Psalm 80 "The Other Side of Advent"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         Black Friday is over – and no one is viciously elbowing his or her way into Walmart at some ungodly hour of the night.  Cyber-Saturday has come and gone as well – and all those computer geek employees are breathing a sigh of relief that their particular server is no longer in danger of crashing.  Of course, they are still keeping their fingers crossed that they will not find out months from now about a major holiday security breach.

         The Christmas carols are blaring their sparkly tunes, and the bundled up evergreen trees have been unloaded from the trucks and now stand like tipsy soldiers in the tree lots around town, waiting to be purchased and adorned.  The Santa hats have been taken out of their boxes, and the ovens are getting warmed up to produce more calories in the coming month than they did for most of the previous eleven.

         ‘Tis Advent.  ‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la!  And yet, here on this first Sunday in Advent, this official beginning of the holiday season, in church at least, our Scripture reading is not one that references, even obliquely, the sweet, soft, cuddly baby born in Bethlehem who is still, in religious circles at least, at the center of the swirling vortex that we call Christmas. 

         No – our Scripture reading today is a lament, a poignant psalm acknowledging the sorrow we have eaten and the large cup of tears set before us to drink.  No gingerbread men or spicy wassail for us right now, the Psalmist sings! 

         Only sorrow and tears:  What is going on here?  Is this any way to begin the biggest cash cow family holiday of the year?

         What is going on, of course, historically that is, is that, for all intents and purposes, God has left ancient Israel in the lurch – again.  That is the focus of this Psalm.  Not that the “thousands of years before Christ” people did not deserve it.

          As Methodist pastor Marilyn Murphree writes, the Israelites “made alliances with people who were not even serving God. They didn’t really think they needed God because they were blessed by everything...Joshua (the leader who had taken over after Moses died) had led them into the Promised Land, they had defeated their enemies, they had an abundance of everything and thought they could make it on their own.”

         However, now it seems that the tables have turned.  The story of these Chosen People has taken a hard swerve, right into a national calamity.  The mighty Assyrians have not only invaded the Northern Kingdom, but, in their wake, the land has been overrun and destroyed.  The fertile fields are trampled, and the walls and fences of the vineyards are rubble.  The Israelites have been soundly trounced.  Defeated, they have been led away into captivity.  And in all this doom, all this suffering and struggling that they are experiencing, where is Yahweh?  Where is their God?  That is what the Psalmist wants to know.

         Of course, the Israelites are not unfamiliar with doom, suffering, and struggling.  It has been part and parcel of their history as a people from the very beginning.  As non-denominational pastor Steven Dygert says, “They long for God’s intervention, like we do….

They fear being utterly consumed and lost…alienated and alone….Without hope, they are not only not delivered and saved, they’re doomed to utter despair.”

         So the Psalmist cries out to Yahweh, to God, to anyone who will listen and puts into words all the emotion, passion, and feelings packed into the collective heart of Israel. 

Hear us, Shepherd of Israel…Awaken your might;
stir up your might and save us. Restore us, O God;
make your face shine on us,
that we may be saved. How long, Lord God Almighty,
 will your anger smolder
against the prayers of your people? You have fed them with the bread of tears;
you have made them drink tears by the bowlful.

         This Psalm we have just read offers a deep and profound description of suffering – suffering due to the apparent absence of God.  God the most powerful, the almighty, the Good Shepherd:  This God seems unreachable and so out-of-touch to the defeated and exiled Israelites.  The presence of this God is but a memory, now overshadowed by pain and the sound of voices trapped in darkness.  And maybe to remember makes it all even worse.  Maybe to remember God’s presence when life felt good is only to amplify God’s absence and the suffering it engenders now.

         And if the Psalmist’s words are somehow timeless, as we here in church believe them to be, then what about us?  What do these words say about our suffering? 

         What about the mothers of James Foley and Steven Sotliff, the American journalists beheaded by ISIS, that misguided and misdirected group of extremist Muslims?  What about all mothers who pray for the end of war as they watch their sons and daughters being deployed – hoping against hope that they will come home safe again?  “Stir up your might, (O God) and come to save us!”

