Parker UCC Sermon Blog

"From Survive to Thrive"

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 19:24:05 GMT

"From Survive to Thrive"

1 John 3:1-7

They could have hung it up; they could have quit.

They could have dispersed, rolling quietly back into their former anonymous lives,

picked up their nets, and set out for the Sea of Galilee for some fishing.

They might have picked up their tools and returned to their labor trades, jaws set to try to again earn a living sufficient to support their families.

They could have gone back to the streets,

back to the synagogues where the Torah would still be taught by the rabbis in the old, uninspired, legalistic way.

They could have tried to forget all the words of Jesus, all his challenges, and all his confusing stories.

After all, what did all that get himundefinedbut dead? And not just dead, but horribly dead, tortured, beaten, humiliated, utterly defeated kind-of dead.

Yes, the disciples and close companions could have hung up all this "Jesus business" as just a bad dream and a distant memory.

They could have apologized to their loved ones for leaving them so abruptly, following the call of a madman into a life of poverty, danger, and disruption.

They could have hung it up,

And ignored the cries of the hungry babies,

The pleas of the street beggars,

The sores of the lepers,

And the plight of the prostitutes.

They could have hung it all up and spared their own lives,

avoided arrest, beating, interrogation, and a date with the cross or the lions or the sword.

The disciples could have chalked up their 3-year experience with Jesus as a failure,

and counted themselves lucky that only he was executed by the State, and not all of them with him.

Afterall, they were survivors, but they were also victims of their time and place.

They could have stayed huddled in the upper room, paralyzed and scared, forgetting all they had learned about how to be disciples of the Word,

about how to treat the outcasts of their world,

about how to speak the truth in the face of injustice.

They could have lost their compassion,

rebuked the nudging of the Holy Spirit

turned to fighting and blaming each other,

letting their fears dictate their lives and their life's movement.

They could have hung it up once their teacher was gone, but to do so would have shrunk the gospel, made it irrelevant, made it die, and that the Spirit of God would not have.

The Spirit of God, their Advocate and their Agitator, instead whispered in their hearts, "Eudaimonia,” and the Word thrived within them.

This friend of mine told me of his great-great grandmother's pilgrimage to America. She was just 15 when the Spirit nudged her to "drop her nets" and follow God’s call on her life. Like so many other brave and slightly crazy ancestors of ours, she stowed away on a ship bound for New York, in America. She spoke no English, she had no money, and she had no real skills. She kept her identity secret, and she moved through the ship holding herself out bravely, but falsely, as an experienced nanny looking for work in the new world.

Onboard the ship, she made herself useful in this way. She stayed healthy somehow, and she tended to those who became ill, watching and tending to children as parent and child both lay sick in overcrowded and unsanitary berths.

She could have hung it up.

She could have turned around from the gangway and run back home to the safety of her family, her language, and her way of life.

She could have given in to sickness on the voyage herself, and maybe died without ever reaching America.

Or she might have written her family and repented of her foolishness, begging for the money for a return-passage ticket so she could come back home.

But the Spirit of God moved from within her, creating in her a different story, a more expansive destiny, a life not defined by merely surviving it, but instead by thriving within the mystery and awkward beauty of it all. The Spirit whispered in her ear without ceasing: "Eudaimonia," and the dream lived on.

Once at Ellis Island, Dagna convinced the family she had been caring for on the ship to adopt her so that she could come ashore. The family, with their nanny, their newest member, headed West, on foot. Dagna had no possessions at all. She only had rags for her feet and the clothes she brought aboard.

Somehow she made it with the family all the way to Utah, where she made a meager, but meaningful life for herself. After a couple of years, she had enough money saved up to buy dress shoes, and she took great care in picking out a pair that would be useful, yet special, if only to her. She survived much, and she thrived. Her life moved on.

It came to pass that a great drought hit the Midwest, bringing with it much sickness, poverty, and death. Within her faith community, a call went out to help those who had been displaced from their homes in South Dakota. Clothing, furniture, and food were needed. Dagna had nothing to spare but her spare pair of shoesundefinedher prized dress shoes. She polished them up, wrapped them in cloth, and then placed them carefully into a box, and then walked them to the wagon outside the church for transport to their new owner. She prayed over the shoes before handing them over, that the shoes would bring warmth and hope to their new owner.

She could have ignored the call for help,

She could have given up her old, ratty, work shoes instead.

She could have figured that others would give sufficiently so that she didn’t have to.

She could have shrunk the gospel that day, and she cried all the way home from the church, not for her loss, but for the fact that she, for once, had something of value to give. She felt truly blessed and rich that day, rich in the Spirit’s call of Eudaimonia.

So what is this “eudaimonia” word anyway? Let me tell you!

It’s my favorite Greek word.

I learned it in seminary. The root is “daimon,” which is Greek for Spirit. Sounds like demon, but it not a scary type of spirit we are talking about here. “Daimonia” is spirit-like, and when the Greeks put “eu” on the front of a word, it makes the concept the best kind of good. Not just good, or really good, but goooood. Eudaimonia, or “the best spirit-like quality” means “flourishing.” When the creation flourishes, God’s ultimate will is realized.

When compassion flourishes, the Gospel is realized, too.

While in Chicago this past week, I took a cab to a theatre during a free few hours, and I saw the movie, “The Hunger Games.” This movie is based on the first book of a trilogy by Suzanne Collins, and it is a story that has taken popular culture by storm. Last week on the top 20 bestseller list, the Hunger Games Trilogy ranked 1^st, 2^nd, and 3^rd. The movie has been #1 at the box office since it came out about a month ago.

I wanted to see what the buzz what all about. Okay, I was Jonesin for popcorn, too. But mostly I wanted to see this movie.

If you know any teenagers, chances are they have read all three books. It is a story written for teens, I am told, but I found it very engagingundefinedprofoundly disturbing, but profoundly inspiring, too, and highly metaphorical, in a Biblical way of speaking.

Katliss Everdeen is a teenage girl living in post-apocalyptic North America, renamed “Panem.” Panem is a derivative of the word, “bread.” The sadistic, aristocratic, and eccentric government provides the commoners with their daily bread, but at the same time keeps them on the edge of poverty-- depressed, repressed, and controlled-- by requiring all boys and girls age 12-18 each year to enter a lottery.

From the lottery, one girl and one boy from each of 12 districts are chosen, trained, and set into a monitored outdoor environment to fight each other to the death, until only one remains. The victor gets to return home to his or her family. It’s a totally sick and wrong premise, ghastly, and unthinkable. The rich folk get to watch the murderous and desperate drama through huge monitor screens, and the puppeteers can change the environment to add stress, such as creating through holography kid-eating, dog-like-lion-type animals to chase them, or weather to soak and freeze them, or aids to help them defeat their child enemies in battle.

When Katliss’ younger sister, Primrose, is selected as the guinea pig from District 12, Katliss bravely volunteers to substitute herself, an act of valor and sacrifice never before seen in the history of the Hunger Games. The boy who is chosen from that District is less capable than Katliss, but he has a secret crush on her and he is torn between his own wish to survive and his feelings for Katliss.

The story is reminiscent of the slavery story of the Israelites, with Moses as the unlikely hero at its center. It also calls to mind the Roman occupation and the sport of slave gladiators fighting each other to the death as sport for the ruling aristocracy and leadership.

Katliss and Peter, her counterpart from District 12, are heroes not of their choosing, but rather of their necessity, like Joseph of the technicolor dreamcoat, or Samuel the teenaged prophet called by God to speak God’s truth to the Jews, and Mary the unassuming and unsophisticated mother of Jesus. These were all persons of ordinary backgrounds and abilities and limitationsundefinedordinary persons called into extraordinary service. Just like Katliss and Peter.

I suggest you see this movie or read the book with a teenager or two if you can. And then go talk about it. The movie is well doneundefinednot nearly as bloody as I anticipatedundefinedDonald Southerland is deliciously evil, Lenny Kravitz is Lenny-Kravitz cool, and the child actors are well-directed, compelling figures in their own right.

I had already started noodling this sermon around in my head when I went to see the movie, so I was looking for themes of “flourishing” within the story. What I came away with was the affirmation that human flourishing can come in the most severe of life-situations, the most gruesome, the most depressing and repressing of settings. Eudaimonia is not dependent on the setting; it is a visceral, spiritual conscious and intentional decision to live into God’s ultimate vision for our livesundefinedno matter what befall us, no matter who victimizes us. It is a choice made to thrive instead of to just merely survive.

It is turning the game around to frustrate evil and affirm goodness.

It is giving up your shoes in the knowledge that someone needs them more than you.

It is sticking with a diminished church family, and helping it move from mere survival to a healthy, thriving, growing, and faithful congregation, so as not to let the gospel be diminished.

It is staying together as disciples, spreading the Word, taking the risk, living in the Way.

The writer of 1^st John says exactly that: we are God’s children. We have no idea what God is up to, but we know that God is up to goodness. We know, because we have seen it, that when “Christ is openly revealed” in our lives, we see him, and when we see him, we become like him.

We then live compassionate, energized, meaningful lives, working for justice, living in relationship, loving God with our hearts, souls, minds, and strengths, and loving the other, especially the marginalized other. We live then to expand the Gospelundefinedthe good news that Jesus is for everyoneundefinedand we resist attempts to shrink the Gospel down to manageable size.

When you let loose the wild bird of Spirit freedom, it runs everywhere, in every which direction, and when it grabs you, you just hang on for dear life, hair flying in the wind, arms and legs akimbo, heart racing, your soul on fire. You are living the life of eudaimonia when you are able to let down your defenses and let the Spirit of God in. Hallelujah!

Jesus will come again, the writer assures us. My own spin on this is kind of like my construction of resurrection. I don’t need the body and likeness of Jesus to break through the clouds and come riding in on a chariot in to vanquish the enemies of God. I don’t need my Aunt Martha to meet me at the Pearly Gates and show me around the compound.

No. For me-- and I offer this vision to you as well as a parting gift of mineundefinedJesus coming again means the Kingdom of God upsets the world and rights it such that God becomes the center of our life--my life-- instead of all the things and people who occupy our time and space now. Justice will be the norm, not the goal. Hunger will be a history, not a reality. People won’t use guns to stand their ground, make their day, or defend what rightfully belongs to them, because they won’t feel threatened or possessive. The Way of Jesus is the way of eudaimonia is the way of God’s ultimate will for the beautiful Creation.

