If you are going to take the Gospel of Luke seriously, then you had better be prepared for some lessons in economics. I know that Jesus did not probe the depths of Keynesian theory, nor did he lecture on supply and demand, capitalism, or socialism.
However, as a Jewish rabbi, Jesus - more often than we sometimes care to admit – did discuss economics from the perspective of the God’s kingdom. Through parable and sermon, he taught his listeners about how money and possessions relate to God’s purposes for the world and humankind.
It is in the Gospel of Luke that we encounter so many stories about the haves and the have nots. Each of the other three Gospels certainly has a few such passages, but in Luke they abound.
It is in Luke that we find not only stories and sayings shared by the other Gospels, such as the Widow’s Mite and references to selling all you have and giving it to the poor. We also find stories unique to Luke, such as the Rich Man and Lazarus and today’s Scripture reading, the Parable of the Rich Fool. The writer of Luke seems at times almost obsessed with the theme of wealth and how we choose to handle our money and finances.
So, you see, you can not get through Luke’s gospel here in church without talking about money. You just can’t! The Gospel writer would be terribly frustrated to learn that in many congregations, the only time we mention the “M” word is when the stewardship pledge campaign rolls around each fall, and all good pastors realize that their salaries may be in jeopardy if they do not talk about money. Money and our use of it is about as integral to the Gospel of Luke as money and our use of it is integral to, well, to our every day lives. Talk about the Bible being relevant!
So do not blame me that on this lovely summer Sunday we are focusing on a particularly uncomfortable story that begins with a random question on property inheritance, a question raised by someone in the crowd who in his quest for an answer interrupted Jesus as he taught. I mean, here was the rabbi talking about spiritual things, eternal things, when this young man, who clearly had more temporal things on his mind, shouted out, “Teacher, tell my brother to divvy up the family inheritance. Believe me when I say that I did not get my fair share.”
“Hey,” said Jesus. “I am not a property attorney. Nor am I a mediator. And I am certainly not an economics teacher – at least not your brand of economics.
All I can say is this: beware of greed, for it leads to a dangerous path. It is insidious and eats away at you. Let me give it to you straight: Life is not defined by what you have – your possessions - even when you have a lot. Now – I am not saying that possessions are bad. They just do not say anything about who you really are.
It may seem like money makes the world go round, Jesus continued, but it really does not. Trust me when I say that there are more important things to have a lot of – like compassion, like the courage to see that justice prevails, and, most of all, like love.
And the people in the crowd shrugged their shoulders and scratched their heads and looked genuinely confused – mostly because they did not have many possessions to begin with and also because everything around them seemed to indicate that money, in fact, did make the world go round.
So, as he was wont to do to make his point clear, Jesus told a story and, in the telling, artfully moved from talking about money (which the young man in the crowd was concerned about) to discussing attitudes about money (which the young man should have been concerned about).
The story featured a farmer who finally had a good year. The rains had fallen. The sun had shone. The harvest was a bumper crop. As he looked out over his amber fields of grain, the farmer rubbed his hands together gleefully because all his hard work had finally paid off. He was genuinely happy because the life of a farmer is hard and so dependent on factors – like weather – outside his control.
Proudly, he thought to himself – my barn is not big enough to hold all of this grain. What to do? What to do? I know. I will tear down the old one and build something bigger to store it all – maybe a warehouse even. I can put a lot of stuff in a warehouse. Whoopee! I have got it made in the shade for the next few years. Time to kick off my shoes, put my feet up, eat, drink, and be merry!
However, in spite of the farmer’s good upstanding Protestant work ethic, God – who interestingly enough never speaks out directly in any of Jesus’ parables in this Gospel – called the man a fool. God did not say that he was bad, mind you, because he was dishonest. Nor did God say that he was morally corrupt because he was insatiably greedy.
God called him a fool. Why? Perhaps because the farmer did not realize how empty and lonely his life really was – all stored away in his warehouse. Perhaps because, as the old saying goes, you can not take it with you – so why treat it like you can.
It is like a reporter who asked a young Wall Street broker on the fast track what his chief goal was in life.
"To make my first million dollars by the time I am 28," was the answer.
"Then what?" the reporter continued.
"Well, I suppose I would like to become a multi-millionaire."
The reporter pressed on. "Then what?"
Beginning to get a bit irritated, the broker said, "I want to have a family and enough money to retire at 40 and travel around the world."
"Then what?"
Exasperated, the would-be multi-millionaire said, "Well, like everyone else, I guess someday I will die!"
Like the rich man in Jesus' story, the difficulty with the young broker was not that he desired to have possessions -- it was that his desire for possessions had him. He wanted more of what, by any reasonable standard, he already had enough of. And, besides that, everything was mine, mine, mine. My barn, my possessions, my first million.
Jesus' warning is strong. "Watch closely! Be on your guard! When your desire for things gets its claws into your life, it can lead you down a very dangerous road!"
Advice that perhaps we should at least take note of since the fastest growing industry in our country is the storage industry – warehouses, just like the ones the farmer intended to build to hold all his stuff.
And then Jesus summed it up by saying that those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich in the things of God in the end are, indeed, fools.
Fools for believing in a culture that regularly tells us, as Luther Seminary professor David Lose writes, “that we don't have enough. Television commercials, billboards, and the internet all not only tell us that we are insufficient, incomplete, and not quite right on our own, but they also promise us that if we only buy the product they're pushing – be it a tube of toothpaste, new laptop, or better car – then we will be complete. Our culture unequivocally equates consumption with satisfaction, possessions with happiness, and material wealth with the good life.” And that, says God, is foolish.
What is wise is to remember this:
God won't ask what kind of car you drove - God will ask how many people you drove who needed a ride.
God won't ask the square footage of your home - God will ask how many people you welcomed into your home.
God won't ask what social class you were in - God will ask what kind of "class" you displayed.
God won't ask what your highest salary was - God will ask if you compromised your character to get it.
God won't ask what you did to help yourself - God will ask what you did to help others.
God won’t ask how many times your deeds matched your words - God will ask how many times they didn’t.
The truth of this parable lies in a profound recognition of this viral wisdom. When all is said and done, money does not make the world go round.
A very rich man died and left his inheritance equally to his two sons. Now one son had married young in life and had a large and happy family. The other was still a bachelor.
The night after the division of the estate the single man sat thinking in his living room. "Why did my father make such a mistake? Here's my brother, with all those mouths to feed, so many to provide for. While I'm quite comfortable, I've got more than I could ever use. Why divide the estate equally?"
The other brother, when the children were tucked in bed, mused: "Why would my father divide the estate equally? Here I am, surrounded by a loving family, while my brother sits alone over in his house. I have my family to care for me, while he will need financial security for his future. Why divide the estate equally?"
So each man resolved on that very night to place the majority of his inheritance in a suitcase and hide it where the other brother would find it. And in their random act of kindness, they met between their two homes and, realizing what each had intended, fell into one another's arms, meeting in love as their father had hoped they might.
I have a small plaque in my kitchen that I bought at Weston Priory many years ago. It says, “The best things in life aren’t things.”
And we know that. We really do. We know that money alone does not make the world go round. We know that love and compassion and justice lie at the root of God’s economic system. We know all that – but sometimes, through a parable like this one about the Rich Fool, it helps to be reminded.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Luke 10:38-42 Either/Or? Both/And?
When our children were young, I marked time by the weeks between school vacations and long weekends. There was the start of school and Labor Day in September, Columbus Day in October, Veterans’ Day and Thanksgiving in November, Christmas in December, New Year’s and Martin Luther King’s Birthday in January, winter vacation in February, spring vacation in April, Memorial Day in May, and school was out before the end of June. The only month that had nothing to offer was March. The mud month seemed to stretch on far longer than its 31 days.
The church calendar – or liturgical calendar – is organized much the same way. We delight in the high holy days of Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. The seasons which precede or follow (Advent, Epiphany, and Lent) ebb and flow like the tides. Each one has its unique time-marking traditions - candles lit or extinguished, special songs.
However, there is are those many weeks - from the Sunday after Pentecost in May until the beginning of Advent after Thanksgiving – when not much happens. Like March, they seem to stretch on forever.
The church has a name for that period of time. It is called most fittingly “ordinary time.” It is the time when we go about our lives as Christians – day by day by day – uneventfully incorporating the message of the Gospel into our comings and goings. Without its own brand of fanfare, it is very ordinary time.
Our Scripture lesson this morning, the almost parable-like story of Martha and Mary, gives us an important insight on how to spend that ordinary time, a most important consideration since ordinary time makes up a large portion of the church year.
Martha and Mary were sisters, and in this brief passage we see clearly that they expressed their devotion to Jesus very differently.
Because this story comes on the heels of the Parable of the Good Samaritan with its lessons of hospitality and neighborliness, we can hardly fault Martha for her initiative in welcoming Jesus and his disciples – 13 guests in all – into her house.
In the Greek, the word the Gospel writer uses for Martha’s hospitality means “to receive.” In short, Martha opened her home to these men, which traditionally meant concocting a no holes barred soups to nuts dinner.
After all, one can not serve a famous rabbi and friend hotdogs or bologna sandwiches. Jesus was coming to dinner – and his presence called for a special meal!
Lutheran pastor Edward Markquart describes the scene this way: We can imagine Martha going to market the day before the feast to get the freshest food available. She may have found…fish that had been brought in from the Jordan River (as well as) dates and pomegranates and figs and raisins and nuts - and (of course) the finest wine.
What a shopping spree that was, and the next morning, Martha was a flurry of activity, busy cleaning the house and the yard before she began to prepare the feast for Jesus…She set the table with her finest, bringing out her brass menorah…for a candle light dinner and her favorite pottery ware.
(Soon) Jesus knocked on the door, and everyone was excited to see (him). They laughed and chatted and Jesus noticed how clean and prepared the house was, and Martha was pleased. Then Jesus sat down on a pillow in the front room and started to teach. Being a rabbi, he talked about God and love and prayer.
However, soon Martha was out in the kitchen, so busy with her last minute preparations, and irritated that she couldn’t hear the conversation between Jesus and her younger sister in the living room. (The Greek word for Martha’s predicament means literally dragged away from. Because of her kitchen tasks, Martha was pulled away from hearing what the rabbi had to say. So it is hardly surprising that) the more she worked, the more frustrated she got with her sister.
So Martha started to send signals to her sister, banging the pots and pans so that the noise would bring Mary into the kitchen. It didn’t work. Then Martha walked into the living room with the hors d’oeuvres, the wine, the cheese and crackers. As she walked by Mary, she gave her the eyeball roll in the direction of the kitchen. But Mary wasn’t looking.
Then Martha returned to the living room to pick up the leftovers and gave her sister another signal, this one the rolling shoulder motion, again in the direction of the kitchen. Once more, Mary did not respond. She was still focused on Jesus and his words.
Martha finally stood in the kitchen door way, and her anger could be contained no longer: ‘Jesus, would you tell Mary to come into the kitchen and help me with all this work? She is taking advantage of being the youngest again, so as to get out of doing her share. Would you tell her to come into the kitchen and help with this meal?’
Jesus spoke to Martha calmly, ‘Martha, Martha, don’t be so upset. You are busy and distracted with many things. Mary has chosen the better portion, listening to me, and this will not be taken away from her.’
Martha put her hand on her hips, said ‘hrumpff,’ and stomped back into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the main course.
Baptist pastor Don Fortner notes the not so subtle differences between the two sisters. “Martha was an active, impulsive, strong-willed, hard-working woman. She spoke her mind openly (and was) a woman truly devoted to Christ.
Mary was a quiet, contemplative woman, more easy-going than Martha, but no less firm in her convictions. She felt things deeply, but said far less than she felt – a woman genuinely devoted to Christ!
Martha, when Jesus came to her house, was delighted to see him and immediately began to make preparations in most lavish manner she could, so that he would feel welcome.
Mary also rejoiced to see the Lord coming into their home, but her first thought was to sit at his feet and hear his word.”
If we were to look at this story as a parable, we would conclude that Martha’s discipleship is grounded in action - welcoming and hospitable activity - while Mary’s discipleship reflects contemplation – listening to and reflecting upon the words of Jesus.
I think we would all agree that both action and contemplation are equally important aspects of the Christian life. Yet, so often when we hear this story, we insist that one of the sisters is right, and the other is wrong. Martha was out of line, and Mary is to be applauded.
