A Sermon Preached at the Larchmont Avenue Church

Rev. Julie Emery

February 5, 2012

Text: Mark 1:29-39

As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them. 

That evening, at sunset, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him. A Preaching Tour in Galilee 

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, Everyone is searching for you. He answered, Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do. And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

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A few weeks ago, a group of young mothers gathered on couches and chairs, to connect and support one another in their parenting and lives.  The topic for the day was self-care, but before we began, women were asked if they had any prayer requests.  Slowly, almost every woman lifted a concern for an aging loved one. A mother-in-law still grieving the loss of her beloved husband, a parent who was getting more forgetful, another burdened under the care for his spouse, another struggling with the question about moving into a facility with more assistance for increasing needs.

The stories were offered as a communal prayer for those gathered, like many gathered here, who are caught between the increasing needs of beloved parents, as well as the ever present day-to-day needs of caring for immediate family.  There were prayers for healing and wholeness, comfort as we shared grief over the loss of relationships that were once vital and supportive; prayers of acceptance, as each adjusts to what is a “new normal” for their family.

There were tears, whispers, words and advice: a shared yearning, a deep and longing prayer for guidance and support.

In our text this morning from the first chapters of Mark’s gospel, we discover that this newly gathered group of disciples may not have been just a band of lively bachelors.  Simon, apparently, has a wife, and consequently, a mother-in-law.  This text is the only indication in all of the gospels that any of the disciples were married, which gives scholars cause to suggest at least the possibility that Simon was not the only one.  We only hear of Simon Peter’s family because of his need.

Fresh off his first exorcism, Jesus and the disciples regroup to Simon Peter’s home, only to find the primary caretaker sick with a fever. While fevers come and go here in the 21st century, in Simon Peter’s day a fever would have meant the possibility of death – this was no small thing.  The mother in law would have been the matriarch in Simon Peter’s household, and therefore central to their ability to offer hospitality and care to his family, and to Jesus.

Upon entering Simon’s home, Jesus hears of the fever and goes directly to the woman in need.  He merely takes her hand and, “raising her up,” the fever leaves her.  This verb, “raising her up‚” is used by Mark in other points of healing throughout the ministry of Jesus, as well as the verb used to describe the resurrection.

The word, as one commentator describes, suggests that new strength is imparted to those laid low by illness, unclean spirits, or even death, so that they may again rise up to take their place in the world.

And this is what she does.  She gets up and she begins to serve.

We have to be careful, here, as we read this text, not to place our 21st century values on a first century story.  As the eldest woman in her household, it was likely her calling and honor to show hospitality to guests in her home. Cut off from that role by her illness, she was kept from doing that which connected her to her community and to Christ.

Her healing was a restoration to life and wholeness, to calling and self. Simon Peter’s mother-in-law is far from being an exemplar of a pathetic, un-liberated woman for whom serving men is her whole life. Rather she is the first character in Mark’s gospel who exemplifies true discipleship.

Another Greek word is of interest to us in this text: The verb to describe her action after her healing is “diakoneo,”which, consequently, is the same word from which we get the word,“deacon.”  Her response to God’s grace and healing is to serve, to care.  Just as this woman set the table for Jesus and the disciples, the deacons are the ones who prepare our meal, here, around the Lord’s table, inviting us in and providing for that spiritual sustenance we so deeply need.

Now, there is no way to know whether or not Simon Peter also had children in his home, and so it may be a stretch to imagine him as a biblical representation of “the sandwich generation.” We can only imagine what may or may not have been his burdens as he cared for his wife and her ailing and aging mother.  We can only guess at the ways he worried after her, checked in on her, became frustrated by her, or suffered for her.

What we do know, what is wonderfully clear, is that Jesus understood and cared for them as a whole family.  His very first act upon entering their home is to reach out and touch her, to raise her up to renewed strength, and his second is to join them around the table she sets before them.

During my time as a hospice chaplain, and throughout my ministry, I have encountered families struggling to care for aging loved ones. Sometimes those challenges come after parents have lived a full and vital life, and children are at peace with this aging process.  More often, it is a slow journey over many years, as each year, each month, each day, brings adjustments and need for flexibility.

One family I met, who had to face this suffering far earlier than they expected, had recently been told that their beloved matriarch had pancreatic cancer; she had three children, the youngest was twenty.

By the time I met them the cancer had progressed and caused significant jaundice: her eyes and skin were yellowing.  But those eyes were filled with light and joy.  The family had decided to honor who their mother was by not closing the door to anyone: you see, she was a queen of hospitality.

So throughout her illness, they continued to have family meals together, each Sunday. Most meals included a beloved neighbor or friend. When she was too tired or no longer able to get into her wheelchair, they brought the meals to her bedside.

Around the table, they shared favorite stories which were told again and again. They shared their love for one another. They laughed and cried.  They did not shy from the inevitable, they simply acknowledged it and moved forward. Eventually, they talked together about her service, and what she wanted. They made a bucket list, and took some final trips, completed long-standing projects she had never finished. She told her children how proud she was of them, how much she loved them. They ate and prayed together.

Perhaps their awareness of the end that was coming made them treasure their time together ever more, perhaps it shrouded everything with darkness. Perhaps both. But those meals they shared kept each of them going, in different ways. And I do believe, they still continue today.

There are many days when I long for the kind of profound healing that Jesus performs.  For the miraculous to break in, heal a loved one in body, release us from our suffering entirely. Instead I am compelled to look for different definitions of healing and wholeness, and different ways to get there.

Perhaps what we learn from this story is that we are all shouldering this together, and that through prayer and common sustenance, we will find new wholeness. Sometimes that wholeness looks differently than we imagine.

Perhaps there is a way that a diagnosis or illness can have a similar affect as a healing: restoring us to who we truly are in Christ; perhaps a life change like that can make us more loving, or at least more vocal about our love for life and each other; can make us more intentional about time; can make us slow down, smell the roses, watch the birds flash in the trees.

These stories are common, and parts of each of our lives and journeys.  But whatever your story, whether you are being cared for or whether you are caring for someone you love, Christ offers healing, sustenance, wholeness, strength for your journey, at this table. Come gather around the table and be nourished.

Your children will make many demands
upon your time and energy.
“Do this for us.
Buy this for us.”
They believe that these things
are what they want from you.
And you may begin
To believe it too.

But what they really want
is your innermost heart,
given in vulnerable, honest love.
This is not given
by doing or buying.
The more you do,
the less gets done.
The more you buy,
the less you have.
But if you reveal
your true nature,
you provide them everything.

Of course there are times,
when I do for my children.
It is often my great pleasure.
But the things remembered,
the treasured moments
of sacred time,
have occurred
in the quiet
of gentle conversation,
and honest sharing.

Text:
Revelation 7: 9 – 17
After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and the Lamb!”

For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away ever tear from their eyes.”

