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Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
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Sunday Nov 15, 2015
Sunday Nov 15, 2015
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, November 15, 2015, the 25th Sunday after Pentecost.
Text: Acts 10:9-17, 23-35
I remember hearing or reading somewhere about a teaching philosophy that was anti-coloring books. Evidently, the idea was that children should only be given blank sheets of paper and crayons rather than coloring books with their prescribed boundaries and images. Because a blank sheet of paper allows the child to create her own images. This, it seems to me is an interesting idea.
However, I grew up with lots of coloring books and with many photocopied (more precisely, mimeographed) sheets of paper in school to color. And I distinctly remember the moment in third grade when I discovered the technique of outlining my coloring book pictures with black. I think I copied the idea from the girl sitting next to me. I have no idea why I remember this so clearly, but I do. It seemed very exciting to me to be able to manage this technique, using the thick, waxy line to highlight the other colors I’d chosen. And there was this sense of accomplishment for having so clearly demonstrated how well I’d stayed in the lines. It seems to me that there is something we learn as we grow up about staying in the lines—that it’s a good thing. A goal to be reached.
And maybe it’s a stretch, but it seems to me that this is connected to an accumulated understanding of that very central human issue of what’s “in” and what’s “out,” WHO’s “in and who’s “out.” As we grow and develop, this issue of being in or out is vitally important and quite often affects who we become and how we relate to the world and to other people. Being “in” is the goal. Our very existence becomes obsessed with these questions of lines and boundaries and inside and outside.
We gradually learn to relate to other people in terms of the contours of what delineates them: conservative, liberal, religious, atheist, Republican, Democrat, poor, rich, extrovert, introvert, sensitive, thick-skinned, black, white, gay, straight, old, young. Even in this post-modern, deconstructionist, relativistic age, there's just something about drawing lines around things, something that seems to soothe our anxieties and to give us a sense of security.
Whatever the reason for it and regardless of its appropriateness, it seems that we learn from childhood to value coloring inside the lines, even highlighting the lines; we are taught to think this way. This, of course, is nothing new. Throughout the ages, tribal loyalties and practices have carefully and often violently drawn stark lines between whole groups of people. We see it in our text today as Peter baldly states that it is “unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile.” We see it in our own country in many forms: through things like racist lending and real estate practices that actively work to keep groups segregated[i]; through the often hateful rhetoric around immigration policy; through instances in which people still worry about bringing the person they love home to meet the parents for fear of the reaction. Written and unwritten laws still exist that make it difficult to “associate with or to visit” someone outside the lines of our own “kind,” however that is defined. And all these things are a modern form of tribalism; some based firmly in privilege, all based on prejudice and fueled out of fear and hatred. In moments such as this, following a brutal, inhuman terrorist attack, the impulse among many is to draw the lines even more starkly and thickly.
Throughout the ages, religion has made a name for itself as a force for drawing lines, for separating people into “us” and “them.” It’s ironic since most religious traditions have love, peace, and compassion among their core tenets. But within the framework of a narrative or set of teachings and practices that claim ultimate truth, within the context of religious life, there will always be those who cannot hold the balance between truth claims and human freedom. There will always be those who believe that judgment, exclusion, and violence against people who are “outside” the boundary of right belief or practice, however that is defined, is not only acceptable but required. Some argue that, because of this, all religion should be abandoned, since religion itself is the problem. I counter that perversion of religion is one problem among many that plague the human family. Such a perversion is what we see in the ongoing terrorist violence that claims Islam as inspiration. As Pope Francis said, killing hundreds of people in Beirut and Paris who were simply going about their lives has no religious justification. It is simply inhuman. What is the faithful response for people like us who believe that religious impulse and practice can be a positive force in this broken world? I turned to the text chosen for today to seek an answer.
The extraordinary story from Acts that we have heard today finds Peter, the close disciple of Jesus, having a vision. That vision includes “heaven” being “opened,” (a traditional sign of God’s presence) and through that opening a pile of “all kinds” of creatures is lowered before Peter. When he is encouraged to eat, his response reflects the Jewish laws around clean and unclean foods; certain animals were always considered unclean and others were only clean or “kosher” if prepared in a prescribed way. When Peter refuses to break these rules, the divine word comes: “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” Let’s pause for just a moment on that word, “profane.” Profane can be defined as simply non-religious or secular. It can also be defined as disrespectful of orthodox practices, irreverent, ungodly, sacrilegious. In short, “profane” is that which is understood to be separate from or disdainful of God. //
Peter remained puzzled about the vision until he receives and accepts the invitation from Cornelius to travel to Caesarea, a largely Gentile city, and to meet with the people there. At that time, Gentiles were seen by Jews as separate from or disdainful of God—as profane. Once Peter arrives, his vision begins to make sense and he proclaims, “You yourselves know that it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile; but God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean.” …God crashed Peter’s “pew”! God moved into Peter’s comfortable and familiar way of thinking and relating to other people and not only rearranged the furniture, but created new paths and tore down walls. God opened Peter’s mind and heart to understand that Gentiles—the “profane”—are to be welcomed and embraced. God crashed Peter’s pew not only through the vision Peter received, but also through the person of Cornelius. We are told earlier in Acts 10 that Cornelius “was a devout man who feared God with all his household; he gave alms generously to the people and prayed constantly to God.” (10:2) Long before Peter arrived, Cornelius knew and loved God. And so in that mysterious way that things happen sometimes, the two people meet up and something truly sacred happens: Peter and Cornelius share who they are with one another, they share their stories of how they came to be in that place at that time, they share their experiences of God, they meet as two humans who are trying to be more human, more faithful, more alive. Certainly their lives were never the same.
