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Dear friends,


As important as gathering is for the practice and
strengthening of our faith, the risk to everyone’s health and the need for the public good outweigh the benefits of physically sharing space.  Right now we are called to put our own
interests aside and be the Body of Christ for each other and for the world.  That’s theological speak for “Let’s do our part to slow the spread of the virus by not interacting in person
and breathing on each other.” 

 

As with many, many other congregations, we will not be
holding worship at Laurel Presbyterian Church.  Session will continue to discern how best to move through this period, coming up with innovative ways to provide worship, nurture and pastoral care.  See our facebook page for weekly worship services.


Let us all watch for how God is working through us and this time.

 

Peace,

amy


NO: Worship: Sundays at 10:30am
NO: Sunday School at 9am for all ages

Each of us is on a unique spiritual journey.
Here, through study and prayer, worship and service,
we discover more fully who God intends for us to be,
in Christ.



We are worshipping safely at home with 

worship videos posted to our facebook page.  

See the link at the bottom of the home page.


Sermon for June 21, 2020:
Matthew 10:24-32

I sat down Monday morning to read this week’s scripture lessons, and I don’t know what happened exactly, but I sort of just, cracked. More accurately, I cracked up. And I found myself giggling at today’s passage from Matthew. … you either have to cry or laugh

So, yes, I know – serious, serious things are happening in our world and in our streets. It’s a mess out there right now.

But even while Covid-19 outbreaks are popping up everywhere, (I just read about 5 churches in West Virginia that gathered for in-person worship, only to become hotspots of infection, the passage from Matthew Olivia read describes a God who cares for even the sparrow falling from the sky. And I giggle, imaging some of the Lord’s minions running around with nets, catching and counting falling sparrows for the daily count, to make sure the Lord Almighty’s knowledge is up-to-the minute accurate.

And yes, right now, every time we turn around, there’s more news about more atrocities being committed against people of color and those who stand with them. And I read Jesus telling the disciples to watch out that they don’t follow Beelzebub – Who sounds so scary, but who was that century’s equivalent of the Wizard of Oz behind the curtain, or the emperor with no clothes, and I laugh. You might need to explain

And yes, our eyes are opened to some new horrific evidence that we don’t know our own history very well. We United States were formed by brilliant men, yes, but men who owned slaves – so the wealth that built this country came from slave labor. Our forefathers were men who assumed this land was theirs for the taking, even though native people had been living here for thousands and thousands of years. And they established laws that protected them – That is, all men older than 21, and their property, and their interests.

But then I read more of the Gospel of Matthew, and how God knows the hairs on our head. And I imagine other angels of the Lord assigned the “hair-counting duty.” Once the hair-counting is done, do you get to play? So if you’re assigned the heads of some of our beloved choir members, you’ve hit the jackpot and can take the rest of the day off?

It’s a heavy heavy time in the soul of our country. But you know what happens sometimes when our souls get tired of the heaviness? They just crack. And they start to find serious silliness and even laughter in the midst of it all. And when it gets too outrageous, too absurd, the only thing to do is to take a time out and throw up our hands, and laugh at ourselves.

I deliberately chose one of everyone’s favorite hymns for today – Joyful, Joyful – Because I’m needing a little respite of joy along about now. Then I looked into the history of music – Did you know Beethoven composed this particular piece of music when he was already deaf??? Can you imagine being a composer, your life is music, music you can’t hear anymore, and yet in your soul is THIS kind of joy!

And did you know that the Ode to Joy music composed by a deaf Beethoven, has been used for various demonstrations worldwide over the years? Against Pinochet’s violent regime in Chile; Chinese students in Tiananmen Square; Christmas Day at the fall of the Berlin Wall; concerts in Japan every December after the 2011 tsunami. There is joy in these hard times. There may even be laughter at the absurdity of the human race. Let’s not forget that.

You may remember a few weeks ago, I included my friend Erin’s prayer as part of our worship services – she is a Black pastor for a predominantly Black congregation in New Jersey. Last Sunday was their inaugural Zoom Live Worship service, and wouldn’t you know it, they got Zoom-Bombed, by pictures of swastikas and naked men. Horrifying, I know. Just so so wrong.

But then, I read this passage with Jesus describing what it means to be a disciple, to follow the way of Christ, and how what has been covered up will be uncovered, I admit, I start giggling, again. Because really – A few pictures of men naked as the day God made them, and a few pictures of crooked crosses, and you think the church of God, the Body of Christ, will fold in fear? Jesus says “Don’t be scared of those people.”

Those people who hacked that worship service, trying to intimidate people of faith? Ha! They were messing with the children of God whose ancestors survived slavery; whose great-grandparents survived lynching; whose grandparents survived Jim Crow, whose parents survived the Civil Rights era, who are keeping on keeping on even as right now they are watching us white people educate ourselves about what’s been REALLY going on all this time. What are crooked crosses and pictures of bare-naked men compared to all of that?

Well. Right, I know – no one – of any color or ethnicity - wants random pictures of naked men or swastikas showing up in their sacred worship space. Those crooked crosses have been used to intimidate Jews and our brothers and sisters of color, along with representing a whole host of other atrocities in our world. So yes - It IS appalling. I am in no way condoning it or trying to minimize it – It’s a hate crime. Yes.

(Honestly, I don’t know what to say about the pictures of naked men being used as intimidation. That’s just sort of funny to me. Okay, a lot funny to me. Downright silly to think that will scare a people who put their faith in the God who’s been with them through all the horrors they’ve suffered of the ages.)

And we who stand with our brothers and sisters in Christ, our fellow Presbyterians of color, well, really – I don’t think crooked crosses and pictures of naked men are going to scare us into turning our backs or keeping our silence. I think we’re past trying to un-see what we’ve been seeing. I don’t think we can unlearn what we’ve been learning. No, we too are a people who put our faith in God, and so we stand with them.

This world is a serious, but also a seriously funny, place. We are a seriously messed up people, but a seriously funny people, too. One of my favorite movies is “Parenthood,” with Steve Martin, and at the end, the great-grandmother pipes up to say something like, “Life is a rollercoaster – You go up a hill, you don’t know what’s on the other side. You go down a hill and around a curve, and you don’t know what’s coming. That’s life.”

