Click for Podcast of Sermon Luke 15.1-3, 11-32
The Rev. Hal Chorpenning, Plymouth Congregational UCC Fort Collins, Colorado One of my favorite seminary professors, Ed Everding, had a wonderful, three-word paradigm for examining a biblical text: SAYS – MEANT – MEANS. And you can do this, too, when you’re reading scripture. SAYS: What do the words on the page actually say? Is the passage a poem, a story, a song, a prophecy, a letter? (The one genre you won’t find anywhere in the Bible is a science textbook.) What kind of language does the writer use? MEANT: What might this text have meant to the people who initially heard it or read it? What sort of message might they have derived in their historical setting? And finally, MEANS: Now, that we know what it says and what it may have meant millennia in the past, what might it mean for us in our setting today? Let’s try it with today’s text. SAYS: The Parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the best-known stories of Jesus in the Bible. Even people who have never stepped foot in a church may know this one. Obviously, it’s a parable, which plunks down a story and provokes the listener to wonder what other meaning is there. It’s important to look at the words on the page and perhaps look at different translations if you aren’t a linguistic scholar. It’s also important to look at what ISN’T on the page. For instance, in this story, we never hear about the mom. Is she dead? Is she silent? The other thing missing is the word “prodigal,” which doesn’t appear in the text. In fact, the word “prodigal” never occurs in the Bible, but it has grown up as part of the tradition over the years. The first biblical use in English is a description in the 16th century Geneva Bible, which is the English translation used by the Pilgrims of Plymouth. The meaning of “prodigal” is oftentimes thought of in a pejorative sense of being wasteful and excessive. But the Oxford English Dictionary also offers another definition: someone or something that “has, gives, or yields something on a lavish scale; generous, copious, abundant.” Now, just hold onto that idea for a few minutes. MEANT: What do we think the parable meant to those who heard it? One of the obvious meanings is that we are like the son who has gone astray, rejected God, fallen off the tracks, and are trying to find our way home. We may see the father’s reaction as one like God’s: that no matter what we do (wasting our inheritance, living with ritually unclean beasts like swine, rejecting the love we’ve been shown), God always offers us an extravagant welcome home as a consequence of reconfiguring our minds and our hearts and setting off in a better direction. I took some of the words for this morning’s prayer of confession from the “Full to the Brim” Lenten resources we’re using, and it clearly cast us in the role of the son who has missed the mark. That is the dominant way the parable has been interpreted, and it’s not wrong. All of us mess up on a regular basis, and it’s important for us to see the errors of our ways and get back on track. But there was this phrase that I read in our bulletin a few weeks ago, and it really struck me: “a frugal faith.” A frugal faith…it’s not a good thing, is it? Having come from New England, I can assure you that there are plenty of Congregationalists who think that frugality and thrift are biblical virtues that should be lived out every day. Surprisingly, there really is nothing about frugality in the Bible. There is one reference to scarcity in Deuteronomy, but it is usually referred to as a counterpoise to God’s abundance. Is that surprising to you? Didn’t you think that the injunction to be frugal was part of our faith? I wonder if we’ve allowed millennia of cultural build-up about our fear of scarcity to shade the ways we view our faith. That’s not all: In the New Revised Standard Version, there are 79 references to abundance starting in Genesis and ending in Jude. MEANS: What are some of the meanings of this parable that might serve us today? Is there a character you identify with in the parable? Someone whose experience and outlook resonates with you? To be sure, we can still see ourselves in the role of the younger brother who has gone astray, or we can see ourselves as the resentful older brother who has done all the right things, but who isn’t celebrated by their father…nobody killed a fatted calf for him! I think sometimes we let ourselves off the hook by playing small and saying, “I’m a sinner and much like the younger brother,” though may very well be true. I know there are times when I need to ask for forgiveness and promise to try and transform my behavior and outlook. Even though we’re a pretty neat bunch of people, all of have done things we regret and want to be forgiven for and to change. What if we saw ourselves in the role of the father? What if we could become people whose first response is to extend grace and abundance? What if we could be people who are more than willing to forgive wrongdoing when the offender expresses contrition and comes home? What would it take for us to have that kind of faith-in-action? How might that change our lives? Isn’t that part of what we pray for every Sunday: “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,” or in John Philip Newell’s words, “Forgive us the falseness of what we have done as we forgive those who are untrue to us.” We’re supposed to emulate God’s grace and forgiveness, in fact we only ask for it to the extent that we have offered it to others. Listen carefully to the Lord’s Prayer. I want to be clear that I’m not suggesting any of us should be a doormat and get used by a wrongdoer. Good boundaries are important, and no type of abuse is acceptable. That’s not the kind of unhealthy behavior we’re referring to. For true reconciliation to occur, there needs to be an act of contrition, a commitment that transformation is happening. The younger brother says, “‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son.’” Is that enough? How does the father know that this isn’t an empty promise? Part of the answer is that he doesn’t know for sure: that’s where grace comes in. What is motivating the father is there on the page in black-and-white: “His father saw him and was moved with compassion.” (It’s that weird Greek word, splagknidzthomai, which means gut-wrenching compassion, which is one of the key issues for Jesus, because it is a characteristic of God and ought to be for us.) Can you think of a time in your life when someone has asked for forgiveness, and you have been unwilling or unable to go forward with that? Can you think of a time when someone was unapologetic or unwilling to change…but you forgave them anyway? I’ve had some big situations like that where I have been wronged by someone close to me and they never owned their part in the situation, and it takes a long, long time to say, “You are forgiven.” And the strange thing is that even if they don’t know you’ve forgiven them, there will be a change, a transformation, in you. There is a burden lifted from your shoulders, a lightness that takes the place of heaviness. You can even feel it in your body, maybe in your shoulders releasing or the pit in your stomach letting go. I want to get back to that earlier definition of prodigal: “has, gives, or yields something on a lavish scale; generous, copious, abundant.” Is there a character in the parable whose behavior is described that way? It fits in rather well with our Lenten theme of “Filled to the Brim” or even our cup overflowing. When you hear the story of the father killing the fatted calf and ordering his staff to prepare a feast, what do you imagine that looks and sounds and smells like? There is music and dancing! Do you envisage a variety of things on the table? Dates? Fresh bread? Honey? Wine? Veal? Cheese? It’s lavish isn’t it? It’s “generous, copious, abundant,” isn’t it? So, why isn’t this referred to as the Parable of the Prodigal Father? The father is not someone who lives with frugal faith, is he? (The older brother, who can’t get over his hurt, perhaps does live a frugal faith.) How can the father just release the pain that his son’s departure and living with pigs must undoubtedly have caused? I think the answer is twofold: grace and compassion. The father lives an abundant faith, one filled to the brim with love and the dearness and power of relationship. That’s his primary concern, not keeping score with his son about how much money he blew. An abundant faith doesn’t count the cost. It doesn’t keep a tally in the record book of insults and slights. An abundant faith looks to compassion, love, hope, and grace as the path to God, because these are the characteristics of the One we worship and in whose image we are made. May we, each of us and all of us together, strive to live abundantly. And may your cup overflow. Amen. © 2022 Hal Chorpenning, all rights reserved. Please contact hal at plymouthucc.org for permission to reprint, which will typically be granted for non-profit uses.
