (And Judas is smart about the subject he brings up because it has kept everyone distracted from what was really going on—keeps folks from seeing and learning from Mary for over 2000 years!) Mary had come under attack from her own sister before, when she failed to stay within expected, prescribed gender roles and claimed her place as a disciple of Jesus. Again and again, Mary claimed her agency and her freedom in a way that allowed her to be true to herself, to put herself out there even when it meant risking ridicule.
Mary is our teacher today—regardless of our gender identity, our race, our political affiliation, our vocation. She shows us that the work of renovation, of being and becoming more fully and truly who we are, is always costly. But implicit in her actions is another lesson: the cost of hiding or trying to be someone we are not or trying to contort into someone else’s idea of who we are is much, much greater. Making decisions based on fear of ridicule or conflict bears a greater cost than taking the risk to put ourselves out there. I’m not suggesting that we should be naïve about the potential risks involved. But I am suggesting that when others’ expectations, lies or prejudice, when racism, sexism, or homophobia control how you see yourself and how you live, you can end up paying a very high price—you can end up believing lies and living a smaller life than you were made for—you can end up not really living your life; and that’s the life God needs you to live. The famous Marianne Williamson quote comes to mind: “You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world…And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”[iv]
Jesus’s presence liberates Mary. It is not insignificant that on both the occasions when she gets judged for her behavior, Jesus has her back. Jesus sees and loves and affirms Mary. He understands and appreciates what she is doing and he receives her as a true disciple. Mary provides a powerful example of Christian discipleship that is liberated from fear; she gives an example of how to offer your gifts to the world and to God and to be yourself without apology , without defensiveness and with self-giving love. That is what Jesus always did, after all.
Whoever you are, however you are made, whatever your circumstances, you are a beloved child of God. Jesus sees you, loves you, and has your back any time you risk sharing the gift of yourself with others and for the sake of the Kin-dom. And if we are thoughtful and brave disciples of Jesus, we not only will put ourselves out there, but we’ll also have someone else’s back when they find the courage to do the same.
Sunday Mar 06, 2016
Sunday Mar 06, 2016
A homily preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, March 6, 2016, the fourth Sunday in Lent.
Text: Luke 15:1-3,11-32
The parable that we’ve just heard is among the most well-known of Jesus’ parables. It’s been allegorized, philosophized, pulled apart, put together, painted, and looked at from pretty much every angle. I, myself—in order to try to open up the story in a fresh way— have preached from the perspective of the fatted calf! But at the end of the day, Jesus is telling a story about a family whose relationships are broken. And the story is about a father and two sons. Neither of the sons are particularly appealing characters and the father seems to make less-than-wise choices himself. Understood in the cultural context of Jesus’ time, the actions of every character in the story are shameful: the younger son disrespects his father in every possible way. The elder son also disrespects his father—first by accepting the early inheritance (instead of rejecting this in protest of his younger brother’s behavior) and secondly by refusing his father’s invitation to share in the celebration when the younger son had returned. The father would have been seen as weak and disgraceful for granting the younger son’s insolent demands.
But when that son appears at the end of the road, the father is out the door like a flash…the son he’d imagined as gone forever is back! It is a time for rejoicing. Regardless of what would be considered appropriate behavior, the father just loves the son—offers grace and embrace and forgiveness. And when the elder son throws his temper tantrum about it, the father extends the same love and tenderness to him.
At the heart of the Gospel is the promise that God’s love, mercy, and forgiveness are extended to everyone—even those deemed unworthy. The reason Jesus tells this parable is that he was giving the good stuff to people who didn’t “deserve it” and this set some religious folks off. “Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’” (Luke 15:1-2) Jesus welcoming sinners, having mercy on sinners, loving and forgiving sinners is the point. Love and forgiveness is the point. //
Anyone undertaking a renovation project has to determine whether the project is a hopeless pit or whether there is real potential. A visionary designer looks at a dilapidated building, surveys what is run-down, broken, dusty, cramped, abused, neglected and sees the possibilities there. Jesus does that with people. Jesus looks at folks and sees not a “pit” but amazing potential; and Jesus doesn’t only see the potential but offers what is needed to bring about a life-giving renovation.