It was about a year later that the small community in South Dakota garnered enough resources to pack up those few wagons and make their way to the welcoming folks in Utah who helped rescue them. As the wagons rounded the bend in the street and came through the town, the townspeople all lined up to greet and gawk at the thin, tired, and ill remnant of the brutal year’s life up North.

Dagna was there, too, but she was not looking at the faces of the people as they climbed down off the wagons. She was looking at their feet. And then she saw themundefinedher shoes, the very ones she had packed with love and care a year before, the ones she had prayed might keep someone alive and hopeful during their ordeal. There were the shoes on the feet of a widowed mother of three small children. The children were cold and scared and they huddled close to their mother, frightened by all the attention and loud shouts and noises. Dagna walked over to the forlorn foursome, and never mentioning the shoes, invited them into her home to be her family.

And the Spirit of God whispered peacefully, “Eudaimonia.”

Live.

Flourish.

Love God and live the Gospel.

Eudaimonia, gentle people of Parker. Thrive, don’t just survive. Amen.

“WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT” - Rev. Dr. Tracey Dawson

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 01:21:51 GMT

WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE the three women expected to find at the tomb that morning? Now think about it. They had to have been in a state of shock. They had witnessed just two days earlier the most horrific of state crimes, a political execution of their spiritual and social leader.

WHAT MUST IT HAVE BEEN LIKE to witness all that had taken place? What emotion was left in them after suffering right alongside Jesus as he was subjected to what history informs us was the most brutal of punishments? We have children in the service today, so I am not going to run through the litany of the torture, but you all have read it and seen it in movies many, many times. I have witnessed it in some form every year since I first was in church as a little one. I have seen it and heard about it so much that perhaps like you, I have become numb to it.

BUT THINK ABOUT IT--THE THREE WOMEN OF OUR STORY, Mary Magdalene, Mary the Mother of Jesus, and Salome, must have been experiencing inconsolable grief. They had all lost their Jesus. Just that fast, he was gone. His comforting, knowing words were gone. His leadership, ministry, courage, and authority were gone. His life was gone. And with it, his promise was lost to them.

BUT THEY WERE WOMEN living in the ancient Jewish culture, and they had a job to do. They would have to save their grieving, their tears, and their sense of loss to another time. It was their job to clean the body so that it could be buried. The body had been laid in a tomb for the requisite three days per Jewish law, and a large stone was rolled in front of the entrance to protect the body inside from marauding animals and thieves.

THE WOMEN worried over who would move the boulder away from the front of the tomb so that they could gain entrance. None of them were strong enough to do this, and no man would ignore the cultural and religious restrictions to go with them and perform this task. So what did the women expect to find at the temporary resting place of Jesus’ body?

********

WE HUMANS HAVE THE GIFT AND THE CURSE of expectation. We worry about the futureundefinedimmediate and long-term. We construct the way our lives should be led, who we should marry, what we want to be when we grow up. We plan our vacations and our days in between them, keeping calendars with all kinds of permutationsundefinedhourly, daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly. I keep my calendars from year to year, because there is a lot of useful stuff in thereundefinedphone numbers, addresses, notes from meetings, and evidenceundefinedevidence that my life is important to someone, even if it is just me!

WE PREVIEW OUR COMING ATTRACTIONS, next week’s episode, and the upcoming sports events. Our minds construct the way conversations should or will go before they happen. We have pre-conceived notions of how others should or will react to us, and we drive ourselves wild going over and over events and reconstructing them to meet our expectations.

BUT MARY MAGDALENE, Mary Mother of Jesus and James, and Salome do not expect anything like a miracle to greet them at the tomb. They are wary of the surroundings, acutely aware that danger is all around them, for the heat is still on them and they need to grieve the loss of their leader only in safe spaces. But they have a job to do, and they want to serve their fallen Lord, too.

AT THE TOMB, their first problem has been solved for them. The stone has been rolled away. However, far from being pleased, they are immediately suspicious and understandably concerned that the tomb has been invaded and the body disturbed. Now their expectation causes them to dread what they will find. The three of them find their group courage and peer inside the tomb. Can you imagine the courage they needed to enter the tomb?

THEY FIND JUST WHAT THEY FEAREDundefinedthe body of Jesus is gone. Someone has stolen it! They didn’t expect to find a young man sitting in the tomb, dressed in white. They were “completely taken aback, astonished.” And when they least expected it, they were given the Good News of Jesus’ resurrectionundefinedthey were invited into an intimate experience of God’s love. And just like us all, they can’t hear what is being said to themundefinedit’s just too big. So they did what anyone would doundefinedthey ran away “as fast as they could, beside themselves, their heads swimming. Stunned they said nothing to anyone.”

WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT, God jumps into human experience and invites transformation. Can we hear and respond to the invitation? I was representing a 17- year old accused of murdering a man he barely knew, basically to see what it would feel like to take another life. He and his friend, also 17, confronted their victim in his dingy, extended stay motel room. They bummed $40 off the trusting man, and then one of them shot the victim in the right eye. The bullet killed the man instantly.

TAKING THE $40 and an open pack of Marlboro’s, THE TWO JUVENILES went across the street to a breakfast place where they ordered steak cooked “blood red” and asked loudly to the few patrons present whether any of them would like to smoke “a dead man’s cigarette.” Police were called to the Motel, and when the suspicious restaurant manager called the police to report the boys’ strange behavior, the connection between the crime and the bragging nearby was clear.

I WAS ASKED BY THE DISTRICT COURT to represent one of the juveniles. A murder defense was a dream proposition for a young and hungry attorney, so I readily accepted. I met the young man in jail, and I expected to meet a scared boy with a compelling story. My expectations were not met, however.

MY CLIENT WAS SULLEN, non-communicative, uninterested in me or in the event unfolding in his life. He was unremorseful and completely unhelpful to me in working up his defense case. Over the months I worked on his case, I grew to dislike him immensely, and it was a struggle, to be perfectly honest with you, to care about him or about what was going to happen to him. He did it. He murdered a man for no good reason at all, and he likely deserved the life sentence he would surely get.

FOLLOWING A FULL JURY TRIAL, my expectations for his fate were met. He was convicted of felony murder and sentenced to 48 years in the penitentiary, a lifetime for a 17 year old. I sat with him in the jury box, in silence as was our established custom, while everyone left the courtroom. We were waiting for an additional police escort, so it was just me, the murderer (who had turned 18 while awaiting trial), and the Sheriff’s Deputy. I wanted out of there. I wanted to go have a drink to calm my nerves, a shower to wash the stink of the whole episode off of me, and a long drive away from the murder scene so I wouldn’t have to think about the sights and smells of the place any longer. The motel sits right on South Santa Fe and I drive by it every day, so it had served as a daily reminder of the worst of the human experience. My hope was conspicuous by its absence; there was no good news in this story.

BUT IT’S WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT that God drops a bombshell in your life, redefining your definitions, knocking you off your well-worn defenses, and inviting you to transformation.

LAST WEEK WE HEARD THE VOICE OF A CHILD confess his love for his little brother who bugs him to no end. (Erica gave me permission to tell this story.) I didn’t expect to hear Timothy’s declaration that Jonathan “turns his world upside down.” It became God’s way of working for goodness by promoting understanding in our little sage and in his mother. Maybe Mom wanted to run away from the challenge, but she brought it instead into this place of safety and concern, and the Good News was heard in response. A transforming moment, perhaps. The slow work of God, certainly.

IT’S WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT that you are faced with a conflict that compels you to choose your authentic identity over a forced one of self-denial, shame, and judgment. I don’t know, but maybe you wanted to just run away if you are one who came to know you were gay, and knew at the same time your life would never be the same again. At some point, you had to die to the idea that you were supposed to be heterosexual, and you had to choose to allow yourself to be resurrected to your authentic, beautiful self.

IT’S WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT that you are called to a very different life than the one you have so carefully crafted for yourself. Here I was, a successful lawyer and judge, happily married, reasonably healthy, and well-respected. It was 2005; my mother had died the previous year, and with her death came a healing within my family that strangely enough, was not possible during her life.

I HAD FINANCIAL HEALTH, MORE CLIENTS THAN I COULD HANDLE, and good and loyal friends in my life. Thanks to Chris, my beloved, I had found the courage to return to an intentional life of faith. I found a church with a message and ethic I could adopt and love. I found ways to serve as a lay leader while still carefully controlling my financial and emotional investment. My pastor suggested that when I retired from law, I should go to seminary. I rejected that idea out of hand; I was in awe and I was astonished, and I got out of his office as fast as I could.

THEN ONE NIGHT, I was visited in a dream, and in the dream I found myself in a real situation of mine from which I had been running for nearly 30 years. In the dream, which took place in the present, I was talking with-ministering to- a person from my past who had wronged me in some very profound ways. I was not afraid anymore and I was no longer angry with him.

I WOKE UP FROM THE DREAM, immediately having an overwhelming feeling that I needed to find this person, and upon finding him, to offer unconditional forgiveness. I was sick to my stomach. I woke Chris up to tell him that God had spoken to me, and I told him what had happened and how I was feeling. Knowing my history, he was quite concerned and he offered to go with me on this mission. But I knew I was to go aloneundefinedno, that’s not rightundefinedI knew I was to go with God.

I KNEW WHERE HE WASundefinedDON’T ASK ME HOW-- and I drove that very morning to a nursing home I had never been to before. And there I found him. I confronted my painful past, and I forgave him. And just when I least expected it, he apologized to me, he confessed to me that which he had denied for so very long. I left that place knowing that a profound healing had taken place in both of us. Feeling then that I had been called to professional ministry, and I literally applied to Iliff School of Theology that very week.

I HAD NO INTENTION of confronting that person, of dredging up the past. What was done was done, and I believed I had moved on. But I learned through the experience of the dream played out in my real life that had to let the pain die in order to fully live. I had to be more than a survivor of abuse to be one who could thrive in the remainder of my life.