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Listen to POdcast here Part One of series on Sabbath, related to Genesis 2:1-3 CENTRAL FOCUS: Sabbath practice is a core practice of the soul; rest, quiet, slowing, appreciating, blessing, enjoying, celebrating, intentional remembering and focusing, valuing, re-creating Genesis 2: 1 – 3 Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude. And on the seventh day God finished the work that God had done, and God rested on the seventh day from all the work that God had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that God had done in creation. For the Word in Scripture, For the Word among us, For the Word within us, Thanks be to God. ****** Breathe. That’s all. Let’s all take a breath together: inhale…….exhale. Two more: inhale………exhale……… inhale……… exhale. It’s a cycle, isn’t it? Both parts are important. On the seventh day, God rested, says the first Creation story. We just heard that in our morning’s Scripture reading. What you didn’t hear was that the Hebrew word for refreshed “vaiynafesh” literally means exhaled. The Hebrew text is saying that on the seventh day God exhaled. Our culture is more inclined to inhaling, to taking in; do more, want more, gain more, be more, take in more information, more data. Being busy can even be seen as a sign of importance. But are our lives busy or full? Did you know that the Chinese pictograph for ‘busy’ combines heart and killing. The Christian mystic Thomas Merton actually went so far as to equate activism and overwork with violence. Are our lives structured not just to inhale, but to exhale? Do we know how to exhale and rest in the arms of God, in the cradle of Creation? A big part of the first Creation story in Genesis is the teaching of the importance of Sabbath to the Jewish community. It was a characteristic practice to stop all work on Friday at sundown when the traditional Jewish day ends and to enter into Sabbath time until the next sundown. There is a story told of Jesus walking with his disciples on the Sabbath. They plucked some heads of grain to eat. The Pharisees, who tried to protect the people’s piety and to respect Torah law through lots of rules, accused them of sinfully breaking the Sabbath. Jesus’ wise response was that the Sabbath was made for the people, not the people for the Sabbath. So how can Sabbath as an exhale be for us? How might we learn from and be served by this teaching? In the Lenten journey at this church, we have been invited to seek being Full to the Brim. I suggested at our Ash Wednesday service that, like our cycle of breath, we cannot be vital and ‘Filled to the Brim’ without the whole cycle. Likewise, we cannot be whole and vital without rest. And our first sacred story of rest is the Seventh Day story of the first Sabbath, the first great exhale. I’m not talking about a return to dour restrictive rules of Sabbath that drain life; no dancing or card playing or visiting with people or frolicking and such. I’m talking about the wisdom and the necessity of exhaling in the service of the cycle of life. Go ahead, inhale fully again and then feel a long exhale again. Let it bring you to rest and ever closer to stillness. Exhale, that’s Sabbath. It completes the energy cycle of life, re-balances it. In that first Creation story, we are given an image of the earth as without form and void. It is a kind of chaos that seems empty. Creation happens out of a kind of emptiness. We have to exhale in order to make room for the inhale. The womb has first to be an emptiness in order to be filled with the growing creation of a new life. This emptiness is not so much a denial of life as it is a letting go and a letting be. It is a kind of re-balancing. In our human body, it is a chance to blow off CO2 as a part of our life-giving cycle of respiration, in preparation for bringing in more O2. The first Creation story begins in emptiness and ends in a kind of emptying, a resting, a stillness, an exhale, a Sabbath. Like a hibernating animal, like a planted bulb or seed in winter, there is an appropriate and necessary time to rest, to lie fallow, to not do. I was trained as an exercise physiologist after college. It is a basic principle of exercise training that the process of becoming more fit and healthy requires rest after we challenge and exercise the body. It is in the rest time that the rebuilding to a better state happens. How many of us trust that cycle? How many of us here are practicing Sabbath rest? I’m not talking about just laying down on the couch, although that could help. I’m not talking about kicking back and watching TV, although some quality viewing occasionally is renewing. We are invited into a Sabbath space and time that has a sacred intention, a certain quality of delightful exhale that puts us back in touch with the blessedness of Creation, the part of the first Creation story when God says, “It is very good”. Pastor Jane Anne, before her recent sabbatical suggested that all church committees take time in our Lent season meetings for forms of Sabbath, not doing tangible committee work, but sharing in Bible study, prayer, and connection. She was inspired by the book Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives, in which Wayne Muller suggests we embrace “Sabbath as a way of being in time where we remember who we are, remember what we know, and taste the gifts of spirit and eternity.” Our worship celebration here could be a Sabbath practice if it helps us remember who we truly are… as images of God made of the dust of the stars, as humble mortal beings of made of mud, as a people called to Grace and to justice, as part of a wondrous Creation with other wondrous Creatures and features. Our worship celebration or any practice that we have can be a Sabbath practice if it slows us down enough, focuses us enough toward Spirit that we remember and feel again in our bodies and souls the Grace of God and the gift of life. Any practice could be a Sabbath practice if it truly re-creates in us a sense of rest, renewal, gratitude and connection to the GodMystery. It doesn’t have to be Saturday or Sunday, or a particular ritual or prayer, though those things might help. In our Gospel stories, we often have Jesus going not toward the people and crowds, but, after his healing work, away from them to solitude and prayer. One way to translate what is translated as prayer is “to come to rest.” Jesus had the practice. He went to rest and renew. (And the disciples came after him, “hunted” him some translations say.) It’s not that Sabbath time is superior to work time. It’s that our work time is served by the wisdom and energy of balance and wholeness, Sabbath rest and its intention to be in a different way of being serve balance and wholeness. The spiritual paradox of this Sabbath rest and not doing is that it does create in its own way. The Rabbinic tradition says that on the seventh day God created menuha; tranquility, serenity, peace, and repose. The Jewish tradition also says that on the Sabbath we are given an extra soul, Neshemah Yeterah, a Sabbath soul which more fully appreciates the blessings of life and the fruits of our labor. How are we nurturing our Sabbath soul? I watched my Dad for years come home from work, empty his pockets and often change his clothes. It was a simple ritual of shifting from work to home. Now, I love the moment I get home and empty my pockets of keys, cell phone, and all the things I use in the outside world of work and marketplace. I empty my pockets and exhale. This can be a Sabbath moment on any day if I use it to really slow down, breathe, and pause to appreciate the gift of the day, of life, of the whole Mystery. And even if you are not working outside the home, or are not ‘doing’ as much as you once did, you are not exempt from the call to Sabbath, for it is possible to fill all our not doing time with things that don’t help us exhale, rest, and renew in the whole-making Spirit of the Divine. That’s because Sabbath is not just a time or even space that we reserve. It is also a quality of presence or consciousness. It is effortless, nourishing rest. It is stillness that can produce a unique kind of renewal and insight. It is an awareness, a return to perspective, a sacred perspective that is about depth and delight, about re-balancing and re-creating, about remembering and feeling that we belong to God, to the Mystery, and that we are to love ourselves, each other, and all Creation. There is a poem by Jane Kenyon that may help us feel into Sabbath time and space. The poem is related to the traditional Jewish day beginning in the darkness right after sundown. Let Evening Come Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn. Let evening come. Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass. Let the stars appear and the moon disclose her silver horn. Let the fox go back to its sandy den. Let the wind die down. Let the shed go black inside. Let evening come. To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung let evening come. Let it come, as it will, and don't be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come. As we continue in a Lenten journey of becoming Full to the Brim, I invite to us to remember that there are rhythms and cycles that make for life, ultimately, that make possible our coming back to acting for compassion and justice, to acting in service and offering a helping hand. No matter our age or stage, in our lives and in our culture, we can distort those rhythms and cycles and then distort and compromise the life force that sustains us and Creation, not allowing ourselves or the Earth to exhale, to rest, to renew. God exhaled on the seventh day, resting and savoring the blessing that is Life. Today, the sacred invitation is simple. Remember the Seventh Day and exhale. AMEN AuthorJ.T. comes to Plymouth as an experienced interim pastor, most recently, as Bridge Minister at University Congregational UCC in Seattle. Previously, he served congregations in Denver, Laramie, and Forest Grove, Oregon. Read more Link to Podcast Psalm 27 March 13, 2022 – 2nd Sunday in Lent Plymouth Congregational, UCC Fort Collins, CO Psalm 27 (NRSV); Triumphant Song of Confidence. Of David. 