Carlo Carretto, a monk and spiritual master in the 20th century writes, “[Jesus] loves us as we are, at whatever stage of our journey. He loves the potentiality in us. The potentiality for conversion, return, love, light…Yes, God loves what in us is not yet…God, loving what is not yet and putting faith in us, continually begets us, since love is what begets. By giving us confidence, God helps us to be born, since love is what helps us to emerge from our darkness and draws us to the light…Love creates the divine environment for us, making transformation possible. By feeling ourselves loved, we are prompted to set out on the way of salvation.”[i] Another way to explain the renovating power of God’s love is found in the words of Sufi mystic poet Hafiz: How / Did the rose / Ever open its heart / And give to this world / All its / Beauty? / It felt the encouragement of light / Against its / Being, / Otherwise, / We all remain / Too / Frightened.[ii]
One of the first things we learn in Sunday School as children is that “Jesus loves me.” But my suspicion is that most of us think, deep down, that God only loves the parts of us that we or someone else think are “good enough.” But what we learn today is that the father loved his children when they were at their very worst. He saw what they had done, he yearned for them to turn and to return. But he loved them all the time. That love created the possibility for the sons to be transformed. Love truly felt and received helps us to be brave, to come alive, to be renewed.
I would wager we each harbor a little of the younger son, a bit of independence and self-centeredness—that spiritually sophomoric child who presumes that freedom means taking from life and not counting the cost, who wants to do whatever we want when we want, regardless of the price to ourselves or others. We each hold a piece of the elder son, the demanding critic, the rigidly, resentfully dutiful child, who keeps score and demands payment and gold stars for doing exactly what she is supposed to do. The good news is God loves you anyway and always. God forgives you. God loves the potential in you, God believes in you and is always ready to welcome you to the party in your honor when you finally make it “home.” You will know you’ve arrived when you realize that it’s OK that others are invited to the party…and when you begin to go out and invite others to join you—even when they’re still a long way off…
Sunday Feb 28, 2016
Sunday Feb 28, 2016
From Foundry UMC's Lenten Series: Renovation Realities
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, February 28, 2016, the third Sunday in Lent.Text: Luke 13:1-9
Renovation work is fraught with the potential for disaster and disappointment. Whether the renovation is of a physical space, a relationship, a congregation, a community, an institution—there is always the possibility that the work will fall apart, that harm will be done, that the process or the outcome will be disappointing. At our worship team meeting this past week, when the conversation turned to the scripture and sermon theme for the week, the reaction was palpable. I saw and felt everyone at the table having their own feelings and thoughts about disaster and disappointment. My guess is that if I turned you loose in small groups to discuss what comes up for you, there would be no shortage of thoughts and feelings. The truth is that it is easy to name disasters and to recognize the disappointments in our lives. The harder thing is to figure out how to respond as people of faith. This past week, I heard theologian N.T. Wright suggest that people of faith can “read the news with Jesus.” This echoes the classic liberal protestant notion that we should read the newspaper in one hand and the Bible in the other; that is, read the headlines of our lives and of our day with a Spirit-led, Jesus-focused lens so that we might find some guidance about how to respond.
N.T. Wright’s comments about reading the news with Jesus struck me as timely—not only because I certainly need some guidance responding to the headlines these days but also because I was preparing to preach the text we’ve heard this morning. Today our Gospel gives us an example of how Jesus reads the news. Jesus responds to two headlines of disaster: both were news stories of people who died unjustly and tragically, one in a political massacre and the other through a tower collapsing. One way that our ancestors—and many in our modern world—try to make sense of these painful and confusing events is by assigning cause and effect. For example, those folks who were brutally killed by Pilate must have been worse sinners than others; or those folks in America who were brutally attacked by kamikaze airplanes must have done something to deserve that kind of punishment. According to this way of thinking, if you are killed unjustly or randomly or tragically, you probably did something to deserve it. It’s your fault. God is punishing you.
Jesus reads it differently. What he says is, “do you really think these people were being singled out because of their sins, or that they died because they’re worse than anyone else? Of course not!” With both examples, Jesus unequivocally denies the cause-effect nature of the deaths. But there is also a “but…” But if you don’t repent, if you don’t change, then you can expect consequences.