         What about the families of the Newtown children shot down in their elementary school around this time two years ago.  Have they ever gotten past their pain? “Stir up your might, (O God) and come to save us!”

         What about the jobless and the homeless and the destitute whispering their desperate prayers?  “Stir up your might, (O God) and come to save us!” 

         Or, as Presbyterian pastor John Leggett wrote:  What about you? “What are you longing for? What about your life or the life of this world causes your heart to ache with the very longing of God and to cry out from the depths of your soul, almost demanding God with the prayer? “Stir up your might (O God), and come to save us!”

         The Christmas carols are blaring their sparkly tunes, and the bundled up evergreen trees have been unloaded from the trucks and now stand like tipsy soldiers in the tree lots around town.

Waiting to be purchased and adorned.  The Santa hats have been taken out of their boxes, and the ovens are getting warmed up to produce more calories in the coming month than they did for most of the previous eleven.

         ‘Tis Advent.  ‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la!  But is it really?  Is that what Advent, this preparation time for Christmas, is all about? 

         We have already seen that, clearly, the Psalmist would say no.  If that is what we are thinking, the ancient poet would declare, then we have sorely missed the point.

         You see, there is another side of Advent – and it is a side that does not sparkle, and it does not pack on the pounds.  Neither does it trample people in Walmart nor cause computer servers to potentially crash. 

         There is another side of Advent, and if we listen to the whispered groaning of our hearts, we can hear it.  It is a longing.  It is a painful recognition that the world and our lives are so different than what God promised them to be.  And all we really want is for God to tear open the heavens and come and save us.

         It does not sound like the joy-filled season that we are used to, but perhaps, in the long run, this other side of Advent is a blessing.  Maybe to cry a bowlful of tears, maybe to take some time out to lament, just lament, maybe that is the most faithful response we can have to our lives and to the sorrow that they hold, to that sorrow that is so close to the surface but, at the same moment, so deeply hidden and pushed down into our souls – particularly at this time of the year.  Maybe – just maybe - that groan of lament is really the only way that God can enter our lives. 

         Maybe then it is OK to not be jolly all the time in December.  Maybe at least part of what Advent needs to be is a time to notice and then to name the things that break our hearts – war, scarcity, a failed friendship, a deeply troubled child that we cannot seem to reach, loneliness, job insecurity, a cancer diagnosed, a loved one lost – even one lost years ago.  Maybe a part of Advent needs to be is a time when the church at least gives us permission to acknowledge all those things that can make us feel hopeless – because maybe the church knows that we cannot really embrace hope until we viscerally feel its lack.         

         “In his book, Living the Message: Daily Help for Living the God-Centered Life, Eugene Peterson points out that what a lot of us call hope is in reality something different.  It is wishing.  “Wishing,” he says, “is something all of us do.  It projects what we want or think we need into the future.  Just because we wish for something good or holy we think it qualifies as hope.  It does not.” 

         He goes on to say that we can picture wishing as though it were a line coming out from us with an arrow on the end, pointing into the future toward that which we desire.  But hope is just the opposite.  It is a line that comes from God out of the future, with its arrow pointed toward us.” (Chris Zepp)

         In the end, this Psalm then is not only a lament, a song of desolation and desperation.  It affirms those things, for sure, which is good.  But the fact that this psalm is even being sung, the fact that it is also a prayer to a God that can not been seen or touched or even remembered means that it is also a song of hope, of great high hope that somewhere, the God who is being called to will answer, and, as 21^st century theologian Frederick Buechner once wrote, the answer he will bring will be herself. 

         For us, it will be a child, a baby born, the Word made flesh.  And in that youngster, in that birth, in that incarnation, the barriers between us and God will be broken down.  The heavens will be torn open, and God will come to meet us – with a message of hope that has the potential to reach even now into our deeply troubled worlds and lives.