And sometimes, on that rollercoaster ride of life, we wish we could get off and hop on the Disney’s sedate, soothing, lulling, “It’s a small world after all” ride that just goes in a circle. But right now, we’re on this wild beast of a rollercoaster – Maybe it’s time to laugh at ourselves for what we used to believe, throw up our hands, hope the ride doesn’t make us throw up our lunch, and see where it takes us.

After all, 13 of the 15 best-sellers on the New York Bestseller list this week are books addressing race. So yeah, we’re on this ride, like it or not. Sometimes we’ll be terrified, sometimes we’ll be surprised, sometimes we’ll be exhilarated, sometimes we won’t believe the ride we’re on.

These days, we ordinary people are discovering all sorts of things we thought were true really aren’t. Things we never really thought about before. We realize how little we really know and understand about basic germ contagion and how viruses spread. We’re realizing how little we really know about our own history as a nation of freed slaves and immigrants and native peoples. Because at the end of the day, every one of us fits into one of those three categories.

Jesus tells us, through it all, our Lord knows us down to the number of hairs on our heads. Our Lord keeps track of the tiniest sparrow in the air. As Jesus says, “They can kill the body but not the soul.”

This Friday many cities officially celebrated Juneteenth, the day when every last slave found out they were free – Two plus years after the Emancipation Act. And into this time when the news just seems to keep getting worse and worse, Veronica Chambers writes in the New York Times, “The elemental sermon …. Of Juneteenth has always been one of hope. The gifts of the holiday are the moments of connection, renewal, and joy, for a people have had to endure so much, for so long. To me, Juneteenth matters because it says: Keep going. The future you want is coming. “

Our God loves us. We are a people of faith. We can take ourselves lightly and laugh at ourselves. We can find joy, even silliness, in the midst of hard times. Because our first and last and eternal identity is this: We are the children of a mighty God. There’s not much that can keep us down, regardless of our color. We are a people of learning, a people of confessing, a people of justice, once we know truth.

And now, to help lift your heart even more, watch this video of Katrice Saunders, a young ice skater, rollerblading over the Washington DC “Black Lives Matter” street, to Andra Day’s “Rise Up.” There is joy, even in the midst of sorrow and hardship. Thanks be to God:

Sermon from:  

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

June 7, 2020

 

We Can Do This:  We Are Made for This

 

         A preacher friend of mine said this week, “And I thought preaching LAST week was hard.  I have no idea what I will say THIS week, given all that is going on.”  Yup.  That sounds about right.  I’m going to assume you don’t need me to recap the events we are watching unfold and erupt and evolve on our televisions, in our cities, in our neighborhoods, in our backyards.  Let us pray things finally, finally, have gone far enough that our eyes are beginning to open, we are motivated to learn, we are energized to vote, that we are re-committing to the path of Christ.  It’s no easy to time to be disciples.  Many are filled with despair.  It’s hard not to be. 

         And then I got this email from a friend, an African American businesswoman in Columbia:   “Thank you so much for checking on me and my family. We are well. My young adult children are struggling with all of this psychologically and emotionally, though. I’m really concerned about their ability to thrive right now so I’m trying to keep them talking and encouraged. I refuse to lose hope!”

If she refuses to give up hope, then surely I can hold onto hope as well.  And this week, hope arrives in the Creation Story from Genesis.  From “In the beginning….” 

         What can it say to us right now?  

         Genesis reminds us we are all – ALL – made in the image of the Divine Creator.  You, me, your children, your neighbors.  The people you like, the people you don’t like.  George Floyd and Derek Chauvin who killed him.  The three others – Alexander Kueng, Thomas Lane, and Tou Thao who stood by and watched – Yes.  Made in the image of God.  The protesters, the rioters, the officers of the peace.  The stay-at-home-rs, the worriers, the marchers.  Yes.  Made in the image of God.   

The Episcopal Bishop, Mariann Egdar, denouncing the use of sacred space and sacred scripture to implicitly suggest God condones violence and is on the side of the government; the person who used that sacred space and sacred scripture for his own agenda.  Yes.  Both made in the image of God.  The pastor in her collar praying in the face of a police officer in full riot gear – Yes.  Both made in the image of God.  We’re all made in the image of God.  Which means we are called to see God in the face of every human being.  We have been failing at that.  But, we’re trying.

         Last week during our evening prayers a mother of a SWAT police officer and a mother whose door had been broken down by SWAT officers listened to each other, and everyone’s hearts hurt.  Because to be an officer of the peace in a time when they are trained more to see everyone as potential enemy combatants, and to be the one thrown to the ground and handcuffed in their own home -  That violates the image of God in us all.  And we listened.  And we learned.

         Genesis tells us human beings, made in the image of the Divine Creator, are to master this call to be human.  We are to take charge of the birds and fish and creepy-crawlies and other human beings – The way God would.  Not the way we wish God would - smite mosquitoes and poisonous snakes and snakes just innocently lying there– But the way God does.  Which, we’re told, is love.  You might want to be knocking some sense into some heads right now.  But we’re made to be human beings, called to take care of all of God’s creatures.  Which means love.   At least, that’s what Jesus says.  And we have been failing at that.  But we’re trying.

         And so at Session we wrestled with what is happening in the world right now, and how we ended up here.  We talked about how we don’t always understand the term “systemic racism.”  What exactly does it mean?  And how it’s on us to start educating ourselves – Opening our eyes, reading, watching, talking, about how this thing that’s been invisible to white people is actually poisoning all of us.  Good thing Presbyterians think so highly of learning, and education.  We’ve got some learning to do, as we start understanding how brown people’s experiences in this country are so radically different from white people’s. 

         And finally, Genesis doesn’t say, as I’ve been thinking all these years, that when human beings were made – The epitome of God’s creative powers – That’s when the Divine Creator said, “Now that is VERY good.”  Nope.  God saw everything – EVERYTHING – and THEN said, “Now that is very good.”  And rested.  Whew.  Because only when you look at the whole of creation is it very good.  An “A.”  Each individual part is maybe closer to a B-.  Perfectly adequate, fine, but not Very Good.  We’re only VERY GOOD as we understand we are one tiny part of a whole.  We’ve been failing at that.  But we’re trying.