When Jesus says that unless we repent, we will perish just as those in the Biblical examples did, he is not saying that God is out to get you and is going to make you a victim of some awful tragedy if you don’t shape up. After all, he has just rejected that kind of response. So what is Jesus talking about? I think the only way to know is to set this passage in context: Just before what we hear today in Luke, Jesus has been teaching about the need to trust God and to live a life according to the love, care, mercy, justice, and humility of the Kin-dom of God (Luke 12:13-48). Jesus has taught about the rich man building bigger barns to store his crops and then dying with no “treasure stored in heaven.” Jesus has taught about attendants who need to be ready, keeping their lamps lit, as they await the bridegroom’s return. Jesus has taught about the servants who have been given responsibility for their master’s possessions, but who are cruel and frivolous and thoughtless; the master will show up when they least expect it and will see what they are doing (or not doing). In all of this, the teaching is: do what matters most today; live a life of deeper trust and surrender today; do justice today; be prepared to meet your maker, be ready to come face to face with God. This is what leads up to Jesus’s reaction to the news in our passage today.
The people who perished died in different ways—one was an act of brutal violence the other a “natural” catastrophe. The thing that both scenarios have in common was that the deaths were not expected—they came upon people unaware. When something happens we aren’t expecting, we might very possibly be unprepared—we might not be ready. When Jesus says that unless we repent, we will perish just as those in the Biblical examples did, it seems to me that the point is that no matter how long we live and no matter how we die, we might very well come to the end of our days without being ready to go. Perhaps some folks will hear this as a fearful message. But it is really an invitation. Jesus is calling us to repent—to turn away from—anything that keeps us from living each day as one who is “ready to go,” as a person who has her relationships cared for, who has as little unfinished business as possible, as one who is living a life he wouldn’t be embarrassed to lay before God.
Jesus encourages us to “read the news” of disaster and disappointment in our lives and world not with an eye to placing blame, finding a scapegoat, and identifying upon whom our vengeance should fall (common responses!). Instead, Jesus wants us to take responsibility for our own selves. We are challenged to respond to disaster and disappointment with honesty and conviction about what we can or should do, about where things need to change in our own lives, about what we need to learn from what has happened so that we might incorporate that learning into our lives. We are challenged to persevere in faith, hope, and love even when we are the victims of tragedy and injustice. This is not to say that we should not identify and actively stand against perpetrators of harm. Rather, we are called to follow Jesus who provides powerful examples of how to challenge and stand firm against evil, injustice, and oppression without succumbing to hate or violence.
Jesus follows up the questions about untimely deaths with the parable of the unfruitful fig tree—a story of disappointment for sure. A couple of notes about fig trees: fig trees absorb an especially large amount of nourishment and therefore can drain the earth of nutrients, depriving other plants of sustenance. Further, according to Levitical Law (Lev. 19:23), fig trees were given three years’ growth in order to become “clean.” We are told that the gardener has been looking for fruit on the tree in question for three years. Therefore, we can deduce that after six years this tree has produced no fruit. It is alive, but it’s not doing anything much or being anything much. It’s just taking up space, wasting the soil. Japanese poet and Christian peace activist, Toyohiko Kagawa says this:
I read
In a book
That a man called
Christ
Went about doing good.
It is very disconcerting to me
That I am so easily
Satisfied
With just
Going about.
The fig tree is “just going about” and, therefore, is in danger of being cut down before it has really lived the life it was created for. This tree, all of a sudden, becomes a symbol of us in all the ways that we waste our chance to flourish, that we live our lives in ways that may leave us at our end not being “ready to go.” But does the tree get destroyed by a vengeful God? The story Jesus tells here is not just one of disappointment, it is one of grace. The tree is not destroyed, but rather is given a second chance and more than that—it is given “fertilizer,” the things that it needs to be able to bear fruit.
As we confront disaster and disappointment in our lives and in our world—imagine reading the news through the lens of the Jesus who tells this and so many stories of grace, who reminds us that every day—every moment—of life is precious and an opportunity live with love and care. Read the news with the Jesus who came to preach good news to the poor and to set the prisoners free, who broke religious rules for the sake of love, who crossed all the boundaries of race and tribe, who hung out with those whom others despised, the Jesus who was himself homeless and an asylum-seeker from a murderous political power. Read the news with the Jesus who loved children, who railed against the tyranny of empire, who saw the gifts and potential of every person, who practiced what he preached, who forgave even those who had betrayed, denied, and killed him. As we “read” the painful and troubling headlines of our lives, look through the eyes of Jesus. Doing so will not only highlight the need for repentance and renovation in our lives and in the world, but it will also ground our response in the grace and mercy that flows from God’s self-giving love. God’s grace and mercy enfolds us through every circumstance of our lives, giving us strength and courage to persevere, to change, to hope, to go about doing good, to live each day “ready to go.” And that is Good News after all…
Sunday Feb 21, 2016
Sunday Feb 21, 2016
from the Foundry UMC Lenten Series: Renovation Realities
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC February 21, 2016, the second Sunday in Lent.