Peter didn’t expect God to be there when he arrived in Caesarea—because that place and “those people” were outside the lines of God’s people. But what Peter learned—and we learn with him—is that God always colors both inside and outside our lines. God is always out ahead of us, always at work in the lives of those who may appear to be lost or far away. God is always present and at work in the lives of those who are different from us or distasteful to us or scary to us. God’s grace is available and at work everywhere. God doesn’t draw lines around sacred and profane, in and out, us and them. We know that even those who live on the other side of the world, those whose cultures and experiences are radically different from our own are human just like us. “They” are like “us” and we are like them. We are all just trying to find our way, to sort out our questions, to discover what our life is for, to love and care for our families, to experience love, to survive hurt, and all the rest. And God is with us—all of us—in the struggle, offering us love and mercy and life—grace!—that we can choose to receive or not. Sometimes we may not even be aware of God’s presence or of the way that grace is at work. Frederick Buechner talks about “being caught up by the way of life that [Jesus] embodied, that was his way.” And he suggests that “it is possible to be on Christ’s way and with his mark upon you without ever having heard of Christ, and for that reason to be on your way to God though maybe you don’t even believe in God. A Christian is one who is on the way, though not necessarily very far along it, and who has at least some dim and half-baked idea of whom to thank.”[ii]
Our text today ends with Peter’s words: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality,
but in every nation anyone who fears God and does what is right is acceptable to God.” As Buechner reminds us, for us who call ourselves Christian, Jesus’ own life shows us the way, shows us what is “right.” Friends, this is the line we should pay attention to—the contours of what a “righteous”—that is, truly human—life looks like. Jesus was not driven by fear, revenge, pride or greed, but rather was fueled by love, compassion, and mercy. Jesus loved God and loved every person he met—even those who betrayed, denied, and killed him. Jesus did justice, loved kindness, and walked humbly with God (Micah 6:8). Jesus brought hope, healing and liberation to the poor, suffering, and oppressed. Jesus never—not once—perpetrated violence against one of God’s children and his whole life was about tearing down the dividing walls of hostility in order to bring peace and reconciliation (Ephesians 2:14).
We don't live in world without lines. The life we have been given is not a blank page on which we create our own pictures. Rather, the life we have been given is imprinted with the lives of other human beings, with the particular contours of history, struggle, friendship, regret, tragedy, creativity, real differences and all the rest. Our world is marked by violence and terror and pride and hatred that continue to rage across tribal, religious, cultural, and national lines. It was into this world that Jesus came, scribbling vibrant, iconoclastic colors all over the page. The lines may have still been there, me/you, black/white, Jew/Gentile, gay/straight, us/them, but in Christ, the lines were all part of one picture, one humanity; a humanity that Christ came to restore, to reconcile, to make new.
Our call in the midst of all we face—the grief, confusion, rage, inhumanity—is to try to be and to become more human, more like Christ. Our call is to be human with other humans, to make space for grace, to recognize that God is present everywhere, working for good in the world. Our call is to understand that from the earliest days of “church” God has made it clear that absolutely all are beloved of God, that all the separating lines we draw simply keep us from welcoming a potential friend and an even fuller experience of God’s saving grace, love, and power. Why would we deep drawing those lines? Why, in God’s name, do we keep drawing those lines?
The only line we should pay attention to is the one that forms the shape of Christ, that shows us the picture of what it looks like to be truly human, the vision of our own full huma
[i] See many articles on this topic, among them: http://www.epi.org/blog/from-ferguson-to-baltimore-the-fruits-of-government-sponsored-segregation/; http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2014/06/the-case-for-reparations/361631/
[ii] Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, HarperSanFrancisco, 1993, p. 16.
Sunday Nov 08, 2015
Sunday Nov 08, 2015
A
sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, November 8,
2015.