1.    We are all made in the image of the Divine Creator.

2.    We are to care for one another.

3.    We, and by that I mean every bit of creation and the creatures who call this home, are in this together. 

The good news is this:  The whole is greater than the sum of its parts, when it comes to this creation of God’s.  All of creation becomes something Very Good when taken as the whole thing, all in relationship to every one and every thing else -  Which means it isn’t up to any one of us.  No one of us has to do it all.  It’s in living together that we discover what it is to be made in the image of the Divine.  Even though, yes, – as you have seen, we’ve been struggling to do for years.  And years – and years –  And failing, refusing to see, insisting our experience is the only experience - But that doesn’t mean that we aren’t trying.  Because we are.  And once Presbyterians learn what we don’t know, we start figuring it out, even as we keep on trying to take good care of God’s creation, of God’s creatures, of one another.  And it’s in that trying that I find hope. 

We each have our own ways – Maybe your way isn’t my way – But together, we people of faith, we know hard times come – And that’s when we hold fast to the Lord of Love, and let go of how things were, and how we thought things were.  We keep walking the way of Christ, trusting there we will find courage to change, to think of the other, to learn and grow and admit we’ve been blind and wrong-thinking, and now to see, and realize we are called to be the people of God, which means we live as those made in the image of love. 

         How are we trying?  How are we trying this week?  Because it wasn’t just in Session, where they elders were honest with one another about our confusion.  And it wasn’t just during last Sunday’s evening prayers. 

         It was Jason Papanikolas, as Mayor Pro Tem of Beltsville, giving a speech on Wednesday.   He described how disgusted he was by the killing of George Floyd by a police officer, over a question of $20, and how it’s on all of us to hold elected officials accountable, and how we all have contributed to the state we’re in.   And it’s in how he held up protestors stopping rioters, police officers helping protestors and kneeling with them and breaking bread together. 

         It’s when Quint Gregory helped organize some of us to make 90 lunches, and others to make 180 masks to put in those lunches - to give to the folk at Elizabeth House coming for dinner – so they could also have food the next day.  Because if you can’t afford food, you can’t find masks.  Some of us collected food from neighborhoods; many of us – Marion, Lori, Betsy, Carol, Jenni & Hampton, Jody and Liz, Nancy, Danielle - contributed food to fill up Dot Brownlie’s car with over 325 pounds of food, 240 diapers, and toiletries, which she took to LARS. 

         Richard Mason gave away lunches at Eisenhower Middle School, and he worked with the local police trying to find ways to build trust – Between officers who need to be trustworthy, and communities who need to see reasons they can trust the police.   Helene Winters, Kimberly Gregory,  the Janush Family – All walked in the Howard County March for Justice Black Lives Matter, joining thousands of others to make their voices heard peaceably, even as we heard stories of police officers around the country kneeling with protestors, eating and discussing and listening across the divide protestor and police officer.  Maybe you saw pictures of police officers helping a small girl with her “Black Lives Matter” sign.  Maybe you saw a Baltimore police officer holding the sign “Silence = Complicity.” 

         Now watch Ashley, Chelsea and Brittany remind us how God’s love shows up, because that’s what they can do – Remind us the power of the Spirit.

 

         Our faithful Property Committee folk – including Stacy Coker, Harry Riggleman and Harry Hudson in this picture - come out week after week to tend to a beautiful property even when few of us will see it – Working hard to make it a place of peace and sanctuary, a place of God’s beautiful creation. 

Is it enough?  No.  Because there really isn’t any such thing.  Are these acts of faith in a time of fear and distrust?  Yes.  Small acts, done with great love, spread hope.  There is no one right way to stand for justice.  There’s no one right way to love our neighbor and all creation.  No one right way to speak out and be heard and make a difference.  We have seen this week that there are some wrong ways to manipulate Christianity.  Insisting God is on your side does not mean God is on your side.  People have been mis-using sacred space and sacred scripture from the beginning, including what got us into this whole mess in the first place – Let’s not forget it was our very own sacred scripture that was used to justify slavery in this country. 

         We Presbyterians are reformed, always reforming – We know we are always called to live as we’re made – In the image of God – We know we are always called to care for all creation – We know we – and by we, I mean even those creepy crawly snakes and mosquitoes – Are always in this together.  How we live that changes.   What we know, changes.  What we are willing to see, and hear, and feel, changes. 

         Maybe you thought we were farther down this road than it ends up we are.          I surely hoped so.  I was wrong.  We were wrong.  But we do not give up hope, and we keep doing what we are doing, and we commit to get up one more day, to be louder, longer, about what we believe:  We are all made in God’s image.  We are trying to live as God’s people, with all creation.  It’s not enough.  So we’ll keep trying, one more day, and one more day and one more day.  It’s who we are.  It’s who we were made to be, in Christ. 

 












Sermon for:

May 24, 2020

Acts 1:6-14

 

Some of the most intelligent, compassionate, young people in the world call my husband.  I’ve been listening to his side of the conversations, as students have questions about pursuing their Masters at the #1 School of Public Health in the World, Johns Hopkins.  These are brilliant, brilliant people who are pursuing a degree that will help them, as the saying goes, ‘save lives millions at a time.’

 

And regardless of what other questions they ask my husband, whatever else they want to know, the #1 question they ask is:  Will there be classes on campus this summer, like there always have been?  And if not, when?

 

Do you know the answer to that?  Because he doesn’t.  No one does.  It’s unanswerable at this time, just like the questions of when we will go back to sitting next to each other in the same room for worship.  These very very smart people think my husband, who is smart, but not THAT smart, knows the answer to the question we’re all asking in one form or another, and it’s the same question the disciples are asking Jesus: This is all going to turn out okay now, right?  Now it will be the way it was, when King David was in charge and everyone feared us and we didn’t have to worry about anything or anyone, right?  Israel will be good now, right?

 

Jesus tells them it’s not for them to know.  Which makes me wonder if that’s a gentler way of saying, “It’s unknowable.”  And that’s the time we’re in right now. 

 

We know there’s no going back.  If we were to open the church doors next Sunday and hold worship there, raise your hand if you’ll be staying home instead.  Yes.  Because you are smart.  Because you know, there’s no going back to how it was.  This is what, the 9th?  The 10th? Video we’re watching to lead worship?  Yeah – those were the olden days.  It’s funny, because now as I watch tv shows presumably set in the present, I think – Wow.  Right.  That’s how things used to be.  Wasn’t that quaint.