You transplanted a vine from Egypt (the Psalmist sang); you drove out the nations and planted it. You cleared the ground for it,
 and it took root and filled the land. Turn to us, Almighty God! Look down from heaven at us;
come and save your people! Come and save this grapevine that you planted,
this young vine you made grow so strong!”

         It is the other side of Advent, the whispered groaning in our hearts.  But listen, for there is another song that is playing – and it is the soft voice of Isaiah that sings:

“And there shall come forth a shoot (like a grapevine), a shoot out of the stump of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots: And the spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, and he shall not judge by what his eyes see or what his ears hear.

But with righteousness shall he judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth: And righteousness shall be the girdle of his loins, and faithfulness the girdle of his reins.”

         It is the other side of Advent – the side that allows us to cry a bowlful of tears, so that we can embrace with great high hope the promises of God.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

Matthew 25:1-13 "Lessons from Lamps"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         This is the text of a note that was once found hanging on a church door:


Absolute knowledge I have none,


But my aunt's washer woman's sister's son


Heard a policeman on his beat


Say to a laborer on the street


That he had a letter just last week


Written in finest classical Greek,


From a Chinese coolie in Timbuktu


Who said the Negroes in Cuba knew of a man in a Texas town


Who got it straight from a circus clown,


That a man in the Klondike heard the news


From a gang of South American Jews,


About somebody in Borneo


Who heard a man claim to know of a well--digger named Jake,


Whose mother--in--law will undertake to prove


That her seventh husband's sister's niece


Had stated in a printed piece


That she had a son who has a friend


Who knows when the world is going to end.


         When the world was going to end:  That was of great importance, you know, to the congregation of Christian Jews for whom the Gospel of Matthew was originally written, which, most Biblical scholars agree, was about 80-90 years after Jesus departed from this world. At the time of Jesus’ ascension, of course, hope for his glorious return and a final judgment on all humanity ran high.  However, it was not long before a generation that had expected Jesus to return within its lifetime had come and gone, and nothing had happened.  Life went on.

         Now, even more years later when our Gospel was written, the Messiah’s still delayed return was frustrating at best and was most certainly causing some of those folks who had been baptized in a pique of religious fervor to shake their heads and mumble that they had never really believed it all to begin with as they moved on to the next spiritual fad. 

         But for those Jewish Christians who chose to remain faithful, this writer of the Gospel of Matthew wanted to face head on this unfortunate delay and did so by including stories and teachings and many references to the last days and the awaited hour of judgment.  And so today we find ourselves confronting the first of three allegorical parables found in the final chapters of the Gospel of Matthew.  We commonly refer to this story as the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Bridesmaids, Maidens, or Virgins – depending on the Biblical translation you use.

         In the style of the Wedding Feast at Cana, this story is another tale of nuptials gone wrong.  This time the problem has to do with the delayed arrival of the groom and how a handful of the bridal attendants were subsequently left unprepared and wanting.

         Now weddings back in ancient Palestine were not unlike today’s destination weddings with their elaborate settings and extended celebrations.  In our story, the festivities are just beginning, and the evening wedding banquet is set to commence. 

         It is dark.  The hour has come.  The guests have arrived and have filled the groom’s home.  They are pouring out into the streets to await the arrival of the wedding couple.  The wedding planner has instructed the bridesmaids, and all ten of them are in position, their oil lamps already lighting the path of the bride and groom on their way to wedded bliss. 

         However, there is a problem.  You see, the bridegroom is taking his own sweet time.  As Anglican priest Jeffrey Smead describes the scene:  “The groom and several close friends are making their way to the home of the bride, which is assumed to be across town or in a nearby village. From there the groom collects his bride and escorts her back to his family home, where the crowd awaits and the marriage feast will be held.

         When the bride was ready, she would be placed on the back of a riding animal, and the groom, with his friends, would form a disorganized, exuberant parade. This happy group would take the longest possible route back to the groom’s home. (We find them) deliberately wandering through as many streets of the village as possible so that most of the people could see and cheer them as they pass.”