Text: Haggai 2:3-5
Anthony and I purchased our first home in 2011 and, for the most part, it was perfect. There were several projects that needed attention and some of them we got sorted right away. Other projects lurked about in various states of NOT being finished for YEARS, partly due to lack of funds, and partly due to my feeling stuck and overwhelmed about what to do. If only I had run into the host of the reality show, “House Crashers,” as I stumbled around Home Depot! The host of this DIY network show approaches unsuspecting shoppers and offers to come to their house and do a remodel completely free! I’ve watched various versions of the “Crashers” series over the years and it always seems odd when folks refuse this offer. It is a free remodel! A whole new space! Why in the world would you not want a large crew of complete strangers to immediately invade your home and completely disrupt your environment, your schedule, your control? Well…when I put it that way…
Over the next few weeks, we will be exploring the challenges of new people, new ideas, new realities in our lives—those times when new may not feel “improved” and the displacement and disruption can leave us longing for familiarity and ease. As we continue thinking about how our church building and our own lives are “Under Construction,” the theme for these next weeks is “Pew Crashers”—after all, who hasn’t been displaced from time to time by new people who didn’t get the memo that that spot in the pew has your unwritten name on it (or if you’re not a regular church-goer—maybe your spot in yoga class or your table in the coffee shop)? There are likely those among us who have squirmed in our seats over something said or done or not said or not done—about the way things happen or don’t, the way things look or don’t. In other words, church life—and all community life—gives us opportunities to learn how to deal with strangers and even friends who invade our space and change the way things look and function, disrupt the flow of our lives, who make us uncomfortable and cranky. But just as the “house crashers” T.V. reality show promises something beautiful and useful as a result of the disruption, so too the “pew crasher” moments of our lives can bring about renewal and remodeling of life in ways that we might never receive otherwise.
Today, our focus is the challenge of “new.” Why, after all, would folks not readily embrace a new thing? The text from the prophet Haggai provides an opportunity to explore this question a bit more deeply. Here’s the context: In 587 BCE the Babylonians invaded Jerusalem, destroyed the temple—the center of religious, civic, and communal life for the Jewish people—and carried the people into captivity and exile. Haggai emerges as a prophet in 520 BCE at a time when the people have been allowed to come home to Jerusalem. But the temple has not been rebuilt even after years of resettlement. Haggai calls the people to make the restoration of the temple a priority because, he insists, with the renewal of temple life, order and connection, prosperity and normalcy will finally be truly possible for the returned exiles. And as a result of his prophecy, the people were inspired to start building. Today’s short passage is spoken as the new temple is under construction. Haggai says, “Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?”
Those who saw the temple before it was destroyed would be at least 73 years old by the time Haggai asks this question. They would have lived through the violence, through the exile, and now they are looking at an unfinished building project that they likely won’t live to see completed. Why might these folks be wary or critical of the new thing? Surely, they were nostalgic for the old days, for the time before everything was destroyed. And I imagine they might simply be tired—tired of waiting for justice and renewal, tired of the struggle to make things right, tired of the sacrifices of time, money, emotional energy required to constructively deal with changing circumstances. I also imagine there was fear involved: not only fear that the new won’t live up to the old, but all the familiar fears that crop up with change as well: fears of the unknown, fears of failure, fears about whether I will “fit” in the new thing, fears of investing so much in something that may all be taken away again.
Nostalgic, tired and afraid can be a lethal mix when it comes to creating something new. In my experience in the church over the years, I have experienced this nasty cocktail upend so many promising opportunities. And I realize that the desire for the old familiar ways, the sometimes pre-rational fear and the sense of deep-seated weariness and wariness—while not a new human phenomenon—stem in large part from the experience of the world in which we now live.
These days, we are bombarded with so much change, so much new data, so many questions and issues without any easy or ready-made answer. Everything happens so fast and there is little time or space to process all the newness. As I pondered this, here is a taste of what flooded my mind: changing religious attitudes and practices, the struggle for racial justice, increasing numbers of non-white males moving into positions of authority, “urban renewal” (aka “gentrification), climate change, the battle for equal rights and protections for lesbian, gay, and especially transgender folks—and the backlash against all those things; add to that scientific discoveries, new technologies, gun violence, prisons for profit, children who hunger for food, support, safety, and hope, gross income disparities, the “new math” (?!)—the list could go on and on. New challenges, new attitudes, new struggles over old issues, new opportunities proliferate and saturate our lives today. And it all needs to be sorted and addressed and cared for and worked for so that what gets built is the kind of life, the kind of world, where God is pleased to dwell. Like God’s people of old, we find ourselves being challenged to build a “temple,” though Jesus referred to it as the Kin-dom of God. Building projects, acts of new creation, do not happen quickly or without a long, messy middle. And Lord knows we are in the messy middle of so much in our world. There is so much that needs to be restored, so much that needs to be created, recreated, made new. No wonder we are tired. No wonder we sometimes just want things to be quiet and easy and organized and stable. No wonder we push back sometimes in places like church when we fear that what has been a place of refuge might change and spin out of control like everything else.