1 The [the Holy ONE], is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The [the Holy ONE], is the stronghold, the refuge, of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? 2 When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh-- my adversaries and foes-- they shall stumble and fall. 3 Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war rise up against me, yet I will be confident. 4 One thing I asked of [God] that will I seek after: to live in the house of [God] all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of [God] and to inquire in [God’s] temple. 5 For [the Holy ONE] will hide me in shelter in the day of trouble; [God] will conceal me under the cover of [God’s] tent; [God] will set me high on a rock. 6 Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in [God’s] tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to [the Holy ONE]. 7 Hear, O[God], when I cry aloud, be gracious to me and answer me! 8 “Come,” my heart says, “seek[God’s]face!” Your face, [God], do I seek. 9 Do not hide your face from me. Do not turn your servant away in anger, you who have been my help. Do not cast me off, do not forsake me, O God of my salvation! 10 If my father and mother forsake me, [God]will take me up. 11 Teach me your way, O [God], and lead me on a level path because of my enemies. 12 Do not give me up to the will of my adversaries, for false witnesses have risen against me, and they are breathing out violence. 13 I believe that I shall see the goodness of [the Holy ONE] in the land of the living. 14 Wait for [God]; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for [God]! Wait. Wait for God. Some of you may have mastered the art of waiting. However, I think that most of us in the 21st century do not like to wait. We want things now or soon after now! We want communication with our loved ones now! Why don’t they text or call back? We want our fast food now! Deliveries from online orders now! We want news now! We look for the shortest line in the grocery store, the closest parking place to the store entrance. We don’t like to wait. If we have to wait…. well, then we look at what’s on our phone to keep us occupied? Yet the ancient poet of Psalm 27 says to us, “Wait for God.” Especially when you are stressed and in crisis. When enemies, literal and metaphorical, surround you – enemies who are plotting war and bodily harm, enemies who are seeking to wreck your reputation through false scandal, enemy fears that you hold inside undoing your confidence – when you are set upon by any of these enemies, wait for God! The Hebrew word for “wait” here doesn’t mean just passively stand doing nothing. It means actively hope in God! Look for God! Be gathered in by the Holy ONE who is your light and salvation. Seriously! Of whom should you be afraid? God is with you and on your team. I know – and the psalmist knew – that this waiting for God is easier said than accomplished. I suspect that is why the psalm was written. I know and the psalmist knew that there are long dark days and nights when it seems that God is not present, when we wonder where in the world is this God of light and salvation?! In our own lives, in the lives of those we love, in the lives of the world. I don’t know about you, but I can barely read the news from Ukraine without asking, where is God? I can barely read the news from Texas and Florida of the opposition against and exclusion of our LGBTQ sisters and brothers and children. Where is God? I barely read the news about the urgency of climate change and destruction. Where is God? I sit with those in our congregation who are going through loss, illness, tragedy and hardship. Where is God? I acknowledge my own grief, fear, challenges within my own heart. Where is God? This week, I read these ancient words over and over in different translations starting with the King James’s Version I first heard in my childhood, moving through the NRSV, the CEB and finally on to Nan Merrill’s wonderful book of contemporary paraphrase, Psalms for Praying. I was asking, “Where is God?” in these very troubled and frightening times of pandemic, war, climate destruction and personal trouble. After a week of impatiently waiting with this psalm, I was found by God who is always patiently waiting for me, for us, for the world, almost as if hiding in plain sight. God is here. When we think we are waiting for God, God is already waiting for us, with open arms. The literal encompassing energy of the universe, of all creation, is God, is Love. Love’s energy is always here. In fact, it cannot be destroyed. Our warring ways cannot blot it out of existence. Obscure it from our sight, yes. But not destroy it. So, where do I find God waiting? I find God is waiting, in the care that you, my Plymouth sisters and brothers, extend to one another in times of need. I find God waiting in the joy of our children’s faces, in the thoughtful questions they ask. I find God waiting in the courage of the activists among us who speak out against injustice, who welcome refugees and homeless folks into our community. I find God in the late afternoon light landing golden on the bare winter landscape as I walk the dog. I find God in the prayers you offer as well waiting in my own heart as I feebly pray for peace, as I haltingly write sermons, as I wait with scripture I may first not understand or grasp, may in fact even resist because of my fears that it’s wisdom might not be true. Yet as I surrender, even tentatively, to the wisdom I want to embrace, God shows up. I read a Facebook post this week from a Plymouth member quoting Eat, Pray, Love author, Elizabeth Gilbert. Gilbert wrote, “You are afraid of surrender because you don’t want to lose control. But you never had control; all you had was anxiety.” Wow, that hits home! How often do we worry and worry, not just over small things, but also over the big, important things, yet things over which we have little or no control? Does our worry, our anxiety, bring us closer to God? Where is God when we realize we do not have ultimate control over what is happening to our loved ones, to our beloved creation, to everyday people like us whose lives are literally being bombed into smithereens, to everyday people like us who are told they are not valid people because they are not made in the image of the definition of human being as “white, straight, middle to upper class, male?” Where is God when we are held in the grip of these very legitimate concerns? God is waiting for us in our very fears and anxieties and worries as we surrender our false sense of control over them to God. Not surrender our agency for action, because God will call us to action that we can accomplish. But when we surrender the enemies of fear and crippling anxiety to Love, God is waiting for us. For God is the Love that animates the universe, weaving in and out of all situations, events and people. “The world is charged with the grandeur of God,” the poet, Gerard Manly Hopkins, wrote.[i] And I would add the nurture, the compassion, the care of God, especially when we think all is lost and we can’t take anymore. At those times, we can say with the ancient psalmist, “Hear me, when I cry aloud, and answer me! Do not hide from me. I am waiting for you to gather me in, to give me hope.” And in the rubble of our pain, God is waiting. When we surrender to the yearning for God’s peace and presence, we find God in unexpected ways, through unexpected people and situations. How I wish I could tell each and every one of you exactly how you will find God waiting! Yet I cannot deprive you of your journey into Love for the wholeness comes in the journeying. How I wish I could banish the pain and suffering of the world! And of course, I don’t have that kind of power or control. None of us do. I can offer you the presence of Psalm 27. As I close today, I offer it to you in words from Nan Merrill’s Psalms for Praying. Hear and pray and let its yearnings wind through the yearnings of your heart. Love is my light and my salvation, Whom shall I fear? Love is the strength of my life, Of whom shall I be afraid? When fears assail me, rising up to accuse me, each one in turn shall be seen in Love’s light. Though a multitude of demons rise up within me, my heart shall not fear. Thought doubts and guilt do battle, Yet shall I remain confident. …. For I hide in Love’s heart In the day of trouble, as in a tent in the desert, away from the noise of my fears. … Hear, O Beloved, when I cry aloud, Be gracious and answer me! You have said, “Seek my face.” My heart responds, “Your face, my Beloved, do I seek; Hide not your face from me.” Do not turn from me, you who have been my refuge. Enfold me in your strong arms, O Blessed One. …. You, My Beloved, know me and love me. Teach me to be love, as You are Love; Lead me through each fear; Hold my hand as I walk through Valleys of doubt each day, That I may know your peace. I believe that I shall know the Realm of Heaven, of Love, here on Earth! Wait for the Beloved, be strong with courage … ; Yes! Wait for the Love of your heart![ii] May it be so! Amen. ©The Reverend Jane Anne Ferguson, 2022. May be reprinted with permission only. [i] https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44395/gods-grandeur [ii] Nan C. Merrill, Psalms for Praying, An Invitation to Wholeness, (Continuum Publishing, NY, NY: 1998, 46-48.) AuthorAssociate Minister Jane Anne Ferguson is a writer, storyteller, and contributor to Feasting on the Word, a popular biblical commentary. Learn more about Jane Anne here.