         Not much fun for those who wait.  The caterer is pulling out his hair because the iced champagne is getting warm, and the hot hors d’oeuvres are getting cold.  The wedding planner is nervous too because it is late, and it is dark, and the bridesmaids – all ten of them – are getting sleepy, and soon they are gently snoring in a friendly heap in the corner. However, at this point, it should be noted that, even though asleep, thank goodness, they are not unprepared.  They are doing their job.  Their lamps are lit – all ten of them.  But unfortunately, as the hours pass, those lamps begin to flicker and extinguish themselves one by one. 

         In the meantime, the groom’s parade continues to slowly wind its way through the village until, as Jeffery Smead picks up the story, “Finally the front of the parade enters the alley, and the cry goes out, ‘Behold the bridegroom. Come out to meet him.’

         Guests and the family still in the house rush into the street.  The ten young women arise quickly, recognize that some time has passed and begin to ‘service their lamps.’ The loose unattached wicks must be adjusted, and the oil reserves inside the lamps replenished.

         To their horror, five of the women suddenly realize their lamps are almost out of olive oil and they have no reserves.  The other five take out their little clay flasks and calmly replenish their lamps.  The five foolish women crowd around them, demanding oil.

         Politely and no doubt firmly, they are in effect told, "We do not have enough for you and ourselves.  Go to the dealers and buy more!" No doubt irritated and sputtering, the five stomp off to beg, borrow, or buy a bit of oil.

         In the meantime, the groom and his new bride arrive and the entire crowd sweeps into the house, and the door is shut.  In the final scene the shortsighted crowd of five women finally acquire some oil, get their lamps working again and arrive back at the house.

         "Sir!  Lord! Open to us!" they shout through the door, but the groom replies (ominously), "I do not know you."

         And that’s that!  That is the story – except for Jesus’ equally ominous remark:  “Watch out, then, because you do not know the day or the hour.”

         Sure does not sound as if the five bridesmaids who were not expecting the groom to be so darn late got into the banquet.  Sure sounds like the Gospel writer has made a judgment call here.  Sure makes us feel a tad uncomfortable because, after all, no one likes a door slammed in his or her face.

         No doubt about it:  this parable is a hard sell, not a challenge we want to confront.  It is a story we would just as soon skip over.  After all, face it.  We like our Jesus easy.         

         Oh, people have tried to soften the story up a bit.   UCC pastor Mary Ann Biggs relates this little vignette:  “Back in the days when only young men prepared for pastoral ministry, a certain Dr. Eislen, president of Garrett Seminary, preached on this parable in chapel.  He wrapped up his sermon by yelling at his seminarians, "Young men, tell me, would you rather be in the light with the wise virgins, or out in the dark with the foolish virgins?" Such laughter arose that chapel was dismissed early that day!” 

         Seriously though, this parable seems to have really very little to do with us.  After all, we are certainly not in the same frenzy about Jesus’ immanent return as the first century Christians for whom this Gospel of Matthew was written.  About the only people who think anything like that might happen in our lifetimes are the ones who pronounce it up on highway billboards in the Bible Belt or who stand proclaiming the end of the world on urban street corners – both of whom we tacitly ignore. 

         So – what can this archaic but certainly weirdly challenging parable with its theme of judgment, being prepared, keeping the lights on, and holding out hope for the bridegroom’s arrival, what can this parable say to us who live in a world where often it seems as if darkness prevails, in a world where we have given up hope not only of the Messiah’s return (that is not even on the radar screen) but have also thrust aside hope in God and religion and the church as well?

         I think this parable has three things to say to us in that regard. 

         First, at the very least, it reminds us to bring our lamps.  Just show up.  After all, every single bridesmaid in the parable had her lamp with her and the oil necessary to get it started. They all knew what their job was, and they all had every intention of doing it impeccably well. After all, they had been given a responsibility, which they clearly valued because they had accepted that responsibility. 

