The Church I Never Served

Some years ago I envisioned the kind of church I would like to serve as minister. Here's what I came up with: St. Luke's Church of the Outcasts. Because Luke's gospel was addressed to those outside the Jewish faith of that time, the gentiles (as he was), his stories of healing and teaching included "outsiders" who were invited to follow Jesus of Nazareth. The poor and the suffering were key characters in the teachings. Harsh words for the religious leaders of the day who danced to the tunes of Rome are recorded.

As for membership, I would personally choose the ones who would be part of this church -- they would include lots of outsiders, lots of actual outcasts of society, but also those with financial means to spread their wealth to the sisters and brothers in need, who also wanted to follow this Jesus. The purpose would be to follow Jesus more than simply to worship him.

Of course, such a dream was never realized, but I think about it every now and then, and wonder how it would work out. I fantasize that this congregation would not have become conflicted, but would have worked out difficulties through mutual love and agreement. I fantasize that the church would become a model for other congregations. I fantasize that the members would become well-versed in scripture so that they could offer sermons and teach classes and hold study sessions, and visit the members.

The reason this dream never was realized has more to do with my cynicism about such a possible church ever coming into being. Human nature is too often susceptible to divisions and conflicts and fears for any such gathering to become reality.

But then, I never tried to find out if it could happen.

Notice to Internet Advertisers: you are SPAM

After some years now of getting SPAMMED by the fraudulent and the criminals and those seeking to deprive me of our bank account, I have decided it is time to speak up. So here's to you, who try to sell me Viagra, or to tell me how to enlarge the male organ which I do not have, being female.

I am a 76-year-old grandmother, a retired preacher, and I have other credentials which you don't need to know about me. We are not wealthy, and we don't like people who try to bilk us of the little amount we do have. You are wasting your time trying to sell me anything.

Now if you really wanted to make something of yourselves, you'd drop all those scams and head off to Haiti or Darfur or some inner city here to help with soup kitchens, or shelters, or teaching others how to care for themselves legitimately. Do you hear the cries of anguish from the starving, from the children who are dying because they lack clean water and good medical care? Do you see the hopeless looks on the poor who walk your streets? Do you hate your own life so much that you desire to ruin the lives of others?

Get a life. Learn humility. Act in truth. Lead a life of service and compassion. It's not about you, remember? Find a faith to sustain you. Honor everyone who comes your way. Share what you have and help others find their way. You can do it. And please, please, stop sending me SPAM on my internet pages.

What Matters

It so happens that I attended two memorial services recently for women who exemplify for me what it means to live a meaningful life. Neither of them was famous. Neither of them guided international gatherings or led large organizations. They simply participated -- participated in life through the gifts they were blessed with, journeying through the dailiness of their lives.

They were gracious, generous, invested in making life better for others by volunteering, by serving the society around them, and one by serving her country during World War II. Their beautiful spirits were recognized by the many whose lives were touched by them in healing and loving ways. They knew what mattered and how to stay focused on those journeys of self-giving and self-growing. Loss and heartbreak were familiar companions for them, and these were their means of understanding the pain that others experienced.

The service for one of them included excerpts from Michael Josephson's poem "Live a Life that Matters." I offer some of those lines that describe the lives of these two women, as they lived lives that mattered:
"What will matter is not your competence, but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone.
What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident. It's not a matter of circumstance but of choice.'

Diversity

Lately I have been seeking to define my time better. As I find days available for me to attend to my different projects, I end up wandering from one thing to another: time with my latest carving project, time working on my book about children of WWII, time spent emailing friends and reading news . . . and on and on. Then I realize the day is nearly spent and what have I done?

My old struggle between focusing on less, with greater intensity, and responding to the calling of and responding to great needs in the world around me continues. Part of today's Call to Worship contained excerpts from Paul's comment in I Corinthians about the diversity of gifts and services: "Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed: there are a variety of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates them in everyone." This statement carried a new meaning for me as I heard them during the responsive call: that God recognizes we are gifted differently in terms of what we are able to contribute.

The passage includes examples of gifts and services, and I believe Paul is affirming that we do have gifts of abilities to offer, but what I struggle with is the point that I don't have to show forth ALL of these listed. If we each have talents and skills, then collectively we can work for the coming of God's reign of peace and justice and health and wholeness for all creation. But we are not individually responsible for doing it all.

I believe also that we can exercise our gifts in different ways at different times in our lives. Now in my mid-70's, I should feel that I can let go of some activities in order to acquire proficiency in others -- others which are still contributive to a better world. In reading Sue Monk Kidd's book written with her daughter Ann Kidd Taylor, Traveling with Pomegranates, I find many of the same struggles of what to do with one's gifts, and which gifts are adequate and fitting. Do I work with my gift and desire for writing, and also my carving, and accept them as being sufficient unto the day, rather than try to attend every meeting of every cause, carrying banners of justice and peace for every issue that arises in our culture?