Luke 4.1–13
The Rev. Hal Chorpenning Plymouth Congregational UCC, Fort Collins, Colorado “I believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.” Did you notice anything about Jesus that was missing? How about this one: “We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one being with the Father; through him all things were made. For us and for our salvation he came down from Heaven, was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and did become truly human. For our sake, he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered death and was buried. Did you catch what was missing? These ancient creeds have a beginning on the timeline of Jesus’ life (born of the Virgin Mary), and there is an endpoint on his human timeline (crucified, died, buried). The creeds even name the man who did it: Pontius Pilate. But what happened to the intervening 33 years of Jesus’ life? One of the reasons I wrestle with the creeds of the early church is that they omit what I consider absolutely central in the New Testament and in a living, vital Christian faith: the sometimes scandalous and dangerous life and teachings of Jesus. The Nicene Creed is the earlier of the two, written by bishops at the Council of Nicaea in 325…all male bishops of course, the council was convened by the emperor in a palace that belonged to Constantine himself, and the bishops were under the guard of Roman soldiers as they tried to define orthodoxy for Constantine. Think of it – within 300 years the followers of Jesus went from being subversives whose leader was nailed on a cross in the Jewish homeland by Rome to become the official religion of the Roman Empire and whose theology was under the scrutiny of the emperor and his legions. The anti-imperial movement had been coopted into the establishment of the empire itself! Why does this matter? Look at Christian nationalism at home and abroad for the answer. Perhaps that is the reason the creeds fail to mention the teachings of Jesus: they are too hot to handle, too full of subversive wisdom, too hard to deal with as the establishment rather than the movement. When I was growing up in a New England Congregational UCC church, we didn’t say the creeds, and we didn’t observe Lent, which was true for our Puritan and Pilgrim forebears. Maybe some people knew that Lent was happening and what it was about, but I certainly didn’t. Growing up in a state with a large Roman Catholic population, I knew lots of kids who went to catechism after school, gave things up for Lent, and the public schools always had fish sticks for hot lunch on Fridays – all of which was mystifying to me. And that is because our Reformed forbears didn’t observe non-biblical holidays, because they wanted to return as closely as possible to the practice of the very early church and to shed centuries of accretion by the Church of Rome. Lent was not widely observed in the church until Christianity was the established religion of the Empire. What can we learn if we go back before the Council of Nicaea in 325? In the early Egyptian tradition of the desert mothers and fathers, Lent was an emulation of Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness, a time of testing, a vision quest that Jesus himself experienced. And in the church in Jerusalem, it was a forty-day preparation of initiates for baptism and full inclusion in the church at Easter. Those are two very different ways to observe the 40 days. Most of the church forgot (and sometimes still forgets) the life and teachings of Jesus! In just the same way the creeds do, the timing of Lent and Good Friday skip over everything Jesus did between the beginning of his public ministry and the week he died. The forty days that Jesus spent in the wilderness prepared him to lead a new movement and preach the liberating reign of God and heal. If we focus on Jesus’ wilderness experience in Lent, we remember and observe the launch pad from which he set out on his ministry, and that can carry over into our lives today. Jesus’ time in the wilderness is historically separate and distinct from his crucifixion, thought they bump up next to one another in the liturgical calendar. Jesus was not tempted by Satan in the desert so that he could head right into beautiful downtown Jerusalem to be executed by Rome! He was tempted by Satan so that he could become ready to take on the religious establishment and the Roman Empire itself. Please don’t misunderstand me: the crucifixion of Jesus is critically important, and we will get there during Holy Week. A profound truth of Jesus’ self-sacrifice is that “No one has greater love than this, but to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” For me, the desert mothers and fathers had a strong point: Lent is about the wilderness pilgrimage of Jesus, being tempted by possessions, power, and fame — and rejecting them all. It is a refining quest in the desert that enables Jesus to emerge in the Galilee and become a teacher, sage, and prophet of God. Immediately after today’s reading, Luke says Jesus “returned to Galilee” and “began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.” And then comes his “inaugural address,” preaching from Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor…release to the captives…recovery of sight to the blind…let the oppressed go free…to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Of course, any self-respecting Roman emperor wouldn’t want that to be the emphasis of the state religion! And Christian nationalists in our country or in Vladimir Putin’s Russia run away from the historical Jesus as well because the liberation he offers is anathema to them. Then Jesus heals people, calls the twelve disciples, and then preaches the Sermon on the Plain (or the Sermon on the Mount as Matthew calls it), the crystallization of his prophetic teaching, which starts with “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” Why don’t we have a liturgical season dedicated to the Sermon on the Mount or the Beatitudes? Is Jesus still too risky for the church to handle? So, where does that leave us with Lent? Though you may not guess it, I love Lent as a season when we test our faith and try to go deeper. When we pray a little more, live intentionally a little more, consider our way of life a little more, our faith gains greater depth. Lent is not simply a 40-day prelude to the crucifixion, but rather a challenge to live faithfully…to try and learn more about the life and teachings of Jesus and then put them into practice in our own lives…which is a lot harder than simply giving up chocolate for 40 days…and it yields longer lasting results. My challenge to you is this: find a way to go deeper. Observe sabbath time each day, read our Lenten Devotional booklet (available in the Fellowship Hall), have ten minutes or more of silent or walking meditation, read the gospel of Luke that is in our lectionary this season, join the brand new study of Genesis with Art Rooze, or give up chocolate (but remember it’s not just to cut calories). Remember what Jesus said, “I came so that you could have life and have it in abundance.” May we in this beloved community have the grace to grant ourselves some sabbath space this Lent as we delve deeper into our faith. Amen. © 2022 Hal Chorpenning, all rights reserved. Please contact hal at plymouthucc.org for permission to reprint.
Jeremiah 31.31–34
The Rev. Hal Chorpenning, Plymouth Congregational UCC, About 15 years ago, a member of our congregation had a problem with his heart…the rhythm of his heartbeat wasn’t quite right, and it turned out that the issue had to do with the electrical impulses that were being sent to his heart. And so, he had a process called cardiac ablation, in which his cardiologist inserted a catheter through a vein in his leg and into his heart and used laser light to create scarring on sections of his heart, which fixed the problem. The Sunday he returned to Plymouth, I happened to preach on this text, and he said, “I feel like that passage from Jeremiah was for me: as if I literally had something written on my heart, and only now do I know what the message was: that God’s love is with me wherever I go.” Of course, the heart is also metaphor for all kinds of things, as it was in Jeremiah’s day as well. I’m quite certain that Jeremiah was not expecting cardiac ablation by God! For us, the heart is metaphorically the center of feeling and emotion. So, God is saying that she will inscribe her covenant at the core of our being – in our center of feeling and emotion – so that we don’t need to think so much about it…we just have a visceral remembrance of it, a bodily knowing of the covenant…sort of like muscle memory that becomes part of what you do. When we speak “heartstrings,” we’re describing a tug on deepest emotions or affections. We even say, “Oh, that makes my heart ache,” even though there is probably nothing going on with the organ in your chest that is pumping oxygen-rich blood throughout your body. I would imagine that many of us have experienced some heartache in the wake of Carla’s resignation. Clergy hold a unique relationship with our parishioners…we aren’t cardiologists going in to perform a procedure, and then we leave and maybe see you for a follow-up visit. We develop ongoing relationships, especially when we are able to be face-to-face, that can run deep. On my first day in Colorado, I was at the deathbed of one of our members; those connections sometimes build fast and deep. It is normal to feel confusion, grief, and abandonment in the wake of a pastoral departure. But one of our staff members put it well last week. She shared a story about being on the staff of a Presbyterian church whose senior minister left after being with congregation for 20 years to take a similar position at a larger church. The congregation was grief-stricken and wondered what they had done wrong to bring about their pastor’s departure. Our wise staff colleague told them, “She still loves us, and God still loves us. It was time for her to go to what’s next on her journey. And don’t worry…God will send us someone to guide us next.” I hope that you know that, too: that Carla was crazy about Plymouth and that God loves us and will send us the right person for the next step in our pilgrimage. We’re also at a point in the church year that is emotionally intense. When was the last time you heard a story in scripture that pulled at your heartstrings or that made your heart ache? If you can’t think of anything off the top of your head, stay tuned, because Holy Week begins next Sunday. From the triumphal parade on Palm Sunday to the night of desertion and betrayal on Maundy Thursday, to the desolation of the cross on Good Friday, there will be plenty of opportunity for deep feeling. And I encourage you to tune into our Maundy Thursday service, which includes the dramatic service of Tenebrae with readings by our ministers and laypeople. On Good Friday, Mark will present a noontime organ concert, and at 7:00 we invite you to tune in for an ecumenical Good Friday service that includes Plymouth and other mainline congregations. It’s moving, not morbid, and if we don’t live through the abandonment of Maundy Thursday and the tragedy of Good Friday, the triumph of Easter loses its meaning. Another way we speak metaphorically about this thumping muscle in our chests is to know something by heart. Most of us know the Lord’s Prayer by heart…but are there pieces of scripture or other prayers that you know by heart? Perhaps when you were young, you learned the 23rd Psalm by heart. It’s good to have memorized and to deeply know a few things by heart…to have internalized them so deeply that they are with us wherever we go. When God tells Jeremiah that he will write the law on their hearts, I imagine it means that they will know it by heart, not just through memorization, but by internalizing the new covenant in the core of their being…that it becomes something not just to know, but to feel deeply. + + + Many times, when I am celebrating communion and am serving the wine, I will offer the words “the cup of the new covenant,” which reiterate the words of Jesus at the Last Supper: “This is the cup of the new covenant in my blood.”