         For us, then, remember that you cannot be part of the wedding festivities if you are not at least that much prepared.  So - bring your lamp.  Don’t be afraid to just show up.  It is like the story Methodist pastor William Strayhorn told about Erma Bombeck’s conversation with a little boy about to begin school:

         My name is Donald, and I don't know anything. I have new underwear, a loose tooth, and didn't sleep last night because I'm worried. What if a bell rings and a man yells, "Where do you belong?" and I don't know? What if the trays in the cafeteria are too tall for me to reach? What if my loose tooth comes out when we have our heads down and are supposed to be quiet? Am I supposed to bleed quietly? What if I splash water on my name tag and my name disappears and no one knows who I am?"

         Life is like that sometimes (Strayhorn admits). Who am I kidding Life is like that most of the time. Most of the time (he says) we're scared spitless of what the future will bring.”  But we are challenged anyway to bring our lamps and just show up.

         So - if you are part of this faith community, then bring your lamp and show up on Sundays as a start because that is your responsibility.  If you are part of this faith community, share your time and your talents because that is your responsibility as well.  And if you are part of this faith community, return a pledge card and openly support this church’s ministries.  Pledge something if you have not pledged before, and, if you have pledged, then pledge a contribution that is your fair share of this church’s expenses – because that, too, is your responsibility.         

         Second, this parable reminds us that there are some things that you cannot borrow.  The foolish bridesmaids tried to borrow oil, but they could not.  Twentieth century Scottish theologian, William Barclay, puts it this way:  “This text warns us that there are certain things which cannot be borrowed.  The foolish virgins found it impossible to borrow oil, when they discovered they needed it.  A (person) cannot borrow a relationship with God; he must possess it.  A (person) cannot borrow a character; he must be clothed with it.  We cannot always be living on the spiritual capital, which others have amassed.  There are certain things, which we must win or possess for ourselves, for we cannot borrow them from others.”  You cannot borrow a sense of justice.  You cannot borrow the qualities of a peacemaker.  You cannot borrow compassion.

         Third, the parable reminds us to embrace a certain kind of waiting. It is true that the bridesmaids and the guests were all waiting for the bride and groom, and it is also true that all their fastidious preparations seemed to be for naught.  Where was the wedding couple anyway?

         For us, as Lutheran pastor David Lose writes, “the kind of waiting Matthew is encouraging through this parable is hard. Waiting for something way over due, waiting for something you’re not sure will even come, waiting that involves active preparation when you’re not even sure what you should be preparing for. That kind of waiting is challenging.”

         How do you wait for a Kingdom that seems so unlikely in today’s world?  How do you wait for a Kingdom that values peace over armed conflict, compassion over our inability to control the guns too many of us own, abundance over scarcity, and sharing what we have even if it hurts a little?  How do you wait for a Kingdom that values hope over fear?

         How?  The answer is simple – not easy, but simple.  The answer is this:  We live into that Kingdom.  We live as if that Kingdom has already arrived.  We live out our faith in a broken and troubled world, and, in doing so, we cannot help but end up practicing what it is like to live in the Kingdom, to live as if Jesus really has returned.  

         Perhaps the worst mistake we can make is to forget that the kingdom is real now, that there is One coming, not at a single time in some distant and unknown future, but there is One coming at every moment, at every moment that we seek justice, that we go out on a limb for peace, that we share generously what we have.  There is One coming at every moment who is prepared – if we are prepared - to open the doors to our flickering faith and celebrate the mystery and the miracle of life – and, most of all, to celebrate the kingdom that lies deep in the hearts of all of us – even now, even in this dark and broken world.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church (U.C.C.), Raymond, Maine

        

Hebrews 12:1-3 "All Saints' Remembrances"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         I love that phrase from our Biblical book of Hebrews, the one that attests to the idea that we are “surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.”  It makes me realize that you and I are not alone in this church sanctuary on this special morning, on this day when we look back and remember those people in our congregation and in our families who passed away during the year even as we look forward and make our pledged commitments to the future of our church. 