 

We thought it was a blizzard, so we stocked up on toilet paper, milk, bread, peanut butter, ice cream.  You know, the essentials.  Then we looked around and realized – O, this isn’t like a weekend blizzard – This is like winter – And we shifted our understanding of what it would take to get through this season – You might want to go swimming, but if it’s winter, you know you’ll have to wait.  You might want to go to the beach and lay on the sand, but if it’s winter, you know you’ll have to wait.  You might want to plant tomatoes, but if it’s winter, you know you’ll have to wait. 

 

So we started waiting.  And that’s where the disciples end up, too – Jesus tells them to go back to the Upper Room, gather together, hang out, and wait for the Holy Spirit to show up. 

 

But will the Holy Spirit show up soon in our time?  Or soon in geological time?  We’re past thinking “blizzard” – that is, short term functioning, and we’re obviously in “winter,” that is, several months’ long functioning, but maybe we need to start adjusting to “ice age.”  That is, this may be a couple of years.

 

How do we mourn what we’re never going to have the same way again, and how do we look ahead trusting the Spirit of God will give us the power to make it through?  How do we do both?  We’re still looking back at what we’ve lost.  At the same time, those white-robed men are pointing the disciples to turn their eyes away from where Jesus went, and the past, and turn to the future, when they will be given the power of the Holy Spirit. 

 

And in the meantime, those two white-robed men send the disciples back home, back to the Upper Room where they celebrated Passover and the Last Supper with Jesus, back to the Upper Room where they hid from the authorities.

 

They may be heading back to the same place, but they are not the same.  The whole world is different.  They are different.  There is little that is the same. 

 

But the disciples remember:  They still have each other.  They still have prayer.  They still have Jesus’ promises.  Mary, the mother of Jesus, is back in that room, waiting for them.  She was there at the very beginning of this whole adventure, with the birth of Jesus.  And she was there at the end of how things were, at the crucifixion.  And she was there at the resurrection, when something new started.  And now she is here at the beginning of the church, because that’s what is happening in that upper room.

 

The disciples.  The women.  Mary.  A tiny little congregation, beginning church, beginning faith, beginning hope and waiting in a new way.  Just like us.

 

We’re at the end of one thing and the beginning of another.  No one knows what this will look like, or what kind of timing we’re looking at.  Over and over we’ll ask, “When will it go back to normal?” and then we’ll be filled with sorrow all over again because it won’t.  Not ever.  That normal is over.  And that is sad.

 

And, at the same time, we’ll be looking ahead, wondering, what’s next?  If we aren’t going back to how things were, what’s coming?  And in this time of uncertainty – It’s the same uncertainty the disciples were facing:  mourning the past, while the future isn’t here yet – This is what draws them together:  The promise they will be given the power of the Holy Spirit.  The coming together in faith.  The reminder to pray.

 

And that’s what united them, and that’s what unites us.  Okay, sure, we’re not “together” in any way our grandparents would recognize – My father when he was around 15 was the first house on the street to have a tv, and that’s because his father, my grandfather made it from a kit.  And now?  Now maybe your pastor is showing up on your tv.  But we are still together.  This is what it looks like right now.  You know others are watching this same thing, and caring about the same people you care about, and singing – or humming – or listening – to the same hymn you are.  You know others are joining in your prayer, and you are joining their prayer.

 

And so, we are united, because:  We are together.  And we trust God’s Holy Spirit will give us the power to make it through this time.  Because we will, you know.  We are.  Each day, each hour, we are making it.  How do eat an elephant?  One bite at a time.  We’re eating this elephant, as much as we may not like how it tastes, one bite at a time.  And, we are joining in prayer.  This, what you are doing right now, this is what prayer looks like.

 

And prayer looks like neighbors collecting food for those choosing between rent and dinner.  And prayer looks like packing lunches for those people with hungry kids and no paycheck.  And prayer looks like taking care of the church property because even though not many people will see it now, they will in the future. 

 

We are people of faith.  To quote the children’s book, Green Eggs and Ham:  We are people of faith here and there and anywhere.  We are people of faith in a house and with a mouse, in a box and with a fox, in a car, or a tree, in a train, in the dark and the rain, with a goat or on a boat. 

 

Because we are God’s children, during peace times and war, during plagues and health.  We are God’s children when we’re scared and when we’re not, when we’re happy and when we’re freaked out.  Because God’s love doesn’t change.  And that is what unites us, and gives us strength to trust the promise of the coming Spirit, and gives us hope to pray with our hands, our hearts, and our voices. 

 

So, we’ve done faith during wars, and during peace, and we’ve done faith before we were parents and after those kids arrived.  We’ve done faith single, married, divorced, never married, widowed.  We’ve done faith when everyone went to church on Sundays, when it seemed almost no one went to church ever.   We’ve done faith with good presidents and bad, our people have done faith with dictators and kings, in slavery and free, in cozy homes and in the wilderness.

 

Now, now we’ll do faith in a pandemic.  No one’s done faith in a pandemic, at least not for a very very long time.  Now it’s our turn.  And as people of faith, longing for how things were, longing for answers we know we aren’t going to get, standing right here in this odd, weird present moment, we are nothing more and nothing less than God’s beloved children.

 

 And so, we wait.  We come together.  We pray.  The power of love will not just carry us through, but will remind us of what we’re called to do:  Love God.  Love neighbor.  Love self.  Love illogical person who insists it’s a hoax.  Love frantic person screaming at everyone to wear their masks.  Love conspiracy-theorists.  Love those who say we’ll never see each other face to face live again.  Love the people you live with.  Love the people you hate.  Maybe that means you’ll just try to hate them a little less today than you did yesterday. 

 

We are a people of God powered by divine love in a house and with a mouse, in a box and with a fox, in a boat and with a goat, in a train and the dark and the rain.  We can do this.  Because God is with us, and nothing stops the God of love. 

 







May 17, 2020

Acts 17:22-31

 

Okay, don’t worry if you are a little lost after listening to Dot read the scripture.  It’s a confounding one, that’s for sure.  Maybe you recognize the line, “In God we live and breathe and have our being,” but other than that, not much stuck.  I was the same first time I read through these words of Paul.  Paul’s always confounding me.  But I dug in, and Paul is showing us a way to be in this world – Yes, our world right now, with everyone that’s going on.