That seems harsh because, I do not know about you, but for my part, I am terrific in the role of Martha – and a bit lacking on the Mary front. Give me a task to do – and I’ll do it. Is there a celebration to prepare for? Just call on me.
You should see me before Christmas – and I know I am not the only one in our congregation like this. I bake dozens of cookies and whip up needhams and other candies. Yikes! There are the plum puddings to steam, pumpkin bread to bake – and let’s not forget the presents and stockings and decorating the house, etc., etc. etc. Though I am less frenetic than I used to be, Advent is still a whirlwind of activity.
Now, I am not saying that this is wrong or inappropriate. After all, we would be lost without the Marthas. Marthas are the keepers of Christmas. They also keep the church going. Without the Marthas, there would be no coffee hour, no Sunday School, no public suppers. I am grateful for all the Marthas around here. However, I do think this observation points to the fact that most of us make far better Marthas than we do Marys.
And yet, Jesus seems to be holding up Mary as the exemplar. Think about it – Mary was the one who shirked her kitchen duties, stood by as her sister freaked out over meal preparations, and who by traditional standards was really a selfish slacker. Can we reconcile these two approaches to discipleship because, as we said initially, both Martha and Mary were devoted to Jesus?
I think their approaches are really two sides of the same coin. What I mean is this: Usually we contrast the sisters and create an “either/or” scenario, so that we can logically conclude that only one of them can be right. Either Martha is right or Mary is right.
However, if we can shift the paradigm and see the situation as “both/and”, we can come to a different conclusion. I think the truth of the story is that both Martha and Mary are right. If we reflect on the story as a parable, then its truth is that we need both activity and contemplation to live an enriched Christian life.
We need times of activity – opening our church and ourselves to the community and the world. We need to do public suppers and Monday meals. We need to weatherize our neighbors’ homes, so they stay warm in the winter. We need to work in our community garden, so we can donate fresh produce to the food pantry. Those activities define us as an important force for God’s good. We need to be Marthas.
However, because we do all this activity in Jesus’ name, because it is our faith in the Gospel message that motivates us, we also need to be Marys. We need time to reflect on Jesus’ message and to hear the old, old stories reminding us why we have chosen to oftentimes run counter to our cultural norms – being hospitable, being good neighbors, being peace makers, and being justice instigators.
That is why worship should be so important to us. Worship is our Mary time. These are our moments of contemplation to listen to the teachings of Jesus, to be empowered once again by his message, and to be strengthened by this community of committed men and women.
Worship should not be discretionary. If we are committed Christians, worship should be a high priority – not something we do when it is convenient or the karma is right. And if worship does not figure importantly in our lives, then we need to engage each other and find out why. Of course, I am really preaching to the choir – but all of you who are here can tell those who aren’t about this insight!
Jesus understood this symbiotic relationship between activity and contemplation – mission and worship – and that is why he encouraged Mary. He understood that we are first rate at the activity business. We make wonderful Marthas.
However, he also understood that we find the contemplation piece, the worship piece, the Mary piece a bit more problematic. That is what the Gospel writer is trying to tell us in this parable of Christian living: Martha/Mary. Activity/Contemplation. Mission/Worship. Not either/or, but both/and. In the end, in order to be truly effective followers of Jesus, we have to be both a Martha and a Mary too.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
The church calendar – or liturgical calendar – is organized much the same way. We delight in the high holy days of Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. The seasons which precede or follow (Advent, Epiphany, and Lent) ebb and flow like the tides. Each one has its unique time-marking traditions - candles lit or extinguished, special songs.
However, there is are those many weeks - from the Sunday after Pentecost in May until the beginning of Advent after Thanksgiving – when not much happens. Like March, they seem to stretch on forever.
The church has a name for that period of time. It is called most fittingly “ordinary time.” It is the time when we go about our lives as Christians – day by day by day – uneventfully incorporating the message of the Gospel into our comings and goings. Without its own brand of fanfare, it is very ordinary time.
Our Scripture lesson this morning, the almost parable-like story of Martha and Mary, gives us an important insight on how to spend that ordinary time, a most important consideration since ordinary time makes up a large portion of the church year.
Martha and Mary were sisters, and in this brief passage we see clearly that they expressed their devotion to Jesus very differently.
Because this story comes on the heels of the Parable of the Good Samaritan with its lessons of hospitality and neighborliness, we can hardly fault Martha for her initiative in welcoming Jesus and his disciples – 13 guests in all – into her house.
In the Greek, the word the Gospel writer uses for Martha’s hospitality means “to receive.” In short, Martha opened her home to these men, which traditionally meant concocting a no holes barred soups to nuts dinner.
After all, one can not serve a famous rabbi and friend hotdogs or bologna sandwiches. Jesus was coming to dinner – and his presence called for a special meal!
Lutheran pastor Edward Markquart describes the scene this way: We can imagine Martha going to market the day before the feast to get the freshest food available. She may have found…fish that had been brought in from the Jordan River (as well as) dates and pomegranates and figs and raisins and nuts - and (of course) the finest wine.
What a shopping spree that was, and the next morning, Martha was a flurry of activity, busy cleaning the house and the yard before she began to prepare the feast for Jesus…She set the table with her finest, bringing out her brass menorah…for a candle light dinner and her favorite pottery ware.
(Soon) Jesus knocked on the door, and everyone was excited to see (him). They laughed and chatted and Jesus noticed how clean and prepared the house was, and Martha was pleased. Then Jesus sat down on a pillow in the front room and started to teach. Being a rabbi, he talked about God and love and prayer.
However, soon Martha was out in the kitchen, so busy with her last minute preparations, and irritated that she couldn’t hear the conversation between Jesus and her younger sister in the living room. (The Greek word for Martha’s predicament means literally dragged away from. Because of her kitchen tasks, Martha was pulled away from hearing what the rabbi had to say. So it is hardly surprising that) the more she worked, the more frustrated she got with her sister.
So Martha started to send signals to her sister, banging the pots and pans so that the noise would bring Mary into the kitchen. It didn’t work. Then Martha walked into the living room with the hors d’oeuvres, the wine, the cheese and crackers. As she walked by Mary, she gave her the eyeball roll in the direction of the kitchen. But Mary wasn’t looking.
Then Martha returned to the living room to pick up the leftovers and gave her sister another signal, this one the rolling shoulder motion, again in the direction of the kitchen. Once more, Mary did not respond. She was still focused on Jesus and his words.
Martha finally stood in the kitchen door way, and her anger could be contained no longer: ‘Jesus, would you tell Mary to come into the kitchen and help me with all this work? She is taking advantage of being the youngest again, so as to get out of doing her share. Would you tell her to come into the kitchen and help with this meal?’
Jesus spoke to Martha calmly, ‘Martha, Martha, don’t be so upset. You are busy and distracted with many things. Mary has chosen the better portion, listening to me, and this will not be taken away from her.’
Martha put her hand on her hips, said ‘hrumpff,’ and stomped back into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the main course.
Baptist pastor Don Fortner notes the not so subtle differences between the two sisters. “Martha was an active, impulsive, strong-willed, hard-working woman. She spoke her mind openly (and was) a woman truly devoted to Christ.
Mary was a quiet, contemplative woman, more easy-going than Martha, but no less firm in her convictions. She felt things deeply, but said far less than she felt – a woman genuinely devoted to Christ!
Martha, when Jesus came to her house, was delighted to see him and immediately began to make preparations in most lavish manner she could, so that he would feel welcome.
Mary also rejoiced to see the Lord coming into their home, but her first thought was to sit at his feet and hear his word.”
If we were to look at this story as a parable, we would conclude that Martha’s discipleship is grounded in action - welcoming and hospitable activity - while Mary’s discipleship reflects contemplation – listening to and reflecting upon the words of Jesus.
I think we would all agree that both action and contemplation are equally important aspects of the Christian life. Yet, so often when we hear this story, we insist that one of the sisters is right, and the other is wrong. Martha was out of line, and Mary is to be applauded.
That seems harsh because, I do not know about you, but for my part, I am terrific in the role of Martha – and a bit lacking on the Mary front. Give me a task to do – and I’ll do it. Is there a celebration to prepare for? Just call on me.
You should see me before Christmas – and I know I am not the only one in our congregation like this. I bake dozens of cookies and whip up needhams and other candies. Yikes! There are the plum puddings to steam, pumpkin bread to bake – and let’s not forget the presents and stockings and decorating the house, etc., etc. etc. Though I am less frenetic than I used to be, Advent is still a whirlwind of activity.
Now, I am not saying that this is wrong or inappropriate. After all, we would be lost without the Marthas. Marthas are the keepers of Christmas. They also keep the church going. Without the Marthas, there would be no coffee hour, no Sunday School, no public suppers. I am grateful for all the Marthas around here. However, I do think this observation points to the fact that most of us make far better Marthas than we do Marys.
And yet, Jesus seems to be holding up Mary as the exemplar. Think about it – Mary was the one who shirked her kitchen duties, stood by as her sister freaked out over meal preparations, and who by traditional standards was really a selfish slacker. Can we reconcile these two approaches to discipleship because, as we said initially, both Martha and Mary were devoted to Jesus?
I think their approaches are really two sides of the same coin. What I mean is this: Usually we contrast the sisters and create an “either/or” scenario, so that we can logically conclude that only one of them can be right. Either Martha is right or Mary is right.
However, if we can shift the paradigm and see the situation as “both/and”, we can come to a different conclusion. I think the truth of the story is that both Martha and Mary are right. If we reflect on the story as a parable, then its truth is that we need both activity and contemplation to live an enriched Christian life.
We need times of activity – opening our church and ourselves to the community and the world. We need to do public suppers and Monday meals. We need to weatherize our neighbors’ homes, so they stay warm in the winter. We need to work in our community garden, so we can donate fresh produce to the food pantry. Those activities define us as an important force for God’s good. We need to be Marthas.
However, because we do all this activity in Jesus’ name, because it is our faith in the Gospel message that motivates us, we also need to be Marys. We need time to reflect on Jesus’ message and to hear the old, old stories reminding us why we have chosen to oftentimes run counter to our cultural norms – being hospitable, being good neighbors, being peace makers, and being justice instigators.
That is why worship should be so important to us. Worship is our Mary time. These are our moments of contemplation to listen to the teachings of Jesus, to be empowered once again by his message, and to be strengthened by this community of committed men and women.
Worship should not be discretionary. If we are committed Christians, worship should be a high priority – not something we do when it is convenient or the karma is right. And if worship does not figure importantly in our lives, then we need to engage each other and find out why. Of course, I am really preaching to the choir – but all of you who are here can tell those who aren’t about this insight!
Jesus understood this symbiotic relationship between activity and contemplation – mission and worship – and that is why he encouraged Mary. He understood that we are first rate at the activity business. We make wonderful Marthas.
However, he also understood that we find the contemplation piece, the worship piece, the Mary piece a bit more problematic. That is what the Gospel writer is trying to tell us in this parable of Christian living: Martha/Mary. Activity/Contemplation. Mission/Worship. Not either/or, but both/and. In the end, in order to be truly effective followers of Jesus, we have to be both a Martha and a Mary too.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
Friday, July 9, 2010
2 Kings 5:1-14 Little Voices
This is a story about voices. It is a story about big voices – loud and authoritative voices proclaiming and directing and ordering people about – and it is a story about little voices – barely heard and quavering voices whispering in darkened hallways and speaking gently out-of-turn.
But the voices are just a way understanding what the story is really about – and that is power. It is the story of the power of those people on whom we most often bestow power – rulers and military commanders – and it is the story of the power of those we deem to be powerless – servants, slave girls, and messengers.
This is a story about voices – and power behind those voices. It is the story of the great Syrian generalissimo Naaman and how he was healed of a terrible skin disease, commonly known as leprosy.
We hear Naaman’s story only once in the three year cycle of the lectionary. Who was he anyway? If we were ancient military historians, then surely we would know all about him. After all, he had proved himself on the battlefield time and time again. Why, it was his army that had brought down powerful King Ahab with a well-placed arrow.
His own Syrian king had great respect for Naaman and held him in the highest esteem. After all, Naaman’s uniform was weighted down and decorated with various medals of honor, distinguished service medals, and purple hearts.
He had everything going for him – well, just about everything - until that evening when he felt the first sensation of numbness in his right hand – his sword hand - and he noticed a small patch of redness and those telltale tiny raised pustules.