         Oh yes, I can imagine faces looking down on us – faces that reflect the love and power of the Holy One, faces that are perhaps the face itself of God.  I can imagine faces of not only those who have gone before who loved this church so dearly, but I can also imagine the faint outline of those who are yet to come, the ones who will carry on the ministries of welcome and education and mission that we have worked so hard to create and perpetuate here in our small church with its big heart.  For me, those words from Hebrews offer such a wonderful image of, and link to, everyone who made  - and will make - their lifetime journey in faith and in great high hope.         

         And somewhere within that “great cloud of witnesses” are mothers and grandmothers, church elders, aunts, and friends.  Somewhere within that “great cloud of witnesses” are the ones who saw to it for years that our Advent poinsettia tree was filled with those red winter blooms, who sang in our choir, who collected porcelain dolls, who skied into their nineties, who gave generously to church and family.

         And now, as we do each All Saints’ Sunday, let us take a few moments to remember those in both our church and our nuclear families who died this past year but whose presence we will always feel in that special place in our hearts because they are part of that amazing and comforting “great cloud of witnesses.”

VIRGINIA DAY – Virginia is Dick Day’s mother.  She was 103 when she died, but, as her obituary stated, she “lived to the very end.”  Ginny (as she was known) was one of 13 children, graduated from Penn State as a physical education major, and later taught English in Yarmouth and Presque Isle.  She bore five children who, in turn, blessed her with 12 grandchildren, 17 great-grandchildren, and 3 great great-grandchildren. Ginny remained physically active well into her nineties, down hill skiing until an injury sidelined her at 76 when she took up cross country.  Ten years later, at 86, she hiked part of the Appalachian Trail with one of her sons.  She loved to garden and was a founding member of the Walnut Hill Gardening Club and a longtime member of the North Yarmouth Congregational Church.

ARLENE GORDAN – Arlene is Scott Gordan’s mother.  She was one of five siblings and was a Mainer through and through, living her entire life in Westbrook.  She married the love of her life in her mid-twenties, and, as we all do, she wished for the long and full lifetime with him that they surely both deserved.  Though they were only given 20 years together, they lived it well.  At his death, Arlene’s inner strength blossomed as she did a fine job being both mother and father to Scott and his brother – and later being “Grammy” to her four granddaughters and two great-grandsons.  Arlene worked hard all her life – first at the old A&P store, then at Fairchild, and finally at Art’s Variety.  And guess what?  Well into retirement, she went back to school and took classes in order to receive her high school diploma at age 75.

SALLY MACAUSLAN – Some of you long timers here in our church may remember Sally.  As a child, Vicki remembers her as “one of the most amazing sopranos” she has ever heard.  Born in 1924, Sally was a life-long learner with endless curiosity about the natural world.  She studied geology and geography in college, graduating from Mount Holyoke in three short years.  She did geological fieldwork in the Rocky Mountains and was employed by Harvard University for the American Geological Society.  Sally was also passionate about music.  She took singing and piano lessons as a teenager and more formally developed her gift in college and at the New England Conservatory of Music, sharing her talents in the years to come through the Maine Opera Guild and the Maine Choral Arts Society.  Sally worked as a librarian in Bridgton and at Bridgton Hospital.  She volunteered with the Girl Scouts and American Field Service. She was a founding member of the Deertrees Theater Foundation and worked to preserve MacLaughlin Garden in South Paris.  “Life is too short,” she said, “you have to live it to the fullest, making every day count.”

 KATHY STEPHENS – Kathy returned to this church about seven or eight months ago. Probably her most defining characteristic was her energy.  She had lots of it! She was happiest being busy doing something, working at something.  It might have been a job – like the 15 years she worked at Liberty Mutual Insurance, or the years she was employed after retirement as an ed tech in the Gray-New Gloucester schools, or the years that she owned and operated the Village Store in New Gloucester.  Here at church it was cataloguing hundreds of books and DVDs for the church library that we are establishing – as well as figuring out just how and where each book and movie should be shelved.  Kathy seemed to know everybody too – but in a friendly and not gossipy sort of way.  Her favorite hangout was at Chute’s in Windham, and people loved running into her there, soaking up her positive vibes, and laughing because had an incredible and quick sense of humor.  She was independent, determined, and oh so strong, particularly as she lived with her rare form of cancer, always focusing on living the best that she could, putting on her positve face, and thinking optimistically.  