PERHAPS YOU, TOO, ARE THE SURVIVING VICTIM OF ABUSE. PERHAPS YOU STRUGGLE WITH a history of being abusive. Perhaps it’s a history you would rather not confrontundefinedmaybe it was a long time ago and you feel expected to just get over it, like I did. The reason I am in a position to stand here and tell you part of my story is because God put me here. God put me here by breaking into my comfortable life, knocking me off my comfortable axis, and giving me the opportunity to transform my life. I needed to let go of my resistanceundefinedmy expectationsundefinedand to accept God’s invitation.

AND I INVITE YOU to make this the moment you least expected, the opportune time to transform your life, too, by allowing to die that pain, injustice, and/or resistance that needs to be put to rest in your life. I invite you to accept the Way of compassion and thereby accept resurrection to a newly energized life of faith, growth, and service in Christ Jesus.

THIS IS EASTER. This is the day of resurrection. Jesus showed us that death is not the final answer. Jesus modeled how to face our demons head onundefinedand in the face of challenge, to speak truth, to say what needs to be said, and say it kindly. Jesus is not lying in a tomb somewhere. Jesus is resurrected and lives in the hearts and minds of all persons. Jesus calls out all who would purport to follow his Way to reach out to those who have been marginalized, cast out of the mainstream, abused, forgotten, and under-valued. Jesus calls us to live authentic lives.

LOOK IN THE MIRROR. How can compassion be the agent of change in your own life? What do you need to confront in your own history that is painful? How can you summon tenderness and still the voice of self-judgment so as to heal your own pain?

What have you done and what has been done to you that was unjust? How do you need to be fierce with yourself or in defense of your own self-worth so as to restore balance and healing in your life or in the life of someone you have wronged?

What are you running from? What changes are you resisting in your life that would make your life more enriched, healthier, more faithful to the Way? What can you do that is both loving and creative to get you to move off of your dug-in place?

THESE ARE ALL EASTER QUESTIONS. They are all questions posed by the specter of the empty tomb. Where has Jesus gone? How do I follow him? How am I to live an intentional, God-centered life? How can I feed others and in turn be fed in the Spirit?

THAT KID IN THE COURTROOM I told you about. When I least expected it, an opportunity was presented to me to channel the Way of Jesus, to offer healing where I could have issued an indictment, to be compassionate where I could have been vindictive and detached. I was given the choice to condemn him or to the extend the unconditional love of God to a troubled heart and soul.

THE COURTROOM WAS DESERTED, and it was just meundefinedand himundefinedand a deputy sheriff in that room. No, God was there, too. There we sat in silence, and I was silently running through my schedule for the rest of the day, planning where I would go next and what would be my next, all-important task for my next client.

IN THE SILENCE, a voice cleared in a soft, unassuming way. It was the young, convicted murderer. In a voice so low that I had to lean towards him to hear him fully, he said, “Can I ask you something?” I did not answer, but I gave him eye contact. After what seemed like an eternity, he continued: “Do you think I am going to hell?”

WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT, God brings to you an opportunity for transformation. You will be in awe and astonished, stunned perhaps like the three women at the tomb. How will you respond?

HAPPY RESURRECTION, people of the living, Still-Speaking God.

Amen.

Follow the Leader - Rev. Dr. Tracey Dawson

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 02:28:55 GMT

“Follow the Leader”

Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21

There was a clear leader in my family unit during my growing up years. Like most of the families I knew, my Dad was the head of the household, in practically every aspect. Dad was the “Buck Stops Here” guy, while Mom held the quiet, behind-the-scenes kind of power in the household. My family structure was pretty traditional. My Dad was the only one who worked outside the home, and his salary supported the household 100%. My mom stayed at home, and was responsible for adding kids, and then for taking care of the kids as they arrived on the scene.

My Dad paid the bills, bought the family car, planned the vacations and the home improvements, and was the final disciplinarian. Along with my brother, he did the physical work outside the home and the repairs within the structure. My mother was responsible for the woman-s workundefinedcooking and meal planning, cleaning, laundry, clothing purchases, and homework support. This was a familiar set up for you too, perhaps, especially if you are a baby-boomer or older.

Both sets of grandparents lived in our same city, and my parents leaned on them all for support. My grandfather on my dad’s side hosted the Sunday after-church milkshakes and evening meals, and my grandmother on my mother’s side hosted all the major holiday meals. My mother’s mother tried to control my mother’s marriage, and my father’s father tried to control absolutely everything in everyone’s lives!

Still in all, it worked pretty well, because everyone was well versed in the lines of leadership and authority. Dad was the final word, and if you could get him to say “NO!” to your request immediately upon hearing it, you knew you had won, because the rightly played pout and shuffle out of the room with head down alwaysundefinedalways brought him to you within an hour or so with a “Yes, and more.” Our church was very traditional, too. I grew up LutheranundefinedLCA. While the Lutheran Church in America was not as restrictive as the Missouri Synod, still in all, it was quite rigid in its lines of authority. The head pastor was THE source of authority in the church. He determined the Bible translation that was used, the hymnals that were purchased and the hymns that were to be sung each week. He chose the liturgy, the prayers, the text (always from the Lectionary), and the sermon topic or series.

The Pastor wrote the curriculum for the Sunday School, picked the men he wanted for the Church Council positions, wrote the budget and oversaw the expenses, and taught Confirmation class. He also chose the acolytes, set the time for worship, wrote the bulletin, and set the church service dress code. He had the only key to the building, and he and his wife and 2 children lived in the parsonage.

Women had very limited and prescribed roles in church life. They ran the kitchen for special church events. They took turns cleaning the building and ironing the robes and altar linens. They taught Sunday School classes and Vacation Bible School. They ran the Nursery. They ordered the flowers and wrote cards to grieving families after a death. They made the coffee and the pastries on Sundays, and they folded the bulletins before the service to hand to the all-male ushering staff.

Women could not travel forward in the sanctuary beyond the front rail, except to change the altar candles and linens. In services, women could not read the scripture, serve communion, make announcements, or preachundefinedheavens no, they could not preach. Only men could serve on Church Council or on the committees of the church. We did have a woman choir director, and women could sing in the choir, but they could not play instruments nor sing solos.

The pastor’s word on THE WORD was final. Authoritative and final. Sermons were scolding, boring, and out of touch, but still we did not dare to question them, sleep during them, or leave the sanctuary to go to the bathroom during them, under penalty of death, I think! Pastors left when they retired, or when they got caught do something immoral with the wives of their parishioners or with the church money, or when they got called to a bigger church in a better city. That was it. Often, clergy were not college or seminary trained and there was never a requirement for additional education or boundaries trainingundefinedand certainly not for sensitivity training.

Yes, everyone knew who was the undisputed leader in the church, and again, just like home, the church secretary always held the unspoken, understated power over all the softer elements of church lifeundefinedyou just had to know how to play the system to get your way.

I never thought about being a minister. As a girl, it was not possible, so the idea of it never saw its way onto my radar. Women weren’t lawyers then either, as a general rule, but they could be, and I felt drawn to a career in law. I was one of very few women in law school, and my southern tradition professors regularly called me “Hon” or “Honey” until I set them straight.

By then it was 1980 and the lines of authority and leadership in our country were being challenged. It was also a time in this country when families were beginning to be torn apart by divorce, alcoholism and drug addiction, and abuse. Mine was the first family in the neighborhood to separate. I was a social outcast and a forgotten child as a result. As I went to live with my father, and my sisters stayed with my mother, suddenly the leadership lines were blurred for all of us. And we were all cast about on the seas of discord, disorientation, and dysfunction.

There was a ripple effect through society. Teachers, pastors, and police were figures not to be blindly respected, but questioned, challenged, and confronted. Women pushed at the envelopes of male-dominated institutions and structures. Young men avoided the draft and sons and daughters became openly defiant of their parents. We left home. We moved away. And we left church, too.

Many of us never came back, but most of us did not come back to our home churches or the traditional way of doing things. We baby boomers confounded our parents, but our kids completely confound us. These x-gen and y-gen young people are not subtle. They speak their mind; they pierce and tattoo their bodies; they seem to love violent games and all things tekkie. The milleniums appear to not be able to use formal language in speaking or writing. They drop out, tune out, and fail to communicate, fail to plan their futures, or appreciate all we have done for them. And they seem to have no leaders forming from among their ranks.

This is what we--the mature generations-- see, because we continue to expect things to be the way we are used to them, the way we were raised, the way we ordered our lives.

The Hebrews complained to God because their world had changed, and they were not happy with the changes. They had been moved to a new place, and they had become “irritable and cross as they traveled.” They lashed outundefinedagainst God, and against their leader their pastorundefinedMoses, as a result. They questioned the leadership and set expectations that Moses could make everything right for them. They confronted Moses and questioned his every judgment, completely oblivious that he, too was suffering, that he, too, was trying to figure things out, that he too, was frustrated that his leadership was not enough to make all things better.

And the people suffered for their loss of direction. Snakes bit them; they were poisoned by their own actions. And so they again turned toward their leader, but with faith and prayer this second time, and they were able to stop the madness, to be spared and to be granted new life.

The metaphor is obvious and brilliant. It made me sit up and take notice when I first read it this week. For I think it can inform us in our efforts here at church.

In my work with you so far, I have heard a painful story of leadership dysfunctionundefineda disconnect in visions of how to “be” a progressive church. A young minister and a congregation more traditional than perhaps it thought itself to be. Good intentions, but poor communication between lay and clergy leadership. Frustration borne out in irritation and crossness, in staying away from the church, in triangulation and less-than-transparent conversation, in a feeling both of being bullied and of bullying. Perhaps the expectations were not clearly agreed upon at the outset; perhaps they were too high, or in some constructions, too low.

But the leadership suffered, and the consequence was in the loss of the pastoral leader and in the loss of some of the lay leaders, too, crisis being the natural byproduct of the dysfunction.

So are we to return to a traditional model of leadership? Will that satisfy the need to be the progressive voice of the UCC in Parker, Colorado? Will you be fed, will you grow, and will you inspire your children and grandchildren so that they can’t wait to come to church next Sunday, next year, or when they come home from college on break? Jesus said an emphatic “NO” to these questions.