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I am always surprised at the random gathering that becomes the disciples that follow Jesus. John’s gospel makes them out to be a handful of the followers of John the Baptist, who then called their friends. First Andrew who reaches out to his brother Simon… Then Philip finds his friend Nathanael. These are invitations and exhortations, each with the refrain, “come and see…”

It’s not unlike the church of today – which seems to be employing the same concept of evangelism that worked 2000 years ago. Invite your friends to church, we often say, and those who do very often yield results. Even if the skepticism of Nathaniel has changed into a more general skepticism about church or religion in general, (Can anything good come out of a church?), still friends tend to trust friends, and that trust can trump skepticism most days.

Friends invite friends. This is the concept that upon which the booming world of FaceBook and social media is based. In fact, there is a button that says just that: “like this.” Click it, and you launch a campaign that informs your friends of your “likes” from music to clothing to political campaigns to events coming up in a neighborhood near you.

Many churches are now utilizing those practices, reaching out in evangelism through social media; discussing “cohorts” an “interest groups,” and how we might reach out to those groups through one or two of their “friends.” It is the natural, human way of connecting. So natural, in fact, that it mimicks the very way the first disciples were called: First Andrew and Simon, then Philip and Nathanael.

The problem with this way of growing the church, as I see it, is that so often we are only friends with people who are like us. Just as the Facebook campaign suggests: our friends will like what we like. Flip that in just the right way and it becomes: the people we are friends with are just like us.

Walk in to most churches and you see this is true: They are homogenous, even insular. People talking to people they already know; Friends who like and invite friends who look like them and act like them…

Our church may or may not feel that way depending on who you ask; but for the most part, the feedback we get is that our church is welcoming and warm. While friends often come to speak to and connect with friends, there is also a fair amount of reaching out. We are diverse in ages and stages: noting as we did with our new officers yesterday that in recent years our statistics showed that we are a church with 50% of our membership under the age of 53.

We are diverse culturally: drawing people with such wide and various backgrounds that we could claim a strong immigrant population at our church, albeit from places like France and Germany, Finland and Russia, but also Ghana and Pakistan. It would be inaccurate, in many ways, to call us homogeneous.

And yet, on this Martin Luther King Weekend it would do us well to consider the claim that this time on Sunday morning is the most segregated hour of the week in our country and ask ourselves: who might be missing in this gathering of believers here in the Larchmont Avenue Church?

“It won’t be like this in heaven,” is a phrase I hear from time to time from my esteemed colleague Reverend Crawford that I find particularly poignant on a day like today. Often it comes up in the context of stories: moments when one or the other of us has experienced separation from a gathering of believers, or when we have felt others have been excluded. But what will it be like in heaven, then? What do we imagine that heaven will be?

The Apocalypse of John, otherwise known as the book of Revelation, lays out a heavenly vision that might be worthy of our time and reflection. In the section read this morning, we hear John’s vision of the gathered people of God as they surround the throne of the most high God and sing God’s praises. This is the gathering of the multitudes: first those who have been sealed by God, and then the nations upon nations of those who have been gathered and called as witnesses and believers. John’s vision is of a people of all nations and tribes, all peoples and languages. This is the vision of the gathered in heaven.

Last fall and spring, a group of women across the generations at LAC spent some time tackling the apocalypse of John. Filled with terror and terrible language, monsters of the deep and seals and bowls that let loose plagues and war, the Apocalypse of John is certainly the most violent book in our Bible. Some even argue that the violence of the book is at odds with the non-violent, turn the other cheek Jesus we find in the gospels. Throw it out, they suggest, it has no place here.

The church, in essence, has done just that. Passages from the apocalypse rarely show up in the lectionary, and even then, they are the “easy ones;” Passages that speak of a new heaven and a new earth. This passage from chapter seven may be one of those – when those gathered by God will find that they will hunger and thirst no more, and every tear will be wiped from their eyes.

But passages such as this cannot be read apart from the visions of justice and judgment throughout this book; John’s vision is one of justice AND salvation, and for John, God’s justice is enacted through violence and suffering that John envisions will rain down on those who persecute Christ’s followers and witnesses.

Perhaps this is part of the reason you found yourself coming here this morning: because we are all looking for something that helps us make sense out of this world which is still terribly violent, still filled with hatred and bigotry. A world where the haves have even more and the “have nots” have even less. In some ways we feel not too far from the world that gave birth to John’s vision of justice.

And yet, we do well to note that nowhere in the book do Christ’s followers take part in the violence. Instead, in the face of oppression, John insisted that Christians be vocal about their beliefs, standing up as witnesses to the truth they proclaimed and held dear. In the face of their suffering and persecution, John encouraged believers to stand on the Word of God and their faith in Jesus Christ. On this Martin Luther King Day, it is a message that rings familiar, doesn’t it?

Brian Blount, president of Union Seminary in Richmond, VA, writes in his commentary on the apocalypse, “Long before Mahatma Gandhi in India or Martin Luther King Jr. in the American South, John of Patmos asked his people to engage in a testimony that was tantamount to active, aggressive, nonviolent resistance. Their witness to the world would transform the world.”i

Our world is indeed transformed by these witnesses and voices. As someone born in the seventies I am poignantly aware of the ways in which I grew up as an heir of the work that had been done well before I was even a twinkle in my parent’s eye. I have to work to conjure up a memory when I ever felt inferior because I was a woman. As I look back on my childhood I still have the memory that I was told over and over again that I could do or be anything that I put my mind to. Nothing stood in my way.

What a privilege. What a gift.

When I consider the world my children are growing up in, I am aware of the fact that they will likely grow up with no memory of a world in which a black man could not be elected president. It is entirely likely that I may see a woman elected president in my lifetime. My boys will grow up with no memory of a supreme court that did not have a person of color or a woman serving as a justice. No matter what your political affiliation, these things should make you smile.

What a privilege. What a gift.

As people of privilege, we are called to an awareness of the consequences of our privilege. One thing we wondered in our bible study was whether or not we could truly understand John’s apocalypse as people who have never suffered oppression and persecution.

South African cleric and anti-aparteid activist Allen Boesak once said, “People who do not know what oppression and suffering is react strangely to the language of the Bible. The truth is that God is the God of the poor and the oppressed…

…Because they are powerless, God will take up their cause and redeem them from oppression and violence. The oppressed do not see any dichotomy between God’s love and God’s justice.” (quoted by Blount in his introduction to his commentary)

While we have come far, there is still much further to go. Ours is a world still separate from the true dream that King painted – one where all people might know they are a blessed child of God, where all people might find valuable and valued work, where resources might be distributed such that “they will hunger no more, and thirst no more, the sun shall not strike them… and God will wipe every tear from their eye.”