And, as if we needed any more challenges to creating newness, history—both sacred and secular—shows that there are always forces actively working against the birth of something new, always some malevolent energy getting stirred to rage against new creation. There always seems to be a violent, invading force that seeks power and control, polarizing powers that play upon our fears, convincing us that a new way is dangerous. Wizards whip up distractions tempting us to give in to more base desires—desires like control, comfort, cozy prejudices, and possessions. There is always a “Babylon” ready to move against the places where God is at work, to tear down the “temple” in an attempt to disrupt the new thing that God is doing in our own lives and in the world. And these anti-Kin-dom forces and powers can get ahold of us so that we engage in self-destructive behaviors or simply give in to the lie that we are stuck in a life-sucking reality with no way out. And those same forces and powers move in the world so that we get things like the defeat of the Houston Equal Rights Ordinance through fear- and hate-mongering ad campaigns leaving the most vulnerable without basic protections for things like housing and jobs. We get defensive, fear-driven assertions that Black Lives Matter advocates support violence and hate all white people and all police officers setting up polarized dynamics that hinder the true goal of assuring that black persons simply are afforded basic human rights and dignity. We get policies that make it harder for persons who are poor or black or immigrants or Hispanic or ex-offenders to vote which assures that those already on the edges are disempowered to change their own reality through the democratic process.[i] Thanks to the new-life-crushing, anti-Kin-dom forces, we get blaming and shaming and proof-texting and back-room deals that keep some in power and others on the margins. And of course some of the loudest voices working these unjust deals and strategies claim to be Christian voices. This is not new. It is very, very old.
In the midst of all these challenges to newness, we might find ourselves staring, overwhelmed, at the mess of it all. We may find it very tempting to allow nostalgia, fatigue, disappointment, resentment, woundedness, and fear to have their way, leaving us feeling stuck, depressed and powerless to make a difference.
When the people of Judah looked at their messy, unfinished construction project, their work of restoration, their struggle to reclaim and rebuild community based on God’s vision of love and justice, and thought it was “nothing”—when they were tired and fearful that the whole thing was a waste here is what God said to them: “take courage, all you people of the land…work, for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts, according to the promise that I made you when you came out of Egypt. My spirit abides among you; do not fear.” You see ours is a God who sets people free, not a God who keeps people in chains. Our God led the oppressed and enslaved Hebrew people out of Egypt; God led the people through the wilderness, through one “messy middle” after another; God was with the people in midst of violence and exile and remains with them as they rebuild their lives. “Take courage…work, for I am with you…My spirit abides among you; do not fear.”
In the midst of so much that needs renewal—in the world, in the church, in our families, in our own lives—and in the face of all the obstacles and complications and questions on the path to newness, perhaps our greatest challenge is to believe that things can really be different, that life can really be made new. If we are human and if we have a heart and a conscience, I imagine that there are times when it’s hard to believe. And the word we receive today doesn’t make anything easier or simpler. But it is the word we need because it reminds us that the work of making things new is God’s work and that we are simply given the chance to play a part in building the Kin-dom. “Take courage, work, do not fear,” for God is with you.
[i] http://prospect.org/article/22-states-wave-new-voting-restrictions-threatens-shift-outcomes-tight-races
Sunday Nov 01, 2015
Sunday Nov 01, 2015
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC November 1, 2015, All Saints Sunday.
Texts: Isaiah 25:6-9, John 11:32-44
Today’s Gospel is about a funeral, something we all know something about. A beloved brother and friend has died and the family and community has gathered for the rituals of grief…in the midst of the casseroles and crying and storytelling and remembering, there hangs the question that so often lurks at funerals—where was God? Where was God when my loved one suffered with tubes coming out of her nose, when my beloved fought for breath, when the light of my life was wracked with pain, when this beautiful person was so devastated by her mental illness that she chose to exit this world rather than suffer any more, when the clot broke and moved into his brain, when my spouse’s heart, so full of love, attacked and took him from me in an instant? If God had been here, this wouldn’t have happened. Mary gives voice to this deeply human response to death: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Those gathered in grief also mutter under their breaths, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” Alongside these words, so often left unspoken except in the deep recesses of the human heart, there are also words of hope and faith. At funerals we hear words that speak of God’s light and love, of God’s presence, of hope in the life to come. Earlier in the story, Martha speaks such a word of hope saying, “I know that Lazarus will rise again…” But Mary, unlike Martha, can’t muster any words of faith or hope. She just cries.