 

This is Paul’s third, maybe fourth try at this – He got thrown out of Thessalonia and Berea, and now here he is in Athens:  The Princeton NJ or Cambridge Massachusettes of Greece, home town of Plato and Aristotle.  These are smart people here; some real deep thinkers. 

 

And his approach to the Athenians is so relevant to us today, in this season of – Gosh, I don’t know even what words to use.  This year of a presidential election AND a pandemic AND multiple approaches to how to keep us safe and economically viable, AND an incredibly unpredictable future.  When nothing is sure, our communication gets fueled by the worst in us, and turn into off-the-cuff remarks & jabs, criticizing, maybe some name calling.  No one has much patience right now; everyone is a bit jittery.   

 

I read this one article in the Washington Post featuring 75 year old Gloria Jackson’s experience so far.  She’s fed up with everyone, and she finds herself spending too much time on facebook, “writing comments … for hours: ‘To hell with you, then.’  ‘You idiot.’  ‘How dumb can you be?’  ‘Moron.’  ‘Racist.’  ‘Selfish pig.’  ‘Idiot.’”  Not that she likes this about herself, not that she recognizes herself right now, She says, “I don’t like feeling this way.” And she knows she’s not alone – Maybe you hold back from telling people what you REALLY think, but maybe some of those thoughts sneak out on occasion. 

 

Gloria Jackson says, “And what are we now?  We’re mean, we’re selfish, we’re stubborn, and sometimes even incompetent.” 

What does this have to do with Paul talking with religious leaders in Athens about the resurrection of Jesus?  Well, Paul knows his goal, and he’s meeting them non-judgmentally right where they are. 

 

So often, I don’t think we’re clear about what we’re trying to accomplish when we’re communicating with each other.  We aren’t clear with ourselves what we are hoping for out of our interactions.  Paul missed the boat at least twice, so he’s figured out whatever he was doing before wasn’t working.  He tries something new here with the highly educated, thoughtful, intelligent Athenians.

 

He starts with what he’s already observed:  Statues, objects of worship, altars, temples, art – All in honor of or to worship something sacred and divine.  He sees all of that and knows it represents a deep longing for the holy.  A deep longing of their hearts and spirits for the divine.

 

He doesn’t tell them how wrong they are, how lost, how stupid and ignorant and stubborn, misguided they are.  He doesn’t start out calling them names or condescending to them.

 

 He starts out by letting them know he sees all this as evidence of a commitment to the sacred, and a deep longing for the divine.  He sees what’s behind all those altars and temples and statues. 

 

In this modern-day context, it would be like he reads all the facebook comments and posts and jabs and name-calling and labelling, and instead of lamenting how awful everyone is – The way Gloria Jackson does in the Washington Post article, he hears how angry people are, how anxious and scared and hurting people are.  How frustrated they are.  How much they long for something that will help.  And he knows everyone needs some compassion, some care, some good news, some love. 

 

Unless your goal is to show the world how right you are, what’s going on with us when we spout off?  What’s our goal?  I’m guessing what we’re doing so far isn’t working

 

It can be irresistible – I know.  An itch we just have to scratch. 

 

CAN”T                HOLD                 BACK                  ANY             LONGER!

 

MUST                          RESPOND                            RIGHT                NOW

 

Paul probably came charging out of the gates like a racehorse hearing the bell back in Thessalonia and Berea – Like “This is good news folks!  It’s so clear!  I’ve got the answers!  It’s right and true and inarguable!”  Then got thrown out on his keister.  Because that is not how connection, and interaction, and holy faithful love of neighbor and self show up.  That’s not what Jesus did.

 

But it’s what we do – All the time.  The truth is so obvious to us, and it’s so frustrating to us when others keep insisting the sky is green, in spite of all the times we show them our blue shirt, ask them what color our shirt is, and when they say, “Blue” we point to the sky, which is the EXACT SAME COLOR as our shirt, and they say, “The sky is green.”  And we go through it all over again, thinking “This time, they’ll get it!”

 

The apostle Paul sees the deep longing behind the altars and statues.  He recognizes it, because he knows it himself.  Those people insisting the sky is green?  They aren’t all that different from those people insisting the sky is blue.  Everyone’s hearts are longing, longing, longing for something, and we assume that longing will go away if we’re reassured:  – We’re right.  There are answers out there.  Someone knows the right way ahead.  Someone knows how this will all turn out, knows the future.  We will be okay.  Our loved ones will be okay.  We won’t die because we touched our nose.  We won’t kill someone because we visited them.

 

But those reassurances don’t appease that longing.  Sure, you can try again and again, and we do, but it doesn’t work, at least not for long.  Instead, what if we took that energy and focused on what is needed right now, and what we have to offer right now?  What does our call to love God in neighbor and self look like?  Because being RIGHT, and lamenting everyone who is WRONG robs us of our faithful energy.

 

We know better.  No argument was ever won on facebook.  Or in a tweet.  Probably not even in an email.  Chances are, few hearts are swayed by facts.  And that is a frustrating fact. 

 

Which is why I find Paul’s method here so compelling.  Instead of being frustrated at all the gods, the Athenians worship, Paul wonders about what’s behind that.  Maybe Paul is inviting us to stop being reactive, and start wondering what is behind all the turmoil we’re seeing on line, on facebook, on the news, in our emails? 

 

That’s when, we get into the heart of it, the hearts of one another.  We are all scared.  We are all uncertain.  In times like these, we’re given an invitation:  Instead of spending our passion and our energy trying to set others straight using logic and reason, what if we see our common human longing for reassurance, and safety, and acceptance, and love?

 

What if we remember our goal, our call, our invitation, is to love one another?  Yes, that means resisting that itchiness to set someone straight.  Not responding is hard.  It takes practice.   The need to discharge the anxiety that builds up when I see someone SAYING THE WRONG THING, saying the dangerous thing, insisting the sky is PINK, is overwhelming.  But giving in to it takes me away from my faith in the God of love who calls me to respond with love.  Ugh.  It’s so hard to let God’s saving love be in charge of me! 

 

But that itchiness passes, and then we see our shared humanity.  Then we see what we all are longing for, what we all need:  Compassion and love.   I know what some of you are thinking, especially you scientists – And I agree.  Yes, we need science.  But science communicated without love doesn’t do much but rile people up. 