“How can this be? Where is the fairness in my plight?” He shouted in his loudest and most powerful generalissimo voice. And he lay awake all that night until dawn - the refrain of “Untouchable! Untouchable! -” knitting together his terrible nightmares.
As author and seminary professor, Barbara Brown Taylor, noted, even the simplest of everyday encounters would inevitably change for Naaman. The powerful generalissimo knew that there would soon be a time when his success and fame and power would mean very little.
Instead there would be the awkward discomfort of someone who might not want to shake his hand or who could not help but stare too long at his disfigurement.
Needless to say, his wife was distraught as well, and his entire household stood by, horrified at the grisly news of Naaman’s dreadful but sure demise.
As the fingers of dawn first began to part the night sky and before the sun arose, one of Naaman’s war trophies, a little nameless slave girl went to Naaman’s wife, her little slave girl voice quavering as she whispered to her mistress in a darkened backstairs hallway. “The prophet in Samaria – Naaman should go to him. He could heal my master.”
When Naaman heard these whispered words of hope, he went to his king who, of course, would do anything to save the powerful generalissimo. And so the powerful king of Syria wrote a most powerful letter of introduction to the equally powerful king of Israel: This is to inform you that you must cure my most powerful generalissimo of his disease.
Figuring that perhaps a letter might not be quite enough to sway an equally powerful king, the Syrian monarch also sent along thirty thousand pieces of silver, six thousand pieces of gold, and ten fine changes of clothing rich in brocade and of the best fabric – powerful gifts from one powerful king to another on behalf of a powerful soldier.
Not surprisingly, the king of Israel wanted nothing to do with the situation – in spite of the silver and gold and ten new brocaded outfits. Wary of a trick or some sort of political high jinx, he was all ready to send Naaman packing when the prophet Elisha stepped in.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Elisha said to the king of Israel for whom he prophesized. “Just send Naaman to me. I will cure him – and in doing so show him how powerful a real prophet – a prophet of Israel – can be.”
And so the most powerful generalissimo gathered up his most powerful gifts of silver and gold and brocaded outfits and knocked on Elisha’s door. Fully expecting that a powerful military commander of his stature would be greeted by the powerful prophet himself, Naaman was a more than a little taken aback when a servant – again with no name – bowed before him, bringing only a message from Elisha.
What moxie this prophet of Yahweh had in the face of such political and military power! Imagine - Elisha staying inside and sending a messenger boy instead.
“Elisha says to wash seven times in the Jordan River, and you will be healed,” the young servant said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Take a bath? He wants me to take a bath? I came all this way to have him tell me to take a bath? In the muddy Jordan River, no less?” Naaman shouted in his most enraged and powerful voice even as he loudly dissed the Israeli watering hole. “When I have got far better and cleaner rivers back home in Syria than any river I could possibly find here in Israel? Do you know what they DO in the Jordan River? Laundry, that’s what. And who knows what else. Swimming in the Jordan River? Your prophet has got to be kidding. I am out of here.”
And the most powerful generalissimo began turning the horses and mules around, his loud voice still muttering expletives and critiques. And once again it was the small and powerless voices of servants – Naaman’s this time - who saved the day. Imagine – servants telling their masters what to do.
“Oh, most powerful generalissimo,” his servants whispered in quavering voices. “If Elisha had told you to do something hard or dangerous or expensive, you would have obeyed. Just dunk yourself in the Jordan River. Just try it. Just do it.”
And Naaman the powerful generalissimo – in spite of his injured pride - took the advice of the powerless ones – and dipped himself into the muddy Jordan. One, two, three, four, five, six – and a seventh time. And lo and behold, just as Elisha said, Naaman was healed.
This is a story about power. It is a story about those people we have bestowed power upon and those we have deemed to be powerless. It is a story of the power of kings and generalissimos and that of slaves and servants.
But it is also the story of mega-churches – and small membership congregations. It is the story of Washington - and the man on the street, Walmart and the small business person. It is the story of Wall Street -and Main Street, agribusiness and local farmers. It is the story of us – you and me - and the power that we in fact do have even we when are deemed – or feel ourselves to be - powerless.
All the power of the King of Syria and all the power of Naaman could not cure the generalissimo of his leprosy. All of their shouting and loud voices, their orders, proclamations, and directives could not restore his health.
It was the little voices – the whispering of the powerless ones – that made the difference: the slave girl’s quiet suggestion in the hallway to send Naaman to Elisha in the first place, the shy voice of the messenger speaking the words of the cure, the reticent servants pleading with their master to just take a swim in the Jordan.
When you really think about it, even the power of God channeled though Elisha would not have made a whit of difference had it not been for the slave girl, the messenger, and the pleading servants. It was they – the powerless ones – who in the end played the most important role in the story – and made all the difference.
I have to tell you. I find this tale personally very empowering. You see, I do not think we are like the Kings of Syria and Israel. Neither are we like the generalissimo Naaman. I see us more as the slave girl and messenger and bevy of pleading servants. At least, that is how I see myself.
And yet, there is power within us - a power to love, a power to commit ourselves to economic and social justice, a power that is the powerful message of the Gospel.
I believe that if we choose to wield that power, like the powerless ones in our Scripture lesson, we can make a difference. We can be a catalyst for healing – for the healing of the whole world.
Now, because today is Independence Day, I would like to leave you with something to carry with you to all your parades and celebrations – and that is this.
We in this country are NOT exceptional people. We are not the Naaman’s and the Syrian Kings - though we have certainly done our share of proclaiming and directing in loud and authoritative voices. We have bestowed a power upon ourselves and deemed others to be powerless.
No - we are not exceptional people – but our style of government is exceptional and the fact that our democracy has remained in tact for over 200 years is exceptional. That each one of us can exercise the power within us to make a difference is exceptional. That the little voices – when they choose to speak out - are honored is exceptional. That Margaret Mead’s observation has the potential to be so true in our nation is exceptional: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
Let your little voice be heard, for therein lies its power!
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
But the voices are just a way understanding what the story is really about – and that is power. It is the story of the power of those people on whom we most often bestow power – rulers and military commanders – and it is the story of the power of those we deem to be powerless – servants, slave girls, and messengers.
This is a story about voices – and power behind those voices. It is the story of the great Syrian generalissimo Naaman and how he was healed of a terrible skin disease, commonly known as leprosy.
We hear Naaman’s story only once in the three year cycle of the lectionary. Who was he anyway? If we were ancient military historians, then surely we would know all about him. After all, he had proved himself on the battlefield time and time again. Why, it was his army that had brought down powerful King Ahab with a well-placed arrow.
His own Syrian king had great respect for Naaman and held him in the highest esteem. After all, Naaman’s uniform was weighted down and decorated with various medals of honor, distinguished service medals, and purple hearts.
He had everything going for him – well, just about everything - until that evening when he felt the first sensation of numbness in his right hand – his sword hand - and he noticed a small patch of redness and those telltale tiny raised pustules.
“How can this be? Where is the fairness in my plight?” He shouted in his loudest and most powerful generalissimo voice. And he lay awake all that night until dawn - the refrain of “Untouchable! Untouchable! -” knitting together his terrible nightmares.
As author and seminary professor, Barbara Brown Taylor, noted, even the simplest of everyday encounters would inevitably change for Naaman. The powerful generalissimo knew that there would soon be a time when his success and fame and power would mean very little.
Instead there would be the awkward discomfort of someone who might not want to shake his hand or who could not help but stare too long at his disfigurement.
Needless to say, his wife was distraught as well, and his entire household stood by, horrified at the grisly news of Naaman’s dreadful but sure demise.
As the fingers of dawn first began to part the night sky and before the sun arose, one of Naaman’s war trophies, a little nameless slave girl went to Naaman’s wife, her little slave girl voice quavering as she whispered to her mistress in a darkened backstairs hallway. “The prophet in Samaria – Naaman should go to him. He could heal my master.”
When Naaman heard these whispered words of hope, he went to his king who, of course, would do anything to save the powerful generalissimo. And so the powerful king of Syria wrote a most powerful letter of introduction to the equally powerful king of Israel: This is to inform you that you must cure my most powerful generalissimo of his disease.
Figuring that perhaps a letter might not be quite enough to sway an equally powerful king, the Syrian monarch also sent along thirty thousand pieces of silver, six thousand pieces of gold, and ten fine changes of clothing rich in brocade and of the best fabric – powerful gifts from one powerful king to another on behalf of a powerful soldier.
Not surprisingly, the king of Israel wanted nothing to do with the situation – in spite of the silver and gold and ten new brocaded outfits. Wary of a trick or some sort of political high jinx, he was all ready to send Naaman packing when the prophet Elisha stepped in.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Elisha said to the king of Israel for whom he prophesized. “Just send Naaman to me. I will cure him – and in doing so show him how powerful a real prophet – a prophet of Israel – can be.”
And so the most powerful generalissimo gathered up his most powerful gifts of silver and gold and brocaded outfits and knocked on Elisha’s door. Fully expecting that a powerful military commander of his stature would be greeted by the powerful prophet himself, Naaman was a more than a little taken aback when a servant – again with no name – bowed before him, bringing only a message from Elisha.
What moxie this prophet of Yahweh had in the face of such political and military power! Imagine - Elisha staying inside and sending a messenger boy instead.
“Elisha says to wash seven times in the Jordan River, and you will be healed,” the young servant said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Take a bath? He wants me to take a bath? I came all this way to have him tell me to take a bath? In the muddy Jordan River, no less?” Naaman shouted in his most enraged and powerful voice even as he loudly dissed the Israeli watering hole. “When I have got far better and cleaner rivers back home in Syria than any river I could possibly find here in Israel? Do you know what they DO in the Jordan River? Laundry, that’s what. And who knows what else. Swimming in the Jordan River? Your prophet has got to be kidding. I am out of here.”
And the most powerful generalissimo began turning the horses and mules around, his loud voice still muttering expletives and critiques. And once again it was the small and powerless voices of servants – Naaman’s this time - who saved the day. Imagine – servants telling their masters what to do.
“Oh, most powerful generalissimo,” his servants whispered in quavering voices. “If Elisha had told you to do something hard or dangerous or expensive, you would have obeyed. Just dunk yourself in the Jordan River. Just try it. Just do it.”
And Naaman the powerful generalissimo – in spite of his injured pride - took the advice of the powerless ones – and dipped himself into the muddy Jordan. One, two, three, four, five, six – and a seventh time. And lo and behold, just as Elisha said, Naaman was healed.
This is a story about power. It is a story about those people we have bestowed power upon and those we have deemed to be powerless. It is a story of the power of kings and generalissimos and that of slaves and servants.
But it is also the story of mega-churches – and small membership congregations. It is the story of Washington - and the man on the street, Walmart and the small business person. It is the story of Wall Street -and Main Street, agribusiness and local farmers. It is the story of us – you and me - and the power that we in fact do have even we when are deemed – or feel ourselves to be - powerless.
All the power of the King of Syria and all the power of Naaman could not cure the generalissimo of his leprosy. All of their shouting and loud voices, their orders, proclamations, and directives could not restore his health.
It was the little voices – the whispering of the powerless ones – that made the difference: the slave girl’s quiet suggestion in the hallway to send Naaman to Elisha in the first place, the shy voice of the messenger speaking the words of the cure, the reticent servants pleading with their master to just take a swim in the Jordan.
When you really think about it, even the power of God channeled though Elisha would not have made a whit of difference had it not been for the slave girl, the messenger, and the pleading servants. It was they – the powerless ones – who in the end played the most important role in the story – and made all the difference.
I have to tell you. I find this tale personally very empowering. You see, I do not think we are like the Kings of Syria and Israel. Neither are we like the generalissimo Naaman. I see us more as the slave girl and messenger and bevy of pleading servants. At least, that is how I see myself.
And yet, there is power within us - a power to love, a power to commit ourselves to economic and social justice, a power that is the powerful message of the Gospel.
I believe that if we choose to wield that power, like the powerless ones in our Scripture lesson, we can make a difference. We can be a catalyst for healing – for the healing of the whole world.
Now, because today is Independence Day, I would like to leave you with something to carry with you to all your parades and celebrations – and that is this.
We in this country are NOT exceptional people. We are not the Naaman’s and the Syrian Kings - though we have certainly done our share of proclaiming and directing in loud and authoritative voices. We have bestowed a power upon ourselves and deemed others to be powerless.