Jesus said no to traditionalism, to the way it had always been done, to the established leaders. Jesus said NO to the traditional recruiting patterns of the faithful, choosing those outside the norm, outside the pedigree, outside the social graces. He ate with the outcasts. He loved them. He invited us to die to our old ways and to be born anew into a life of love and justice lived out.

Jesus was the clear leader of his movement. And he took the bullet for his beliefs, choosing the costly grace of the cross rather than backing down from his mission and his passion. His passion was not in the way he suffered and died, but in the way he lived out his call, his love of God, and his love of the peopleundefinedall the people. In Lent, some want to remember his death, and they want to be relieved of their own life’s accounting. I hope we instead remember in Lent how Jesus modeled a life lived with God at the center. I hope we instead remember in Lent how Jesus embraced the otherundefinedespecially the other that no one else would embrace. I hope we instead remember in Lent that Jesus gave us a model of compassion that taught us everything we need to know about leadership.

Jesus showed us how to lead in faith and love, and then he leftundefinedhe left- and left us to figure it out from there. He left no organizational structure. He left with many strings untied, parables unanswered. He left his ragtag followers broke, hungry, scared, and disorganized. But his message and his story lived.

Leadership doesn’t depend, after all, on organizational charts. It depends on faith, on combined effort, on prayer, and on…grace. On grace given and received. And Jesus taught us not to be afraid of the poisonous snakes, but to look them right in the eye and dare those suckers to bite us with their best shot.

So who will be the bell cow for PUCC today? The bell cow is the one that all the other cows in the pasture come to and follow to the feeding trough. The bell cow doesn’t have to be the biggest cow, the toughest bull, the smartest, the fastest, or the most clever. The bell cow needs to know the way to the feeding trough. That’s all. Today, it may be me. Tomorrow, it may be you. I hope it is you.

Because experience has taught us one thing-- churches will not survive-or thrive- in the traditional models with which we were raised. Our expectations must change. Our norms must change. We must make peace with our poisonous snakes so that if they bite us, we will not die. We do this by adopting a workable, but post-modern model of leadership.

In our workshop today, we will explore our time-honored expectations of clergy leadership, and we will set ministry priorities that can relieve pressures on the traditional models of church leadership. This new model assumes a return to a true congregational system of group discernment and active leadership, reflective listening with an opportunity for all voices to be heard, and a realistic set of expectations clearly communicated to the pastor.

A rabbi tells Mitch Albom. in his book, Have a Little Faith, why he became a faith leader. He says:

Number One, I always liked people.

Number Two, I love gentleness.

Number Three, I have patience.

Number Four, I love teaching.

Number Five, I am determined in my faith.

Number Six, it connects me to my past.

Number Seven, and lastlyundefinedit allows me to fulfill the message of our traditionundefinedto live good, to do good, and to be blessed.

Young Mitch then exclaimed, “I didn’t hear God in there.”

To which the rabbi smiled, and then quietly replied, “God was there before number one.”

Moses did not save the Hebrews. It was not his responsibility to save them, nor did he have the power to save them. Yet he was their pastorundefinedtheir bell cow, and his calling was to lead them to where they could be fed by their faith. That is the job of the pastor in this churchundefined to lead you, to connect you with your faith, to lead you to the feeding trough of God. To enliven the scriptures for you and to help you connect to the message and mission of Jesus, the center of our Christian faith. The pastor cannot keep the snakes from biting, the wolves from stalking, or the fences from restricting the movement of the herd. To expect otherwise is to invite disaster.

It is one of the frustrating beauties of the UCC that there is no earthly head of the householdundefinedno authoritative source, no master planner or disciplinarian, no sage to teach us all we need to know in life. It’s about all of us, walking together in faith, working together for justice. And we live or die together as a result.

So let’s choose life, shall we? Praise God.

Amen.

RECAP OF MESSAGE FROM MARCH 11, 2012

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 02:04:43 GMT

RECAP OF MESSAGE FROM MARCH 11, 2012

REV. DR. TRACEY DAWSON

TRANSITIONAL PASTOR

I did not preach a traditional sermon this week. I kept being steered away from it, and I have learned to listen and yield to the Spirit’s nudging. This week, I asked the congregants to move to the right side of the room if they considered themselves, within a reasonable degree along the continuum, to be “an ordinary person.” Everyone moved to the right.

One by one, I then asked for each to tell a brief story of something “extraordinary” they had done in their lives. We heard everything from, “I went back to school,” to “I saved lives as a lifeguard,” to “I taught biochemistry to many students over a long career,” to “I overcame childhood abuse,” to “I gave birth to a wonderful daughter,” to “I married a wonderful person,” to “I work with mentally ill people and treat them with respect,” just to name a few. Every single person had something to contribute.

If you weren’t there, ask yourself what you have done in your life that is extraordinary. Everyone has a story to tell. Send it to me if you like or post it as a comment to this note. We would love to hear yours.

God calls ordinary people to do extraordinary work in the world. God has called you, too. Called has called this church to do extraordinary work in this community, in the UCC, in the world. How will you be a part of that story?

God’s peace to you in the coming week.

Pastor Tracey

Inside Out - Rev. Dr. Tracey Dawson

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 02:52:19 GMT

“INSIDE OUT”

1 COR 1:3-9

I was sitting at Rose Hospital waiting for my father to emerge from his EEG test, and while waiting, I was thinking about the irony of his journey into this season of Lent. It is a season he will likely not remember this year, or ever again. Already he is confused about it. My dad was always delighted by the start of the Easter season, and it is sad for me to see him so unsure and displaced.

He would have been the first guy at the store last weekend, looking to take advantage of sales on stuffed, marshmallow, and chocolate bunnies and eggs, fake green grass and new Easter baskets. He put a great deal of effort into the yearly Easter Egg hunt, making sure that each of his four children had their own area to hunt in, an equal number of goodies, and a special Eastery stuffed animal to add to our collection.

My father carefully prepared his entry for the Denver Post's Easter home Decorations Contest each year. He would cut out figures to put on the front lawn, buy the latest in new gadgets, bells and whistles, and, enlisting the help of all the available neighborhood boys, set it all up on the front lawn. My Dad loves all the holidays, but Eastertide was special to him.

Today I wait to see just how advanced my father's dementia has progressed, and just as I long at Eastertide for those early years’ holiday celebrations, I long to have my dad back the way he was just a few short months ago at the Rockies game. I am sure many of you can relate to this story within the context of your own story.

The early Christians of Paul’s day longed to have Jesus in their lives. Some of them, such as Peter, knew Jesus personallyundefinedPaul never did. The early Christians practiced their faith in hiding, as they were frequently persecuted by the Romans, misunderstood as charlatans and worshippers of the devil. Their God was not Caesar, and Caesar demanded to be worshipped as supreme deity. So they practiced their faith in fear and without models of how to “be church,” how to “do worship.” They largely made it up as they went along. Paul’s words to them were so deeply appreciated, and the people of the new Way hung on his every word.

No, the early Christians lived a hard life, and they banked on the promise that Jesus had made to return again. They banked on it so fervently that they had their bags packed, expecting him to arrive in person any moment to rescue them from this world. Paul went to his own Roman death never having his wish to see Jesus fulfilled, but undaunted in his faith that it would soon happen. The faithful Christians of Corinth wanted to believe it, too.

It’s hard to hope for the future, though, when the present is so clouded by the unknown. It’s hard when things are falling to pieces in your life to have faith that everything will turn out alright, that spirit and growth and prosperity will be restored to you. In our time, we struggle with the same doubts and fears, although our personal struggles are more modern.

For example, when you are facing a bankruptcy, you don’t really want to hear about how you can rebuild your credit. You are fearful, resentful, and self-doubting. These are universal feelings in the face of personal disaster.

When you’ve just lost your job due to layoffs and decreasing corporate profits, you really don’t want to hear on KOA radio how the unemployment numbers dropped 1/tenth of a percent last month. That does not help you one little bit. And you wonder why this is happening to you.

When your marriage has fallen apart, you really don’t want your spouse or partner telling you that you will be alright, that you’ll find another to love you better. You don’t want to see your kids two nights a week and every other weekend, and you don’t want to see the house sold and the pension you have worked hard to build gutted and divided. No, you don’t want to hear any of that. You have been kicked in the gut so hard you don’t think you will ever breathe again; you are not even sure you want to.

And when you face the death walk of your parent or spouse, you are left feeling very unsettled, ungrounded, unmoored. And that’s just our perspectives as helpless-feeling onlookers and caregivers. I can’t even imagine how my dad feels on the days when he understands what is being taken from him by this disease.

Brothers and Sisters in Christ, you too are being tested as a church family. You have come into a very unsettled time in the life of this church, and it may be hard for you to see any light at the end of the tunnel. Some of you, I know, really appreciated Malcolm’s ministry here and you were sad to hear that he had resigned. Some of you were angry that you didn’t know what was going on, and you had to hear the news second-hand. Some of you may have been silently grateful that a conflicted ministry and pending confrontation was avoided by his resignation. It is okay to have these feelings, yes, even in church. It is also okay to have conflicting feelings about these events. You have permission in Christ to feel how you feel, and you don’t all have to feel the same way about these events.

Remember the scripture story of Christ’s time in Gethsemane? This, for me, is the story of Lent, the lesson that speaks most clearly and comfortingly to me. Perhaps it is yours, too. In his time with God at Gethsemane, just before his arrest by the Romans, Jesus displayed a side of his soul that resonates with my own journey. There, alone, Jesus poured out in prayer his anger, his fear, his confusionundefinedhis anguish, and God listened without judgment, without recrimination. Jesus modeled for us in that story how to be authentic in our relationship with God and with each other.

Jesus in his unsettled moment was authentic, and God was hearing him, loving him, and affirming him all the while. What Jesus found as he emerged from his time of prayer is that he had the strength within himself to carry out his mission. By God’s grace, he had all the tools he needed to handle what was before him. He needed to recognize the spiritual gifts given to him by the Sacred Breath of God that would be his guides in the hours to come: his wisdom and his intimate knowledge of God, his gift of language and proclamation, and his gift of unshakeable faith.