With many miles to go there are still glimpses of that vision of heaven…

At a meeting this past week, a member of our church shared his experience delivering the LAC Christmas Baskets to a member of our community who might not otherwise had any Christmas celebration. They delivered to a single mom and her young son presents and foodstuffs, gift cards and more presents. The young boy, in his overwhelmed confusion kept noting that they didn’t have a Christmas Tree: where would they put these presents? The mom wept tears of thanksgiving.

In his retelling, the church member noted that this family lived not three miles from our church; how it was all he could do not to run out and bring the boy a Christmas tree.

Moments such as these are a reminder of how interconnected we are; How our small community is made up of such diversity of life and situation.

King once noted that “we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality; tied into a single garment of destiny. Whatever effects one directly, affects all indirectly.” Such interconnectedness is both a blessing and a challenge for us as people of privilege.

Wouldn’t it be amazing to see that colorful garment in the church, in the here and now?

Wouldn’t it be a gift to find that woman and her son sitting in our pews, worshipping along with us even now?

Wouldn’t it be a vision to witness the church as John saw it: all nations and tribes and languages woven together in one connected body.

Wouldn’t it be a miracle to see those who might be missing now: the poor and immigrant, the hungry and hungry of heart, streaming through our doors, welcomed and welcoming in the name of the God who calls us all and calls each of us to call even more in the name of Christ?

What would it be like? How could we make it so?

In the name of the Creator, the Christ and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

i Blount, Brian Preface to The New Testament Library: Revelation, A Commentary p. xi
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It’s a new year and a new day. I’ve been thinking about my word for 2012 and struggling to find the one word that seems to fit all aspects of what I hope for this coming year. But this morning it came to me light a bolt of the Spirit, so my word for 2012 is… Abundance.

This spring and summer will be the first opportunity that Jason and I have to plant a garden in New York. Throughout our lives together we have been gardeners. We met back at the University of Michigan in a class called “Practical Botany,” where the curriculum entailed learning plant species and how to plant a vegetable garden, learning how to make paper and wine and beer from plants… you know, those “practical” things you can do with plants. Needless to say, both J and I were hooked, and we have grown things on and off together throughout our relationship. Our first true garden was during the first year of our marriage, when we rented a small half-plot at a local community garden in Ann Arbor. We planted tomatoes and zucchini, corn and hot peppers, bell peppers and eggplant – anything we liked to eat, we planted. I remember during our harvest when we brought bowls and baskets of tomatoes and zucchini home, and our fun and enthusiastic search for recipes.

In New Jersey our gardening went a bit by the wayside, but we grew tomatoes and hot peppers in pots on our small balcony, and dreamed of a day when we would have more room to grow. And then our dream came true: we moved to a 3 acre property in New Hampshire, and a friend with a back-hoe drove it over and dug up a plot larger than our living room. The truth is that for me that New Hampshire plot was too big and unruly: I hate to weed but love to plant and harvest, so the hours that J spent in the garden plucking up small weeds were just unbearable to me. It was not my best gardener moment(s). But I loved bringing our oldest son out into the garden, letting him get dirty and eat straight from the plants, discovering fruits and vegetables in their various stages of growth, along with insects and rocks and everything else. It was joyous and simple.

Since moving to New York we’ve lost our connection to the land in many ways. Life here is busy and bustling, frenetic at times and stressful. Our boys get busier and we do too, and it is harder and harder for us to slow down, relax, and breathe. As I look back on my adult life, I am aware that my ability to slow down is often connected with how close to the land I live. That is to say, when I am able to get dirty on a regular basis, when I can get outside and breath fresh air every day, I am reminded of God’s creation in a tangible and simple way.

Scripture is filled with harvest language and the word abundance is used throughout to speak of riches and abundant wealth.  But it is also used to speak of the abundance of God’s steadfast love given to us freely, the abundance of grace, God’s abundant peace.

I know I have a tendency to live out of scarcity, rather than our abundance.  I know that I am not alone in this. I worry about our tight budget, I stress over what I cannot provide for our children, I focus often on what we do not have, rather than what we do. It is not easy, in this economic climate, with only one working parent and two hungry, growing and desirous children to live a life of what our culture tells us is “abundant.”

But. We do have a life of abundance.  We are overflowing with the grace and love of God. We have an abundance of laughter and joy. We have a very full and abundant family. We are abundantly grateful for all that we have.  This is what I hope is present in our minds and lives throughout 2012.

“May mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance” Jude 2

(and you too…)

I had to really dig to find the word I chose to embody 2011, which gives an indication as to how much intention I have put into enacting that word throughout the last year. The good news, is that the intention I put in at the beginning somehow became rooted into my psyche and I do have some thoughts on how that word cropped up here and there throughout the last year.

The word I chose was “beauty,” although I also gave a nod to the word “create” in my post. Which is to say that I was not only thinking of the beauty that surrounds me throughout the world, but the beauty I participate in. Word-beauty, image-beauty, heart-beauty.

While there is always space for more, I did spend some significant time indulging in my long-dormant love for painting. I set up a space for my habit, spent a few days this fall painting with my boys on our sunny porch after school.

When I went away for a conference last spring I got a hotel room to myself and spent the evenings in quiet and surrounded with color, experimenting, painting, and coming home refreshed and joyous. I continued to indulge my poetic side, composing a couple of new poems (something I’ve not done in years.) And, in a flight of fancy, I joined the #arthousecoop and the #sketchbookproject 

While I didn’t indulge in museums the way I had hoped, I spent 3 weeks this year at my beloved parent’s home on Lake Michigan, soaking in each sunset and the curve of each wave. I went on hikes with the boys through the woods, I took the long way home more than once, and went to a couple of concerts. And one new highlight was a trip to Philadelphia, where we toured the city and took in the many murals that are scattered about in beautiful and interesting hiding places. Here are pictures of my favorite one, a tribute made by and dedicated to the homeless living on the streets of Philly:

Beauty is everywhere if we simply stop to notice it, and I hope to continue to do so into 2012 and beyond…  Where have you found beauty this year?

Where the Question is Born, by Jan Richardson

Today is December 28. And I’m looking into how I might “reverb” this last week in December and into January. Last year, as many of you watched in wonder, I blogged (almost) daily through the month that brings one of the busiest seasons of church life in the year. It was fun, but a little bit crazy. I have told many of my close friends that at the end of December I found myself grumpy and out of sorts. Angry at my call and (perhaps) at God. Simply…not in a good place, and needing rest…

This year, I was very intentional about pacing myself. I tried hard to keep to having at least one full day off from church life, and to say no when I could. When I was involved in church activities that were not during my normal working hours, I reminded myself all the reasons I was there – and mostly it was because I truly enjoyed what I was doing (singing carols, anyone? eggnog with friends anyone?) I also decided, a little bit by default, not to participate in Reverb11 this year. Pressuring myself to blog was not in the cards.