No - we are not exceptional people – but our style of government is exceptional and the fact that our democracy has remained in tact for over 200 years is exceptional. That each one of us can exercise the power within us to make a difference is exceptional. That the little voices – when they choose to speak out - are honored is exceptional. That Margaret Mead’s observation has the potential to be so true in our nation is exceptional: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
Let your little voice be heard, for therein lies its power!
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
2 Kings 2:1-14 A Double Dose
Apparently the old prophet Elijah understood that his days in this world were numbered. He seemed to have an inkling that it was his time to leave this earth for whatever it was that would come next for him. I can imagine that he was fatigued enough – even spiritually depleted enough at least some of the time – to sense in a distant corner of his ancient heart that his work was done.
As one of the most noteworthy prophets to the kings of Israel, Elijah had always been devoted to his God, Yahweh. He had championed this Holy One – even under the most difficult of circumstances: Like the time he had to break the news to King Ahab of a multi-year, country-wide drought. And the reason for the extended dry season was because Ahab had insisted upon looking the other way when his wife, Jezebel, and a majority of the people in his kingdom insisted upon worshiping in their curious cults, worshipping pagan gods like Baal rather than the one true God of Israel, Yahweh.
That particular disagreement between Elijah and Ahab had climaxed in a fiery display of Yahweh’s power at a good old-fashioned theological showdown between the true prophet, Elijah, and the 400 lesser prophets of Baal.
Elijah remembered the afternoon vividly - how Yahweh’s altar was consumed in miraculous flames from heaven while Baal’s altar was left untouched. No one could argue after that display that Yahweh was clearly the winner.
Oh, Queen Jezebel had been furious, so angry that Elijah had no choice but to flee the country and live as an exile and refugee for years until it all blew over. Oh, yes, Elijah had tried to keep King Ahab in line, but a prophet’s life is not an easy one. That was for certain.
We should not be too surprised then at this morning’s tale of Elijah trying so hard to meet his Maker – but all the while his A-one follower, Elisha, being unwilling to leave his side and let him go. The story is at once poignant and hilarious.
“You stay here,” Elijah had said. “I have to go to Bethel.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Elisha replied. “I am sticking with you – like glue.”
“You stay here,” Elijah tried again. “I have to go to, ah, Jericho.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Elisha replied with unstoppable youthful exuberance. “You can not trick me. I am sticking with you – like glue – and I will follow you not only to Bethel but all the way to Jericho as well.”
Even the local prophets and soothsayers who watched the antics of the one old and one young Jew pulled at their beards and shook their shaggy heads. They finally pulled Elisha aside and said to him, “Elisha, this is hardly rocket science. You do not have to be a prophet to understand what is going on here. It is time for Elijah to go to his God – and you simply can not go with him.”
“Yes, I know,” Elisha replied evenly. “But I do not want to talk about it.”
“You stay here,” Elijah tried one last time. “I have to go to the Jordan River.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Elisha replied once again as 50 of the most curious local prophets and soothsayers followed and looked on, tut tutting and clucking as only local prophets and soothsayers can.
“You are not getting off the hook that easily. I am sticking with you – like glue – even if I have to cross the mighty Jordan River to do it.”
“Fine,” Elijah replied in a tired and cranky voice.
And so the leader and his A-one follower continued walking together all the way to the Jordan River. Elijah must have figured that Elisha was bound and determined to stick by him - like glue - because when he got to the river’s edge, instead of arguing one more time, Elijah simply snapped his cloak over the waters, and the waters parted – like other waters had parted so long ago for Moses and the Hebrew slaves - and the two prophets – old tired Elijah and young energetic Elisha – crossed over together to the other side.
Then Elijah turned to the young upstart beside him. “Elisha, Elisha,” he queried. “You have followed me and learned from me. You have taken all that I can give to you. You have not left my side. You have stuck to me like glue – even when I did not want you around – to Bethel, to Jericho, and now to the far side of the Jordan River. What is it that you want from me?”
And Elisha looked with great love and deep respect into the old clouded eyes of his mentor. “I want to be a holy man just like you.” But he wanted more than that really. Elisha knew he had a tough act to follow. He knew he needed what amounted to a first son’s share of the inheritance, and he so asked for it.
“Let me inherit a double dose of your spirit,” Elisha begged. “Let your spirit have double force in me because of these dangerous times. Let me have the most of you – more than any other prophet.”
There, it was out - in the open – all the hopes and fears of Elisha, who deep down inside knew that he was to be the next spiritual leader of his people.
“Oh, Elijah,” he continued. “Your sandals are too big for me to fill. What am I to do? How am I to follow someone like you? How will I face what is ahead when I leave the banks of this river? I need to know what to say when people ask me about my faith, why I do what I do, why my God is so important to me. Oh, Elijah, I need your spirit. Because I am half the man you are, I need a double dose of it if I am to do the work Yahweh has called me to do.”
“That would be difficult,” Elijah replied. “But not impossible.”
And then a great wind came, whipping up and frothing the waves of the Jordan. And out of the wind came a chariot that was consumed in fire, and suddenly Elijah was not there anymore. Not really dead apparently – simply taken up to finally meet his God.
For Elisha, the afternoon’s event was both dramatic and devastating – his mentor gone – this time for good - the aloneness and inadequacy already seeping into the very core of his being.
There is a story about a famous preacher who was a bit of a fraud. You see, his sermons were astounding, but no one ever realized that they had all been written by a staff assistant. Finally the assistant’s patience ran out, and one day the preacher was speaking to thousands of expectant listeners and at the bottom of page two read the stirring words, “And this, my friends, takes us to the very heart of the book of Habakkuk, which is…” only to turn to page three and see nothing but the dreaded words, “You’re on your own now.”
That was how Elisha felt. He too was on his own, knowing full well that he would never see Elijah again. The only piece of his mentor that remained lay on the ground – his cloak, his mantle. Elisha picked it up and pressed it close to his face, breathing deeply of the human odor that was so “Elijah” even as he sobbed, even as the feelings of aloneness and inadequacy flooded his heart.
And when he could weep no longer, feeling more lacking than ever in his ability to fill Elijah’s sandals, Elisha wiped away his tears and put the cloak – the mantle - over his shoulders.
And lo and behold, when he did, he seemed to stand a little taller. And the road looked a little straighter. And the world appeared less daunting.
Could it be that in picking up Elijah’s mantle, Elisha had also picked up his spirit, a double dose of his spirit? Could it be that the spirit was there all the time, but he had to pick up the mantle to know that? Could it be that he first had to say yes to becoming Israel’s next great prophet (symbolized by putting on the mantle) – and only then did he discover that he had that double dose of Elijah’s spirit, the double dose he needed to be the leader he was called to be?
I think that is part of the truth of this passage. Elisha had to say yes to his call – even though he felt inadequate to the task - and only then did he receive the Spirit necessary to fulfill that call.
And so it is for us, I think – you and I – in our calls to ministry….Oh, Jesus, your sandals are too big for me to fill. What am I to do? How am I to follow someone like you? How will I face what is ahead when I leave this place of worship and go out to be your Body in the world? I need to know what to say when people ask me about my faith, why I do what I do in your name, why God – and church – are so important to me. Oh, Jesus, I need your spirit – all you can spare – if I am to do the work you have called me to do.
Pick up the mantle, I think Jesus would say. Be like Elisha, and pick up the mantle. Just do it. Say yes to your calling to be my disciple. Have faith enough to first say yes, trusting that if you do, the spirit – the courage and strength – will come. But you have to pick up the mantle of discipleship first – mo matter how inadequate to the task you may feel. First pick up the mantle and then you will receive your share of the spirit you need to fulfill your call.
Elisha knew he had received a double dose of Elijah’s spirit only when he put on his mentor’s cloak or mantle. I think it might be the same for us.
First, we make a commitment to the way of Jesus by saying yes to justice, yes to peace, yes to loving our neighbor as ourselves – all the while, like Elisha, not knowing how in heaven’s name we are ever going to actually transform our lives, ever going to actually walk the way of justice, of peace, of loving our neighbors as ourselves.
Then, when the commitment is made, when all we really have to rely on is faith – and grace – only then will we know that the Spirit has come to us as it did Elisha.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
As one of the most noteworthy prophets to the kings of Israel, Elijah had always been devoted to his God, Yahweh. He had championed this Holy One – even under the most difficult of circumstances: Like the time he had to break the news to King Ahab of a multi-year, country-wide drought. And the reason for the extended dry season was because Ahab had insisted upon looking the other way when his wife, Jezebel, and a majority of the people in his kingdom insisted upon worshiping in their curious cults, worshipping pagan gods like Baal rather than the one true God of Israel, Yahweh.
That particular disagreement between Elijah and Ahab had climaxed in a fiery display of Yahweh’s power at a good old-fashioned theological showdown between the true prophet, Elijah, and the 400 lesser prophets of Baal.
Elijah remembered the afternoon vividly - how Yahweh’s altar was consumed in miraculous flames from heaven while Baal’s altar was left untouched. No one could argue after that display that Yahweh was clearly the winner.
Oh, Queen Jezebel had been furious, so angry that Elijah had no choice but to flee the country and live as an exile and refugee for years until it all blew over. Oh, yes, Elijah had tried to keep King Ahab in line, but a prophet’s life is not an easy one. That was for certain.
We should not be too surprised then at this morning’s tale of Elijah trying so hard to meet his Maker – but all the while his A-one follower, Elisha, being unwilling to leave his side and let him go. The story is at once poignant and hilarious.
“You stay here,” Elijah had said. “I have to go to Bethel.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Elisha replied. “I am sticking with you – like glue.”
“You stay here,” Elijah tried again. “I have to go to, ah, Jericho.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Elisha replied with unstoppable youthful exuberance. “You can not trick me. I am sticking with you – like glue – and I will follow you not only to Bethel but all the way to Jericho as well.”
Even the local prophets and soothsayers who watched the antics of the one old and one young Jew pulled at their beards and shook their shaggy heads. They finally pulled Elisha aside and said to him, “Elisha, this is hardly rocket science. You do not have to be a prophet to understand what is going on here. It is time for Elijah to go to his God – and you simply can not go with him.”
“Yes, I know,” Elisha replied evenly. “But I do not want to talk about it.”
“You stay here,” Elijah tried one last time. “I have to go to the Jordan River.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Elisha replied once again as 50 of the most curious local prophets and soothsayers followed and looked on, tut tutting and clucking as only local prophets and soothsayers can.
“You are not getting off the hook that easily. I am sticking with you – like glue – even if I have to cross the mighty Jordan River to do it.”
“Fine,” Elijah replied in a tired and cranky voice.
And so the leader and his A-one follower continued walking together all the way to the Jordan River. Elijah must have figured that Elisha was bound and determined to stick by him - like glue - because when he got to the river’s edge, instead of arguing one more time, Elijah simply snapped his cloak over the waters, and the waters parted – like other waters had parted so long ago for Moses and the Hebrew slaves - and the two prophets – old tired Elijah and young energetic Elisha – crossed over together to the other side.
Then Elijah turned to the young upstart beside him. “Elisha, Elisha,” he queried. “You have followed me and learned from me. You have taken all that I can give to you. You have not left my side. You have stuck to me like glue – even when I did not want you around – to Bethel, to Jericho, and now to the far side of the Jordan River. What is it that you want from me?”
And Elisha looked with great love and deep respect into the old clouded eyes of his mentor. “I want to be a holy man just like you.” But he wanted more than that really. Elisha knew he had a tough act to follow. He knew he needed what amounted to a first son’s share of the inheritance, and he so asked for it.
“Let me inherit a double dose of your spirit,” Elisha begged. “Let your spirit have double force in me because of these dangerous times. Let me have the most of you – more than any other prophet.”
There, it was out - in the open – all the hopes and fears of Elisha, who deep down inside knew that he was to be the next spiritual leader of his people.
“Oh, Elijah,” he continued. “Your sandals are too big for me to fill. What am I to do? How am I to follow someone like you? How will I face what is ahead when I leave the banks of this river? I need to know what to say when people ask me about my faith, why I do what I do, why my God is so important to me. Oh, Elijah, I need your spirit. Because I am half the man you are, I need a double dose of it if I am to do the work Yahweh has called me to do.”
“That would be difficult,” Elijah replied. “But not impossible.”