[1] That language is covenantal and visceral…the lifeblood is pumped by the heart carrying oxygen to all parts of the body. The prophet Jeremiah talks about this upcoming new covenant with the Hebrew people, but it doesn’t get mentioned again at all in the Hebrew Bible, but we do find the theme getting picked up by the writer of Luke’s gospel and by Paul. You no doubt recall the covenant God made with Noah, the covenant with Abraham and Sarah, the Sinai Covenant (or the Ten Commandments), and now we have the promise of a new covenant. But this one is less well defined: it’s not a clear mandate from God that she won’t flood the earth and wipe out humanity again, or that he is going to make great nations from one family, or even a set of codes etched on stone tablets. God is saying, through Jeremiah, that this new covenant is going to be an internal agreement: written on the hearts of God’s people. This new covenant is going to be “an inside job.” Another really important idea we can derive from Jeremiah’s prophecy is that God can continue to write new things on the hearts of people. And what if God wants to write different teachings on the hearts of different people? We hem God in and imagine a very small deity when we think that God stopped operating in human history with Noah or Abraham and Sarah or Moses or Jeremiah or even Jesus. Our God is not a small God. You and I are integral parts of God’s unfolding story; we are a continuation of the stories of faith we read about in scripture. So, what has God written on your heart? And how do you know that it’s God’s handwriting, not the calligraphy of your superego or a message from the culture in which you’ve been raised? I would ask whether there is also deep congruence between what is written on your heart and the life and teachings of Jesus. You may find that God is calling you to go places you’d rather not be – pushing you beyond the limits of your comfort zone. I am not an activist by nature, but for many years, I have felt obliged to speak out against gun violence. And I will continue to do so, even though it undoubtedly offends some people, and causes others to struggle with what I say. The way I perceive speaking for peace and justice is as something God has written on my heart. It isn’t an action I always want to take; it’s something I am called to do. And it’s what I think Jesus would be doing – and maybe is doing through us. And I will keep on praying for wisdom and discernment as I try to detect the loops and ligatures of God’s handwriting. And I will continue to voice what I perceive as the way God is leading us as a people. + + + As we walk together toward Holy Week, I would ask you to consider carefully two questions: what has God written on your heart, and how can you tell it’s God’s handwriting? In The Little Prince, Antoine de St. Exupery writes, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.” Perhaps that is why God has written a message on yours. Amen. [1] Luke 22.20 and I Corinthians 11.25 AuthorThe Rev. Hal Chorpenning has been Plymouth's senior minister since 2002. Before that, he was associate conference minister with the Connecticut Conference of the UCC. A grant from the Lilly Endowment enabled him to study Celtic Christianity in the UK and Ireland. Prior to ordained ministry, Hal had a business in corporate communications. Read more about Hal.
Psalm 38
The Rev. Hal Chorpenning, Plymouth Congregational UCC Fort Collins, Colorado This is an auspicious date for our congregation…not because St. Patrick’s Day is this week (hence the great Celtic music)…not because we should “beware the Ides of March” tomorrow…but because we have been worshiping remotely for a full year. And even as some of us are getting vaccinated, before we rush to celebrate the light at the end of a very long tunnel, we need to take stock of what we’ve been through together as families, as a congregation, a community, a nation, and a species. For some of us, the pandemic brought us in sight of possible death for the first time. “What if I get it…will I survive?” For others among us who are dealing with serious illnesses already, you may have wondered if it was safe to get ongoing treatments at the Cancer Center or the hospital. And some of us are dealing with a double grief of the death of a loved one in the midst of so much death, which is compounded by not begin able to mourn in the company of family and friends in a typical memorial service. You may or may not know someone who has died as a result of the novel coronavirus, but the figures are staggering. Estimates are that 1 in 3 Americans know someone who has died of Covid. More Americans have died of Covid in one year than died in the Second World War, which for us lasted four years. Novel coronavirus deaths in America have exceeded 9/11 deaths by 127 times. About 1 in 624 Americans has died as a result of the virus, and we know that people of color have died in even greater numbers. 225 people have died of Covid in Larimer County…to put that in perspective if they were sitting here today, they would be overflowing from our sanctuary here at Plymouth. The global numbers are very hard to imagine…2.6 million people have died. I don’t even know how to put that in perspective. All of us grieve in different ways. Culture and nationality have something to do with it, and the current administration has actually tried to put grieving into the national spotlight on February 22 with lighted candles outside the White House to remember those we’ve lost. I think that we, as a society, will need to come to grips with the collective trauma we’ve experienced. I don’t know if you’ve heard the verb, “to keen,” but keening is a wailing lament for the dead. It comes from the Irish Gaelic…and from a culture that knows how to weep and mourn more expressively and openly than most Anglo-Saxon cultures do. When was the last time you heard of a ripping great wake for a white Congregationalist or Episcopalian? Doesn’t happen. At my father’s memorial service in 1986, my younger brother, who had been unable to shed a tear at the time of my dad’s death, wept with abandon. It was deep, true, and healing. And my mother told him to pull himself together. I’ve learned a thing or two about grief since then, and I often tell families coming to a memorial service that this is a place that welcomes your tears. And so, I say to you: this is a place that welcomes your tears. One of the things the church does right is to acknowledge and provide a setting, a container, for grief and mourning. We have ritual moments for saying a final goodbye and sending off our loved ones. We have prayers committing their souls to God’s care. This is critically important spiritually and emotionally. If we don’t acknowledge our grief and work through it, it will fester…the wound will become deeper and not lessen. The Psalms provide so many examples of lament for us with the broadest sweep of emotion, from anger to dejection to bitterness to sorrow to regret. Have you been through the loss of a loved one? Most of us have. See if this sounds like something you experienced at some point in the process of grief: “But I am like the deaf, who do not hear; like the mute, who cannot speak. Truly, I am like one who does not hear, and in whose mouth is no retort.” (Ps. 38.13-14) The numbness of grief is a very common experience, when your emotions are so raw and in overdrive that you just can’t take another thing in. We are overwhelmed and silenced by our grief. I know that feeling, and perhaps you do, too. But silence is far from the only way we experience grief. The Psalmist demonstrates to us that we can shout out to God for help. “Do not forsake me, O Lord; O my God, do not be far from me; make hast to help me, O Lord, my salvation.” (Ps. 38.21-22) You’ve undoubtedly seen those British World War II posters that say “Keep Calm and Carry On,” as well as all of the take-offs. One of my favorites is on the back of a sugar packet I picked up in a café in Italy, which says, “Keep Calm and prendi un caffe!” (That is a good example of the ways in which Anglo-Saxon and Italian cultures are very different!) But maybe we don’t have to keep it together with God…maybe God is ready for us to weep and stamp our feet and cry out loud. Many of us are really good at keeping a stiff upper lip, but there is a time and a place for lament…acknowledging that this is all a bit too much to handle on our own (whatever this happens to be). Lament can involve wailing, weeping, groaning, crying over a grief, whether it’s the loss of a loved one, dealing with a serious illness, isolation during a lockdown, not seeing grandkids or parents for a year, losing a job, missing the normality of life…any situation that causes you grief. In a few weeks, you will hear Jesus quote Psalm 22 from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” If Jesus can lament using the Psalms, it’s okay for us to do that, too. Every one of us has encountered something that is too heavy to bear on our own. The good news is that you don’t have to carry it alone! (And that doesn’t mean taking it out on your family or colleagues or kicking the dog!) The genius of a lament in our setting is that it opens dialogue between you and God. Crying out to God in distress is a great way to begin! Psalms of lament are the largest category within this collection, and with good reason: being human is difficult…it’s hard…it is riddled with losses and griefs…not just for a few of us, but for all of us. The Psalmist usually circles back in a psalm of lament to include confidence in the ability of God to be present and to turn things around with us. The most succinct form I know is from Psalm 30: “Weeping may linger in the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Ps. 30.5) Last week I was in Santa Fe with two of my UCC CREDO colleagues, and we talked at length about the experience all of us have been through with this pandemic. One commented that for us who live though the pandemic, it will be like our parents or grandparents’ experience of living through the Great Depression. All of us were concerned about the collective trauma we’ve experienced. What is it like for you to internalize the catastrophic number of Covid deaths? Every one of us has felt the impact of the pandemic, personally and by extension. And I don’t think we should discount our own experiences during this time, even if at first glance you think of them as trivial. As we take baby steps at coming back together, and as we live into the next year, we’ll continue to talk about where you are, how relying on God can help, and ways we can learn from our pandemic experiences to shape the future. This has been a very long year. I thank you for your patience with the changes in our worship and in the life of our congregation, a life which continues to expand in new ways and in new directions. Will you be with me in prayer? How long, O Lord, how long? We are so weary of confronting things in new ways, that your constancy is welcome and make us feel at home in you. Help us to sense your presence in palpable ways…help bear our burdens…bind up our wounds…give us hope for a new day. Amen. © 2021 Hal Chorpenning, all rights reserved. Please contact hal at plymouthucc.org for permission to reprint, which will typically be granted for non-profit uses. AuthorThe Rev. Hal Chorpenning has been Plymouth's senior minister since 2002. Before that, he was associate conference minister with the Connecticut Conference of the UCC. A grant from the Lilly Endowment enabled him to study Celtic Christianity in the UK and Ireland. Prior to ordained ministry, Hal had a business in corporate communications. Read more about Hal. AuthorRev. Carla Cain began her ministry at Plymouth as a Designated Term Associate Minister (two years) in December 2019. Learn more about Carla here.