In the midst of grief, the mixture of rage, confusion, hope, emptiness, gratitude, regret, fear, faith, loneliness, and so much more leaves us exhausted and numb as we try to adjust to a universe that has been radically altered by our loss. A beautiful prayer in the funeral liturgy of our church speaks of shrinking before the mystery of death. And a mystery it is. Suffering and death are THE human mystery, the place before which all our best efforts and all our striving reach their ultimate limit. How can we not shrink before such a mystery? //
If you read the whole story, you discover that Jesus knew that his friend Lazarus was gravely ill but purposely stayed where he was for two more days—so that by the time he arrived in Bethany Lazarus had been dead four days (11:6). But before we get aggravated by this, thinking that Jesus must be an unfeeling cad, keep in mind that this Gospel writer, John, is most concerned with telling the story of Jesus in such a way that something about the nature of God is revealed. John is a theologian, not a historian. At the time John wrote, tradition taught that the soul lingered near the body for three days, after which there was no hope of life returning. Jesus waited to arrive until the fourth day, until things were truly hopeless, when the full impact of God’s power might be displayed. And upon seeing the deep grief of his beloved friend Mary and of those who mourned with her, Jesus reveals one of the most important things we will ever know about the heart of God. Far from being unfeeling, Jesus wept; his own heart broke for the suffering of those around him. As Jesus cries, we learn that the God whom Jesus came to reveal is not far removed from our pain and our grief. Our God shares our pain, weeps with us and is deeply grieved by anything and everything that threatens human wholeness and flourishing.
But the point of Jesus’ coming into this situation isn’t only to reveal the compassion of God for our human grief and suffering—though that is certainly a word we need to hear. If that were the only message from Jesus, it would mean that God ostensibly could remain far off, sad for us, but unwilling or incapable or of doing anything to affect human life. Jesus’ purpose was to reveal even more than the great compassion of God—he came to reveal the glory of God, the power of God’s love to call forth life that is full and free even in the midst of death.
Jesus comes into a place of death, a hopeless moment, the point of despair and deep grief and he speaks words of life, words of faith in the power of God’s love, words of freedom from the things that keep human life bound by death. Jesus’ ultimate purpose here is to offer a great gift to all those who were grieving (who ARE grieving)—the gift not only of a loved one restored for a time, but more importantly, the gift of freedom from the fear of death for ALL time, the gift of knowing that God’s power is stronger than death, that God’s love is fiercer than the grave. This story, given to us on All Saints Sunday, is a proclamation of our astonishing hope: that death does not have the last word, that there is life beyond this world and the saints of our church, the saints in our lives, all the saints who have passed from this world into the next are alive—alive in and through the power of God’s love in Christ. Upon the recent death of my dad, one friend simply said, “God’s got him.” That is the promise. The great hymn states the promise this way: “O blessed communion, fellowship divine! We feebly struggle, they in glory shine...”[i]
Right now, in our church family, there are people who are grieving. There are people who are facing the end of their earthly life, there are people who are waiting and watching and walking together with their loved ones as they travel down the final stretch of their journey. We may want Jesus to show up and call it off, clean it up, make these situations different. But we know well enough this doesn’t always happen. We also know that sooner or later we will all face death—the death of those closest to us and our own death. The gift of Jesus for us all is the promise that we need not fear death. If we trust in the God revealed to us through Jesus, we truly have nothing to fear. For while we may not know WHAT is beyond the grave, we do know WHO is beyond the grave. God will never leave us nor forsake us. The Gospel today teaches us that even though Jesus wasn’t there when and how others wanted, even though Lazarus died, God was there and ready to bring about a miracle of life restored. God was there. God is here. God is near. God’s love is the very source of life and the very power of new life, resurrected life, restored life. In this world and in the next. Thanks be to God and Alleluia!
Sunday Oct 25, 2015
Sunday Oct 25, 2015
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC October 25, 2015,the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost, Consecration Sunday.
Texts: 1 Peter 2:4-5, Mark 10:46-52
There is a place that Anthony and I love to go for vacation, far, far away on the west coast in the woods on a river. It is delightful to hike along and sometimes through the flowing waters, using the larger rocks of the riverbed as stepping stones. In that part of the world it can feel quite remote, as if no one has walked that way before. But often—sometimes right in the middle of the river—a cairn appears, an artfully engineered pillar of stone upon stone, marking the place as one where a pilgrim paused to play, reflect, be. There is something lovely and encouraging about the appearance of these fragile works of art, as they represent a sense of shared space, shared experience, a shared path—the reminder that we are not alone in this life. The river stones provide ample material for creating this kind of monument and I have spent happy hours setting up my own little rock art sculptures along that river, signs—impermanent as they are—that I was there, alive, moving through the world.
In
the Judeo-Christian tradition—as in many other traditions—there is an ancient
practice of setting up a stone or pile or stones as a signpost, as a memorial,
as a marker of a significant moment. An “Ebenezer,” literally “a stone of help”
is a stone or stones that mark a place in which God has been present in loving
and saving ways. This is clear in the
line from the beloved hymn to God, Come
Thou Fount of Every Blessing: “Here I raise mine Ebenezer; hither by
thy help I’m come; and I hope, by thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home.”