Text: Luke 13:31-35
Weekend warrior much? To answer the question, you need to know what a “weekend warrior” is. There are a variety of definitions including someone who parties hard on the weekends, someone who crams all their strenuous exercise into the weekend, a military reservist, and finally, a homeowner who acts as a contractor and tries to do major improvement projects on their own over the weekend (often without understanding the scope of the work to be done). For purposes of our reflection today, “weekend warriors” represent that last definition—thinking we know what we’re doing and tackling things on our own when we really could use a little help.
Several years ago, the youth at my church interpreted today’s Gospel this way: Jesus says to the people of Jerusalem, “How many times did I try to help you and you said, ‘No thanks, I'm good.’”[i] // What is up with these people? Why do they reject Jesus’s help?
I think part of the answer can be found in that familiar story of the guy stranded on a housetop in a flood, praying to God to save him. A rowboat comes by with the offer of help, but the man says “No thanks, God is going to save me.” A motorboat comes and goes the same way followed by a helicopter that was also rejected. The man drowns and goes to heaven, mad as hell at God for not saving him. When confronted, God says, “I sent you a rowboat, a motorboat, and a helicopter. What more did you expect?” Sometimes we reject help because what is offered—or the one offering—doesn’t fit our idea of what we want or need. This can happen consciously and even unconsciously—but all based upon what we’re looking for.
Did you know that what we look for can literally determine what we see? Several years back, a fascinating study was done about something called “inattentional blindness.” In the study by psychological scientists at Boston’s Brigham and Women’s Hospital, “radiologists were asked to look at five lung CT scans, each which contained about 10 nodules or abnormalities. They were asked to click on anything strange on the scans.” On the final scan, an image of a dancing gorilla about 48 times the size of an average nodule was placed in the upper right hand quadrant. 20 out of 24 Radiologists “were unable to spot the dancing gorilla” in the final scan. As one of the researchers said, “It's a vivid example that looking at something and seeing it are different. You can put your eyes on something, but if you're not looking for it, you're functionally blind to it.”[ii]
In our Gospel today, Jerusalem and its people are at the heart of Jesus’ lament. Jerusalem is the city in which God’s people wished to be gathered. What they were looking for is what all the prophets wrote about: the Lord returning to Zion as king (Isaiah 52:7-10, Zech. 9:9 ), the king visiting the temple (Malachi 3:1-4) and causing God’s spirit to be poured out (Joel 2:28-32). None of this has happened yet and so the people of Jerusalem were looking for a king who would fulfill these prophecies. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem as the one who could fulfill the hopes of the people in a way beyond their wildest imaginings. But the people could not—would not—receive him or the help he offered. They were looking for a certain kind of king who did certain kinds of things and so they couldn’t see the new thing that God was doing in Jesus. They were caught up in the way things had always been, in the old understanding, the old expectation…and they couldn’t see that everything they desired was there in Jesus.
What are you looking for that keeps you from seeing the help or support that’s there for you?
Another part of why the people rejected Jesus—and the prophets before him—likely had to do with the fact that they didn’t want to acknowledge the truth about their lives that he revealed. Sometimes it may be that we know in some part of ourselves that something needs to change in our lives but we don’t want to truly acknowledge it—and we don’t want anyone else’s help to see it either! Let me just tell you how much I do not like it when my husband, Anthony, points out the thing I want to avoid! I would prefer to just keep telling myself “I’ve got this.” “I know what I’m doing.” “I don’t need you to tell me anything.” Or just “I don’t need you.”
Sometimes we may tell others (and ourselves) we’re “good,” that we don’t need help, because we can’t bring ourselves to admit much less say what’s real. We pretend we’re fine when there are things in our lives that aren’t fine at all. It may be that we are struggling at work or in a relationship; or that we feel lonely or stuck; or we are wrestling with a difficult decision or with questions of faith; or we have been given a scary diagnosis. And telling the truth about that stuff can feel so risky and vulnerable.
