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Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
Episodes
Sunday Jul 05, 2015
Sunday Jul 05, 2015
A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. Javier Viera as part of Foundry UMC's Outstanding Preacher Series on Sunday, July 5, 2015, the sixth Sunday after Pentecost.
Text: Ezekiel 2.1-5; Mark 6.1-13
As a nation, we’ve had a roller coaster last few weeks. In the very recent past we’ve grappled with the horrific and lingering effects of our nation’s deep-seeded and unresolved racism, and have been challenged by the powerful witness of a deep-seeded Christian faith that understands the spiritual freedom found in forgiveness; we’ve been called to action in a letter from Pope Francis on the ecological crisis we face on a global scale, and particularly because the impact this crisis will be most heavily borne by the world’s poor; we celebrated landmark decisions that protected health-care coverage for millions of Americans, extended housing protections for thousands of poor or low wage earners, and secured the right of our LGBT sisters and brothers to legally marry. Yet, we’re soon reminded of the intractable problems of income inequality in the richness nation on earth, the sin of mass incarceration that has come to symbolize how this nation systematically approaches its black and Latino young men, to name but a few. It’s been a roller coaster few weeks.
Yet, as I name these challenges I have to admit feeling a sense of hopefulness and excitement as a person of faith. I haven’t felt this hopeful and excited about the Church’s witness since the innocent and naïve years of my youth. At the forefront of all these challenges facing our nation are people of faith of all persuasions—Catholic, Orthodox, mainline Protestant, evangelical and Pentecostal. From where I sit and the people with whom I speak, I have a growing sense that in spite of all the dreary reports and studies documenting the precipitous decline of religious life and identification in America, we’re actually on the cusp of renewal and reimagining. A missional renaissance is beginning to take shape, and it’s being led by a broad coalition of people who take Jesus seriously when he says, ‘bring good news to the poor; proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind; let the oppressed go free; proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
There is a bold and fearless Christian imagination at work in our nation today. The compassion and mercy Jesus taught is being expressed in bold and refreshing ways that inspire hope and potential healing for a fracture nation and people.
When I see a broad coalition of Christians leading the #blacklivesmatter movement, leading the struggle for a fully inclusive church and society, standing side by side with the poor, with the immigrant, with the spiritually empty; when I see young Christians of all traditions leading a call for gender equality within and without the church; when I read of Christian economists calling for humane and prudent approaches to the economic crises in Greece and in my homeland of Puerto Rico; when I see young evangelical and liberal Christians working together to address the problem of pervasive Islamophobia and anti-Semitism; when I see this sort of Christian engagement with the great moral, economic, and political challenges of our day, I feel hope! I feel joy! I feel as if the message of Jesus preached inside these walls and the walls of so many other places like this may just have a chance at being heard or witnessed by the world beyond these walls.
This reality is not hopeful for all. We’re a fractured nation, split down the middle on just about every matter of importance. I recognize that even within the Church many good people were demoralized, devastated, and dismayed by the very things I just named as giving me hope and joy. Sermons in other churches may be decrying the moral bankruptcy of this nation, and will use the words of Jesus to justify their mourning.
The words of Lincoln’s second inaugural come to mind in such a setting, although the stakes are not the same by any means. Describing the struggle between north and south, Lincoln said, “Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes.
It’s those purposes of the Almighty that we are humbly called to discern. And as we discern them, we must have the spiritual maturity of a Lincoln and Martin Luther King to know that the “arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” And when I think of that, I can’t help but hear the words that God spoke at the call of the prophet Ezekiel as words spoken to us today. Hear them yourself, again, and see if they resonate: “O mortal, stand up on your feet… And you, O mortal, do not be afraid, and do not be afraid of their words, though briers and thorns surround you and you live among scorpions; do not be afraid of their words, and do not be dismayed at their looks, for they are a rebellious house. You shall speak my words to them, whether they hear or refuse to hear.” Sometimes God sends out not to enemies or to strangers, but to our own; and that struggle can be more terrifying than when we struggle against the unknown. That’s where Jesus finds himself in today’s gospel reading, among his own people at the synagogue of his childhood and the message he offered was not well received. Bold and fearless faith among your own is probably the most difficult witness one can give.