And then a great wind came, whipping up and frothing the waves of the Jordan. And out of the wind came a chariot that was consumed in fire, and suddenly Elijah was not there anymore. Not really dead apparently – simply taken up to finally meet his God.
For Elisha, the afternoon’s event was both dramatic and devastating – his mentor gone – this time for good - the aloneness and inadequacy already seeping into the very core of his being.
There is a story about a famous preacher who was a bit of a fraud. You see, his sermons were astounding, but no one ever realized that they had all been written by a staff assistant. Finally the assistant’s patience ran out, and one day the preacher was speaking to thousands of expectant listeners and at the bottom of page two read the stirring words, “And this, my friends, takes us to the very heart of the book of Habakkuk, which is…” only to turn to page three and see nothing but the dreaded words, “You’re on your own now.”
That was how Elisha felt. He too was on his own, knowing full well that he would never see Elijah again. The only piece of his mentor that remained lay on the ground – his cloak, his mantle. Elisha picked it up and pressed it close to his face, breathing deeply of the human odor that was so “Elijah” even as he sobbed, even as the feelings of aloneness and inadequacy flooded his heart.
And when he could weep no longer, feeling more lacking than ever in his ability to fill Elijah’s sandals, Elisha wiped away his tears and put the cloak – the mantle - over his shoulders.
And lo and behold, when he did, he seemed to stand a little taller. And the road looked a little straighter. And the world appeared less daunting.
Could it be that in picking up Elijah’s mantle, Elisha had also picked up his spirit, a double dose of his spirit? Could it be that the spirit was there all the time, but he had to pick up the mantle to know that? Could it be that he first had to say yes to becoming Israel’s next great prophet (symbolized by putting on the mantle) – and only then did he discover that he had that double dose of Elijah’s spirit, the double dose he needed to be the leader he was called to be?
I think that is part of the truth of this passage. Elisha had to say yes to his call – even though he felt inadequate to the task - and only then did he receive the Spirit necessary to fulfill that call.
And so it is for us, I think – you and I – in our calls to ministry….Oh, Jesus, your sandals are too big for me to fill. What am I to do? How am I to follow someone like you? How will I face what is ahead when I leave this place of worship and go out to be your Body in the world? I need to know what to say when people ask me about my faith, why I do what I do in your name, why God – and church – are so important to me. Oh, Jesus, I need your spirit – all you can spare – if I am to do the work you have called me to do.
Pick up the mantle, I think Jesus would say. Be like Elisha, and pick up the mantle. Just do it. Say yes to your calling to be my disciple. Have faith enough to first say yes, trusting that if you do, the spirit – the courage and strength – will come. But you have to pick up the mantle of discipleship first – mo matter how inadequate to the task you may feel. First pick up the mantle and then you will receive your share of the spirit you need to fulfill your call.
Elisha knew he had received a double dose of Elijah’s spirit only when he put on his mentor’s cloak or mantle. I think it might be the same for us.
First, we make a commitment to the way of Jesus by saying yes to justice, yes to peace, yes to loving our neighbor as ourselves – all the while, like Elisha, not knowing how in heaven’s name we are ever going to actually transform our lives, ever going to actually walk the way of justice, of peace, of loving our neighbors as ourselves.
Then, when the commitment is made, when all we really have to rely on is faith – and grace – only then will we know that the Spirit has come to us as it did Elisha.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
1 Kings 19:1-4, 8-15 In the Silence
Because we have not used the lectionary to choose our scripture reading for the past couple of weeks – what with Children’s Sunday two weeks ago and then a guest preacher last week – today we find ourselves thrown into the middle of the story of one of the earliest and most famous of all the Jewish prophets, Elijah. Let’s take a moment to catch up on what the Biblical writer has told us so far about this man in this first history book about the Kings of Israel.
Now, if we were to go back a couple of chapters, we would find that Elijah began to strut his stuff as a prophet on the day he confidently proclaimed to the currently reigning King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel, that there was simply no way around what was going to happen.
Elijah told them in no uncertain terms that they better get used to the fact that Ahab’s kingdom would soon be consumed in drought. “There won’t be a drop of rain – or even dew for that matter – for the next two or three years – in fact, the drought will not end until I say so,” Elijah announced. Pretty heady stuff for a rookie prophet!
But lo and behold, that is exactly what occurred. The grasses started to wither and die. Ahab could not help but begin to fear that there would not be enough grain to feed the horses and mules - let alone enough to feed the people.
Now, being a prophet and harbinger of bad news to boot is not an easy task. It is little wonder then that Elijah decided he would be better off keeping a low profile – staying beneath the radar screen - for the next three years.
However, grudges die hard, especially in the face of a major drought. Surely then, Elijah should not have been surprised even after all that time that Ahab’s first words to him when he presented himself in the royal court were “So there you are – the worst troublemaker in Israel.”
“Hey!” Elijah responded. “Do not shoot the messenger. I am not the troublemaker. You are – what with you and Jezebel encouraging everyone to worship all those idols of Baal (one of the local pagan cults) instead of our God, Yahweh.”
Ah, here was the crux of the matter. Yahweh or Baal? And because these ancient peoples were not particularly drawn to civil discourse as a way to resolve their disagreements, this difference in religious perspective led to an impressive theological showdown – kind of like a spiritual shootout to determine who was the real God – Baal or Yahweh? UCC pastor Joe Dunham describes the scene like this:
“On one side were 450 prophets of Baal, and the 400 priests of Asherah, and, on the other side, Elijah. He has an altar built for each side, each laid with wood and a bull cut up and put on each altar but no fire started.
So (Elijah) invites the prophets of Baal to call on their god to consume their offering. They pray and dance. Nothing happens. They chant and cut themselves. Nothing happens.
Then Elijah begins to taunt them: Maybe your god is day dreaming and you need to try harder to get his attention; maybe he is off relieving himself (yes, that is in the Bible story), or maybe he has gone on a trip! Maybe your god is asleep--shout louder!
(Now) Elijah has water poured on the altar in front of him. He prays and fire descends from the sky and consumes everything--meat, wood, water and rocks! It's quite a fireworks display. (And then) at Elijah's urging, the people seize the prophets of Baal and put them to the sword.
(And) the rain begins to fall to break the drought. Ahab rides off in his chariot and Elijah runs ahead of him all the way back to the city….
(Now, back at the palace) Jezebel is not pleased with the news about what Elijah has done…(After all, Baal was her god and those 400 plus prophets all reported to the queen). (In fact), she seethes with anger and sends the message to Elijah--"I'll get you for this!"… (Knowing enough not to trifle with a woman like Jezebel), Elijah beats it out of town.”
It is here that our scripture for today begins – and we find our prophet under a royal death sentence, now a refugee fleeing the northern kingdom of Israel, half starved, ready to give it all up under a miserable old broom tree, a bush hardly able to shade a bird, much less a man, and surely asking himself where Yahweh was whom he had so recently championed in such a spectacular way. Where was God now that Elijah himself really needed the Holy One?
And so we come upon Elijah walking – really more symbolically than literally – walking in the wilderness for forty days until he reaches Mount Sinai, the holy mountain of Moses, and there he crawls into a cave for the night.
Perhaps he thought that surely he would confront God here in this most sacred of Hebrew places, for it was at precisely this locale that Moses long ago had encountered Yahweh in the earthquake, wind, and fire on the summit.
The words of the ancient tale came back to Elijah vividly as he lay curled up in his cave: “Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke, (he remembered) because the Lord descended upon it in fire; and the smoke of it went up like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain quaked greatly. And as the sound of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses spoke, and God answered him in thunder.”
Surely, Elijah thought, he too – being a prophet as well – would have a similar experience and be reaffirmed of God’s presence in his life in the form of some pyrotechnic display of power.
But, no, that is not what happened to Elijah. Unlike his illustrious ancestor, Elijah was chilled by the mighty and furious wind that split the nearby hills and shattered the rocks about him – but God was not in the wind.
Elijah felt the earth shake, rattle, and roll beneath his feet as he wondered whether the cave he hid in would collapse around him – but God was not in the earthquake.
Elijah felt the scorching heat of fire erupting and consuming everything in the near vicinity of the cave – but God was not in the fire.
And then - and then - there was silence – absolute silence. And out of the silence came a whisper no louder than the sound of butterfly wings – and, in that silence, Elijah found God. When all the sound had drained away, when and where he least expected it, physically fatigued, mentally frazzled, spiritually fractured, Elijah found God – and a fresh start and a new beginning.
We live in a world of sound, you and I. We have created a culture of noise. We are hooked up to our Ipods, listening to the thousands of songs we have downloaded. We keep our television sets on - blaring out the news, The Bachelorette, and Grey’s Anatomy - even when we are not watching them. We talk on our cell phones as we hurtle down the interstate at 70 miles an hour.
We go to sleep to the sound of white noise – the whoosh of waves hitting a beach on some island paradise. And we wake up to the sound of birds merrily chirping in our clocks or maybe the alarm just incessantly ringing.
There is a movie with Gina Davis entitled “The Accidental Tourist.” In it, she plays an extremely extraverted receptionist who works in a veterinarian’s office. One afternoon, she is carrying on a very one-sided conversation with a man attempting to pick up his dog.
After she has rattled on about everything and nothing, she pauses and poses a question to the man. “Don’t you sometimes,” she asks, “just like to pick up the phone and call someone – just to talk?”
We surround ourselves with people – and we talk – at parties, in bars, on airplanes. We talk with people we know and to people we do not know. We fill all our lives with words and noise. It is almost as if we are shoving the silence as far away as possible, constructing walls and barriers of noise to keep the silence at bay.
Why? I think maybe we are afraid of silence, afraid of what we might find if we intentionally push away the words and noise and let the silence seep in. Will it be scary? Will it feel empty? Will we be lonely? Will it be more than we can handle?
And yet, most people will claim that their deepest spiritual moments, those times when they have felt God most acutely and vividly, occurred when the noise around them finally subsided. Maybe it happened in the silence of a rainbow or a sunrise.
Maybe it happened in a hospice room as a beloved gently and quietly moved to whatever it is that comes next. Maybe it happened when a hand was held in silence because words were not necessary in the presence of the Almighty.
There is something to be said for the silence that we all so studiously avoid. Oh, it is true - sometimes we will find God in the fury of the wind, the quaking of the earth, and the pyrotechnics of the fire – but not always.
Elijah discovered that fact as he stood in the mouth of a cave on Mount Sinai, so sure that God would come to him in the same way God had once come to Moses. Sometimes we find God in the noise, but always, if we are patient, mindful, and intentional, always we will find God in the silence. I think that is at least part of the truth we can glean from this story of one of Judaism’s most powerful prophets.
And so your challenge this week is to be like Elijah in that cave. You see, too often we, like the prophet, expect “God to be present in dramatic manifestations and astounding miracles. And so God is, sometimes. But to a prophet at the end of his tether, drained of strength and wishing he were dead, it is not supernatural displays of power, but God’s whispered word that will speak to him at his time of crisis.”
Maybe it can be that way for us too. And so my charge to each one of you is to intentionally push the noise away and rest for a while sometime this week. Make the time to let the words that define your life fade away for awhile.
Breathe deeply of the silence – and you too may be as surprised as Elijah was when, in that silence, when he least expected it, the ancient prophet found God – and a new beginning. May it be the same for you. In the silence, may you hear the gentle whisper of God, speaking not even words, but simply encouragement and, most of all, love and a peace which passes all our understanding.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
Now, if we were to go back a couple of chapters, we would find that Elijah began to strut his stuff as a prophet on the day he confidently proclaimed to the currently reigning King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel, that there was simply no way around what was going to happen.
Elijah told them in no uncertain terms that they better get used to the fact that Ahab’s kingdom would soon be consumed in drought. “There won’t be a drop of rain – or even dew for that matter – for the next two or three years – in fact, the drought will not end until I say so,” Elijah announced. Pretty heady stuff for a rookie prophet!
But lo and behold, that is exactly what occurred. The grasses started to wither and die. Ahab could not help but begin to fear that there would not be enough grain to feed the horses and mules - let alone enough to feed the people.
Now, being a prophet and harbinger of bad news to boot is not an easy task. It is little wonder then that Elijah decided he would be better off keeping a low profile – staying beneath the radar screen - for the next three years.
However, grudges die hard, especially in the face of a major drought. Surely then, Elijah should not have been surprised even after all that time that Ahab’s first words to him when he presented himself in the royal court were “So there you are – the worst troublemaker in Israel.”