My colleague tells the story of a young woman in her church who was active and regular in attendance and always acted like she was fine and said she “I’m good” when asked. She committed suicide. After that, the congregation made it their practice to do everything possible to encourage telling the truth. An “I’m good” response in that congregation is always pressed just to make sure… This past week I saw an article about Grammy award-winning gospel artist, Richard Smallwood, who has opened up about his struggle with depression after hiding it for years. He hid his illness out of shame and anxiety about the stigma attached—a stigma he especially perceived in the church.[iii] So often in the church we think we have to tidy ourselves up and hide our pain; we do this for all sorts of reasons, including the sense that we should be able to take care of our own stuff or that other people won’t understand or don’t care or shouldn’t be bothered when they’ve got problems of their own.
I have often heard it said that the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous look more like church than a lot of churches. One reason is that in AA everyone starts from a place of need—salty, tough guys and naïve youngsters, women and men, poor and rich. There isn’t any “No thanks, I’m good.” These folks know they need help. They realize they can’t get or remain sober on their own. They know they need each other, and they believe they need God. (The ones who aren't so sure about God speak instead of their Higher Power). A comment once overheard at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting was “The first word in the 12 steps is ‘We.’” Sobriety requires the support and help of others—it requires a “we.” I would suggest that being truly human requires a “we.”
Do you struggle to share what is real for you with others? Do you think that gets in the way of receiving help and support?
One final thought about why the people rejected Jesus’s help is the human tendency to think we can—or are supposed to!—handle things ourselves. I’m terrible about this. Maybe you struggle with it, too. So often, it doesn’t even cross my mind to ask for help even when folks have so clearly made themselves available. Is it pride? Over-confidence? A sense of hyper-responsibility? Some perversion of a strong work ethic? Is the rejection of help simply ingrained in our culture of “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” rugged individualism? For many of us, to need help signals weakness and to appear weak is unacceptable. Likely a number of these things are involved—at least in my case. And Jesus says, “How many times did I try to help you and you said, ‘No thanks, I'm good.’”
In the entrance of the RCA building in New York’s Rockefeller Center is a gigantic statue of Atlas, a beautifully proportioned man who, with all his muscles straining, is holding the world upon his shoulders. There he is, the most powerfully built man in the world, and he can barely stand up under this burden. This is one way to live, trying to carry the world on your shoulders. But just across the street on the other side of Fifth Avenue is Saint Patrick's Cathedral, and there behind the high altar is a little shrine of the boy Jesus, perhaps eight or nine years old, and with no effort he is holding the world in one hand. We have a choice. We can try to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders or we can let those who love us—including Jesus—help us. I can just hear Atlas saying to Jesus’ offer to help: “No thanks. I’m good…”
Are you trying to hold the weight of the world alone? What would it look like to make a different choice?
In these and all our various “weekend warrior” I-can-do-this-by-myself-and-I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing modes, we can really make a mess of things. Because even if we get by for a time—even if we thrive for a time—we are not made to be completely self-sufficient. We don’t know everything. We can’t do everything. Admitting that our “I’m fine” and “I’m good” responses don’t tell the whole story allows us to begin finding the words to ask for what we need. We need help in order to be healthy and sober. We need help to do the things that are good for us. We need help to carry the burdens of life, to manage the responsibilities and relationships that matter most. We need help to recognize the opportunities and grace offered to us in unexpected people and places. We are not independent; we need God; we need one another; we need God’s messengers and prophets (even when they come in the form of a husband who won’t let you off the hook!); we need to be challenged sometimes; we need to be held and comforted sometimes; we… need.
In our “renovation” work of making things what they are meant to be, we don’t have to be “weekend warriors” who struggle in silence and isolation, who wear ourselves out with anxiety and make ourselves sick. Jesus—likely trained as a carpenter after all—has told us that his work is to cast out what torments us, to cure us, to make new life possible (Lk 13:32). The good news is that Jesus wants to help us. “How often have I desired to gather [you] together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing…” (Lk 13:34) Why would we go it alone with an offer like that on the table? Why do you?
[i]St. Matthew’s UMC, Bowie, MD youth interpretation of Lk.13.34