PATRICA STULTS – Pat is Lynn Gagne’s mother and Bekah’s grandmother. Pat’s life was rich with experiences of love and community and extended family.   She graduated from Deering High School, married Shep, the love of her life, after graduation, and was blessed with 62 wonderful years at his side – with quite a few of them spent square and round dancing.  Pat was a Girl Scout leader, active in the Windham Garden Club, and a lifetime member of Deering 59, Portland, Order of the Easter Star.  She delighted in creating porcelain dolls and demonstrating her craft at schools and nursing homes.  Her three sons and four daughters will surely remember all the clothing she sewed for them and the pizza dough she made.  They will remember her sitting in the stands at all their baseball games and track meets and all the 4H projects she supported. They will remember the love she had for her 16 grandchildren and 21 great-grandchildren. Friends and family will also remember the wedding cakes she made, her dedication to the church as her children were growing up, and even her job as ticket taker at the local drive-in. 

MURIEL TRAFFORD – Muriel was an active associate member of our church for many years.  She cherished the strong and loving relationships she had with people in our congregation, especially her friendship with Ann Harriman.  Singing was a big part of Muriel’s life.  She sang in one church choir or another for over 35 years as well as adding her voice to the Portland and South Portland Community Choruses.   I believe she was also an eager and talented participant in the summer musicals and revues that were part of our church’s annual summer agenda in decades gone by.  A few years after her husband died, Muriel moved to Cape Elizabeth to live with, as she termed it, a “dear and loving companion.”  She and Harold shared a caring and supportive relationship for a number of years.  I knew Harold, and I can say without a doubt that they loved each other dearly. As Muriel once wrote, “I feel very fortunate to be here with him.  We are happy.  I have a feeling our former mates would not mind, knowing we are caring for each other.”

ROSEMARY TRIPP – Rosie never missed a Sunday here at church – unless it was to watch and/or cheer on a grandchild at a sporting event, concert, or play.  She was a true matriarch – having a strong commitment to and love for her family. She was the glue that held them all together, and she and her husband, Charles, always put her family’s needs before their own. She was a great cook and, more than anything else, she loved to feed her family.  It is said that no one could put a meal together better or faster than she could. Rosemary had a strong work ethic and impeccable values. “Kill them with kindness” was her philosophy – that and helping others because “it is the right thing to do.”  Rosie was a fixture for over 50 years at Raymond and Windham School events and had the reputation of baking the best cookies, pies, and cakes to support any event in which any of her four children and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren participated. As Vicki said, she “believed you showed love and support by being physically there, clapping and cheering the loudest, and showing “on the spot” how proud’ you were. Here at church where she was a devoted member for nearly 60 years, Rosie made sure we had poinsettias to decorate our sanctuary at Christmas.  She supported in a variety of mission projects, taught nursery school, and worked on church suppers.  In recognition of her ongoing support of this church, she was elected an Elder in 2006. As Vicki recalled, Rosemary” lived a Christian life of service – to her family, to her friends that needed her, and to the broader community.  This church was her foundation and she loved the people in it – particularly her Golden Girls (Muriel Yeager and Ann Harriman) who brought great joy to her life.  She was a fixture here – in her pew on the left side – and (her family) is sure she is still here in spirit every Sunday.”  It’s that “great cloud of witnesses” again!

         Surely Vicki is right!  I mean, can you feel the ongoing presence of these seven strong and independent women all around us?  Wherever you turn, can you sense them instilling us with faith and whispering their hope for the church and for this world?  They are indeed part of the “great cloud of witnesses” that surrounds us – their invisible (though perhaps not so invisible) faces looking down upon us.  If you ever wondered what the Almighty was like, if you ever wondered what the Holy One looked like, then remember these seven extraordinary women and the essence of their lives, for surely they are the face of God and a whispering hope for all of us.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church (United Church of Christ), Raymond, Maine