Mark 8.31-9.1
The Rev. Hal Chorpenning, Plymouth Congregational UCC Fort Collins, Colorado I suspect that many of us at Plymouth don’t particularly like talking about the cross and crucifixion. It can be hard for us to make sense of it today, just as it was in the first century when Paul wrote, “Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles.”[1] And yet, when you look at the predominant symbol of Christianity, when you look at the front of Plymouth’s sanctuary, you see the cross, an ignominious and horrific means of execution employed by the Roman Empire. And we know that Jesus died a tortured and shameful death upon a cross. I need to tell you something: I do not fully understand the meaning of the cross. Yes, I’ve been to seminary. Yes, I’ve been ordained for a couple of decades. Yes, I’m a pretty bright guy. But there is an aspect of the cross that I may never understand. I get it that Jesus was put to death by Rome because he was a threat, a political agitator who proclaimed a radical regime change that he called the kingdom of God. I see the collaboration of the religious authorities and the scribes. I understand that early Christians explained the cross in the context of Isaiah’s prophesy of the suffering servant. But I still don’t understand it on a visceral level, because I am a white man in America who lives with incredible privilege, including the privilege of not having lived the connection, the echoes, the resonance of the cross and the lynching tree. Jane Anne tells a story that during her ordination process, she included a bit more about the theology of the cross than most candidates and it made some people uncomfortable, and that one of her defenders was a saint of the UCC, the Rev. Clyde Miller, who was our conference minister for 13 years. As a Black man raised in the South, Clyde understood the cross and its significance for the Black church in this country. He had an intimate understanding of the cross as God’s critique of the powers of this world and the way that God can turn suffering and defeat into victory. I don’t know how aware you are of the history of lynching in our country or if you’ve ever thought of it as a system of tacitly legitimized terror perpetrated by white Americans against our Black sisters and brothers. Even into the 1920s, anti-lynching bills passed by the US House of Representatives were defeated repeatedly by a solid bloc of Southern Democrats in the Senate, and the Emmett Till Antilynching Act was finally passed by the House 366 days ago, on February 27 last year…but it was held up by the Senators Paul and McConnell from Kentucky, and it died with that session of Congress. What does that say to our African-American sisters and brothers in the wake of the killing of Ahmaud Arbery who was shot and killed while jogging by two armed white men in a suburb of Atlanta? Doesn’t it say, “We still think it’s okay if Black lives are forfeit?” Doesn’t it say, “Black lives don’t really matter?” And lynching Black Americans wasn’t just a southern phenomenon, though the vast majority of lynchings occurred there; in 1900, John Porter, a 15-year-old Black adolescent was lynched in Limon, Colorado…he was burned alive. Theologian James Cone writes, “If white Americans could look at the terror they inflicted on their own black population — slavery, segregation, and lynching — then they might be about to understand what is coming at them from others. Black people know something about terror because we have been dealing with legal and extralegal white terror for centuries. Nothing was more terrifying than the lynching tree.”[2] Have you ever thought about the crucifixion as a lynching? About Jesus as the “victim of mob hysteria and Roman imperial violence?” I invite you to use your imagination and try to walk for at least a few yards in the shoes of Black Americans who saw the lynching tree as the ultimate symbol of terror. You’ve seen the horrific photos of crowds of white terrorists, sometimes with their children, gathered around the mutilated body of a Black man or woman hanging from a tree or the mother of 14-year-old Emmett Till looking at her son’s disfigured body in a casket. It wasn’t simply a death, but a visible message about white supremacy. New Testament scholar Paula Fredrickson says that crucifixion in ancient Rome was analogous to lynching in the United States. “Crucifixion,” she writes, “was a form of public service announcement: Do not engage in sedition as this person has, or your fate will be similar. The point of the exercise was the death of the offender as such, but getting the attention of those watching. Crucifixion first and foremost is addressed to an audience.”[3] James Cone continues, “Because of their experience of arbitrary violence, the cross was and is a redeeming and comforting image for many black Christians. If the God of Jesus’ cross is found among the least, the crucified people of the world, then God is also found among those lynched in American history.”[4] That understanding of Jesus’ crucifixion is difficult for white Christians to fully understand. Black liberation theology sees the experience of Black Americans as a permanent underclass resonate with the experience of Jesus, a Jew who lived under Roman occupation and suffered its institutional violence. “If the American empire has any similarities with that of Rome,” he writes, “can one really understand the theological meaning of Jesus on a Roman cross without seeing him first through the image of a black man on the lynching tree? Can American Christians see the reality of Jesus’ cross without seeing it as the lynching tree?”[5] Can you see the cross as a reflection of the lynching tree? When you come back to Plymouth, I hope that when you see the large wooden cross in our sanctuary, you will pause and consider that. Dr. Cone writes, “It has always been difficult for white people to empathize fully with the experience of black people. But it has never been impossible.”[6] I invite my white sisters and brothers to work at empathizing…especially when it is deeply disturbing. As we continue our journey through Lent together, may you take time to ponder the cross…what it means for you, what it means for Black Christians, and how it informs your faith in God. If we really stand up for God’s kingdom of justice, of the first being last and the last being first, it is likely going to cause some turbulence for you and for your church. If we are going to make “good trouble,” as the late Congressman John Lewis said, we have to be prepared for the consequences. I invite you also to consider what it means for you to take whatever privilege you have in this life and be willing to forfeit it for the sake of the gospel. What are you willing to risk for God’s liberating reign, here and now and still unfolding? Will you take up the cross and follow Jesus? Amen. © 2021 Hal Chorpenning, all rights reserved. Please contact hal@plymouthucc.org for permission to reprint, which will typically be granted for non-profit uses. [1] 1 Corinthians 1.22-23 (NRSV) [2] James Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree, (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2000), p. 16. [3] Paula Frederickson, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. (NY: Vintage, 200), pp. 233-34. [4] Cone, op. cit., p. 33. [5] Cone, op. cit., p. 64 [6] Cone, op. cit., p. 49 AuthorThe Rev. Hal Chorpenning has been Plymouth's senior minister since 2002. Before that, he was associate conference minister with the Connecticut Conference of the UCC. A grant from the Lilly Endowment enabled him to study Celtic Christianity in the UK and Ireland. Prior to ordained ministry, Hal had a business in corporate communications. Read more about Hal.