Paul twice makes specific reference to the spiritual gifts in his first letter to the Corinthians. He blesses the fledgling Christians saying, “May all the gifts and benefits that come from God our Father, and the Master, Jesus Christ, be yours.” In this opening salutation, Paul indicates his pleasure with the Corinthians and their efforts to build the Christian faith in that city, even though they are young and inexperienced and unsure of what they are doing.

Later, in the same Chapter, Paul reminds his Brothers and Sisters in Christ that they don’t need anything to carry out their missionundefined“All God’s gifts are right in front of you as you wait expectantly for our Master Jesus to arrive on the scene for the Finale.” Paul reminds them that they do not walk alone: “God himself is right alongside to keep you steady and on track until things are all wrapped up by Jesus. God, who got you started in this spiritual adventure, shares with us the life of his son and our Master Jesus.”

The new Christians of Corinth were assured of all of their gifts, and they had only been in the mission of God’s work for a period of months. Just like Parker United Church of Christ, the first century Christians were both blessed, and hampered, by their lightness of experience. Here, although you have been all together as a church family for a short time, you have resources among you in your stories and experiences. How you journeyed to this place, what drew you to a new way of being church, and who came with you, who you met along the way, and how those relationships affected and continue to affect youundefinedthese are all strengths of your experiences as Parker United Church of Christ. They are not failures, stumbling, setbacks, or embarrassments. They are lessons learned, wisdoms, visions, and values refined, they ARE the tie that binds. So reach outundefinedembrace themundefinedown themundefinedthey are a part of you now, a part of your story, a part of your history.

You are a dedicated bunch and you are a gift to this church. I see you here for all kinds of activities and service. You are all being asked to do something not done here before. You are being asked to trust and work a process that is unproven in their experience. You are being asked to confront some not-so-pretty history within the life experience of this church; you are being asked to challenge the feeling that these doors should maybe just close. Today, in this message, you are being asked to dig deep inside yourselves to look for those gifts that have already been given to you in God’s grace, to draw on them, to let God help you remake and restore the rich energy that has been PUCC throughout the past four years.

There is a deep rich pool of wisdom here. There are teachers, and speakers, singers, healers, those who are intuitive, those who cook and design things, those who know how to fix things. There are growers and bakers, parents and children, thinkers and prayers. You have it ALL right here already.

One thing I have learned about y’all through our work over the past weeks is that this is sustained by the people, rather than by any particular personality or challenge thrown at you from the pulpit. YOU are the life’s blood of this ministry. YOU are what sustains it. YOU are what takes the candle lit in hope and turns it into mission.

True, you need a pastoral leader here who can shepherd you into the next years. You need a theology that meets your needs, that inspires you, that teaches your little ones about a Loving, Non-Judgmental God and a Jesus that speaks kindly, speaks truthfully, and lives an authentic, God-centered life. You need a leader who will challenge you to grow spiritually and biblically, and you need an intentional, prayerful and faithful reexamination of what it means to “be” church, not just “do” church.

Your history has revealed that your past pastoral leadership brought their gifts, education, biases and backgrounds to this pulpit. Some of those values were life-affirming; some of them were tortured and they brought this authenticity as well, even to the most extreme and shocking degree. But the truth is that your leadership was at times inconsistent, confusing, and disruptive. You will need a settled pastor who can meet you where you are, and staying with you for more than a little time, lovingly bring you into a sustainable and faithful future of service in God’s word.

But what I want to remind you today, what I want to implore you to see is that you have what you need to remake the ministry of the church in line with a sustainable mission and vision. Be it the 24 of you or the 50+ in yearsundefinedYOU are the reason this church can move from a place of victimization, through the paralytic place where you are merely surviving to a place of THRIVING. Paul reminds his church at Corinth that God “will never give up on you. Never forget that,” he says.

This Lenten season presents an opportunityundefineda time to reflect, a time to renew your commitment, a time to question, doubt, and dreamundefinedIt’s a new year, a year full of possibilities. Yes, we “do” Easter every Springundefinedit cycles round and round. But for this church, Lent takes on a double meaning. Yes, we celebrate that Jesus came to the earth long ago, and that he showed us an authentic way of being God’s

People in the world. We are to build upon the experience and wisdom of the ancients, the elders, the writers, and the leaders. We are not to discount any of them.

But Lent also is a time of anticipating the future when Jesus will return to us so that the world will be turned upside down on its head. And for this church, Lent is the start of a new future. All the toolsundefinedall the gifts of the Spiritundefinedare all right here in this place. Let’s collectively tap into them as we work together to bring you new, long-term pastoral leadership.

My dad may not “get it” this year, but I “get it” through him, through his history, his storiesundefinedsome of them messyundefinedand his legacy born out and carried on in me and my siblings. Praise God for the memories. Praise God for the work still to be done, the mission still to refine, the challenges still to face.

God is good. Life is good. Living a good life means living with the knowledge that God will never give up on us. Let’s never forget that. Amen.

“the peace within” - Rev. Dr. Tracey Dawson

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 04:42:02 GMT

“the peace within”

Mark 1:4-15 (NRSV)

It may not surprise you that I was a feisty little kid. I was under 5 feet tall until I was about 15, and I was skinny and small all over, not the kind of person that would be physically intimidating to anyone. I had friends, but I was not popular. I was smart, but not bossy. My teachers and my pastors liked me well enough. I got invited to my share of birthday parties, and although I didn’t get as many Valentines as other kids maybe, I got enough.

But I did not take guff off of anyone. No sir. I rode the bus to school, and if you didn’t stake out your territory in the seat that rightfully belonged to you, you would lose it for the whole semester, and you might have to sit next to that kid you didn’t like. I couldn’t have that.

Bobby Butcher was the school bully. All schools have one; he was ours. You probably can remember who yours was, too. Hopefully, it wasn’t you! Now Bobby Butcher was not a successful kid. He wasn’t overly bright. He was not the best athlete. He had a few friends, but he wasn’t popular, and the girls as a whole could not stand him. He would try to look up our dresses and drop mud down our shirt backs. He would make crank calls and TP our houses. He would pull down our fence in the side yard, and I would have to run all over the neighborhood chasing down our dog. He was a miserable kid and he made life miserable for me, too.

In 7^th grade he amped up the harassment against me and my two friends. He began to hit us between the shoulder blades when we were talking and riding on the bus. He stole my homework on the way to school and tore it up. He cursed at us and called us filthy names and he would spit in our direction. He was really despicable. I have a bad feeling still thinking about him.

My older brother, unlike me, was very popular. He was President of everything. I was “Jack’s little sister” in everything, too. But as big brothers go, he was okay. We played a lot of sports together, and we were both involved on the debate team and in Youth Ministry at our church. He would trick me into doing his chores for him, but that’s sort of what big brothers are prone and born to do to their little sisters.

I looked up to him. Jackson was cool by all standards. He never got cross-ways with anyone that I can remember. He spoke softly and to me, everything he said was brilliant, charming, and right.

I was still riding the school bus the year my brother started driving, so my two neighborhood girlfriends were left to our own devices. Most of the time, we managed alright, but Bobby Butcher continued to give us no end of grief. And one day, I had had enough. I stood up in the bus after he had done something to meundefinedI don’t even remember what it was nowundefinedand I yelled at him. I let him have a piece of my mind. I gave him what for, but he just laughed at me. So then, I pulled out the big gunsundefinedI threatened him with my brother. I told him my brother would be at the bus stop the next day at 3:00 pm to beat him up. I told him he better be there, too, because if he didn’t, my brother would hunt him down like a dog and tear him limb from limb. The whole bus heard the confrontation. I did what no other person had the courage to doundefinedI stood up to Bobby Butcher. And then I got off the bus a stop early and ran as fast as I could home, not having the courage to look behind me to see if he was coming to kill me.

When I got home, I found my brother out in front of our home in the driveway, quietly shooting baskets into the hoop my dad had bolted to the front of our carport. This is what my brother did every dayundefined he came home from school and shot basketsundefinedsometimes with me, sometimes with his friends, but everyday I knew where I could find him after school.

Breathless, I grabbed his arm to make him stop shooting and to pay attention to me, because I had a news bulletin for him and he needed to stop the world from turning and listen to me. I told him the whole story, knowing he would be proud of me. I knew that he would be mad at Bobby Butcher on my behalf and he would agree with me that I did the right thing in setting up my brother to fight him the next day. I was not disappointed. He confirmed the time with me for the fight, and I set my sights on retribution. By the next morning, the whole school, it seemed, knew about Bobby Butcher’s Date with Destiny, and I was beaming.

John the Baptizer was kind of like me, in a way. He tried to get the people to change their ways, tried to get them to repent of their evil-doings, but eventually, he promised to send to them “one more powerful than I” to set them straight through a baptism not just of water, but of the Holy Spirit. John was essentially a man of peace. The One Who Was Sent was also a man of peace, but not of passivity.

Peace and passivity are not the same. A peaceful person is defined in the dictionary as one who seeks and promotes a state of mental calm and serenity; a passive person is one who does not actively take part, willing to let others act and make decisions. Jesus was a man of peace: he strove to teach the people how to have a deeper spiritual connection to God. He worked to help people understand how to live in harmony with their neighbor. He taught them prayer as a means to find that state of mental calm and awareness that he modeled. He did not encourage the status quo faith-life of the day, full of mindless legalisms and social injustice.

I credit a fellow seminary student, Tisa Roberts, with a meaningful, succinct, summary of what Jesus did to promote peace: He told the truth, he demonstrated forgiveness, and he encouraged love, especially for the other in opposition to oneself. In short, Jesus embodied the compassion of God in a peaceful framework. Compassion is being in the midst of the suffering of another. As Stephen Gilligan has taught us, Compassion has three facesundefinedor energies: tenderness brought into the face of pain and suffering, so as to assure the hurting person that he or she is undeniably loved. There are many instances in the story of Jesus where this compassionate character of our Lord is demonstrated: in the healing and blessing of the lepers, in the way children are welcomed to him at the end of a tiring way, in the acceptance of the sinners, the beggars, the prostitutes, and the outcast.

But there are clearly times when tenderness is not called for, such as in the face of evil or injustice. There, the face of compassion is called fierceness. Fierceness is an agent of transformation in that it can call for an end to injustice. Fierceness can also be displayed in defense of yourself or someone else when there is an injustice in the way we treat ourselves. When Jesus teaches us how to love and serve God and to love the other, he displays the face of compassion that calls for him to be very direct and confrontational, to be fierce on behalf of the person without voice, to be fierce with the faithful in getting us to re-examine the priorities of our lives.