A few months ago one of my favorite writers, Juan Goytisolo, won the Cervantes Prize—the most prestigious and highest cultural honor that is given the Spanish-speaking world. The ceremony is held in ancient halls at the country’s oldest universities, and is presided over the King and Queen of Spain.
I happened to be in the Mexico City airport when ceremony took place, and every television screen was carrying a live broadcast of the event. The next day the front page of every newspaper carried prominently the awkward photograph of the diminutive novelist standing alongside the giant-looking King. What was so odd, even controversial about this meeting of the two men, was Goytisolo’s public disdain and constant critique of the Spanish ruling classes’ influence and impact on the daily lives of people who struggle just to find work and to survive. For many years, during the time of the Franco dictatorship, Goytisolo self-exiled to France and his works were banned in Spain. The King is the living symbol of that ruling and elite class, and so the encounter was an event that almost overshadowed the honor itself. Goytisolo was being called home to offer a word to his own people, in the very cradle that he had long resisted.
It’s been the custom at these events for the recipients to laud and glorify Cervantes himself—the elegance of his prose, the poetic lyricism of his verse, the profound human insight of his comedies and dramas. Goytisolo, however, took a very different approach. In the shortest addresses ever given at this event, he chose instead to focus on the difficulty of Cervantes life, and on the obstacles faced by his most famous literary creation, Don Quixote de la Mancha. Don Quixote is often parodied a man insane, a man who cannot grasp reality and who lives in a world of fantasy. Goytisolo, argues, however, that Quixote is a fearless dreamer of the best kind, who refuses to accept the twisted and distorted world in which he lives, and instead sees it as it should be: a world where loyal and eternal love is still possible, a world where injustice is rightly opposed and not accommodated, a world in which the poor and maligned are given rightful place and not simply used for the purposes and ends of the rich.
Cervantes himself, we’re reminded, lived the extreme difficulties of life. He says in the prologue to Quixote that he has been resigned to live “in the basement of history.” He had extreme financial difficulties and was exploited for his talents, he lived in a cramped house with members of his extended family in Valladolid, and he even applied for passage to America, but was turned down by the government. This hardship, argues Goytisolo, shaped him and shaped his greatest literary character.
Cervantes knew despondency, depression, oppression, and misery first hand, and he fought it the only way he knew how: with the power of the pen. Don Quixote fought it in a manner that was deemed lunacy and is now so often caricatured. But if we look deeper, if we see that which is being critiqued and resisted, we see that the hardships of life didn’t embitter Cervantes, rather he came to understand that his own struggles were too light a thing to consume all of his energies and talents. They needed to be put in service of something beyond. He developed the imagination, the subversive spiritual imagination necessary to turn his hardship into a blessing for others.
In an elegant, yet scathing critique of modern Spanish society, Goytisolo, a diminutive man, respectfully stared at the King and spoke words on behalf of the poor, the immigrant, the forgotten, the hurting, and those needing healing. He spoke to his own a word of grace and word of challenge, concluding his remarks by saying, “Those of us moved by Cervantes cannot be resigned to injustice.” You could hear a pin drop as he ended his address. He fought injustice the only way he knew how: with the power of words.
I would add: “Those of us moved by Jesus and the God of Israel cannot be resigned to injustice.” How we will continue to resist it and to bear witness to God’s love and mercy in the world remains to be seen. Yet, if along the way you feel discouraged, take strength from the words spoken to prophets throughout the ages: Fear not. Do not be afraid. One fearless prophet expressed his hope in words that I believe are still fitting for us:
"Yet, I still dare to hope when I remember this:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.
His mercies never come to an end.
They are new every morning — new every morning.
Great is your faithfulness Oh Lord — great is your faithfulness."
Amen.
Sunday Jun 28, 2015
Sunday Jun 28, 2015
A sermon preached by Rev. Dr. J. Philip Wogaman, Foundry UMC's guest preacher on
Sunday, June 28, 2015.