Genesis 9.8-17
First Sunday in Lent Plymouth Congregational Church, UCC The Rev. Jane Anne Ferguson Intro to Scripture: The story of Noah and the ark is, perhaps, one of the best-known stories in Hebrew scripture. Adopted by widely in popular culture because of the beauty of rainbows and little animals prancing two by two out of the ark into a new world. And echoed in many creation stories from ancient and indigenous people around the world. But it is also a harrowing story of loss and destruction brought on in the version in Genesis by God’s grief and anger at the rebellious ways of humanity. God sets out to wipe the slate of creation clean with a flood covering all the earth. Plunging creation back into the primordial chaos from which it came. Saving only a remnant. Much to God’s surprise, retributive justice does not work well. The remnant of humanity saved has not been greatly changed by 40 days and nights at sea in a boat with several hundred squawking animal friends needing to be fed. Humanity is still contentious and prone to sin. God changes God’s mind about how to deal with human being. And that is where our text for today beings. Genesis 9:8-17 8 Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, 9 "As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, 10 and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. 11 I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth." 12 God said, "This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: 13 I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. 14 When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, 15 I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. 16 When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth." 17 God said to Noah, "This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth." Sermon Grace and peace to you as we stand together at the beginning edge of our 2021 Lenten journey. As one often does at the beginning of a journey, we stand looking at where we have come from and towards where we are going. Today we can look behind us at a year that was like a plunge into the primordial destructive flood waters of our scripture story. We are attempting to look forward surveying, like Noah and his family from deck of the ark, a wilderness land still devastatingly deconstructed by the chaos that we hope is now subsiding. Over this threshold moment we see a bow in the clouds, a rainbow. And we hear God’s ancient covenant with Noah. “Never again will I plunge the world into the chaotic waters of destruction. My bow in the clouds will be a sign that I will always remember my love for humanity and all creation. I will remember, even when I am grieved, that retribution will not resolve the issue of humanity’s hard-heartedness. Punishment will not coerce humankind into changing its rebellious ways. I make a covenant to always be present with my beloved creation, with humankind made in my image, to protect, not destroy.” As God says, the sign of this extraordinary covenant is the unstrung warrior’s bow in the clouds. The bow was the war weapon of choice at the time that this story was written down in post-exilic Israel, a time when the people were coming out of the extreme chaos and confusion of exile. A bow strung and ready for war is a different shape. It is longer, thinner, taut. But this bow in the clouds is unstrung and its warrior edge from where the arrows are launched is pointed away from the earth. The disarmed bow, the rainbow, may be beautiful and inspiring to us, but it is a personal reminder to God. In its multi-colored light God is reminded to be “One Who Remembers,” even in the midst of chaos and rebellion of creation, “One Who Repents.” God repents. Isn’t that a stunning statement? God makes a covenant to repent, to turn from vindication to forgiveness, patience, and steadfast love despite knowing that the human heart may never completely change. The creatures made in God’s image may always resist God. Yet God lays down God’s weapons and makes a covenant that is unilateral…it limits God’s power while setting no conditions on humankind. God does not demand that we change. God changes because God remembers to be lover, as well as judge, to be protector, as well as creator. God repents, turns from the path of destruction and anger, to the path of compassion and peace. So, it seems to me that our story today implicitly asks us, what is our response to God’s repentance? Since God repents, can we? Can we repent? Can we unstring the bow of falsehoods that we cling to making us feel important? Can we unstring the bow of grudges that we hold, of anger that makes us feel entitled? Can those us born with the privilege of being white in this nation, unstring the, often unconscious, bow of prejudice? Can we unstring the bow of needing to “be right,” so we can see new ways to peace? Unstringing the bows of self-righteous defensiveness, laying down the weapons that defend our hearts, is the way of repentance. From the time it was conceived as a season of the liturgical year preparing Christians for Holy Week, the Lenten journey has been about repentance. Repentance is not a very popular word in progressive Christianity. Forgetting that the prophets first cry is “Repent,” we like the revolutionary cry of the prophets., Justice!” Perhaps the word, repentance, speaks to you of over-emotional wallowing in unproductive guilt. But the repentance that Jesus spoke of meant literally “to turn around.” One must have keen sight to make a proper turn. I imagine repentance as standing at a threshold and taking a good hard, unsentimental look at where I am going. Do I want to stay on the same path I am going down on this journey in life? Or risk a new path? Humanity is wont to continually choose the path to division and destruction. I believe it is time to risk a new path, as God did in the covenant with Noah, a path that leads to understanding and reconstruction. I believe that we can best cry “Justice!” speaking truth to the powers of the world, when we have the courage to first say honestly to our own hearts, “Repent.” Rainbows are reminders of God’s holy repentance and our invitation to turn toward God to participate in holy repentance. Let me share a story with you – a true story and a story that actually happened to a friend of mine. One day a young mother was taking a walk with her small son and they saw a rainbow. The four-year-old boy looked up in wonder and said, “Mommy, can we take that home and put it in our house?” His awestruck question prompted the mother to write a poem she titled “A Rainbow in My House.” She took her son’s question literally, imagining what it would be like to have a rainbow in their house, on their walls, emanating from the windows and doors, coming out the chimney. The house was transformed, and it could not contain the glory of the rainbow and its colors. “….When the door opens Bursts of blues, greens and yellows Pour out and float up towards heaven. Inside I breathe in warm reds And sleep on soft pinks…. Sometimes I pull back my curtain To let the passersby Take a peak. They stare amazed…at the rainbow in my house.”[i] I heard my friend tell this story and share her poem at a justice event for homelessness prevention many years ago. Our sons who are about the same age are now both grown men. In revisiting her beautiful imagery, I am prompted to imagine what my “house,” my inner soul/heart house, might look like with God’s rainbow covenant of repentance inside? What about yours? And what about other houses we inhabit? God’s rainbow bending over Noah’s ark with its doors wide open and spilling out pairs of animals into a new world is an image painted or hung on the walls of many a church nursery. We love to tell this story of God’s love and hope to our children, starting at the earliest ages. We want them to know that, even in the midst of the worst times, God is with them and never forgets them. But why relegate this message to the church nursery? Why not let the rainbow colors emanate down the hall from the nursery into worship and committee meetings, into youth group, adult education and mission projects, into choir rehearsal and church potlucks? What might the entire body of Christ look like in the light of God’s rainbow? What might our world look like? God’s rainbow covenant of repentance does not guarantee a utopia. Instead, it invites communities of all shapes and sizes to be places where people are willing to let their hearts be remade in the image of God’s repentant heart. Led by humanity’s siblings of color and our LGBTQ+ siblings, our communities can stand under rainbow flags of justice and inclusion where literally “all the colors of the rainbow” are welcome and equal in God’s sight. We can be communities asking the question, with the wonder of the child, “Can we take that rainbow home and put it in our house?” My friends, today we stand together, in God’s grace, at the beginning edge of Lent, looking back and looking forward. How will we journey with Jesus this Lenten season in the light of God’s rainbow? May we allow it healing colors of repentance to penetrate our hearts, our homes, our life together in this community and beyond. May it be so. Amen. ©The Reverend Jane Anne Ferguson, 2021 and beyond. Reprint with permission only. [i] Personal story and excerpt from unpublished poem by Michelle Sisk, 2008. AuthorAssociate Minister Jane Anne Ferguson is a writer, storyteller, and contributor to Feasting on the Word, a popular biblical commentary. Learn more about Jane Anne here.