But in still other circumstances, being fierce can aggravate the situation rather than resolve it. In those cases, bringing creative love to a situation can move the resistance of others. Jesus did this through his parables, when a more direct attack on the religious authoritiesundefinedfiercenessundefinedwould not have either been prudent nor instructive.

Jesus used the three faces of compassion to effect transformation in a peaceful way: he spoke the truth; he demonstrated forgiveness; and he promoted love for those standing in opposition.

This compassion model has literally changed my life, and I invite you to let it change yours, too. This model has advanced for me the practice of peacemaking and Christian reconciliation. I will be teaching it in more practical detail following the worship service today. You are welcome to attend and to use this model as a means to “make peace” about the events surrounding the departure of Malcolm, your last pastor.

This model has made me more successful in not getting hooked into family conflict, for example. Life is quite stressful in my family these days as a collateral result of my father’s journey into dementia. Bringing compassion to him with tenderness in the face of his pain has made me more patient with him, more empathetic, slower in my interactions with him. It is not the time to be fierce with him or angry with him or to bring up all the hurts of our past relationship. Likewise, this is not the time to get him to change his life by being mischievous with him.

The compassion model has also given me tools of peacemaking that I use when in conflicts now with my family over the care of my father. When I know what I am facingundefinedpain, injustice, or resistance, I then know what form of compassionate energy to bring to meet itundefinedtenderness, fierceness, or creative and playful love.

Can you see how this model could work here in your church family discussions and challenges? Sometimes it is enough to simply acknowledge or validate someone’s hurt. It is enough just to be tenderundefinedto forgive, perhaps, to extend the hand of Christian reconciliation and agape love.

Sometimes, speaking the truth means standing up in the face of injustice. Being fierce does not mean being nasty, or insulting, or spiteful. It means using respectful peacemaking methods to express how you feel about a situation or a perceived wrong. It means having others validate your feeling, even if it does not match their own perspective on the same event.

Sometimes, demonstrating your brotherly or sisterly Christian love means being creative, playful, or light-hearted so as to confront resistance in a non-threatening way. Gentle teasing, self-assessment, and storytelling are ways in which this face of compassion may be demonstrated.

I have also learned through the work of Miguel Ruiz, in his book, The Four Agreements, a way of thinking about conflict that promotes peacemaking through speaking intentionally and thoughtfully, not taking things personally, not making assumptions, and not being so hard on yourself. We will be talking more about this book in our session today, so I hope you will attend.

And a third tool for peacemaking comes from a book called The Anatomy of Peace, which teaches us to recognize within ourselves our “warring heart” so that we can give it permission to seek peace with the same fervor with which we so often seek war.

Jesus, of course, did not read any of these books. His understanding was intrinsic to himundefinedit lived inside of him and he was uniquely in touch with it. But still, he lived an authentic life in which he used all three energies of compassionundefinedtenderness, fierceness, and mischievousness to promote transformation in the way we relate to God and each other.

He used the Four Agreements, too. He spoke truth, meaning what he said and saying what he said with purpose. He did not allow himself to be derailed from his mission by what others said about him and did to him. He did not make assumptions about the intentions of others, and he demonstrated the gift of grace freely given to him by doing the best he could, knowing that his time and ministry was short and limited.

And in his final act, his forgiving of his tormenters, Jesus also demonstrated what it means to transform a warring heart into a heart of peace. He never said we had to be perfect, and Paul reminded us that it is through our very weakness that we are made perfect afterall. No, we don’t have to be perfect. We just have to keep our eyes on God and our hearts open to those in opposition to us.

I could hardly sleep that night just before the big fight was to happen at the bus stop. My brother would defeat my enemy, and I would feel satisfied that Bobby Butcher finally got what he deserved.

At 3:00 the next day, a large crowd gathered at the bus stop. Bobby Butcher strolled off the bus, acting all tough and posturing for his friends. My brother arrived about five minutes later, and all the kids got very quiet, wondering what would happen and watching for who would make the first move on the other. I was right up front. My brother was going to fix this for me, and Bobby Butcher would never forget this day.

Bobby put up his hands, balled into fists, and then my brother quietly spoke. He said, “Bobby, I know my little sister can be a real pain sometimes, but I want you to leave her alone from now on. Fighting will just get us both in trouble, and she will still be a pain sometimes. Let’s just chalk this up to a bad day and then we don’t have to see how this turns out.” And then he turned his back and walked home. Bobby picked up his books and left the circle in silence. I stood staring at the empty circle, feeling let down, but strangely relieved, too. I felt at….peace.

For the rest of the school year, Bobby Butcher was still Bobby, but for the most part, he left me and my friends alone. And my brother was still my brother, but on that day at the bus stop, my brother decided to make peace instead of war, to reconcile where he could have further divided, to teach where he could have destroyed. And I believe that Jesus smiled on us all that day. Amen.

AND THE BEAT GOES ON - Rev. Dr. Tracey Dawson

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 04:01:14 GMT

AND THE BEAT GOES ON

Mark 9:2-9

It was a typical late summer day in 1977, and I had the world by a string. About to start my senior year of college at Wellesley, I was spending my last two weeks trying to earn some extra cash, and so I was workingundefinedno kiddingundefinedas a hodcarrier for a local bricklayer friend of mine.

We had a job in Idaho Springs, and we were riding down I-70 near Genesee in pouring rain, and I was at the wheel of my 1973 candy-apple red Kharmann Ghia. A semi sped past me, throwing a wall of water onto my windshield. The last thing I remember was a caution in my head, saying, “Just pump your brakes.” I was hit by a truck behind me that hydroplaned into my rear bumper, sending my car across the other lanes of the highway and end to the rear of a parked semi on the shoulder.

I was ejected through the front windshield, and my friend was pinned inside the car. I fully awoke some 17 days later to a blazing headache, a mixed-up brain, and various pains throughout my battered and bruised frame. It took me a long time, but slowly I regained my ability to speak, read, and walk correctly. This accident is a part of my history, and I can tell my story today out of my healed scars, but some of the parts of the story I tell about my accident come from other sources filling in the blanks for me, and some of the things I tell may not have happened just so.

If you ask my father about my accident, his version of this history is quite different from mine. He never jokes about it the way I can now. His story starts with the phone call he received from a Colorado State Trooper telling him to come to Lutheran Hospital to his critically-injured daughter, who “might not make it through the day.” As he tells it, time stood still for him at that moment. He remembers nothing about how he got to the hospital or what was specifically told to him there. He only remembers wanting to see me, and being forbidden to do so because of the efforts being employed to save my life. He vaguely remembers my mother and my sisters being there, and later my fiancee. He can’t remember any of the conversations they had.

My father’s history of the same event describes the same scene, but with a very different perception. He was praying that I would live; once I woke up, I am sure I prayed that I would just die so as to stop the pressurized pounding in my fractured skull. My father was praying that I would recover and be like I was “before;” I was praying that I would regain my memory and know exactly what happened.

The fellow who ran into the back of my car told the State Trooper yet another story. He said that I panicked when the water covered my car, that I stomped on the brake, causing the accident with him. While he hoped that I would be alright, he was praying that he wouldn’t be found at fault for the wreck; he was hoping that he wouldn’t be fired from his job, sued by me, or charged with a traffic citation.

My passenger stayed awake through the whole of the wreck, but he never wanted to talk about it. He had three surgeries for a broken shoulder, and he could never lift his arm over his head again. He didn’t know God and he didn’t pray, but he found it in his heart to forgive me and to forgive the driver of the other car, and he chalked up his history to fate.

That incident was, of course, pivotal for my life, but the way I perceived it at the time, and have remembered it and re-remembered it over these past 35 years has been different from the way others perecived it and remember it. All of the stories concerning my accident are true, however. And I respect them allundefinedI have to.

Truth #1: Mine and my passenger’s injuries would not have been nearly as serious if we had been wearing our seatbelts. But I was nineteen, and invincible, and well, it just took too darn long to put that thing on, I guess. Here’s how I know from this careless act that God works in all things for goodness. Ten years after I was nearly killed on I-70, I was on the bench as a judge in criminal court, talking to kids about wearing their seatbelts, telling them my story, and helping them to realize the enormous risk they were taking by ignoring the safety features present in their cars and on the roads and highways. Wow. Some of my doctors believed I would never talk again in complete sentences.

Truth #2: We take our lives for granted much of the time. My father had gone for some time without spending time with me, upset over some life choices I had made. For him, the story of my accident was in what he nearly lost, and in the opportunity given to him to spend a whole lot more time with me in the weeks and months of my convalescence.

Truth #3: People will go to great lengths to protect themselves. Often the inability to tell the truth arises out of fear, not out of anything personal towards another person. The driver who hit me took advantage of my brain injury to protect his own hide. His truth and THE truth did not see eye-to-eye. I am grateful he did not have my death on his conscience. Perhaps he is a more careful driver today as a result of my misfortune. I pray so.

“The following story is true, even if it did not really happen.” I love that bit of Native American wisdom. The truth is in the message; the truth is in the lessons learned out of our experiences, even if we disagree as to the facts and sequences of what happenedundefinedor did not happen. For me, that is how I can remain transfixed by the scriptures, by the stories of Jesus found in the Gospelundefinedeven though their accounts don’t always agree and even when their story-telling has an underlying agenda.

Mark was the first of the Gospel writers, but he did not know Jesus personally. All his stories are from oral traditionundefineda source called the Q source, for example. We don’t know who Mark is, so we don’t know his credentials as a reporter or journalist. We don’t know who the Q source is, or even if it is one source, so we can’t test the facts. For a person who requires proof, who cannot dabble in matters of faith, the Bible is maddening.

So what is the truth? For me, truth is found in the metaphors that leap out from the pages of the Biblical stories. In the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus, the scene is perceived differently by the players. For James and John, the sons of Zebedee, they are dumbstruck. They are there. They are said to witness the metamorphosis of Jesus from merely human to adopted son of God, yet they say and do nothing. We don’t know the history from their mouths or actions. Perhaps they are in the story to symbolize everyman. Perhaps they are too overwhelmed to speak. We are left to construct their history to suit our reading.