Sunday Jun 21, 2015
Sunday Jun 21, 2015
By Rev. Cynthia Moore-Koikoi, guest preacher at Foundry UMC on Sunday, June 21, 2015.
Sunday Jun 14, 2015
Sunday Jun 14, 2015
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC June 14, 2015, Gay Pride weekend and Pastor Theresa Thames’ last Sunday at Foundry.
Scripture: Jeremiah 17:5-10
Who are we? “What is expected of us? Who is in charge? How do we know what we should really be doing at any given moment? How [in the world] did we get here from there? And what…is the point of it all if we’re all just going to die anyway?”[i] These angsty, existential questions knock about “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” Tom Stoppard’s Tony winning play that is currently on at the Folger Theatre here in DC. Anthony and I attended Thursday’s performance and, as we were letting the experience settle in, Anthony said simply—and with a distinct tinge of disappointment—“When you get right down to it, it’s all about trust.”
Perhaps you can appreciate the disappointment—Lord knows I can. After all, when’s the last time you said, “Woo-hoo! I am going to make a life-changing decision with no guarantee that it is going to bring about the desired outcome!” As Guildenstern says (with considerable anxiety), “We act on scraps of information… sifting half-remembered directions that we can hardly separate from instinct…” “Words, words. They’re all we have to go on.” And the character called “The Player” posits that “Everything has to be taken on trust; truth is only that which is taken to be true. It's the currency of living. There may be nothing behind it, but it doesn't make any difference so long as it is honoured. One acts on assumptions.” // Life is full of confusion and limitations, with decisions to be made, with unexpected twists and turns, and no guarantees. We may wish that someone would tell us exactly what to do and where to go so that we can be sure, so that we can be safe. We may wish that someone would enter stage right and tidy up all the unanswered questions about our identity, about the meaning of it all. But that isn’t the way things work. In the absence of certainty, some measure of trust is required or else we go through life in a constant state of anxiety.
Trust is the centerpiece of our scripture today. In what or whom do you place your trust? Jeremiah contrasts those who trust in “mere mortals” or make “mere flesh their strength” with those who trust in the Lord. Those who put their trust in human strength can’t even “see when relief comes.” But those who trust God don’t fear when things heat up and aren’t anxious in times of want. Jesus is consistent on this point as well, highlighting the problem with putting stock in “mere flesh”—especially our own. I think of Eugene Peterson’s translation of Luke 6:25 from Jesus’ sermon on the plain: “It’s trouble ahead if you’re satisfied with yourself. Your self will not satisfy you for long.”
Let's face it, in every moment of life, we are staring into the abyss of uncertainty, of the unknown. We simply don't know what is around the bend for our lives. For some of us today—like Pastor Theresa—that unknown is very focused: the shape of life and ministry in her new congregation, Cheverly UMC. Others here today may also be facing clear unknowns: test results, a loved one’s recovery, vocational direction, the results of a job search, where you will live, where the money is going to come from, what to do with your life now that everything has changed, how to change self-destructive behavior, whether you will be forgiven, the outcome of a new relationship. For some of us, the unknown may be what it will feel like to truly claim our God-given identity without shame or what kind of reaction we will receive from family and friends if we decide to come out. All of these things are unknowns. They are things that we have to wait for, or live into.
And it's hard. In the midst of all the unknowns the question really is: where will I place my trust?
These days, living as we do in the “information age,” we’re very interested in what we can know, in what we can see, in what can be verified using the scientific method (or Wikipedia!). Knowledge gives us a sense of control and safety. As a result, we often put our trust in what we know.
Is anyone else here a fan of the Indiana Jones movies? In the last movie in the original trilogy, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, we find Indy trying to make his way through the booby-trapped caves to reach the Holy Grail. His father has been shot and lays dying—the Grail is the only chance of his survival. So Indiana makes it through the caves and emerges at a vast chasm. Across the divide he sees the way forward, but he knows that there is no way that anyone could possibly make the jump from one side to the other. All at once, he realizes that if he is to make it across, he has to make a leap of faith. And so he does. And as he steps off the edge, his foot lands on solid rock—an optical illusion had hidden the stone bridge from his sight. If Indiana had relied upon what he could see, if he had trusted in what he knew for sure—namely that there was no way to get across that divide—then he would have been stuck. He would have succumbed to human limitations and wouldn't have been able to provide a source of healing for his father. But in that moment, at the edge, Indiana decided to trust that he could put himself out there into the unknown and that he would be sustained.