But now, Christmas Day has come and gone, and given way into the season of Christmas (did you know Christmas is a SEASON!?) and I’ve been thinking that I could “Reverb” over the next couple weeks as a way of reflecting on 2011 and leaning into the birth of 2012. So, my reverberations are coming a bit later than others… so what?! I’ve never been all that prompt in life anyways…

Speaking of prompts… here are mine for the next few weeks:

1. One word for 2011: What was your word for 2011? How did it manifest itself?
2. One word for 2012: What will be your one word for 2012? What do you hope to find?
3. Ordinary Joy: What ordinary moment in 2011 brought you the most joy?
4. What matters to you most in the here and now? How will you nurture what matters in 2012?
5. 5 things: what are 5 small things that have brought you joy this year?
6. Letting Go: What did you have to let go of in 2011?
7. Where have you discovered community in 2011?
8. What was the best book you read in 2011?
9. Embody: This year, when did you feel most integrated with your body? How will you embody your dreams in 2012?
10. What was the wisest decision you made in 2011 and how did it play out?
11. Beauty: where do you find beauty? How will you seek out beauty in 2012?
12. Travel: what is one trip that was truly nourishing in 2011? Is there a trip you are planning for 2012?
13: Food: Describe a meal you had in 2011 that was truly great.
14. Gratitude: Meister Eckhart says that if the only prayer you say in your entire life is “Thank You” that would suffice. Who do you most want to thank in 2011?
15. What is your favorite quote or poem from 2011?
16. Healing: did you experience healing in 2011? How did it unfold?
17. Avoidance: Is there anything you didn’t do in 2011 because of fear, anxiety, procrastination or all of the above? Will you do it in 2012 or just let it go?
18. Dreams: what are three things you dream of completing in 2012? What’s your next step?
19. Dwell: what changes have you made in your home or workplace this year? What do you dream of doing to these spaces in 2012?
20. Risk: what have you risked in 2011? What will you risk in 2012?
21. Photo: Sift through all your photos from 2011. Chose a photo that most represents who you are, or who you strive to be. Who shot it, where was it, and what does it reveal about you?
22. What stories touched your heart this year? What have they motivated within you?
23. Friends: What one friend inspired you or changed your perspective this year?
24. Missing: what is missing in your life right now that you wish you cultivate in 2012?
25. Right to write: what will you do to give yourself the space to write more in 2012?

26. Anger: What has made you angry in 2011? How will you use that anger for fuel in 2012?
27. Forgiveness: how has forgiveness been given or received in 2011?
28. Children: what gifts have your children given you this year? What gifts will you gift them in 2012?
29. God’s love poured into us by the Holy Spirit: How will you surround yourself with God in 2012? What will you read? What will you do? Who will you listen to?

30. Passion and Opportunity: What is your greatest passion right now? Imagine some opportunities to indulge that passion in 2012…

Magnificat © Jan L. Richardson.

Mary’s Preparation

A Sermon Preached at the Larchmont Avenue Church

November 27, 2011

Rev. Julie Emery

Texts: 1 Samuel 2:1-10, Luke 1: 46-55, “Annunciation” by Denise Levertov

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Annunciation

By Denise Levertov

‘Hail, space for the uncontained God’
From the Agathistos Hymn, Greece, VIc
We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book;

always the tall lily.
Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit

did not enter her without consent.

God waited.

She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.

Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?
Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
More often
those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child – but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.

Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, ‘How can this be?’
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:

to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power –
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love –

but who was God.

1 Samuel: 2:1-10

Hannah prayed and said, “My heart exults in the LORD; my strength is exalted in my God.

My mouth derides my enemies, because I rejoice in my victory.

“There is no Holy One like the LORD, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God.

Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth;

for the LORD is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed.

The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength.

Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.

The barren has borne seven, but she who has many children is forlorn.

The LORD kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up.

The LORD makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts.

He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap,

to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor.

For the pillars of the earth are the LORD’S, and on them he has set the world.

“He will guard the feet of his faithful ones, but the wicked shall be cut off in darkness;

for not by might does one prevail.

The LORD! His adversaries shall be shattered; the Most High will thunder in heaven.

The LORD will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king,

and exalt the power of his anointed.”

***

Today marks the first Sunday in Advent, the first Sunday of the liturgical Church calendar, as Reverend Crawford noted last week. A new year, a new beginning. Advent, which means “coming” is a time for us to ponder the coming of Christ into our midst, to consider what it means to have a God named Emmanuel, a God-with-us. To reflect on what it means to believe in a God incarnate, who has broken into, who continues to break into our world to change and renew it.

This year, we will be spending our advent with the story of Mary, the mother of Jesus, the one who bears God from her darkened womb, who ushers the One who is light into this darkened world.  Mary has been for centuries a person of interest and intrigue, a character who has both drawn us in and sent us forth.

As New Testament scholar Beverly Gaventa notes: “In paintings and poetry, with song and sculpture…women and men have pondered the mystery of Mary, the mother of Jesus of Nazareth.”  Alongside of those that have gone before, we will hear this advent season the music and ponder the art of Mary – in worship and adult education, in prayer and proclamation.

The range of interpretations and introspections on Mary are great and diverse in theology and interest, they capture both love and repulsion; she has won the hearts and minds of Roman Catholics, but Protestants are still wary of her prominence in our tradition.  We do not worship Mary, do not pray to her for help, there is no “Hail Mary full of Grace” prayer in our liturgical repertoire.  Nonetheless, it is clear that Mary, Mary , has long proved herself worthy of our time and reflection.

As a mother, I find myself drawn in by the mere physical nature of her Advent waiting and anticipation. The slow unfurling of the child in her womb that mirrors our own expectations and longings for hope, life, renewal. Her willingness to submit to God’s calling causes me to ponder and question my own callings, the ways in which I submit to God’s will and the ways in which I fight it tooth and nail.  Mary’s story as the mother of Jesus is also conflicting and riddled with pain, as Jesus grows to reject her mothering ways.  And so we find ourselves joining her in pondering all these things in our hearts.

As we turn more specifically Mary’s song, it is easy to hear that Mary’s hymn finds roots in her tradition and the story of the people of Israel.  Today we hear alongside of Mary the song of Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel.  If you do not remember the story, Hannah is the beloved but barren first wife of Elkanah, who has spent years praying fervently for God to open her womb and look upon her with favor. As if her barrenness wasn’t enough to bring her sorrow; Elkanah’s second wife, Peninnah, who produced many children, would taunt her daily for her inability to procreate.

As the story goes, Hannah prays at the temple for the Lord to open her womb, and promises to dedicate the child given to her to the Lord’s service if her prayer is granted. The child she God grants is Samuel, and Samuel becomes a prophet, the one who lifts up Saul and then David as King over Israel.

The song we hear today is the culmination of Hannah’s story. It is her response to answered prayer. She sings at the dedication of Samuel to the Lord at the temple. She sings in thanksgiving for God’s blessings upon her.  She sings of God’s providence and mercy.

Her words begin, “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God. My mouth derides my enemies, because I rejoice in my victory.”