 

Paul, he doesn’t lecture anyone on truth.  He says instead:  I see your yearning.  I see all the ways you are trying to appease your hearts.  How’s that working for you, all those deities you’re trying to appease?  Because if it’s not working so well, and you’re tired of it and wondering how else to be in the world, maybe try this instead.  Maybe consider there is the God of saving love in Christ, which is the only power that will save you, in this life and the next.  Save you from fear, anxiety, anger, frustration, disappointment, despair.  Well, okay, faith in that God won’t make all the bad feelings disappear, but that love will carry you through all of that. 

 

Yes, it’s cliché.  Yes, we’re sick of hearing it.  But, I’ll say it again, because as Christians we’ve known for thousands of years how true it is:  We are in this together.  One day, we hope to be together in person.  We’re called to love and forgive friend and enemy alike.  Let’s love and forgive the scared kid who sometimes outshouts the still small voice and guidance of the God of love.  That way, when we can meet again, we will want to meet again, We are all brothers and sisters in Christ, it’s the same God in whom we all live and breathe and have our being, regardless of what color we insist our sky.

 


Sermon for: May 10, 2020

John 14:1-14

 

Don’t be troubled.

 

God, I just.  God, it’s too late.  God, I am troubled.  God, am I troubled.  Jesus says not to be troubled, don’t let our hearts be troubled, as though it’s under my control.  Not today it isn’t.  My heart is a 2 year old who missed her nap and lost her blankie.  Telling me not to be troubled …. Well.  I am troubled, agitated, stirred up.  I am troubled in all those ways.  And I’m tired of digging deep and looking for reasons to be grateful.  I’m tired of gratitude-hunting.

 

Don’t be troubled.

 

Not only that, Lord, while I’m at it, I’m tired of grief.  I’m troubled by grief.  I’m tired of hearing about grief, being told “there is much to grieve,” reading strategies for how to handle my grief and help others handle theirs. I’m tired of being told we’re just at the beginning of what we’ll have to give up.   I’ve had enough of grief.  Which, I suppose, is the nature of grief – We’re sick of it long before it’s done with us.

 

Trust in God.  Trust also in me.

 

Lord, I am trying.  Lord, am I trying.  When the vegetable seeds start to sprout, I’m trying to trust in you.  But then, I hear unemployment is already projected at around 15% and I think, how long?

 

When the rain comes and the cold comes, I’m trying to trust in you, that the sun will come again and warm the earth, and maybe ease my heart.  But then, I remember, singing – SINGING!  Singing, Lord?  Did that have to be something else we have to let go of in this season?  We’ve already given up gathering in person, seeing our loved ones in person.  We’ve already given up sharing communion – yeah, I know, we share and gather on-line.  Not the same.  And who knows when – IF we’ll ever get to pass the peace, pass the bread, pass the cup.  So I don’t even know what it means to trust in you.  I don’t even know what that looks like these days.

 

Trust in God.  Trust also in me.

 

Jesus, I am trusting you to do, what exactly?  Make things better?  I’m not seeing how, at least anytime soon, things will get better.  I don’t know how I – we – will cope with this for the next month, next season, rest of the year, the start of school, the holidays, the next year????  How long O Lord?  I don’t have that much trust.  I don’t even feel like I have enough to get me through today.

 

My Father’s house has room to spare.  If that weren’t the case, would I have told you that I’m going to prepare a place for you? 

 

You have room to spare – Do you have room for despair?  Room for people who long to be faithful but are too worn out?  Do you have room for hopelessness and grief, a gathering place for people who are lost and lonely?  Room for anger and frustration?  Room for people who are trying to trust you, but you seem so far away?  Do you have room for that?

 

When I go to prepare a place for you, I will return and take you to be with me so that where I am you will be too.  You know the way to the place I’m going.

 

Uh, no Jesus, I don’t know the way.  No one does.  Not for sure.  We’ve got the best minds in the world – The most knowledgeable, savvy, informed, experienced, downright smart people on the planet and in our country trying to find a way through when there is no sure way.  And what does it matter?  People don’t want to listen to them, anyway.  So yeah, I’m with Thomas:

 

Thomas asked, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going.  How can we know the way?”

 

Because every single path before us comes at a cost, comes at a price.  Besides, we aren’t going anywhere.  Well, at least some of us aren’t.  There’s nowhere to go, to escape all this.  Path A opens businesses right away in an effort to save the economy, but that won’t work if people don’t leave home.  Path B is to keep people home a bit longer, making sure we have enough hospitals and beds and room in the ICU for everyone, but I’m sick of it.  I want to go back, back to 2019, the way things were, when I knew what to expect and where to find you and what trust and faith looked like.

 

Jesus answered, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.”

 

What way?  The harder way now in the hopes it will be less painful down the road?  The truth for today?  The truth that changes as medical professionals and researchers know more, learn more?  The truth we tell ourselves about conspiracies because somehow that seems more comforting and likely than the truth of this uncertainty and chaos?  And what life?  This life?  This living history in the making isn’t as fun, or exciting, or even as interesting as we thought – As it seems in books and movies.  It’s dreary and boring and exhausting and never-ending.  No fun.  No fun at all.  So, what way exactly am I to be walking, while I’m pretty much standing still, because none of us are supposed to be walking very far at all. 

 

If you have really known me, you will also know the Father.  From now on you know him and have seen him.”  Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father; that will be enough for us.” 

 

 

Yeah, that’s my point:  I feel like I don’t really know God.  Show God to me!  I’m not alone here – while many of us have learned how you show up in hard times - No one alive today really knows how the you show up in a pandemic – Right now, you sure aren’t showing up with a vaccine, or a treatment, or much reassurance it will all be okay.  I don’t feel like I’ve got much to go on, here, right now, this day.

 

Jesus replied, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been with you all this time?  Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.  How can you say, “Show us the Father?”  Don’t you believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?  The words I have spoken to you I don’t speak on my own.  The Father who dwells in me does his works.  Trust me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, or at least believe on account of the works themselves.”

 

O.  so maybe I need to look at what I can see, not at what I cannot see?  Maybe I need to look for the work of love, the works of love?  Maybe you have been with me all this time, and I have been looking for something I can’t see, instead of looking at your works.  It’s hard right now to trust.  Everything right now is hard:  Faith is hard.  Words are hard.  Hope is hard.  Being church is hard.  Being human is hard.  But when I can’t see you, or I’m having trouble trusting in you, I can look at your works.