Years ago, I heard a choir anthem whose lyrics—an excerpt from a poem—have become a touchstone for me: “I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year, ‘Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.’ And he replied, ‘Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.’”[ii]
How can it really be true? How can we trust such a thing? Especially if we find ourselves at a point in life where God is among the greatest unknowns? How can we put ourselves in all our vulnerability into the hand of God? How can that be safer than what I know for sure? I am reminded in conversation after conversation with folks that faith is hard. Trust is hard. And to put your trust in anything or anyone—even in someone you know and love—can feel quite unsafe. So the idea of stepping off the cliff—when we can't see any possible way to escape falling—probably doesn't feel like the safest way to go. But remember that just because you can't see a way, doesn't mean that there isn't one available. Just because you don't know God or feel God doesn't mean that God is not there.
Placing our hand into the hand of God is, at the very least, to acknowledge that there is something bigger than us—call it the power of Life or the power of Love—and that power is strong enough to sustain and hold and nourish us in times of change and doubt and vulnerability and persecution and loss. To put our hand into the hand of God is an acknowledgment that we need help, that our “self” isn’t enough; it is an acknowledgement of the limitations of human strength and knowledge.
And from a Christian perspective, where human strength and knowledge end, God’s strength and knowledge are infinite. Where human love and loyalty are finite and fickle, God's love and faithfulness are steadfast. When human beings turn away from us or can’t hang in there with us, God always does and always will. And we can trust this because—thanks to Jesus and counter to what Guildenstern says—we have more than words to go on. Thanks to Jesus and counter to what The Player posits, we act on more than assumptions. We have been given a flesh and blood life to show us what God is willing to do and to be for us. In Jesus the Christ we are shown that God wants to hold our hand, to walk with us, to encourage and guide us through it all. In Christ we are shown what our God is like: a God who creates us in beautiful, diverse ways and spares nothing to show us love and to help us be and become fully ourselves. In Christ we are shown what is possible when we truly put our lives into the hand of God: freedom, peace, joy, reconciliation, resurrection!
Human life is limited and limiting. There's only so much that we can do or be for other people or that they can do or be for us. There's only so much I can do for myself or you can do for yourself. But there's no limit to what God can do. And so when you feel you've lost it all, God's kin-dom is there for the finding; when you’re ravenously hungry, God’s table is prepared before you; when tears flow freely and feel like they will never stop, the promise of a new day brings hope and joy; and when your leaps of faith make other people laugh at you and hate you, God cuts in and asks you to dance. (Cf. Luke 6:17-26 The Message) And this means that you can continue the journey. It means that even when you feel insecure or uncertain, even when you cannot see the way ahead or are terrified by what you might find there, even when you have exhausted all your own strength and feel you cannot go on, even when you feel paralyzed by anxiety or grief or indecision—even then, and especially then, God will not only sustain you but will bring you through.
Trusting in God is not safe in the sense of protecting you from danger; putting your hand in the hand of God is not safer because it is without struggle or confusion or pain or loss. Trusting in God is safer in the sense that what matters most is cared for. Trusting in God is safer than a known way because the way of God is the way that leads to a life truly free of the fetters of fear and shame, a life that is truly eternal because it is participation in the life of God who is eternal; the way of God leads to a life that is really alive. Indiana Jones stood at the edge and, if he had relied upon what he knew, would have stayed stuck there or would have had to take steps back. By making the leap of faith, he was placed on a path that was still dangerous, but that led him to grasp the mystery of healing and new life.
Of course, our lives are not Hollywood and there's not always the storybook ending that we might want. But what we're given today—no matter where we are on the journey and no matter what we may be facing—is an invitation to place our lives into the hand of God who knows us fully and loves us completely. We are invited to go into the dark and put our hand into the hand of God–and to trust that God knows the way.
Sunday Jun 07, 2015