Hannah begins from her own life and experience; out of her own joy she rejoices.  But Hannah’s words do not stop there: “The bows of the mighty are broken,” she says, “but the feeble gird on strength. Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil. The barren has borne seven, but she who has many children is forlorn.”

Hannah sings of reversals; she sings of God’s justice for ALL not just for herself. She sings of the barren who bears now seven children, but she also sings of the hungry who now are filled, the mighty who have been brought low.  She moves from her own story of hope and claims God’s providence for the world.

Israel’s fortunes, like Hannah’s, she seems to say, can be reversed.  And if this is so, what else can be transformed and made new?

**

Matt King is the complicated, flawed yet ultimately lovable lead character in a new movie out in the theaters called, The Descendants.  A lawyer and land baron in Hawaii, we meet Matt as he is in the midst of an Advent-like waiting. He is brokering a major sale of land that has been in his family for generations and is waiting for the opinions of family members spread throughout the Hawaiian islands, although ultimately the decision falls to him the sole trustree.  He is also waiting tragically for his estranged wife to awaken from a month-long coma, the result of a boating accident.

So he begins his story waiting, quietly, impatiently perhaps. But waiting. He waits for a hope that seems not to come, as time reveals dire news from doctors and painful information about his wife’s secrets. He waits for someone else to break in and fix things, as his daughters rebel and fall apart in the midst of the family crisis.  He waits – for something to change, for something to be fixed, for something…anything…to save him from himself.

Matt King’s story is in many ways familiar, his tragedy universal. Chicago pastor John Buchanan writes that he is particularly ready for Advent this year. “Perhaps,” he says, “it’s because recent world events have been so relentlessly grim: another fatal exchange of rocket fire between Israelis and Palestinians, a car bomb attack on American troops in Afghan­istan, more suicide bombs in Iraq, fragile economies in Europe and here at home, and presidential candidates outdoing one another in ignoring the critical issues of immigration, financial regulation and global warming. I need Advent.” he says.

We need Advent too.  It does seem harder this year, a friend reflected to me recently. The economy that continues to be strained, families and marriages continue to crumble, loved ones continue to get sick. Is it darker this year or is it just that the shadows seem to fall across our path a little too closely?

**

The words of Hannah and Mary speak our longing and our hope: “God has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly”  “God raises up the poor from the dust, God lifts the needy from the ash heap.”

Mary’s song is thought by many scholars to be modeled after the song of Hannah and it’s not difficult to hear why. We hear the same personal language at the beginning of the hymn.  “My heart, My soul, my strength, my mouth…” The same movement from the personal to the universal nature of God’s salvation as they affirm that God has lifted the lowly and sent the rich away empty.

Hannah’s song is not the only place where we find similarly voiced hymns of rejoicing.  Miriam, the sister of Moses, sang of God’s deliverance in the book of Exodus; Deborah sang of God’s victory in the book of Judges.  These songs are the songs of the mothers of Israel.  They sing of new possibilities, new communities, new power arrangements.  They sing to remind us and remember the ways in which God is at work in their lives and the lives of their people.  God keeps God’s promises, and women sing.

Their words are not placed in the future, but instead the present tense. In the midst of their own stories and blessings they see the wider scope of God’s power and salvation. They speak of their own blessings, yes, and then they speak of politics and governments, they speak of justice and righteous indignation.  The stories of these women are not devoid of darkness: the stories of both Hannah and Mary reveal pain and tragedy, complications and sorrow.

But… they know and proclaim like John that the light shines through the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it.

For both Hannah and Mary, what we notice, more than anything, is that God is the primary actor in their lives.  God is the one who breaks into the ordinary and mundane and speaks a new world of transformation and power.  God is the one who converts tragedy to rejoicing. God is the one who takes a barren women and makes her a matriarch of a great prophet; God is the One who takes a young not-yet-wife and makes her the one who ushers light into the world.

***

After Matt King experiences his own annunciation of sorts his passive waiting becomes an active preparation as he prepares to say goodbye, prepares to become a better father to his daughters, prepares to face down his demons, prepares to make decisions that reflect the person of honor he longs to be but has until yet failed to become.

And I wonder, how does one prepare for that? How does one prepare to be…better? To be…ready?

Denise Levertov’s poetic words ring true as she writes:

Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?
Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.

More often
those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,

are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief…

**

Annunciations will come, says Levertov, how will we receive them?

Perhaps there is no way to prepare, really, but to say that when the moment comes we hope that we will respond with a wider view of the ways that God is at work in the world.

Perhaps we prepare going to God with everything in prayer, as Hannah did, or in being willing when those moments come, to risk it all and say yes: “Let it be with me according to thy word.”

Perhaps it is an understanding that with tragedy and pain can come also joy and salvation. Perhaps it is faith; that it is in the darkest moments that light can break through and shine with more power and glory than at any other time.

Perhaps, perhaps, there is nothing we can do to prepare, except to live our lives holding this profound truth in our hearts – that even for us there might be an astounding ministry that awaits, that even for us, even for us, God can make the impossible possible.

May our Advent waiting be a preparation for that one, holy, impossibly possible moment to break forth in song.

Amen.

A Sermon Preached at the Larchmont Avenue Church

October 23, 2011

Rev. Julie Emery

Text: Leviticus 19:1-2, 15-18; Matthew 22:34 – 46

Matthew 22:34-46

When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him.  “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”  He said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment.  And a second is like it:  ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’  On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Now while the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them this question: “What do you think of the Messiah?  Whose son is he?” They said to him, “The son of David.” He said to them, “How is it then that David by the Spirit calls him Lord, saying, ‘The Lord said to my Lord, “Sit at my right hand, until I put your enemies under your feet”’? If David thus calls him Lord, how can he be his son?” No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.

+++

I had not exactly planned on going up. It is true that I planned the event. I was the one who pitched it to parents and confirmands, excitedly revealing how much I loved going on the ropes course.  And I do. In fact, I think it is one of the best youth ministry tools available to accomplish a multitude of group building, faith-stretching experiences that would take months to accomplish on the ground.

But when I planned the event I had not yet injured my back, and certainly did not anticipate climbing the ropes with it still a bit sore and tender.  That would have been, as my husband gently put it, not my smartest move.  So, when we needed another person to strap in to a harness and volunteer to be a part of the first 8 to go up, I figured one of these young, agile 8th or 9th grade athletes would step up.  But when the confirmands showed their nervousness and hesitated to volunteer even after a bit of prodding. I knew that God was calling me to push beyond what I had anticipated.

Since I have, in fact, done this before, I thought – no big deal.  I’ll bow out if I feel any pain at all, I thought, and it’s only fair if I ask these 13 and 14 year olds to do this, I should be willing to do it as well.  So, when it got to be my turn, I hoisted myself up the ladder and climbed the staples up what looked like a telephone pole in the middle of the woods – up to the platform which was 30 or 40 feet in the air.  No big deal, I thought, I’ve done this before.