 

I assure you that whoever believes in me will do the works that I do.  They will do even greater works than these because I am going to the Father.

 

Well, you are right.  I might be struggling to see you, but I see what amazing acts of love and kindness people are doing.  People are doing mighty, mighty works, Lord. 

People like Barb Bartels, trying to care for and take care of a staff and residents of a large nursing home, without enough supplies or love or strength or hours in the day.   And she keeps getting up, and getting up, and giving what she can.

People like our nurses and doctors from Maryland heading to New York, answering the prayers of nurses and doctors and patients there. 

People who are going to work day after day after day after day, caring for the sick, even while others in the country insist it is their right to gather, putting themselves at risk of needing those very same worn out and exhausted doctors and nurses and hospital beds. 

People who are feeding the hungry, like Dot and Holly heading to Elizabeth House Sunday afternoon. 

People like Jason Papanikolas, working long, long hours to help process unemployment filings. 

People who are sharing their talents and voices like Ray and Alicia and Tiffany and Natalie, trusting as they sing separately it will come together, like in the hymn they offer, “How Can I Keep from Singing.”  And all the ways you remind me, remind us, that You, Love, is Lord of heaven and earth, and nothing will keep us from singing.

 

I will do whatever you ask for in my name, so that the Father can be glorified in the Son.  When you ask me for anything in my name, I will do it.

 

God, I ask – we ask – in your name - for compassion.  For eyes to see what we can, and when we forget how to see love, hearts to know the love behind the works. 

 

Don’t be troubled.  Trust in God. Trust also in me.

Okay.  Okay.  I will try.  Today, I will try again.  Today I will offer what I can, trusting your love behind it.  Today I will try to let your love live aside my troubled spirit.  Today, I will try to let my trust in you live aside your love for me.  Today,  I will walk the path of trust, the way of hope, in this journey of love.












Psalm 121

8 March 20

“Jesus’ Scripture”

 

         Like everyone else, I am watching the new corona virus, covid-19, make its way across the world, and like everyone else, I’m concerned about everyone I know who is at risk – Those over 60, those with respiratory issues, those with other health complications.  And like everyone else, I’m watching our experts – Doctors, public health workers, policy makers – Try to figure out on the fly how best to address this new infectious disease that no one knew about just 90 days ago.  Everyone is doing the best they can to make it up on the fly, make decisions and predictions on the fly, and course correct on the fly.  Of course there aren’t enough tests.  Of course those tests aren’t fool-proof.  Of course no one knows the answers to all the questions we have:  What is the actual death rate?  Can you catch it then catch it again?  How long does this little covid-19 live on surfaces?  Should we close the borders?  Close the schools?  Start tele-working?  Stop going to gatherings where there will be other people?  Stop going to Maryland Basketball Games?  Heavens!  Not that! 

         And I realize, we are indeed walking through wilderness times this Lent, in a more pronounced and obvious way than usual.  This is not a ho-hum Lenten season, where we’d be forgiven for forgetting what Lent is all about – You know, human sin and brokenness, human fallibility and mortality and limitations.  Nope, all of that is staring us in the face, every day.  But even as I’m with everyone else watching this corona virus unfold before me, I’m also highly attuned to the church calendar, and how covid-19 puts us right there with Jesus in the wilderness, in these uncertain times, when no one knows how to stay safe, or what the answers are, or what the right thing to do is – Other than wash our hands, again and again.

So yes, Jesus, we’re joining in you this season of uncertainty, and darkness, and Lent.  A season of wandering in the wilderness, where we don’t have all the information or experience or knowledge we think we need to get through this time.

         And when I thought about Jesus in the wilderness, in the darkness, I wondered, where did he found his comfort?  What gave him solace?  Where did he turn for answers, when he didn’t have enough information or experience or knowledge to get through the dark uncertainties?  Because that’s the nature of wilderness and Lent:  It’s the uncertainty, and the darkness.  If we know how it would all turn out, it’s not wilderness. 

         In Confirmation Class we’re asking each youth to pick a short scripture to memorize – Because when life doesn’t unfold the way we’ve expected – Say, when a brand new corona virus hits town and everyone is freaking out -  it’s good to have a few phrases to repeat to yourself, to help you calm down, to remind you who you are, and whose you are.

I confess I watched the Netflix documentary called “Cheer,” about the number one junior college cheer championship team and I was struck by how often they repeat together all the time this call and response:  “We can.  We must.  We will.”  Right before a competition.  When something goes wrong.  When they aren’t sure how to move ahead.  It’s good to have words to lean on, words we know by heart, words that inspire us and comfort us and remind us who we are and what we are to be about.  I’m assuming Jesus was the same:  That he found comfort and solace and strength in his own scripture.  In those ancient words, like we sang in the Call to Worship.

So this Lenten season, for 4 weeks, we’ll take a look at Jesus’ own scripture in the Psalms.  The words he would have turned to for comfort and strength in the 40 days of wilderness.  The Psalms are words written generations upon generations ago; words that have been memorized and shared, spoken, sung, and whispered for thousands of years.  The same words Jesus would have turned to in his time of need.  Today, in our time of need, we’ll look at Psalm 121, one of my favorites, and yes, it’s the one we just read together in the Responsive Reading, and the same psalm we sang as our opening hymn, and the same words for the choir’s anthem just a few minutes ago. 

“I lift my eyes to the hills – Where will my help come from?”

Psalm 121 is grouped with what are called “Pilgrimage Psalms” that reassure us of God’s protection as we go on this journey.  Maybe it’s a journey through the day, or the year, or a season of life – But we’re always on a journey of one sort or another, even if we aren’t leaving our living rooms.  You just never know what the next hour might hold.  Biblical scholars suggest that these words united the Israelites whenever trhey would begin a journey.  They would recite these words together, in a call and response:  “I lift my eyes to the hills – Where will my help come from?”

What a perfect question to ask this morning.  What a perfect reminder that as we go on this journey, be it through Lent, or this day, or this week, or this election cycle, or this season of grief, or the corona virus, – Where will we get help?  Because we know we need help – We need help desperately.  This isn’t one of those times when we need to be convinced we can’t do this alone – We know we need help.