“Hey!” Elijah responded. “Do not shoot the messenger. I am not the troublemaker. You are – what with you and Jezebel encouraging everyone to worship all those idols of Baal (one of the local pagan cults) instead of our God, Yahweh.”
Ah, here was the crux of the matter. Yahweh or Baal? And because these ancient peoples were not particularly drawn to civil discourse as a way to resolve their disagreements, this difference in religious perspective led to an impressive theological showdown – kind of like a spiritual shootout to determine who was the real God – Baal or Yahweh? UCC pastor Joe Dunham describes the scene like this:
“On one side were 450 prophets of Baal, and the 400 priests of Asherah, and, on the other side, Elijah. He has an altar built for each side, each laid with wood and a bull cut up and put on each altar but no fire started.
So (Elijah) invites the prophets of Baal to call on their god to consume their offering. They pray and dance. Nothing happens. They chant and cut themselves. Nothing happens.
Then Elijah begins to taunt them: Maybe your god is day dreaming and you need to try harder to get his attention; maybe he is off relieving himself (yes, that is in the Bible story), or maybe he has gone on a trip! Maybe your god is asleep--shout louder!
(Now) Elijah has water poured on the altar in front of him. He prays and fire descends from the sky and consumes everything--meat, wood, water and rocks! It's quite a fireworks display. (And then) at Elijah's urging, the people seize the prophets of Baal and put them to the sword.
(And) the rain begins to fall to break the drought. Ahab rides off in his chariot and Elijah runs ahead of him all the way back to the city….
(Now, back at the palace) Jezebel is not pleased with the news about what Elijah has done…(After all, Baal was her god and those 400 plus prophets all reported to the queen). (In fact), she seethes with anger and sends the message to Elijah--"I'll get you for this!"… (Knowing enough not to trifle with a woman like Jezebel), Elijah beats it out of town.”
It is here that our scripture for today begins – and we find our prophet under a royal death sentence, now a refugee fleeing the northern kingdom of Israel, half starved, ready to give it all up under a miserable old broom tree, a bush hardly able to shade a bird, much less a man, and surely asking himself where Yahweh was whom he had so recently championed in such a spectacular way. Where was God now that Elijah himself really needed the Holy One?
And so we come upon Elijah walking – really more symbolically than literally – walking in the wilderness for forty days until he reaches Mount Sinai, the holy mountain of Moses, and there he crawls into a cave for the night.
Perhaps he thought that surely he would confront God here in this most sacred of Hebrew places, for it was at precisely this locale that Moses long ago had encountered Yahweh in the earthquake, wind, and fire on the summit.
The words of the ancient tale came back to Elijah vividly as he lay curled up in his cave: “Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke, (he remembered) because the Lord descended upon it in fire; and the smoke of it went up like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain quaked greatly. And as the sound of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses spoke, and God answered him in thunder.”
Surely, Elijah thought, he too – being a prophet as well – would have a similar experience and be reaffirmed of God’s presence in his life in the form of some pyrotechnic display of power.
But, no, that is not what happened to Elijah. Unlike his illustrious ancestor, Elijah was chilled by the mighty and furious wind that split the nearby hills and shattered the rocks about him – but God was not in the wind.
Elijah felt the earth shake, rattle, and roll beneath his feet as he wondered whether the cave he hid in would collapse around him – but God was not in the earthquake.
Elijah felt the scorching heat of fire erupting and consuming everything in the near vicinity of the cave – but God was not in the fire.
And then - and then - there was silence – absolute silence. And out of the silence came a whisper no louder than the sound of butterfly wings – and, in that silence, Elijah found God. When all the sound had drained away, when and where he least expected it, physically fatigued, mentally frazzled, spiritually fractured, Elijah found God – and a fresh start and a new beginning.
We live in a world of sound, you and I. We have created a culture of noise. We are hooked up to our Ipods, listening to the thousands of songs we have downloaded. We keep our television sets on - blaring out the news, The Bachelorette, and Grey’s Anatomy - even when we are not watching them. We talk on our cell phones as we hurtle down the interstate at 70 miles an hour.
We go to sleep to the sound of white noise – the whoosh of waves hitting a beach on some island paradise. And we wake up to the sound of birds merrily chirping in our clocks or maybe the alarm just incessantly ringing.
There is a movie with Gina Davis entitled “The Accidental Tourist.” In it, she plays an extremely extraverted receptionist who works in a veterinarian’s office. One afternoon, she is carrying on a very one-sided conversation with a man attempting to pick up his dog.
After she has rattled on about everything and nothing, she pauses and poses a question to the man. “Don’t you sometimes,” she asks, “just like to pick up the phone and call someone – just to talk?”
We surround ourselves with people – and we talk – at parties, in bars, on airplanes. We talk with people we know and to people we do not know. We fill all our lives with words and noise. It is almost as if we are shoving the silence as far away as possible, constructing walls and barriers of noise to keep the silence at bay.
Why? I think maybe we are afraid of silence, afraid of what we might find if we intentionally push away the words and noise and let the silence seep in. Will it be scary? Will it feel empty? Will we be lonely? Will it be more than we can handle?
And yet, most people will claim that their deepest spiritual moments, those times when they have felt God most acutely and vividly, occurred when the noise around them finally subsided. Maybe it happened in the silence of a rainbow or a sunrise.
Maybe it happened in a hospice room as a beloved gently and quietly moved to whatever it is that comes next. Maybe it happened when a hand was held in silence because words were not necessary in the presence of the Almighty.
There is something to be said for the silence that we all so studiously avoid. Oh, it is true - sometimes we will find God in the fury of the wind, the quaking of the earth, and the pyrotechnics of the fire – but not always.
Elijah discovered that fact as he stood in the mouth of a cave on Mount Sinai, so sure that God would come to him in the same way God had once come to Moses. Sometimes we find God in the noise, but always, if we are patient, mindful, and intentional, always we will find God in the silence. I think that is at least part of the truth we can glean from this story of one of Judaism’s most powerful prophets.
And so your challenge this week is to be like Elijah in that cave. You see, too often we, like the prophet, expect “God to be present in dramatic manifestations and astounding miracles. And so God is, sometimes. But to a prophet at the end of his tether, drained of strength and wishing he were dead, it is not supernatural displays of power, but God’s whispered word that will speak to him at his time of crisis.”
Maybe it can be that way for us too. And so my charge to each one of you is to intentionally push the noise away and rest for a while sometime this week. Make the time to let the words that define your life fade away for awhile.
Breathe deeply of the silence – and you too may be as surprised as Elijah was when, in that silence, when he least expected it, the ancient prophet found God – and a new beginning. May it be the same for you. In the silence, may you hear the gentle whisper of God, speaking not even words, but simply encouragement and, most of all, love and a peace which passes all our understanding.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31 What is Wisdom Saying to Us?
Though it is not unique in the totality of the lectionary, it is a bit unusual to encounter the Book of Proverbs as a scripture for worshipful reflection. If you are like me, you think of Proverbs as that book of almost quaint Biblical one-liners with some plain commonsense nuggets thrown in – like “Pride goeth before the fall” or “Drinking too much makes you loud and foolish” or “If you tell lies in court, you will be punished.”
But did you know that there is a preface to all these little rules for better living, something to start them all off? The verses we just read are part of that preface and are not anything like the adages attributed to King Solomon that follow.
Instead, these verses are part of a beautiful poem in praise of wisdom – not simply knowledge, mind you, but wisdom. To be more precise, this poem is an accolade to God’s wisdom, with a capital “W” - and yes, this sacred Wisdom is personified as a “she.”
In this ode to Wisdom – Sophia, in the Greek – we discover that Wisdom was made in the very beginning, before the world was born. She was there before the oceans, before the mountains, before the fields and forests.
She was there before the sky was set in place, before the clouds. Wisdom was there when God laid the earth’s foundations and birthed the first peoples. You see, Wisdom is the innate order of the universe – the rules of nature – the way God organized all that is.
In short, Wisdom embodies God’s intent for the world. Wisdom is God’s holy imagining about the world at its very best. Wisdom is God’s sense of the meaning and purpose behind life on this sacred earth.
And down through the ages, since before the very beginning of time, Wisdom has spoken – and continues to speak. Wisdom utters words of direction and counsel. She speaks through the prophets and most certainly through Jesus.
Even today, in the midst of all the progress we have made, sounding through all our advanced technology, whispering in and around all our intellectual gymnastics and prowess, Wisdom has a message for us, and it is a message that we need to hear. No matter who we are or where we are on our spiritual journey, Wisdom still tells us what we need to know in order to live our lives as God intended.
What then is Wisdom saying to us?
Oh, lots of things, I suppose – though in the end they all have to do with simple concepts like love and reconciliation – neighbors helping neighbors even if one of them happens to be Samaritan, a ne’er do well brother welcomed home with a fatted calf and a warm bed in spite of his profligate and checkered past, banquet tables where rich and poor, beggar and prostitute, Israeli and Palestinian, American Christian and Muslim for once all sit down together and join hands and hearts in grace.
Surely that is how God imagines the world at its best.
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
What is Wisdom – God’s Wisdom - saying to us?
The prophet Isaiah would tell us this: “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.” (Isaiah 2:4)
Arline, my dearest –
Today is our 20th day in action, yet it seems like years. What has happened to me and my Battalion would be scoffed at, even in a ten cent novel, as being impossible. Why the few of us left alive – are alive – is something to figure out in church.
I’ve seen so many of my very best friends killed beside me. I just can’t believe it is all really happening. I never in my wildest dreams knew such terror could grip your very soul. The night we jumped – D-Day –was the pay off night. My chute was on fire from tracer bullets when I landed - right in front of a machine gun emplacement. I cut out of my harness and crawled for a couple of hours with bullets whistling past my ears coming from seemingly every direction. I can’t tell you what else went on.
My darling, I love you more than life itself – I’ve realized that many times these last 3 weeks when I thought I was going to be killed and always the regret of missing seeing and marrying you were topmost in my mind at the time. Goodbye for awhile – George.
Parachutes ablaze, bullets whistling past, gut-wrenching terror - this is not God’s intent. This can not be how God imagines the world at its best.
So then - what is wisdom – God’s Wisdom - saying to us?
The Apostle Paul would say: “Return no one evil for evil...live at peace with everyone” (Romans 12:17)
Dearest wife,
Many times like tonight – I have nothing to do but lay here and think- why I am here as well as all the men in my platoon – age makes no difference – there are very few kids over here – a few yes but they grow up fast or get killed. Why I have to watch a man die or get wounded – why I have to be the one to tell someone to do something that may get him blown away – but if I don’t we might all get blown away.
Babes, I don’t know what the answer is. Being a good platoon leader is a lonely job. I don’t want to really get to know anybody over here (in the rice paddies) because it would be bad enough to lose a man- I damn sure don’t want to lose a friend.” All my love always, Dean.
Such abject loneliness, that fear of getting too close to anyone, this is not God’s intent. This can not be how God imagines the world at its best.
So then - what is wisdom – God’s Wisdom - saying to us?
Paul would go on to say: “God has called us to live in peace…The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world.” (1 Corinthians 7:5, 2 Corinthians 10:4)
Dear Mom and Jim,
I went to work on the 17th of January at midnight. One hour later our commander told us it was time. Jet after jet screamed off into pitch black night loaded to the hilt with bombs bound for Iraq. The ground trembled for nearly half an hour until the last jet lifted off. And then it was quiet. Almost six months wondering which would prevail. Peace or war. Now I know. I stood there and felt sorry that it had come to this…. God forgive us.
It was daytime when the jets began to come back, and we counted them as they appeared off in the distance and landed. They all made it. We loaded new weapons, fresh pilots were brought in, and the jets were off again.
I can’t see how Iraq can take this pounding 24 hours a day for much longer. I hope it ends soon. Love, Frank
The jets screaming, the bombs pounding relentlessly, this is not God’s intent. This can not be how God imagines the world at its best. So then - what is wisdom – God’s Wisdom- saying to us?
Jesus summed it all up: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.” (Matthew 5:9)
Memorial Day Sunday is an odd sort of day in the American church. The church bulletin companies would have us believe that we are both irreligious and unpatriotic if we do not have the cross wrapped in the American flag, emblazoned on the front of a special bulletin cover.