Today, we are literally raising an Ebenezer, a sign and marker of God’s mighty presence with us—a sign and marker of the ways that God has brought Foundry through 200 years—a sign and marker of this moment in history when we are being called and raised up as a congregation to be a living sign of the mighty power of God to bring about reconciliation, justice, and peace.
Over the past several weeks, we have heard the verses from 1 Peter that were read today: “Come to Christ, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house…” This letter to the first century churches in Asia Minor was written to encourage the people to be strong in the midst of challenge and persecution. The call to those early churches—and to Foundry church today—is to stand in contrast to the culture as a witness to the power of faith, hope and love. The call is to take courage through the promise that death and violence and hatred will not have the last word. “Come to Christ, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house…” God calls you and me to be built into this church. You are Foundry. I am Foundry. Today, not only do we consecrate the collective financial support that we bring, but we also baptize one of our precious babies and welcome folks who are claiming their unique place as part of Foundry Church, by publicly and prayerfully entering into covenant as professing members. [There are also those in different places along the journey—committed to this community, but still discerning the tenets of the Christian faith—and so, not at a place to be Baptized today but making a public witness of their place among us. We also receive with joy friends who had moved away—both their covenant membership and geographically—who are reconnecting with Foundry.] The “living stones” of our lives form and fashion the “Ebenezer” that is Foundry church; and as we bring more of who we are and what we have as an offering, this sign and marker of God’s mighty presence that is Foundry grows stronger and more prominent as a signpost for others seeking to find their way to faith, hope, and love.
As I meditated on the image of “living stones”—and also, interestingly, on the story of Bartimaeus that we heard from the Gospel of Mark—a line from the story of Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem came to mind. In Luke’s version, when Jesus is asked to silence the crowds’ loud praise he responds, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would cry out.” (Lk 19:40)
“The stones would cry out…” When we come across an Ebenezer on a journey, the stones “speak” of God’s presence—even if we don’t know all the specifics, we know that there was a time when someone raised those stones as a memorial of a sacred moment, of God’s loving and saving presence. Today in our Gospel, as Jesus walks along the road out of Jericho, he encounters Bartimaeus sitting by the roadside. Bartimaeus, aware that God’s love-in-flesh is passing by, cries out for mercy. And when those in the crowd try to silence him—implicitly rejecting his hope and affirming the status quo of his poverty and blindness, he cries out even more. Jesus responds with the same question he asked the disciples James and John last week: “What do you want me to do for you?” Bartimaeus asks not for power or wealth. He simply asks for vision, trusting in God’s loving presence and ability to heal through Jesus. Bartimaeus came to Christ, THE living stone, the cornerstone, and then—from that place of connection—became like Christ, a living stone crying out—a witness to hope fulfilled and to the power of God’s saving love!
You are Foundry. I am Foundry. Each one of us is called to come to Christ and to be, like Christ, a living stone, built into a spiritual house, a vital community, a signpost of hope, an Ebenezer to weary travelers on the journey of life. We are called to cry out, proclaiming God’s love and mercy. Today we mark this moment, stone by living stone, as a sacred moment, a moment in which we once again commit and consecrate our lives and our resources to God’s loving and saving presence in the world. And as we offer ourselves, as living stones, to be built into Foundry Church, we know that there are those who would want to silence us, who get in the way of new vision, who scoff at the hope we profess, who hate us for our love. But today we raise our Ebenezer and cry out even more loudly for the sake of justice and equality and reconciliation, for an end to racism and heterosexism, for affordable housing in this city and truly supportive housing for sheltered or unhoused neighbors. Today we raise our Ebenezer and cry out even more loudly for the sake of gentleness and beauty, for the sake of all that is sacred and kind. We cry “Mercy!” We cry “Thank you Jesus!” We cry “Help us, Lord!” We cry “Here I am!” We cry “Use us, God!” We cry out—through our lives, our prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness—that we are God’s people, a living witness to a living hope that we are not alone in this world. We cry out, “I am Foundry. WE are Foundry. Thanks be to God!”
Sunday Oct 18, 2015
Sunday Oct 18, 2015
A “State of the Church” sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC as part of the Financial Stewardship campaign, October 18, 2015.
Texts: 1 Peter 2:4-5, Mark 10:35-45
“What is it you want me to do for you?” What a question from Jesus! If Jesus asked you that question today, what would you say? What do you want me to do for you? James and John responded with a request for positions of power and prestige in Jesus’ administration. You’d think they would have known better, having been with Jesus almost from the very beginning. But over and again, the disciples don’t get it. They argue over rank, they try to deny children and the vulnerable access to Jesus, they aren’t able or willing to comprehend that the last will be first, that children will inherit the Kin-dom, that the greatest people will be those who serve, that true life is received not by what you get but rather by what you give. What might have been a wiser response to Jesus’s question?