And then, I stood up and looked around.  My breath caught in my chest. I clung to the pole a little more tightly and thought, “What the heck am I doing up here? What did I get myself into?”  I gave a hesitant thumbs up to those ants who were shouting to me from the ground: “Great job Julie!” And I prepared to put a foot on the wire cable that extended 30 feet across the abyss of air below, to the next pole…

If the story we read in Matthew’s gospel this morning had happened today it would have been a tweet; Jesus boiling the Law down into a pithy 140 characters able to be texted and tweeted in one, short, powerful phrase.  Not to simplify but to draw out the essence of what drives our life of faith.

It’s quite possible the lawyer didn’t think he would be able to do it – the approach and question to Jesus is a “test” – and a hostile one, really, as the Pharisees are trying to catch Jesus where the Sadducees failed.  Perhaps they are trying to make him look silly, since they imagine no one could boil the 613 commandments of Jewish law into one.  Perhaps they are trying to make him look bad, hoping he will emphasize one aspect of the law over another to the detriment of the whole.  After all – what can one truly say in 140 characters?  After all – how can one truly boil anything down to it’s essence without losing most of it’s value?

Jesus responds much as he does when tempted earlier in Matthew’s gospel by Satan himself – by quoting scripture.  This saying of Jesus is quoted so often, it’s easy for us Christians to forget that Jesus didn’t make this little bit up – instead he wed two pieces of his own Jewish heritage and scripture that had not been joined before.  The first, the Shema, the prelude commandment of the ten, is written on the hearts of all Jews.  Jesus and his followers would have prayed these words multiple times every day, including the lawyer and the Pharisees.  These are the words written on small scrolls and rolled up and hung in doorways of every Jewish home. It is the essence of Jewish-ness: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind.

The second is like it, but not the same, as Jesus puts it, and is at the center of what is often called the “Holiness Code” found deep in the heart of the Torah.  These chapters in Leviticus are so called because of the frequent interruption in commandments with the phrase: “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy…”  The idea is that the holiness of God is reflected in the holiness of God’s people, and their lives are to show that holiness in action.

What God is – so we should be too.  Holy, kind, loving… Loving our neighbor as ourselves.

The question asked to Jesus is one we all have asked, in some ways.  What is the most important thing?  What is the thing to be rooted out of our faith which stands as primary?  I can recall many instances when I have been asked to boil down my faith into a nutshell – both by young believers and old, by people in our faith tradition and by people well outside of it.  And this answer, given by Jesus, is well attested by others in our Judeo-Christian tradition.

There is a story of Rabbi Hillel that when a man challenged Rabbi Hillel to teach him the whole of Torah while standing on one foot, Hillel responded by saying something strikingly similar to the response that Jesus gives, “That which is despicable to you, do not do to your fellow,” he said, “this is the whole Torah.  The rest is commentary.”

The rest is commentary.  It is not surprising that for humankind, we need a lot of commentary.  The Leviticus verses read just a bit ago by Reverend Crawford provide some of that commentary: “you shall not render an unjust judgement, you shall not be partial to either the poor or the great, you shall not slander, you shall not profit by the blood of your neighbor.”

Each of these in their various commands might call to mind different images in our newspapers this past week – the body of the slaughtered Khadafi, stories of assaults against women in and around Manhattan and Westchester, pictures of our ravaged earth or the protesters camping out in lower Manhattan.  How exactly do we interpret, “Do not profit by the blood of your neighbor” or as it reads in another translation: “Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor’s life”?

Do we paint with a broad brush or a detailed one? Do we see this as general, referring to safety, (for instance, drive carefully, don’t pollute, keep to ourselves…) or do we see this as a reminder that everything we do has repercussions for those around us (not only should we not pollute, but we should recycle, be kind, stand up to bullys, speak out for justice.)

There is no question that the challenge of loving our neighbor is one that deserves commentary again and again as history evolves and unfolds, as new animosities arise and new struggles present themselves.  We need to learn this commandment again and again as we rethink and remind ourselves who is our neighbor, and what it looks like to love them.

So too the question of loving God is one that takes rethinking and remembering.  As Christians we perhaps don’t remind ourselves as often as we could those words of the first commandment.  We don’t often ask ourselves, what does it look like to love God with all our heart and soul and mind.  It is easier in some ways to contemplate loving our neighbor than it is to contemplate such a mysterious and elusive being in our lives as God.

In each of these commandments cited by Jesus the key word in this text is “love,” and the love named is the “agape” kind of love.  If you remember your Sunday School teaching on the different words for love in the bible, you will remember that “agape” is that love that is not erotic, and not simply friendship, but instead a sacrificial, self-emptying, unconditional love.  This is the kind of love that cannot be separated into only a small piece of our lives but is a kind of love that requires all of who we are – our hearts and souls and minds.  It is a love that requires every bit of us. Nothing is hidden from or exempt from giving to God …or neighbor.

As if to explain the way we are to love God whole-lifedly, the Shema names those three aspects of our life with which we are supposed to love God: with our heart and soul and mind.  It is a comprehensive list for good reason.

Some of us are very good at loving with one of those three.  There are those who give of their hearts to both God and neighbor easily and willingly – compassion flows from them easily and freely.  Perhaps those are the kind of people who regularly go on the Midnight Run or serve at HOPE.  Perhaps they are a parish care visitor who finds time every week to call on their visitee and offer a kind word or a ride to church.

It may be harder for those heart-lovers to love with their mind, or consider the ways they love with their soul.  Perhaps it is less compelling for them to attend adult education classes or join a bible study.  Perhaps it is less easy to discuss how one’s political choice is affected by one’s faith in Christ.  Perhaps it is harder to be thoughtful not only about those hungry and homeless and imprisoned we are called to love but to think about why they are hungry and homeless and imprisoned and seek to change those root causes through activism or protest:  Using our minds as well as our hearts to love God and neighbor.

Or maybe it is the other way around – maybe for you it is easy to be the thoughtful, erudite Christian.  Perhaps you are well read in history and theology, well versed in Christian thought from Augustine to Calvin to Barth to Bonhoeffer.  It is certainly fascinating to think about philosophy and theology and world religions, but belief in God can be daunting and strange.  There is certainly a way of engaging in faith that keeps living it at a distance.  Sometimes it is much easier to study prayer than to get down on our knees pray. Sometimes it is much easier to theologize then to actually step into the river of belief and get your feet wet. Sometimes it is easier to think about loving God and neighbor, easier to preach about it, than it is to actually do it.

Loving with our soul might be even trickier to flesh out, since our understanding of soul is far less tangible than our heart and minds.  Perhaps Jesus and his Jewish ancestors are lifting this up because they knew how our inner selves can be so easily drawn away from our God.  How easy is it for us to let other desires, other fears, take up residence as the centermost thing in our lives.  Is it our children, our financial security, our jobs, our homes that lodge themselves inside and become the most important thing?  Is it our worry for our aging parents? Our longings for relief and rest?  Is it our illness or aging body?