There are those who would question our patriotism as well as the strength of our Christian beliefs if we did not set aside this Sunday to honor not only the dead but also the surviving who have lived a soldier’s life - because either way, the rationale goes, they have sacrificed great things for the glory of their country.
And there are those who would say that, on this particular Sunday, at the very least the church ought to provide a balance between an emphasis on striving for peace and remembering those who serve.
However, from my perspective, that is not the role of the church. The church is not about striking balances. Surely Jesus made that startlingly clear in his ministry – and living out the courage of that conviction is part of what lead to his untimely death.
No – the role of the church is always, always to look at the world through the eyes of Sophia, through the lens of God’s Wisdom that has been here since before the beginning, and then to have the courage if its convictions to tell the world in no uncertain terms what it sees.
And so the church looks at the typical American soldier in the tribute in the insert and generalizes it to include other young men – and women – from around the world. The church listens to the war letters we read this morning counterpointed by the Biblical calls for peace-making.
And the lens of Wisdom brings it all into focus. Wisdom tells us that war is not what God had in mind. Wisdom tells us that since the dawn of time, all of humanity has strayed from what God intended.
The realization of this squandered legacy is what the American church faces on Memorial Day Sunday – and it is both touching and terrifying. You see, it is not about patriotism. It is not about being appropriately religious and balanced. It is about Wisdom.
And so, in the end, with tears in our eyes, we do honor those who died at war. However, here in the church we honor them not as an assessment of our patriotism and not as a manifestation of our ability to balance the diverse political views within our congregations.
Here in Christ’s church, we honor those who died at war because their deaths – every last one of them – are tragedies.
Elsewhere we may honor the fallen ones for their heroism or their own brand of patriotism or for the medals of honor they received. But here in the church we weep for them because they are a tragic reminder of who we really are:
Women and men as God intended, daughters of Adam, sons of Eve
Children of earth loved by their maker, those only heaven could conceive
Yet in our loving we are not one with heaven’s deep intent. We are not as God meant.
Ours in the shame, ours is the story, ours is the squandered legacy
Fallen from grace, fearful of glory
Lost is our true humanity.
(John Bell)
Letters from War Letters by Andrew Carroll
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
But did you know that there is a preface to all these little rules for better living, something to start them all off? The verses we just read are part of that preface and are not anything like the adages attributed to King Solomon that follow.
Instead, these verses are part of a beautiful poem in praise of wisdom – not simply knowledge, mind you, but wisdom. To be more precise, this poem is an accolade to God’s wisdom, with a capital “W” - and yes, this sacred Wisdom is personified as a “she.”
In this ode to Wisdom – Sophia, in the Greek – we discover that Wisdom was made in the very beginning, before the world was born. She was there before the oceans, before the mountains, before the fields and forests.
She was there before the sky was set in place, before the clouds. Wisdom was there when God laid the earth’s foundations and birthed the first peoples. You see, Wisdom is the innate order of the universe – the rules of nature – the way God organized all that is.
In short, Wisdom embodies God’s intent for the world. Wisdom is God’s holy imagining about the world at its very best. Wisdom is God’s sense of the meaning and purpose behind life on this sacred earth.
And down through the ages, since before the very beginning of time, Wisdom has spoken – and continues to speak. Wisdom utters words of direction and counsel. She speaks through the prophets and most certainly through Jesus.
Even today, in the midst of all the progress we have made, sounding through all our advanced technology, whispering in and around all our intellectual gymnastics and prowess, Wisdom has a message for us, and it is a message that we need to hear. No matter who we are or where we are on our spiritual journey, Wisdom still tells us what we need to know in order to live our lives as God intended.
What then is Wisdom saying to us?
Oh, lots of things, I suppose – though in the end they all have to do with simple concepts like love and reconciliation – neighbors helping neighbors even if one of them happens to be Samaritan, a ne’er do well brother welcomed home with a fatted calf and a warm bed in spite of his profligate and checkered past, banquet tables where rich and poor, beggar and prostitute, Israeli and Palestinian, American Christian and Muslim for once all sit down together and join hands and hearts in grace.
Surely that is how God imagines the world at its best.
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
What is Wisdom – God’s Wisdom - saying to us?
The prophet Isaiah would tell us this: “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.” (Isaiah 2:4)
Arline, my dearest –
Today is our 20th day in action, yet it seems like years. What has happened to me and my Battalion would be scoffed at, even in a ten cent novel, as being impossible. Why the few of us left alive – are alive – is something to figure out in church.
I’ve seen so many of my very best friends killed beside me. I just can’t believe it is all really happening. I never in my wildest dreams knew such terror could grip your very soul. The night we jumped – D-Day –was the pay off night. My chute was on fire from tracer bullets when I landed - right in front of a machine gun emplacement. I cut out of my harness and crawled for a couple of hours with bullets whistling past my ears coming from seemingly every direction. I can’t tell you what else went on.
My darling, I love you more than life itself – I’ve realized that many times these last 3 weeks when I thought I was going to be killed and always the regret of missing seeing and marrying you were topmost in my mind at the time. Goodbye for awhile – George.
Parachutes ablaze, bullets whistling past, gut-wrenching terror - this is not God’s intent. This can not be how God imagines the world at its best.
So then - what is wisdom – God’s Wisdom - saying to us?
The Apostle Paul would say: “Return no one evil for evil...live at peace with everyone” (Romans 12:17)
Dearest wife,
Many times like tonight – I have nothing to do but lay here and think- why I am here as well as all the men in my platoon – age makes no difference – there are very few kids over here – a few yes but they grow up fast or get killed. Why I have to watch a man die or get wounded – why I have to be the one to tell someone to do something that may get him blown away – but if I don’t we might all get blown away.
Babes, I don’t know what the answer is. Being a good platoon leader is a lonely job. I don’t want to really get to know anybody over here (in the rice paddies) because it would be bad enough to lose a man- I damn sure don’t want to lose a friend.” All my love always, Dean.
Such abject loneliness, that fear of getting too close to anyone, this is not God’s intent. This can not be how God imagines the world at its best.
So then - what is wisdom – God’s Wisdom - saying to us?
Paul would go on to say: “God has called us to live in peace…The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world.” (1 Corinthians 7:5, 2 Corinthians 10:4)
Dear Mom and Jim,
I went to work on the 17th of January at midnight. One hour later our commander told us it was time. Jet after jet screamed off into pitch black night loaded to the hilt with bombs bound for Iraq. The ground trembled for nearly half an hour until the last jet lifted off. And then it was quiet. Almost six months wondering which would prevail. Peace or war. Now I know. I stood there and felt sorry that it had come to this…. God forgive us.
It was daytime when the jets began to come back, and we counted them as they appeared off in the distance and landed. They all made it. We loaded new weapons, fresh pilots were brought in, and the jets were off again.
I can’t see how Iraq can take this pounding 24 hours a day for much longer. I hope it ends soon. Love, Frank
The jets screaming, the bombs pounding relentlessly, this is not God’s intent. This can not be how God imagines the world at its best. So then - what is wisdom – God’s Wisdom- saying to us?
Jesus summed it all up: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.” (Matthew 5:9)
Memorial Day Sunday is an odd sort of day in the American church. The church bulletin companies would have us believe that we are both irreligious and unpatriotic if we do not have the cross wrapped in the American flag, emblazoned on the front of a special bulletin cover.
There are those who would question our patriotism as well as the strength of our Christian beliefs if we did not set aside this Sunday to honor not only the dead but also the surviving who have lived a soldier’s life - because either way, the rationale goes, they have sacrificed great things for the glory of their country.
And there are those who would say that, on this particular Sunday, at the very least the church ought to provide a balance between an emphasis on striving for peace and remembering those who serve.
However, from my perspective, that is not the role of the church. The church is not about striking balances. Surely Jesus made that startlingly clear in his ministry – and living out the courage of that conviction is part of what lead to his untimely death.
No – the role of the church is always, always to look at the world through the eyes of Sophia, through the lens of God’s Wisdom that has been here since before the beginning, and then to have the courage if its convictions to tell the world in no uncertain terms what it sees.
And so the church looks at the typical American soldier in the tribute in the insert and generalizes it to include other young men – and women – from around the world. The church listens to the war letters we read this morning counterpointed by the Biblical calls for peace-making.
And the lens of Wisdom brings it all into focus. Wisdom tells us that war is not what God had in mind. Wisdom tells us that since the dawn of time, all of humanity has strayed from what God intended.
The realization of this squandered legacy is what the American church faces on Memorial Day Sunday – and it is both touching and terrifying. You see, it is not about patriotism. It is not about being appropriately religious and balanced. It is about Wisdom.
And so, in the end, with tears in our eyes, we do honor those who died at war. However, here in the church we honor them not as an assessment of our patriotism and not as a manifestation of our ability to balance the diverse political views within our congregations.
Here in Christ’s church, we honor those who died at war because their deaths – every last one of them – are tragedies.
Elsewhere we may honor the fallen ones for their heroism or their own brand of patriotism or for the medals of honor they received. But here in the church we weep for them because they are a tragic reminder of who we really are:
Women and men as God intended, daughters of Adam, sons of Eve
Children of earth loved by their maker, those only heaven could conceive
Yet in our loving we are not one with heaven’s deep intent. We are not as God meant.
Ours in the shame, ours is the story, ours is the squandered legacy
Fallen from grace, fearful of glory
Lost is our true humanity.
(John Bell)
Letters from War Letters by Andrew Carroll
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Acts 15:9-16 Life in a Community Church
For the past few weeks we have been reflecting upon the beginnings of the Christian church – those early years after the resurrection of Jesus. We have witnessed this time mostly through the experiences of Paul, the church’s first missionary, as told by the author of the Book of the Acts of the Apostles.
Now, when you come right down to it, this particular Biblical narrative is quite the adventure story. It has its share of prison escapes, church fights, grisly executions, and a good dose of circumcisions and healings thrown in for good measure.
Today’s story, however, has none of the swashbuckling elements that we have come to expect in the Book of Acts. In comparison, it is a tame piece of prose, a blip on the radar screen. Like a snapshot, it is a story so brief that it would be easy to skim right by it – onward to the next stoning or shipwreck.
However, I think that this little vignette about Paul and Lydia is worth stopping for, worth savoring for a few minutes because its message is terribly important to the Christian faith and particularly to a community church like we are.
The tale begins with a vision which Paul had in Troas, on the shore of the Aegean Sea, in what is now modern day Turkey. Now, in Paul’s day, the Aegean Sea was acknowledged as the boundary between East and West, for on its far coast lay Macedonia in what we now call Greece. So there was Asia on the Turkish side and Europe on the Greek side.
Anyway, here we have Paul enjoying the sunset one balmy evening, dabbling his feet in the briny water. Then, quite unexpectedly, our missionary experienced another one of those pesky visions. This time he witnessed a man standing on the far side of the Aegean Sea, pleading with him, "Come over to Macedonia and help us.”
Having learned to take these spectacles seriously after his experience on the Damascus road, Paul immediately scrapped his idea of heading east into Asia to spread the Gospel message and instead sailed west and arrived in Philippi, a city about as close to being the capital city of Macedonia as you could get.
There he and Silas and his other missionary buddies hung out for a few days until the Sabbath rolled around - and, like most preachers on that seventh day, Paul had the urge to – well – you know - preach. Whether he could not get top billing at the synagogue in the city or whether there were not enough religious males in Philippi to even have a congregation, we do not know.
However, what the author of Luke/Acts does tell us is that Paul ended up outside the city gates down by the riverside that Sabbath morning with a bunch of apparently well-organized women no less who looked for leadership to Lydia, herself not a Jew but still well versed in the Torah (a God worshipper, one translation calls her).
Apparently, these women met regularly in a small house to pray, preach, sing, and praise God. Now doing all this without the men folk was in and of itself quite unusual. Added to that was the fact that the women obviously welcomed newcomers and strangers because Paul and his friends were gladly received and made to feel at home in this small Gentile faith community. Such a welcome was not commonplace either as Jews and Gentiles did not mix freely.
Well, Paul must have preached a heck of a sermon that morning because, when all was said and done, Lydia first and then her whole community were baptized (each and every one of them), and she invited Paul into her home to rest up and stay a while.
Lydia then holds the distinction of being the first Gentile in Europe to be converted to the Christian faith. She is an interesting woman, and we know little about her except that she was in the business of purple cloth, a color of fabric associated with royalty and wealth.