Today is the day when, by tradition here at Foundry, we set aside some time to reflect upon the “state of the church.” And I found myself thinking about what we as a congregation might say to Jesus in response to his most generous question. What is it you want me to do for you? Before considering our response, however, I want to take a moment to reflect upon the cultural context in which we find ourselves today. The landscape has changed and is changing with regard to the ways that people both think about and engage their spiritual practices. The pace of life in our day, the rise of social media, the oversaturation of “information,” the religious climate in the media, the shrinking of workforces and consequent increase of work pressures and demands for those lucky enough to have a job, the competitive nature of American life from childhood on, and many other factors affect religious participation at many levels. For an increasingly mobile population, attending worship every week is difficult to achieve. We also know that weekly worship isn’t the primary way many folks engage—many prefer instead to participate in spiritual community through a small group or hands-on mission group. Others may connect primarily through online resources. And of course there are a growing number of folks who don’t engage the church at all. One colleague in New York City—a pastor who, through his wise leadership, has brought renewal and strength to his current congregation over more than twenty years—has said on more than one occasion that he finds doing congregational work in the current climate more challenging than ever before.
But challenging as it is, I have some pretty strong convictions about why it is so important for us to continue to hang in there and to be the church in the world. First, I believe that the church at its best can offer people things we are all hungry for: community, friendship, meaning, purpose, beauty, a sense of wonder, mystery, and transcendence. I believe that even though so many people are disconnected from church and say they don’t want anything to do with it, sometimes those same people discover at some point in their life that they desperately need the church; and when those folks stumble across our threshold, we need to show them an authentic, healthy community of care, conviction, commitment, and integrity. I believe that we are responsible to try to mend the broken hearts and the wounds of persons hurt by the church—even as we seek mending of our own brokenness—and that can happen as we call upon the amazing grace of God to heal us and help us. I believe that the church is absolutely necessary to help each one of us be become our truest, most whole selves. I believe that it is crucial that the church teach our children that they are part of God’s love story in the world and that they don’t have to compete for God’s love. And I believe that the church is God’s instrument of peace, mercy, justice, and saving love in the world—that we are called to show that there is an alternative to violence, prejudice, and polarization and to stand in solidarity with the poor and the oppressed. It may be challenging to be engaged in congregational work these days, but it is just as critical as ever.
In light of all of this, I come back to the question posed by Jesus in our text today: “What is it you want me to do for you?” The words of the hymn come to mind: “Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the facing of this hour, for the living of these days, lest we miss thy Kin-dom’s goal.”[i]
The very good news is that, in so many ways, Foundry is positioned from a place of strength as we lean into the third century of ministry in our nation’s capital. Over the course of this past year, we have welcomed a number of inspiring guest preachers. Every one of them made a point of saying how extraordinary Foundry is. Several favorite comments include the “very Episcopalian” Dr. Peter Hawkins saying that he felt the urge to stand up and clap along during 9:30 worship, Rev. Cynthia Moore-Koikoi telling me that her preconceptions about what kind of church Foundry is were shattered—and then her standing up during 9:30 service and giving thanks to God that the daughter of slaves and the daughter of slave owners were sharing a pulpit and singing together the songs of her people from the African American Heritage Hymnal. And then there was Bishop Talbert’s telling us during his sermon to look around and see the Kin-dom of God and not to take what we share for granted. I also think of the woman with whom I had conversation who said, “I am not really sure why I am here or what I believe…but I just feel drawn to Foundry on Sunday morning.” I think of our friend and brother, Brian Nowlin, saying to me as he lay dying, “Thank God for Foundry.” And I couldn’t even begin to name all the times I have heard some version of “I never thought I would find a church where I could feel so fully embraced, supported, and loved.” “We never dreamed that we would be able to get married in church.” “I didn’t know church could be like this.” There are people you have never met who regularly tune in to share our worship through the live streaming we provide—after the funeral of my great-aunt Lola, I learned that my mom’s cousin has started watching our 9:30 service weekly! Who knew?!
Foundry is also a church that is serving well beyond the walls both through paying 100 % of our church apportionments that support mission and ministry through the United Methodist connection and through our mission outreach right here in DC. Just this past year our English as a Second Language classes have been filled—70 students at each of three semesters—and classes have been free for those who need it most. Our social justice ministries have cooked lunches for un-housed neighbors recovering from injury, illness, surgery, and addiction at Christ House. We have helped feed hundreds at So Others Might Eat and through Sandwich One Thousand as well as our Saturday Morning Cooking Mission. This Spring's Great Day of Service, where we packed 30,000 meals with Mount Vernon Place and Asbury UMC, helped respond to disasters in Eastern Ukraine and The Philippines. We sponsored 4 children living in homeless shelters to attend summer camp at Brighter Day United Methodist Church's Enrichment Academy. You also sponsored an apartment for Bernadette and her two children Gabby and Todd who moved from shelter to Permanent Supportive Housing. In a thank you note from Bernadette she says, “Everything is so beautiful…my kids love their new room and my daughter can’t believe this is ours…We are so thankful. We won’t take this for granted.” In addition, we worked to provide canned goods and badly needed supplies to neighbors in and around Baltimore's Sandtown neighborhood through outreach with Ames, John Wesley, and Metropolitan UMCs following demonstrations related to the death of Freddie Gray—a connection that will continue this next year through Volunteer in Mission work with those congregations. Foundry was instrumental in getting a DC 2016 budget passed that includes more support for ending chronic homelessness. And our ID Ministry was expanded to meet the needs of the population needing this vital service.