Ezekiel 37.1-14*
Fifth Sunday in Lent Plymouth Congregational Church, UCC The Rev. Jane Anne Ferguson If you have been following the Wilderness Lenten Devotional booklet we provided Plymouth members, you may have already read the poem/prayer for this week by Sarah Are. It begins: I used to think the wilderness would never end. I called my mom and asked – “Does time really heal all wounds? Do the pieces ever fall back into place? Does the wilderness go on forever? So she told me about the horizon. She said, “There is an edge, Where the earth meets the sky And when you’re there, You will see daisies in the sidewalk And the sun after the rain.” I asked her to draw me a map And she cried, Because she knew this road was mine to walk, But she promised to wait for me, Day in and day out, For as long as the wilderness raged.” When we set out on this Lenten wilderness journey on Ash Wednesday, we had no idea what this year’s journey had in store for us…for our community, our country, our world. The phrases, “social distancing, lock-down, shelter in place, livestreaming worship, Zoom Sunday School and no toilet paper available,” were not yet in our vocabulary! Now here we are two weeks before Easter and we are deep into a kind of wilderness not experienced in this country for over a hundred years. This wilderness rages on…and will continue even as we celebrate Easter and resurrection. We do not yet see the horizon the poet’s mother describes…we are still early in this new kind of wilderness journey. How do we get our bearings? How do we stay the course? In the 5th century BCE, the Hebrew prophet, Ezekiel, prophesied to his people who were in the wilderness of exile and oppression. They could not see, maybe even imagine, a horizon, a light at the end of the tunnel. The Hebrew people, the nation of Israel, had been divided and conquered. Jerusalem had fallen under the Babylonian empire. Many of its inhabitants, including Ezekiel, had been taken into exile in Babylonia. Many executed as criminal enemies of the oppressor. They were in a strange land under strange rules and fearful for their lives, their way of life as Hebrew people and the people of Yahweh, the Holy ONE, their God. Sound a bit familiar? The part about a strange land with strange rules and fearful for life? In the midst of it all, the prophet, Ezekiel is given the vision that Hal just read for us. In prayer or a dream, perhaps in a meditative trance, the hand and spirit of the Holy ONE transports Ezekiel to a dry and barren valley filled with dry bones. Have you ever seen pictures of ancient crypts where the bones of ancient ancestors have been sorted into piles – skulls over there, leg bones over this way, arm bones here – to make space for more burials. Like those pictures, this valley was a chilling sight...dry bones on dry land, perhaps, whitened by glaring sunlight. The Holy ONE asks the prophet, “Mortal, Human One, can these bones live?” Ezekiel has the presence of mind to stammer, “Only you know, Holy God” instead of what I might say, “How –in the –How in God’s name – would I know?” Ezekiel seems highly aware of the power differential present. The prophet is aware that he is human in the presence of the Holy ONE, Creator of the entire Universe. Now God could have just made the bones to live all by God’s Self. However, notice that God didn’t do that. God has a larger agenda in mind than just raising bones from the dead. The Holy ONE is also sharing the resurrection power with the human prophet through the power of prophesy and proclamation....”Prophesy to the bones, Human, that they may live! Tell the bones what I, Creator of All, will do for them! They will have flesh and breath and I will take them out of their graves, out of their oppression and bring them into their own land again, the Land of Promise I gave to them. And they shall be my people once again and will know that I am their God, the ONE, the Creator of the all humankind and all the earth.” The human prophet prophesies in the power of the Spirit of God to the bones and they come together, stand up right, sinew and flesh grow upon them. The prophet prophesies to, calls out to, the Breath, the ruach, the breath of the living Spirit of God that brooded over unformed creation in the first verses of the Genesis creation account. When this Breath of the living Spirit of God comes into the bodies that were once dry bones…there is new life! They breathe! God and God’s prophet work together in this resurrection vision. Scholars think that this ancient story could have been the originator of the resurrection of the body tradition held by the Pharisees of Jesus’ time. There is a midrash, which is an interpretive story told about a scripture story, from the Jewish Talmud that speaks specifically of the Jewish youth in exile who had been executed by the Babylonians. They are literally brought back to bodily life, resurrected, by Ezekiel’s vision. We can trust that this vision brought courage and imagination and hope to our ancient ancestors of faith. Can we hear the hope of Ezekiel’s vision with new ears in our own time of exile, lockdown, quarantine and sheltering in place? Our Northern Colorado hospital ICUs are not yet at capacity with those with Covid-19. But we hear new reports each day of where this is happening now or very soon. Collectively we feel the oppression of this viral threat that has come over our whole world. We glimpse the fear and grief of people enslaved by an oppressor with no end date for deliverance. We are in exile from one another, from family across the country, across the world. Our wilderness journey rages on…. Can this holy story bring us a new vision for our dry bones of fear and grief and loneliness....can our bones live again? What about the dry, tired bones of all our medical workers on the front lines of this pandemic, the tired bones of those who stock the grocery shelves, deliver the groceries and move supplies across the country? What about the tired bones of unemployed artists and musicians and actors and unemployed hospitality workers? The dry bones of all those furloughed or let go who are wondering how to pay the bills? Our poet tells us that in her wilderness she walked….”And it felt like forty days and it hurt like forty nights.” She could only wave to the people she passed in the wilderness. “We tipped out hats to one another, Silently, recognizing the weight we each carried.” Just as the prophet, Ezekiel, was called to work with the power of the Holy ONE in prophesying to his people, through his story we hear the call of prophesy as we walk through the wilderness of pandemic. With help from the Spirit of the living God’s our eyes and hearts can be opened to recognize and acknowledge the weight that each one of us carries. Though we are separated by distance we can share the weight through prayer, through phone calls and Zoom calls, through staying home, washing our hands and using our hand sanitizer, through sharing our toilet paper. Through making masks as for those on the medical front lines as many in our prayer shawl knitting group are doing. Through home-schooling our children, for carrying on with jobs at home, through finishing a high school or college semester. Through delivering groceries to one to our cherished elders or those with underlying conditions who should not be out and about. Through paying forward for some services, such as house cleaning or massage or haircuts to help those out of work. All these seemingly mundane things that have become our daily lives can be with holy intention like the prophet’s cry in the wilderness! “Dry bones you can live again! You will live again! Hear the word of God’s holy and saving power of love.” Each prayer we pray and each small act of kindness we do and each time we keep putting one foot in front of the other in a time of fear is like the prophet’s cry: “Listen to the voice of your Creator bringing you vision and hope and the breath of God’s life! Stand up and breathe in the Spirit of God!” My friends, we are called in this time to be prophets working with God’s power and light to bring hope to our family and friends, the checker in the grocery line, all those we may have occasion to tip our hats to in this wilderness. One day like the poet we will approach the horizon and realize – ”The earth always kisses the sky and the wilderness has turned into a garden.” And we “have made it out alive.” Those we love, like the poet’s mother, will be there waiting for us. We will hug again there at the earth’s edge and whisper in one another’s ears “God was the gardener. We have nothing to fear.” Be prophets, my friends! If someone asks you for a map in this wilderness – if you find yourself asking for that map – remember that God who dwells in the faith of each of us is our map. God, the holy gardener, is planting seeds, hoping to turn this wilderness into a garden. All of us are daily planting seeds through the power of God’s living Spirit. As long as the wilderness rages on, we are called as prophets to never stop looking for one another, to continue seeking the garden on the horizon, “where the earth kisses the sky.” Through our ancient prophet we hear the assurance of the Living God, “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your home soil; then you shall know that I, have spoken and will act.” Share this good news! Be a prophet. Amen. ©The Reverend Jane Anne Ferguson, 2020 and beyond. May only be reprinted with permission.
*Ezekiel 37.1-14
1 The hand of the Holy ONE, came upon me, and brought me out by the spirit of the God and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2 The Holy ONE led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. 3 He said to me, "Mortal, can these bones live?" I answered, "O, Holy ONE, you know." 4 Then she said to me, "Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Holy ONE. 5 Thus says the Creator of Universe to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. 6 I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the God, the Holy ONE." 7 So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. 8 I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. 9 Then I heard, "Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Holy ONE: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live." 10 I prophesied as the Holy ONE commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude. 11 Then God said to me, "Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, 'Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.' 12 Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Holy ONE: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. 13 And you shall know that I am God, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. 14 I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, have spoken and will act, says the Holy ONE, Creator of the Universe." AuthorAssociate Minister Jane Anne Ferguson is a writer, storyteller, and contributor to Feasting on the Word, a popular biblical commentary. Learn more about Jane Anne here. |
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