Now we do not know if Lydia used the expensive method of dying her fabric (That would have been by utilizing mollusk shells, a real breach of Jewish kosher dietary regulations), or if she dealt with the knockoff version of purple dye based on a plant derivative.
But either way, it was physically demanding and dirty work and so generally would have been relegated to what the rich folk might have referred to as society’s riffraff. In short, Lydia was a blue collar worker, economically probably smack in the middle of the middle class, like a lot of us.
However, I am not concerned about her socioeconomic status this morning. What I find intriguing about Lydia is her unwavering commitment to hospitality. In a time when welcoming Christians into your home could be pretty dicey (what with all the persecution going on), Lydia opened her doors and her heart to Paul, paving the way for – and here is the interesting part for us - the notion that the church should be a diverse faith community where strangers with their sometimes strange customs and traditions are embraced.
There is a lesson here in Lydia’s little snapshot story. And it is a lesson that we as a community church really need to take to heart. But first, let’s talk about what a community church is – that is, what we here at RVCC are called to be.
My definition of a community church is a faith community that is rooted in the secular community. It arises out of the community itself as the community’s sacred place. When I read Ernie Knight’s history of our church, I found out that is exactly what occurred here. That long ago Ladies’ Mite Society did not set out to create a denominational church. They set out to build a church for their community here in Raymond.
Now we happen to be affiliated with the United Church of Christ, but we are first and foremost a community church. And that means one of our defining qualities is our diversity.
I mean, if you walk into the First Methodist Church or St. Someone or Other’s Episcopal Church, you are going to find a gaggle of Methodists or a passel of Episcopalians. The worship will be pro forma because in a Methodist church you will use the Methodist hymnal and in an Episcopal church you will use the denominational Prayer Book.
However, when you walk into a community church, it is not that straightforward. Because not everyone in Raymond is the same, it would follow that we can not expect everyone in our church to be the same. We come from an enormous spectrum of theological and political beliefs. We grew up with a variety of worship styles that we bring with us here because those rituals and traditions are an important part of who we are.
This inbred and inescapable diversity can be our greatest strength, or it can be our most profound weakness. It can be a source of unending excitement – or potentially destructive conflict.
But the lesson we learn from Lydia and Paul is this: diversity is good. We are called to welcome the politically conservative Baptist stranger and the theologically liberal unchurched newcomer – and so we are called to, maybe not like, but still embrace those rituals and traditions that they bring with them – because their rituals and traditions are as much as part of them as ours are of us.
And I believe that, as a community church – particularly in this day and age of growing narrowness and parochialism – we are called to unceasingly expand our notion of community. As our bulletin reminds us, we are “ministers to the world.”
Think of it this way, if Paul had not preached to the Gentiles with their different customs and strange dietary laws, you and I would not be sitting in these pews today, and Christianity would most likely have remained a sect of Judaism.
So what does all this embracing diversity and welcoming other traditions mean for us? First and foremost, it goes without saying that racism, sexism, ageism – all the isms have no place here. And, for me, as your pastor, it means that I can not possibly please everyone all of the time.
Hey – it is a fact! Someone is not going to like a sermon because it is not inspiring enough – or it is too liberal – or not liberal enough. Someone is not going to like the musical responses because they are in a foreign language or because they have African roots or call for a drum. Someone is not going to appreciate a new hymn when the hymn supplement is filled with the old ones he or she grew up with. And for some of us, the hymn supplement is filled with music we never heard before we came here because those songs were not part of our church tradition.
Sometimes, as your pastor, I feel like I am doing a carefully orchestrated balancing act, seeking to proclaim the Gospel by weaving with Donna between hymnals and musical styles, seeking to proclaim the Gospel by threading my way through ritual and tradition, on the one hand, and new ways of looking at our ancient stories, on the other hand. But as Paul and Lydia would surely agree - this is good – and it is energizing – and it is fun.
In many ways, a community church like ours is similar to Maine weather. You know how the saying goes: if you do not like the weather in Maine, then wait five minutes. Well, if you do not like what is going on in worship or education or mission, wait – it will change. We are a community church – and nothing is written in stone.
I believe that as long as we keep talking with the appropriate people about what we like and not just dissing the music or the sermon or the worship style or the curriculum or whatever we do not like – but instead offer suggestions to make those aspects of our community life more meaningful, our diversity will be the most wonderful source ever of creative dynamism and life.
It may not always be comfortable for everyone all the time here, but a community church is not supposed to always be comfortable. It is supposed to be a place where we can experience God and deepen our spirituality in different ways. Sometimes those styles are well within our comfort zone, but sometimes they are strange or just rub us the wrong way.
But, hey, that is the nature of the beast. That is life in a community church which values openly sharing our faith journeys – different as they may be - , which values being assured that if we stray into narrowness or any of the isms, someone will be there to beckon us back to the openness and acceptance that Jesus expects from us who call ourselves his followers.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
Now, when you come right down to it, this particular Biblical narrative is quite the adventure story. It has its share of prison escapes, church fights, grisly executions, and a good dose of circumcisions and healings thrown in for good measure.
Today’s story, however, has none of the swashbuckling elements that we have come to expect in the Book of Acts. In comparison, it is a tame piece of prose, a blip on the radar screen. Like a snapshot, it is a story so brief that it would be easy to skim right by it – onward to the next stoning or shipwreck.
However, I think that this little vignette about Paul and Lydia is worth stopping for, worth savoring for a few minutes because its message is terribly important to the Christian faith and particularly to a community church like we are.
The tale begins with a vision which Paul had in Troas, on the shore of the Aegean Sea, in what is now modern day Turkey. Now, in Paul’s day, the Aegean Sea was acknowledged as the boundary between East and West, for on its far coast lay Macedonia in what we now call Greece. So there was Asia on the Turkish side and Europe on the Greek side.
Anyway, here we have Paul enjoying the sunset one balmy evening, dabbling his feet in the briny water. Then, quite unexpectedly, our missionary experienced another one of those pesky visions. This time he witnessed a man standing on the far side of the Aegean Sea, pleading with him, "Come over to Macedonia and help us.”
Having learned to take these spectacles seriously after his experience on the Damascus road, Paul immediately scrapped his idea of heading east into Asia to spread the Gospel message and instead sailed west and arrived in Philippi, a city about as close to being the capital city of Macedonia as you could get.
There he and Silas and his other missionary buddies hung out for a few days until the Sabbath rolled around - and, like most preachers on that seventh day, Paul had the urge to – well – you know - preach. Whether he could not get top billing at the synagogue in the city or whether there were not enough religious males in Philippi to even have a congregation, we do not know.
However, what the author of Luke/Acts does tell us is that Paul ended up outside the city gates down by the riverside that Sabbath morning with a bunch of apparently well-organized women no less who looked for leadership to Lydia, herself not a Jew but still well versed in the Torah (a God worshipper, one translation calls her).
Apparently, these women met regularly in a small house to pray, preach, sing, and praise God. Now doing all this without the men folk was in and of itself quite unusual. Added to that was the fact that the women obviously welcomed newcomers and strangers because Paul and his friends were gladly received and made to feel at home in this small Gentile faith community. Such a welcome was not commonplace either as Jews and Gentiles did not mix freely.
Well, Paul must have preached a heck of a sermon that morning because, when all was said and done, Lydia first and then her whole community were baptized (each and every one of them), and she invited Paul into her home to rest up and stay a while.
Lydia then holds the distinction of being the first Gentile in Europe to be converted to the Christian faith. She is an interesting woman, and we know little about her except that she was in the business of purple cloth, a color of fabric associated with royalty and wealth.
Now we do not know if Lydia used the expensive method of dying her fabric (That would have been by utilizing mollusk shells, a real breach of Jewish kosher dietary regulations), or if she dealt with the knockoff version of purple dye based on a plant derivative.
But either way, it was physically demanding and dirty work and so generally would have been relegated to what the rich folk might have referred to as society’s riffraff. In short, Lydia was a blue collar worker, economically probably smack in the middle of the middle class, like a lot of us.
However, I am not concerned about her socioeconomic status this morning. What I find intriguing about Lydia is her unwavering commitment to hospitality. In a time when welcoming Christians into your home could be pretty dicey (what with all the persecution going on), Lydia opened her doors and her heart to Paul, paving the way for – and here is the interesting part for us - the notion that the church should be a diverse faith community where strangers with their sometimes strange customs and traditions are embraced.
There is a lesson here in Lydia’s little snapshot story. And it is a lesson that we as a community church really need to take to heart. But first, let’s talk about what a community church is – that is, what we here at RVCC are called to be.
My definition of a community church is a faith community that is rooted in the secular community. It arises out of the community itself as the community’s sacred place. When I read Ernie Knight’s history of our church, I found out that is exactly what occurred here. That long ago Ladies’ Mite Society did not set out to create a denominational church. They set out to build a church for their community here in Raymond.
Now we happen to be affiliated with the United Church of Christ, but we are first and foremost a community church. And that means one of our defining qualities is our diversity.
I mean, if you walk into the First Methodist Church or St. Someone or Other’s Episcopal Church, you are going to find a gaggle of Methodists or a passel of Episcopalians. The worship will be pro forma because in a Methodist church you will use the Methodist hymnal and in an Episcopal church you will use the denominational Prayer Book.
However, when you walk into a community church, it is not that straightforward. Because not everyone in Raymond is the same, it would follow that we can not expect everyone in our church to be the same. We come from an enormous spectrum of theological and political beliefs. We grew up with a variety of worship styles that we bring with us here because those rituals and traditions are an important part of who we are.
This inbred and inescapable diversity can be our greatest strength, or it can be our most profound weakness. It can be a source of unending excitement – or potentially destructive conflict.
But the lesson we learn from Lydia and Paul is this: diversity is good. We are called to welcome the politically conservative Baptist stranger and the theologically liberal unchurched newcomer – and so we are called to, maybe not like, but still embrace those rituals and traditions that they bring with them – because their rituals and traditions are as much as part of them as ours are of us.
And I believe that, as a community church – particularly in this day and age of growing narrowness and parochialism – we are called to unceasingly expand our notion of community. As our bulletin reminds us, we are “ministers to the world.”
Think of it this way, if Paul had not preached to the Gentiles with their different customs and strange dietary laws, you and I would not be sitting in these pews today, and Christianity would most likely have remained a sect of Judaism.
So what does all this embracing diversity and welcoming other traditions mean for us? First and foremost, it goes without saying that racism, sexism, ageism – all the isms have no place here. And, for me, as your pastor, it means that I can not possibly please everyone all of the time.
Hey – it is a fact! Someone is not going to like a sermon because it is not inspiring enough – or it is too liberal – or not liberal enough. Someone is not going to like the musical responses because they are in a foreign language or because they have African roots or call for a drum. Someone is not going to appreciate a new hymn when the hymn supplement is filled with the old ones he or she grew up with. And for some of us, the hymn supplement is filled with music we never heard before we came here because those songs were not part of our church tradition.
Sometimes, as your pastor, I feel like I am doing a carefully orchestrated balancing act, seeking to proclaim the Gospel by weaving with Donna between hymnals and musical styles, seeking to proclaim the Gospel by threading my way through ritual and tradition, on the one hand, and new ways of looking at our ancient stories, on the other hand. But as Paul and Lydia would surely agree - this is good – and it is energizing – and it is fun.
In many ways, a community church like ours is similar to Maine weather. You know how the saying goes: if you do not like the weather in Maine, then wait five minutes. Well, if you do not like what is going on in worship or education or mission, wait – it will change. We are a community church – and nothing is written in stone.
I believe that as long as we keep talking with the appropriate people about what we like and not just dissing the music or the sermon or the worship style or the curriculum or whatever we do not like – but instead offer suggestions to make those aspects of our community life more meaningful, our diversity will be the most wonderful source ever of creative dynamism and life.
It may not always be comfortable for everyone all the time here, but a community church is not supposed to always be comfortable. It is supposed to be a place where we can experience God and deepen our spirituality in different ways. Sometimes those styles are well within our comfort zone, but sometimes they are strange or just rub us the wrong way.
But, hey, that is the nature of the beast. That is life in a community church which values openly sharing our faith journeys – different as they may be - , which values being assured that if we stray into narrowness or any of the isms, someone will be there to beckon us back to the openness and acceptance that Jesus expects from us who call ourselves his followers.
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
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