We are coming off a truly extraordinary Bicentennial year, marked with transcendent worship and powerful preaching, soul-stirring music and warm fellowship, a “family reunion” with our sister congregation, Asbury UMC and so much more. Family Camp and Sunday School continue to bless our children and families. Our children’s choir is stronger than it’s been in years and our adult choirs are excellent as always. We continue big improvements to our building through our Mission Possible Capital Campaign. There is a spirit of excitement and growing engagement among us. God is truly at work in our midst.
But even still, there are places where we know we need to become stronger, more organized, more faithful. What is it that you must do over the next two to three years? That is the question posed to the Foundry Management Board by Rev. Jim Harnish toward the end of the visioning retreat held in late February of this year. The retreat was, in many ways, the culmination of the house meeting and holy conversation cycle that commenced as I arrived as your Senior Pastor and began to very intentionally listen and observe. The Board had the benefit of all the data collected throughout that process in addition to their own experience as key servant leaders as they sought to answer Jim’s clarifying question. What is it that you must do over the next two to three years? What emerged from that retreat—and from the process as a whole—is what I call a “Developmental Vision” for Foundry. That is to say, the vision for the next 2-3 years provides clarity about the areas that need to be strengthened and developed in order for Foundry to grow as a community and as a force for transformation in the world. That vision is:
To be an intentional covenant community that
· helps people of all ages connect with God & each other
· calls, equips, sends, and supports spiritual leaders to serve the church and world
· practices radical hospitality & inclusion
· builds partnerships in mission locally & globally to create beloved communities of economic, racial, and social justice
Some of the concrete ways we will be living into the vision are spelled out in the stewardship campaign booklet. I encourage you to review that piece. We are seeking to be and to become a beloved community here at Foundry—and the work we do both internally and externally to proclaim black lives matter and to advocate for full inclusion of LGBTQ people in our church is work that is critically important at this moment in our history as a nation and as a church. The investment we are making in staffing for Family Ministries and adult Connecting Ministries is critical in helping us finally address the gaps in our congregational ministries that have created challenges and obstacles to greater growth and flourishing. We are putting programs and personnel into place strategically and with great hope in the fruits that will be borne over the next several years. The one primary challenge we face in moving forward with full confidence is financial.
Let me begin by saying that we have so many people in this church whose generosity is breathtaking—both in their financial giving and their humble service. Last year, we began to see a very healthy trend of folks moving from giving to actually making a financial pledge for the year. Even in the wake of a strong and dynamic campaign last fall, we still faced a significant shortfall in the proposed operating budget for this year. The Leadership Challenge commenced in January, generating over $215,000 in extra giving. Some of our strongest givers gave even more and many folks from across the congregation stepped up to help close the gap. I want to thank all who so generously give to support God’s work in and through Foundry.
Projections for next year’s budget show that we will once again be facing a shortfall unless we work together to increase our collective giving. I want to encourage us to do that work now instead of waiting until January! We need at least a 10% increase overall—in order to get close to a balanced budget. I can assure you that the projected spending is not extravagant. Increases are primarily in staffing and support and for other areas vital to fulfillment of our vision and mission. Our proposed draft budget is available for your review on our website and staff are happy to respond to questions. If you haven’t already, take a look at the “Revealing Breakdown of Foundry’s Giving Patterns” found on page 21 of the stewardship booklet. You will see that in 2014 there were 738 active Foundry folks for whom we have no record of any financial gift. If all those folks pledge something—anything!—and if others who give and pledge increase as much as possible, we will be able to enter into 2016 from a place not only of spiritual strength, but financial strength as well. We will have more than enough!
Here’s what we’re asking of you. If you haven’t pledged in the past, please do that. Pray and discern what you can give to the work of God in and through Foundry Church. If you have pledged in the past, consider whether you can increase by 10% this year—and if not that much, at least as much as possible. If you made a donation toward our Leadership Challenge for 2015, please prayerfully consider whether you can make that same gift for 2016. Today, Jesus asks us, “What do you want me to do for you?” Perhaps the best response would be to echo that question right back: “What is it, Jesus, you want me to do for you?”