Peter, on the other hand, can’t stop talking. He busies himself with his reaction to the event before ever thinking about its meaning, its purpose, or the effect on him. He, too is everyperson, just in a different way. His perception of what is happening appear4s to him to require a verbal and acted-out response. Finally, God interrupts his prattle, validates Jesus as the son of God, and orders the three men to “listen to Jesus.”

We are not told how Jesus reacts to God in this event, and we are left to wonder about that, but we instead learn that

“EMBRACING GOD’S HEALING GRACE” - Rev. Dr. Tracey Dawson

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 03:02:01 GMT

A movie that stars Cuba Gooding, Jr. is a must see for me. I remember his courageous performances in years past in movies such as “Men of Honour” (about Carl Brashear, the first African American, and then the first amputee US Navy Diver), and “Radio” (a true story of a mentally-challenged man and a local high school football coach). So even though the title of his new movie, “Red Tails” did not particularly attract me, I looked closer because he was in it, and I found a gem.

“Red Tails” is the story of the Tuskegee Airmen, African American fighter pilots serving in World War II in the European theatre. The story starts with the men already stationed and segregated in a rundown airstrip in Italy. Before 1940, African Americans were banned from flying in the US military forces, but in 1941, the ban was lifted and the first squadron of pursuit flyers shipped out from training in Tuskegee to Italy.

It is not the focus of the movie to show how the program came into being or how the pilots and crew were trained. We are, instead, immediately drawn into the heart of the war and into the battle for social justice within the war. The well-trained and highly competent flyers and their support grounds-men are eager to get into the real fight, to fight and to die, if necessary, for “their country.” But they are relegated to the most inconsequential of missions, kept out of the main war effort, and given hand-me-down aircraft long past their prime.

Their frustrations boil over while their African-American commanders try to convince those in charge of the European air effort to give them a chance at real combat. So they go into the air to find their source of healing.

I love movies such as this. I love to learn the history within a context that both challenges and inspires me. I love Bible stories like this, tooundefinedones that challenge me and inspire me.

The leper, in the ancient world, was both afflicted and disenfranchised. Leprosy was a condition that was horrible to have and horrible to see. A bacterial condition attacking the skin and the external nervous system, it caused gaping skin lesions, great deformities, and chronic pain mostly to the areas of the face, hands, and feet. It rendered the victim incapable of working or performing the daily functions of life, and even the slightest touch to the skin was enormously painful. We actually still have cases of it todayundefinedit is called Hansen’s Diseaseundefinedbut it is successfully treatable with antibiotics now.

In the time of Jesus, due to the slow course of the disease over many years and the disabling deformities it caused in its victims, lepers were thought to have been cursed or punished by the God of the Jews or by the pagan gods. It often appeared in family members, and so it was thought to be generally contagious. Now we know that susceptibility to the disease is nearly always inherited and 95% of the population is naturally immune to the leprosy-causing bacteria.

Lepers in the first century were segregated from the general population, and were the responsibility of the religious authorities since it was seen to be a divine curse rather than a medical condition. You sinned, or someone in your family sinned, and this was your judgment for your sin.

Hence, the term “unclean” was applied to lepers in the Bible, meaning that they were ritualistically impure as well as physically afflicted. They were the ultimate disenfranchised of the dayundefinedseparated physically, shunned, and denied entrance to the Temple. Lepers were relegated to a separate small chamber in the synagogues, 6 feet x6 feet x10 to watch goings on through vertical bars, but they were denied any access to the rabbis or the scrolls. If they entered a home, the home had to be thoroughly cleaned. If a person brushed up against a leper, the garments of the “clean” person had to be ceremoniously and thoroughly burned.

Enlightenment, education, or profession of faith could not improve the leper’s lot. He or she was seen as a contaminatedundefinedand a contaminatingundefinedpresence. Only a miracle healing could restore a leper to personal health and religious purity.

Now, Jesus’ reputation as a miracle healer had preceded him throughout Galilee. His disciples told him, “everybody’s looking for you,” and Jesus said in response, “Let’s go to the rest of the villages so I can preach there also. This is why I’ve come.”

When Jesus came into the village near a leper colony, the leper of Mark’s Gospel took a great risk in approaching him, a risk only a desperate person would take. Healing did not come to him where he lived in an isolated and horrendous existence, so the leper went into the forbidden place to find his source of healing.

You will notice that Jesus did not go seek out the leper; the leper took it upon himself to seek out Jesus, and once finding him, then to ask for what he needed to be restored to wholeness. Likewise, no one came to the Tuskegee Airmen and suggested that they take a bigger, more active role in the air over Europe. They made their own opportunities, and once seen, they leaped into the fray of their own justice mission.

Dietrich Bonheoffer was a Lutheran theologian directly affected by the war in Europe. In fact, the Nazis executed him in 1945 for his active participation in planning to assassinate Adolph Hitler. Just before the start of World War II, Bonheoffer penned a book entitled, The Cost of Discipleship. In this book, he wrote about God’s unconditional grace bestowed on the creation. He called this “cheap grace,” the type of grace given freely by God and accepted freely by the human creation, without condition, without discipleship.

He then contrasted cheap grace with “costly grace,” that grace that “confronts us as a gracious call to follow Jesus. It comes as a word of forgiveness to the broken spirit and contrite heart. It is costly because it compels one to submit to the yoke of Christ and follow him; it is grace because Jesus says: ‘My yoke is easy and my burden is light.’”

What is the message in the Gospel story? What is the lesson learned from the experience of the Tuskegee Airmen? What is Bonheoffer trying to say within his context of Hitler’s rise to power and the apathy of a nation in response? It is that we must embrace the healing grace of God wherever it may be readily found. We must be the instruments of our own healing.

We have all called on God at some time in our life for healing. We have all asked God, “Why?” Why me? Why my child, my spouse, my parents? Why was I born this way? Why do I suffer this addiction? Why don’t I learn from my own mistakes? Why is this happening to me?” Sometimes, we are met with what seems like silence from God. “I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed some more, but God did not answer my prayers!” If we haven’t all said this, we have all heard this lament somewhere in our lives. If God is Still Speaking, why is God not speaking to me, to us, to our need?

I attended a class this week on the basics of dementia and Alzheimer’s disease, as I am currently living this journey with a family member. One of the byproducts of the condition of progressing dementia is that the victim loses the ability to hear. I have already experienced this frustration. But the surprising clarification of this statement was that hearing aids would not help. The loss of ability to hear is based on the lost ability to decode what is being said. The messages can’t get through the sticky plaque and tangles in the brain cells, and so the person stops active listening.

Hearing aids will not help us either when we stop being able to hear how God is speaking to us. God speaking louder, God enunciating better, God being closer to our ear will not cure our inability to decode the message. Maybe your have heard the folk story about the minister preaching in a cloudburst that becomes a flood:

Everyone scatters to his or her cars, and they beckon the preacher, but the preacher says, “Don’t worryundefinedGod will save me.” The rain keeps a coming, and the preacher now is standing in three feet of water, when a power-boat comes by and a man says, “Preacherundefinedget in! You’ll drown!” But the preacher keeps on preachin’ and says to the man in the boat, “don’t worry about me! God will save me!” Well, the rain intensifies, and soon the preacher is standing in 5 feet of water. A helicopter comes to rescue him, and the would-be rescuer yells down to the preacher to grab the rope so as to avoid drowning. But the preacher keeps on jibber jabbering, saying, “Don’t worry about me! God will save me!” Soon after, the preacher is consumed by the water and drowns. The preacher wakes up in heaven to a vision of God standing nearby. The preacher says, “God! Why didn’t you save me back there?” And God replies to the preacher: “I sent you a car, I then I sent you a boat, and then I even sent you a helicopter! What else do you want from me??”

In actuality, we often don’t want to hear what God is saying to us, what God is saying to our church. We don’t want costly graceundefinedwe want that cheap grace promised to us and freely given, and that will make everything better.

But the leper knew he had to tug on the hem of Jesus’ cloak. He had to get Jesus’ attention and ask what he wanted. The African American pilots knew they had to tug on the very fabric of the social order of the day, that they had to get the attention of those that were in a position to give them what they wanted. They all had to embrace God’s gift of grace, God’s gift of healing. It would not do to sit back and wait for that grace to be gift-wrapped and delivered at their door.

Fast forward to this time, in this place, in this church, a church hurting, a church wounded, a church eager to find healing. Who is to be the deliverer of your healing grace? In what form will Jesus show up here and choose to restore you to wholeness? In what face will justice appear here and speak truth? In what words or actions will you find comfort?

Remember our Call to Worship today? It was adapted from a poem written by Archbishop Desmond Tutu and his daughter, Reverend Mpho Tutu. The poem is entitled, “An Invitation to Wholeness,” and it is found in their recent book, “Made for Goodness,” a book which I highly recommend to you.

Remember the words you spoke earlier in this service:

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Match your pace to mine, imitate me.

You are free to choose; you can choose to be like me.

Wherever you are you can create beauty.

Moment by moment you can create joy.

Instant by instant you can offer kindness

Now and always you can make me seen.

You can be as I created you to be,

The visible likeness of the invisible.

Do you hear God speaking to you through these words? Can you feel how to be God’s visible presence in this room as an instrument of your own healing? Can you be the living reminder of Jesus’ message so that others in this room and currently avoiding this very room might also be healed?

Healing will not come alone from this pulpit. I do not -- and nor does any future pastor who stands here-- possess the power to to be the instrument of your healing. Healing will not come alone from the Association, the Conference, or the National Church either. The broader church can support you, encourage you, pray for you, and provide resource materials for you, but it cannot be the instrument of your healing. Nor can your Church Council be the sole instrument of your healing, and to pass off to them the entire burden of the health of this church is unfair and ultimately will not result in its restoration.

No, none of these will be the ones to heal this church. So look around this room. Look to the right and to the left. You must individually, and collectively choose to embrace the healing grace of God, a grace unconditionally given to you. You can take this grace cheaplyundefinedshow up to church occasionally, lend your financial support casually and irregularly, let others volunteer with the children, with the mission projects, with the music, with the set up and break down of the worship space, with the hospitality, and with the management of church business. You can light on out of here right after the worship service and avoid the workshops. You can do that, and nobody will take your cheap grace away from you in punishment.