I listened Thursday evening to the New York Times’ podcast “The Daily” for their corona coverage update, and I was struck again how this latest health crisis reveals our common humanity.  We want information.  We expect information.  We want someone to be in charge.  We expect someone to be in charge.  We want answers – It’s hard to imagine there just aren’t any right now.  And how quickly we turn to blame, when nothing turns out the way we assumed.  Isn’t there someone we can blame?  Someone who didn’t do their job, who didn’t tell us the answers, didn’t hand out the tests, didn’t make sure the tests were foolproof.  Aren’t they smart enough to know how to handle this?  And we forget 90 days ago hardly anyone knew anything about this.  And we’re reminded, this season of Lent, how sometimes, we just don’t have many answers, or much information, or the experience and knowledge we want.  How sometimes, we’re shocked at how small and vulnerable we human beings are.

“I lift my eyes to the hills – Where will my help come from?  My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

Right.  It’s God’s love that ultimately helps us.  It’s God’s love that carries us through the wilderness times of uncertainty and anxiety and not enough information or answers. 

But what does that mean?  What does the Psalmist mean by “God will not let your foot be moved; the One who keeps you will not slumber, nor sleep.

The journeys of our ancestors were often arduous.  People died from small cuts that got infected.  People suffered from painful illnesses that we think nothing of today.  Our ancestors literally walked through deserts, rivers, hills, and mountains, crossed seas, wandered under a blistering sun and a freezing night, left home behind, all looking for a better life. Or escaping danger.  Or seeking God.  Losing loved ones to illness was commonplace.  The feet of our ancestors slipped all the time – Their footing on this journey of life was so much more precarious than ours.  We forget – Our footing is precarious as well.

And in the time and place of the Psalmists, it could get hot, exceedingly hot, dangerously hot.  Whenever I travel with my husband Paul, and it’s that kind of hot out – He makes me laugh because he always vigilantly, scans the path ahead for the shade.  He crossed the street numerous times in Phnom Penh in order to stay in the shade.  But the shade is no small thing.  It can make all the difference:  “The Lord is your keeper; The Lord is your shade at your right hand.  The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.”

Here’s the challenge:  Sometimes, when the wilderness is really, really really bad, whatever sort of wilderness we’re in, we hope that our faith in God will keep us from stumbling.  Our faith will keep us on the right path.  We won’t twist an ankle or break a hip.  We won’t get burned, we won’t be touched by evil.  God will keep us safe whether we’re going or coming, for the rest of our lives.  “The Lord will keep you from evil; God will keep your life.  The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in, from this time on and forevermore.”

But that’s not how this journey works.  That’s not what it means to be live a human life, with a soft human heart that can break, and bodies that fail us.  Faith is not an inoculation against living. 

Ooo, we wish it were.  It’s so tempting to believe the simple formula – Believe in God, and you’ll be protected from any pain!  And when our feet slide out from under us, when our hearts are broken, when the darkness and uncertainty and wilderness threaten to consume us, we’re tempted to let fear infect us.  That’s what Jesus was facing in the wilderness:  Stop the uncertainty!  Take the simple way that seems easier!  Let go of God and hold onto anything else!

Right now, there is plenty of fear swirling around.  It’s also showing up as anger.  Right now, the fear and anger may be more contagious than the actual corona virus.  We’re tempted to let anger, and frustration, and helplessness, and fear overtake us.  It’s tempting to join the bandwagon of blaming the Chinese government, the US government, the Center for Disease Control, the doctors and hospitals and healthcare officials for not doing a better job – Which they can’t do, because no one knows what that would be.

O yes, there is a LOT of dangerous stuff in the air, threatening our lives.  All those emotions and thought patterns are contagious, too.  In fact, that’s how God made us.  We’re not just susceptible to bacteria and viruses and cancers that make us sick, we’re susceptible to how others are thinking and feeling.

I lift my eyes to the hills – where will my help come from?  My help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

Krista Tippet interviewed Sociologist Nicholas Christakis for her On Being podcast, and how timely.  Because he looks back in history – And by history, better to say evolutionary history, to see how remarkable it is that we are the only species to consistently show the capacity for friendship, love, teaching, and cooperation.  Sure, we all know that violence is part of the human condition, but so too is friendship – Elephants are about the only other species shown to make and keep friends outside family members.  We’re one of the only species to show love beyond the mother-child bond.  We’re one of the only species to intentionally teach one another.  Most other creatures learn by mimicry. 

God made us to be in relationship.  While public health officials are trying to track the spread of the corona virus – Who did the sick person come in contact with – Nicholas Christakis points out that when people take intentional action in their lives, their acts ripple out – In the same way the corona virus can spread, and the same way fear can spread – So can, as he and Krista put it, “The better angels of our nature.”

This psalm is carried from group to group, from individual to individual, across space and time.  This psalm reminds us ultimately it is God who keeps our souls,  It is God who keeps our hearts.  And because our lives are about trusting that, again and again and again, because we know God’s love, we can be the ones to spread calm and hope, not chaos and fear.  Today, we worship God.  We fill our hearts with the Spirit of Christ, who knows what it is to face uncertainty, darkness, fear, to walk in the wilderness.  And we are reminded – Our help is in the Lord who made heaven and earth.  And so we have protection from the contagion of fear and panic.  We can be the ones to share God’s love, because times like now reveal this about being human as well:  We care about each other, we are in this together, God holds us close.  That can be contagious.  Leave panic behind.  Take a deep breath and remember, in life and in death we belong to the One who Makes us.  Claim this antidote to fear and anger:  God’s love.  Share that with a world desperately in need.  Our God in Christ shows us the way. 

 

https://podcasts.google.com/?feed=aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5wb2R0cmFjLmNvbS96S3E2V1paTFRsYk0&episode=Z2lkOi8vYXJ0MTktZXBpc29kZS1sb2NhdG9yL1YwL2ppOGstbWRvb3lzdV8tVkt2RXBSX2JDaHdLNmZiQ1FSUlA1VVNLTzhQTEk&hl=en&ved=2ahUKEwiChpPW6YroAhVklHIEHT_rAtkQieUEegQIBRAG&ep=6

 

 

https://onbeing.org/programs/nicholas-christakis-how-were-wired-for-goodness/