How do we move to a life of keeping God at the center of our soul?

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Back on the platform, I prepared to step out onto the high wire.  Now, for everyone who does it, there is a different moment that tests us beyond what we expect.  It may be stepping off the ladder or reaching over the platform to a hand-hold that cannot be seen.  But for many, the moment when you have to let go of the pole and place all of your weight on the wire is one of pure faith.  You have step from a sturdy platform to a very un-sturdy cable. You have to trust that the harness and rope will hold you if you fall.  You have to trust the belayer on the ground to hold the rope if it slips. You have to put a foot out into the abyss of air that hovers beneath you. But the thing is, you cannot put a foot on the cable without letting go of the pole; you cannot do it half-way.  You have to trust, you have to risk, you have to step out and put your whole weight on the wire.

It is in some ways a blessing that the love of neighbor and the love of God are so intertwined, since both give us practice for the other.  When we love our God, when we begin from a relationship of closeness with our creator, when we understand that all that we are and all that we have come from God – then we begin to understand the ways that loving our neighbor is an outpouring of our love for the divine.  We might begin to see God’s beauty in each and every person we meet, treating our neighbors as God’s holy one, wanting each and every person to be fed and clothed and safe.

The all-in quality of this kind of love is risky and frightening, and difficult for our western eyes to understand it.  How often have you worried about a friend who became obsessed with a certain charity so that it began to consume everything in their lives?  How often have you known someone who seems to give too much of themselves and your first instinct is to worry that they don’t have enough balance or that they might get burned out? In fact, I have a conversation about achieving balance in my life at least once a week.

Balance is good, it is necessary.  But the challenge is that Jesus does not ask us to live a life of balance.  He asks us to live a life of love.  Of whole-hearted, soul-filled, thoughtful, whole-life love.  There is no balanced way to love.  There is no way to put just one foot on the wire.  There is no way to love half-way.

There is a great quote from Saint Francis de Sales that goes like this, “You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so you learn to love God and (humanity) by loving. Begin as a mere apprentice and the very power of love will lead you on to become a master of the art.

The only way to learn to love, then, is to love.

We might begin by understanding our resources, our time, our talent, our money – as an outpouring of gifts from God, and letting our grip on those things loosen.  Perhaps we might be able to give more away and in so doing show the love of God and neighbor that is the essence of faith.

We might begin to live as though our every action, every word, every thought has the power to harm our neighbor or keep them safe from harm, and live accordingly.

We might begin by putting down the book on prayer and putting words to thoughts – asking God for even the most incidental things, offering thanks at every joy, letting God infuse our lives in the conversation.

We might begin by not always seeking balance but becoming un-balanced in our loving, by risking it all and letting our whole selves be held in the grace and love of God.

We might begin, even now… Amen.

A Sermon by Rev. Julie Emery

Preached at the Larchmont Avenue Church

September 25, 2011

Text: Philippians 2:1-13 (Common English Bible)

Therefore, if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort in love, any sharing in the Spirit, any sympathy, complete my joy by thinking the same way, having the same love, being united, and agreeing with each other.  Don’t do anything for selfish purposes but with humility think of others as better than yourselves.  Instead of each person watching out for their own good, watch out for what is better for others.  

Adopt the attitude that was in Christ Jesus:

Though he was in the form of God,

he did not consider being equal with God something to exploit.

But he emptied himself by taking the form of a slave and becoming like human beings.

When he found himself in the form of a human, 

he humbled himself by becoming

obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

Therefore, God highly honored him and gave him a name above all names,

so that at the name of Jesus everyone in heaven, on earth, and under earth might bow

and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Therefore my loved ones, just as you always obey me, not just when I am present but now even more while I am away, carry out your own salvation with fear and trembling.

God is the one who enables you both to want and to actually live out his good purposes. 

***

A few years ago a relative of mine passed away and I was given her bible.  It is something that I’ve learned happens to pastors, the gift of bibles that people don’t seem to know what to do with.  And I had to laugh a little bit, because this bible  which had belonged to a woman in her seventies still looked brand new, inscribed with her name in her own 3rd grader penmanship and the name of the pastor who presented her with it so many years ago.  It was not, I knew, a testimony to her faith, or her knowledge of scripture (perhaps there was another bible in her life that was more regularly opened); but it made me affirm my own desire that the bibles given today to our fourth grade class might be used, read and treasured, underlined and dog-eared and worn.  Maybe by the time these young fourth graders leave for college.

Today marks an important day in the life of our church, although in some ways, every Sunday is important, another celebration of our connection and salvation in Christ.  So too the importance of this day is due at least in part to the ongoing ministry to and with our children, as we continue the tradition of passing down our faith in each and every Sunday School Class, in each spoken prayer, in the blessings we share as our children and teachers head off to learn and leave us here to worship and learn as well.

The gift of Bibles to our fourth graders is an important part of this process.  As we pass down the word of God we also pass down our reverence for it – and our hope that the reading and study of our scriptures be an important part of their life of faith as well.

Today also marks the formal beginning of the confirmation year for a group of 8th and 9th graders in our congregation.  The truth is that the true beginning of this journey began a long time ago for many of them, as their parents and the members of their churches committed to supporting them in their lives as young people of faith.  But now – after Sunday School and 4th grade bibles and years of imitating the faith of their parents – they will begin to stretch beyond themselves into a journey all their own.

Our year will be filled with time in community, as we seek to understand what it means to be a community of faith, bound by our life in Christ.  It will be filled with service and worship, and studying scripture, as we practice those things that are a part of the active faith life of an adult membership: stewardship and prayer, service and fellowship.

It is the way we often learn – by doing.  It begins as early as when an infant’s eyesight and understanding is good enough to focus on the people around them.  They begin smiling, raising eyebrows, blowing up cheeks and sticking out tongues at those goofy-looking parents who are making those same faces right back at them.

It continues, of course, into the phases of crawling and walking, eating and talking, causing us parents to feel forced to tow the line better and better each year – cleaning up the adult language, changing words like “stupid” to “silly,” slowing down, yelling less at other drivers, trying even if failing miserably at being the kinds of people we want our children to imitate, lest we hear them shout something un-preachable from the backseat of the car, or (God forbid) in Sunday School class.

Imitation is the natural way we raise children, slowly, but surely into the people they will become.  And children will naturally imitate those people who they see most.  It is why we remind older siblings to set a good example, why I remind the older boys in my neighborhood that my sons are watching them very closely when they shoot nerf guns at each other or play football in the street, why I try to stop and take deep breaths when I am cut off in traffic, rather than any alternative.