But you can choose the course of costly grace, too. You can lend your time and talents to this church’s life, you can lend consistent and meaningful financial support to it, you can attend the workshops and lend your voice and energies to the mission and future of this church family. Like the Tuskegee Airmen, you can fly into the air in search of your healing. Like the leper, you can kneel at the feet of Jesus and be intentional in seeking your own wholeness.

On the front of your bulletin you have either the number 1 or the number 2 circled. Please stand up or wave your bulletin in the air if you are a “2.” I am asking all the number “1”s go seek out a “2”, and if there is not an even number, a group of three is fine. Now, “1”s, look the person you have just encountered in the eyes, and say, “If you choose, you can heal me.” And now you who have been challenged look your challenger in the eyes, and reply, “I DO so choose.” “2”s, go find another “1”. Now say to the person you have just approached, looking them in their eyes, “If you choose, you can heal me.” And those who have been challenged, say, “I do so choose.” I invite you to now let the healing beginundefinedwith you.

Amen.

In a Perfect World - Rev. Dr. Tracey Dawson

Kelly and Amy Wagner-Grull — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 04:16:06 GMT

“IN A PERFECT WORLD”

Genesis 37:1-4; 12-28

Sometimes a situation comes along in my criminal court judging life that forms into a story that must be told in churches. The following is one such story:

A man well into his seventies owned a house in a jurisdiction where I serve as judge. I will call him Mr. Steingold, though that is not his real name. Mr. Steingoldundefined“Sam” to his friends and the neighborhood folks who knew him, was a kindly gentleman, though quiet and introspective. He had been a shopkeeper of modest means, a tailor by trade. A widower, he had a son about 45 years old and two grandsons. The grandsons stayed with Sam often and their lifestyle was not that of Sam’s. The grandsons partied a lot. They had both dropped out of high school and neither one worked on a steady basis. Their friends were of dubious character, but Sam always had an open door policy towards his unruly grandsons and their equally unruly compatriots, allowing them frequently to crash in the livingroom of his home. He tried to add meaning to their lives by being a true and steady role model for them.

Sam developed terminal lung cancer, and he announced to his family that he was going to be moving to Florida to live with his sister, as he would not be able to take care of himself much longer. He could not wait in the current real estate market for the house to sell, so he made the difficult choice to give the home back to the bank. Knowing that his grandsons were having trouble getting a start in life, he told them they could take the furniture and furnishings from the home for help in setting up their own apartments. Sam left Colorado just after the turn of the year.

Police were called to the home some weeks later by the bank representative who had gone to take possession of the surrendered property. As it turned out, Sam’s grandsons and their friends had done their best to destroy the inside of the home. They had ripped the banister off the staircase, and had then used it to smash interior windows and doors. Other doors had been ripped off their hinges and marred beyond repair. Holes had been burned and pounded into walls; obscene words and images were drawn on countertops, cabinets and on the carpets. Shaving cream cans were strewn about, their contents having been sprayed into the heating vents and appliances. Swastikas had been drawn with black markers on the livingroom walls and hallways, the largest measuring 5 feet in diameter. There was more damage, but you get the picture by now.

The case was investigated and the responsible parties eventually were charged with destruction of property. After a time, the young adults admitted to the crime. One of them stood before me for sentencing. He presented with an attitude of indifference. He was dressed in old jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt. On his feet he wore flip flops. His hair was long and unkempt. He slouched in front of the podium as I asked him if he had anything to say before I sentenced him. He then started his statement by claiming that his conduct was “not intentional.”

The scriptural text presented to us by the Bible story today is not a happy one. Joseph’s half- brothers are insanely jealous of him. They wish him out of the family picture, as he is the favorite of their shared parent, their father Jacob. Jacob has given his young son a coat of many colors as a symbol of his love and favor. The brothers are enraged at this act, and they grow to hate Josephundefined“they wouldn’t even speak to him,” we are told in the text.

The brothers are with the flocks and Jacob, a/k/a “Israel,” sends young Joseph to check up on them. But when the brothers see Joseph coming toward them, some of them conspire to kill him. They all agree to hide his body in a cistern and then lie to their father about how Joseph had met his end. The planned crime was unspeakableundefinedunthinkableundefinedundeserved certainly. As the story progresses, the brothers decide their financial interests are better served by selling Joseph as a slave to some passing foreign traders for 20 pieces of silver. Then they dip Joseph’s coat in goat’s blood and present it to their father, leading him to believe that Joseph was killed by a wild animal. Even Reuben, the one brother who argued for Joseph’s life, joins the conspiracy and lets his father believe the story of the wild animal attack. There is no remorse on the part of the brothers for their crime.

Where is the justice in either of these stories? Where is love, hope, and healing to be found?

It is a miserable place to in which to live, that pit where you are sure God has abandoned you. You can be the best person you know how to be, and you can suddenly find yourself abandoned by those you had trusted, injured by those who supposedly should love you, unappreciated for the good person you are. The pit can be of your own making, as when you make a greedy choice and it backfires or when you ignore your inner voice of wisdom and do that thing that you know will bring you down, but it feels good at the time and you just do it. You know what I mean. We have all been in that place of hindsight and its 20-20 vision.

But sometimes, the pit finds YOU and you cannot help but fall into it. Like when a good friend tells you she is moving out of town. Or when a nagging health situation becomes a diagnosis you don’t want to hear. Or, there’s this pit: You lose your job and cannot replace it.

Disruptions in the church can feel like a fall into a pit. Just when you think things are going along somewhat smoothly, problems arise. There can be money problems, or disagreements about where the church is heading theologically and socially. There can also be the problem that feels like a fall into a pit when the pastor leaves. You get used to one style of leadership, one style of preaching, and then here you go, you have to switch gears and listen to someone else, work with a new pastor. Maybe you feel like you don’t have the time or energy to deal with this again.

When I was a young teen, I was very active in my church here in the Denver area. Life was good, summers were fun. My sisters, brother, and I traveled to fun places like Disneyland and Washington DC with our parents. We had a swimming pool that we practically lived in during the summer, and the neighborhood had all sorts of fun activities, tons of kids and happy parents. I went to church camp, youth group and I taught Sunday School each week during services, after which we would go to our grandparents’ house for homemade milkshakes.

Life was goodundefinedand then it wasn’t. The world crashed in on my sisters and me. My parents separated and my sisters and I were divided between the two households. My brother left town. The family home was repossessed, as were the cars. There was no money to pay for the things we all neededundefinedclothes, food, school supplies. My sisters and I were neglected and we both witnessed and suffered abuse. I became convinced that God had left us, too, and I left Church, disillusioned with a theology that no longer made sense, no longer informed me or protected me. I stayed away for 25 years. I was in a pit to be sure.

You may be feeling just this way today. You are here, but you are thinking about leaving, throwing your hands up, walking off disgusted and dejected. I encourage you to resist that way of handling the problems here at this church. God won’t abandon you and God won’t abandon this church. You can walk away, but God won’t.

Traditionally, Moses was credited as the author of Genesis, but modern scholarship now credits an anonymous author probably writing during the Babylonian captivity of the Hebrews in the 6^th century before the time of Christ. The Hebrews, having suffered the fall of Jerusalem at the hands of the invading Babylonians, being dispossessed from their lands, watching many of their family and their people massacred, and the survivors being marched hundreds of miles from their homelands as captives, needed stories that could bring them hope.

They needed to write and speak stories of a hero God who was powerful enough to vanquish the enemy, restore the right order, and champion the victims, God’s own people. In a world turned upside down, the remnant needed to believe that they would be restored.

Joseph was one of those ancient mythological heroes. Those of you who know your Genesis story know that Joseph the slave becomes Joseph the most powerful man in Egypt (next to Pharaoh,) and he is eventually reconciled to his brothers and reunited with his beloved father, receiving Jacob’s blessing after all. The message for the reader (or ancient listener) is that there IS hope. No matter how dire your circumstances, there is hope. No matter how ugly your family members get with you, there is hope. No matter how much it seems that God has forgotten you, abandoned you, given you up for dead, God has NOT left you and you will be restored to a new and better story.

That is sometimes hard to buy off on in our circumstances lived out not in the pages of an ancient book but on the hard-pounding sidewalk of life. I am not sure where the redemptive hope is for the young man now serving a jail sentence of mine, but he did write me a letter recently, and I would like to read part of it to you. Because, you see, I am convinced that even though he is in a pit of his own making right now, God has NOT abandoned him. God is WITH him in that pit, working for goodness, working to restore this young man’s spirit, his hope, his sense of well-being. Listen to what he wrote:

Honorable Judge…Ideally I will live up to my goals of being a successful and productive citizen. That process begins with addressing the victims’ loss and being able to once again make their property and lives whole. I do however understand that I must make amends with the courts and serve a sentence worthy of my misdeeds. I wish to re-enter my private life and dedicate my personal time and money directly to the people whom I’ve hurt. Since the event, I’ve spoken with the people involved and relayed my utmost apologies, which they have accepted…

The letter goes on, but you get the gist of it. It is a far cry from the devil-may-care attitude he presented in court, with the statement that his actions were not intentional. Who knows where life and experience will take this young man? But God IS working in the midst of his life for goodness.

Just as God worked in Joseph’s life for goodness. Just as God worked in my life story for goodness, even when I was doing everything I could to shove God away from me. God does not give up. God does not abandon. God does not forsake. God is never static, but always dynamic.

If you are suffering, God is suffering right along with you, and you are not alone. If you are hurting, God is hurting, too, and YOU are not alone. If you are in a pit--one of your own making or one of circumstance, you are not alone. God shares the space with you, working for goodness. We don’t have God’s patience or God’s understanding of the bigger picture. But don’t give up. Keep talking to God; keep looking for goodness; keep the faith. God will never –God will NEVERundefinedleave you or leave Parker United Church of Christ. The real question is not whether God is willing to be in the pit with you, working for you, working for your restoration to a flourishing life. No, the question is: Are you able and willing to be in the pit with God?

Amen.