In Churches we have capitalized on this natural tendency of imitation for thousands of years.  As people begin to join the community gathered here we expect that they will imitate those around them as they learn how we act out our life of faith.  We stand and sing together, we fold our hands in prayer, we say “Amen.”  We do these things again and again.  We take bread, dip it in the cup.  We read the words in the bulletin and speak the words in bold out loud.  We listen quietly, nod affirmatively during the moments for mission.  We give out bibles, open them and read them together.  This is what we do here.

For some of us this comes as natural as breathing.  For others, it feels strange and confusing.  But, this is what we do, together as a community of faith.

Now, there comes a moment, or a bunch of moments, when each of us has begun to question those actions we’ve been imitating and wonder whether or not we want to keep doing them, or something else.  There comes a moment when young people especially begin to choose other people to imitate.  Sometimes people we don’t approve of, sometimes people they’ve seen on TV or in school.  There comes a moment, when as parents we have a diminishing opportunity to be the people our children imitate.

Perhaps this moment coincides with the time when our children begin to go to school, as they begin to become more involved in extra curricular activities.  In fact, as children grow older, they begin spending less and less time with parents and more and more time with their peers.  Which may contribute to their increase of imitating people other than their parents.

In a recent research project, a group of seventy-five suburban teenagers were given beepers and belts and asked to write down exactly what they were doing and feeling at the exact moment the beeper sounded.  (This research project is discussed in Mark DeVries’ book, Family-Based Youth Ministry.) After several months of observation, the…study revealed that teenagers spend less than seven percent of their waking hours with any adults, while spending approximately half of their time with peers.

For teenagers, this may seem fine – normal, even good.  It is true that developmentally teens are naturally pulling away from their parents, testing out independence, becoming adults, and this is a necessary part of growing up.

The question that we might want to ask these days, however, is whether or not they are becoming adults.  Studies are showing over and over again that the period of time called “adolescence” has lengthened significantly over time, so that some would say adolescence starts sometime around age 12 and extends to age 30 or 35.  It is a period that is marked much to our fear and chagrin, by risk taking, experimentation, non-committal, irresponsible behavior,

The flip side, is that this time is also marked with expansive creativity, energy, deep and intense passion, and a belief that they are able to effect real change the world.

As Paul urges the Philippians to imitate Christ – to be self-emptying, to be humble, looking not to your own interests but to the interests of others, he begins by reminding them of the qualities they already have.  Our English versions say “if,” but the underlying Greek is more like the word “since”:

“Since, then, there is encouragement in Christ, consolation from love, sharing in the spirit, compassion, and sympathy” since you already have these things present in and among you…

Paul is writing to the community is Philippi what some scholars refer to as “the most affectionate of Paul’s letters – an expression of deep friendship.”

Paul writes to a community of faith whom he knows and loves, reminding them of who they are and what he expects of them.  It is much like a parent I know who says to his teenager when she goes out on a friday night, “Remember who you are.”  Remember who you are, Paul says, and you will be a community that imitates Jesus.

Reverend Paul Hoffman tells a story about a woman named Kathryn, who came to his church in Seattle, Washington as an adult looking for “something spiritual.”  The church invited her to join their adult catechumenal class, a year-long adult confirmation class.  The students are matched up with a sponsor or mentor – a loving member of the congregation who will walk with them on their journey of faith.  They take classes together, pray together, read scripture and ask questions of faith and doubt and together they discern whether or not God might be calling them to be baptized or renew their baptismal vows on Easter Sunday.

Kathryn was an enthusiastic student, learning the ways and beliefs of the church and eventually deciding to be baptized into the church community.

During the same year, the church was in it’s own discernment process as it considered whether or not they wanted to invite something called the Tent City to spend three months camped on the church’s front lawn.  As Hoffman explains, “Tent City is a well-organized long-standing coalition of self-governing homeless people who have banded together for safety, community and advocacy. They refer to themselves as “houseless,” not “homeless.”  This community is allowed to encamp within the limits of the city, but only to places they are invited and only for 90 days, which means they are mostly hosted by churches around the Seattle area.

As you can imagine for a church in suburban Seattle just down the road from some wealthy home-owners, the hosting of Tent City was not inevitable and was hotly debated and contended.  They discussed and discerned in prayer, they patiently waited.  When the time came for an open forum on the topic, leadership prepared to be open to all voices, listening to all concerns, many of which were raised.  They had not expected someone so new to the community to speak.

And then Kathryn stood up to talk.  Still a brand-new Christian, she called the church to question.  She could not believe that they were not embracing the opportunity to host Tent City.  “You told me,” she said, “that to be a disciple of Christ meant to care for those less fortunate – to reach out to those in need and to share God’s love with all people.  That’s what you taught me it means to be a baptized disciple of Jesus.”

And then she shocked them with an ultimatum: “So if we decide that we can’t invite Tent City to be on our front lawn, I will have to leave this congregation. If Tent City can’t be here, then I can’t either, because what you have taught me about who we are as the people of God and what it means to be one of you will not be true.”

“If then, there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love…”

Paul reminds the Philippians of who they are by reminding them of who Jesus is, urging them to strive towards imitating Christ in humility, in looking out for others before ourselves, in being of the same mind.  It is the stuff that makes up a community, watching out for one another instead of just ourselves, sharing, offering compassion and sympathy, encouragement.  It is the stuff we hope our children will learn from being a part of a community – this community – perhaps by imitating those they see here.

But it is not only those who have been here for years and years who remind us of who we are as Christians, sometimes it is the newly baptized, the new member, the visitor who calls us to act as we are called to act in Christ.  As Jesus reminds us in todays Gospel lesson: it is not the one who simply says he will follow but the one who actually does it who obeys the will of the Father.  Even tax collectors, even prostitutes, may be closer to the mark of discipleship than we are.

The important thing to remember as we embark on another year of confirmation, is that this process is not only a process of passing down our faith to our young people, but also a process whereby our young people remind us of who we are as a community of faith.  Each of us participates in the confirmation process, as we help to pass down our faith.

As a community, we remind ourselves of why this church is so important to our lives, we remind ourselves of what an active faith life looks like, we remind ourselves of those beliefs we can affirm and those we still struggle against, we remind ourselves that our true goal, the one more important than any other aspect of our lives, is to imitate the Christ who loves selflessly, who reaches out to those less fortunate, who cares for the thoughts of others more than his own.

After Paul reminds the Philippians of who they are, after he reminds them of the way of Jesus – the way of selfless love and sacrifice – the way they are to imitate – he says these words: work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.”

The journey of faith is long and unending, taking twists and turns, through forests of doubt and islands of mystery.  It is unique to each one of us, as unique as each one of us.  We walk this life of faith with fear and trembling, knowing the ways we try and often fail to imitate the Christ we follow.  But we trust that God has begun something in each of us, and that God will see it to fruition.  That is God, not us, who leads and guides, who inspires faith, who enables us to work for God’s good pleasure.

Amen.