I think the answer is obvious. The question, however, is more soul-stretching. Can I trust life, trust God, enough to let go of trying to do it all? This is the calling for which I must answer in my life at this time. We shall see how the journey goes.

Moving into This Special Season

There are times when my Reformed, left-brain faith tradition, of the Presbyterian variety, is not enough for me. I crave something more intuitive and right-brained, and spiritual. So today on this cold and rainy Saturday, I went to the National Cathedral website and watched, or I could go so far as to say I participated in, the service of Lessons and Carols for last Sunday afternoon, the first Sunday in Advent.

Having been at the Cathedral earlier this year may be what helps me get immediately into the service, but I don't believe that is all of it. I hear the beautiful music, the old biblical passages read so beautifully, and I am touched emotionally. I find myself begging to believe all that I hear about this God who utters the comforting words of promise. Can I really claim it as my own belief? Or hope? And I wonder if it is necessary to do so. Rather I simply listen, hear with the "ear of my heart," as St. Benedict would say, and not ask too many questions.

This is the Season for simply listening again for the promise. I don't have to do more, for this moment exists just as it is. The announcement to Mary and her brave willingness to accept the offer. The herald John, who calls for the way to be made straight. The assurance of peace that is thousands of years old sounds fresh again. I don't have to do more than drink it in.

The liturgical beauty of worship is a necessary ingredient, I am certain, if we are to sense the awe of a hidden Presence that waits for us, as we wait for whatever that may be, as yet unrealized. I drink in the voices of the choir, the readings from scripture, the amazing chords from the organ, the setting of a nation's temple for worship if one chooses to go there. It is enough, for now.

A Time for Thanks

After a long hiatus from this blog, I am back! Sitting here looking out the window, at Bald Head Island, in the company of our family and many friends, life is good. Watched yesterday's Thanksgiving service online at the National Cathedral, where we were reminded that even in times of great stress and grief and turmoil, it is also good to be thankful for the good that has come to us.

So, I am. Extremely grateful for: a host of friends, a wonderful family, a time to stop and look around me, a time to finish the book that has taken so long to reach the end, a time to work on my poems, read Facebook comments, proof-read Charlie's long history of David Caldwell, laugh.

The food we have been nourished by is phenominal. Two house-fulls of us gathered at one of them to feast at the table of blessings yesterday. Today it is leftovers: turkey sandwiches, cranberry jelled salad, and other delights.

Now it is time to get outside, walk to the inlet and then ride (golf carts only) to the beach, then greet our niece's daughter and husband here, and go out for dinner. Such common moments, but what is better than to find there is value in the commonplace, with toppings of family, friends, and food?

A Blogged Sermon

For my blog this time I've decided to copy-paste the sermon I preached last week, based on the Common Lectionary. I was guest preacher at historic Hawfields Presbyterian Church in Mebane, NC.

Welfare and Healthcare AD 1


Proverbs 22:1-2,8-9,22-23
Mark 7:24-37


Jesus can surprise us at times, as often as we read these stories and think we understand the deeper meanings to them. A time comes when our own experience plays into the story and his takes a new turn in our understanding of discipleship. In today’s readings, we find two accounts of his healing powers: one involves a pagan woman, an outsider to the faith, and the other an outcast within the faith, because of his infirmities.
Jesus and his friends have stepped into the outer edges of Jewish territory where there are Greeks, in the eyes of the faithful they are seen as pagans. He’s looking for respite away from the crowds, yet here comes a Syrophoenician woman who has discovered where he is, and pleads for her daughter’s healing from mental illness. Jesus stalls, claiming that his work is among his own people, but the woman steps across the boundaries of propriety and defends her right to his ministry. Women in that society were not to be so forward in the company of men, who held the superior role. But a mother’s concern overrode such conformities. Jesus tries to dismiss her by noting that his own people take priority and others must not take what belongs to the Jews – outsiders are considered to be like the small pet dogs, he claims. Her brave riposte, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” trumps his stand, and he accedes to her plea, healing her daughter long distance. Unlike other healings when he says to the patient “your faith has made you whole,” she has won her case by her argument. To the surprise of many, Jesus in that act makes an inclusive gesture that broadens his sphere of concern, reaching out to the ones beyond the limits of his own faith. The game plan has changed from exclusive to inclusive. Health care for all is the agenda for this Jesus the Jew, despite the prejudices and restrictions on dealings with pagans.
Then he moves back into home territory where a man is brought to him who cannot hear nor speak clearly. The belief of that time was that to be disabled, in this case by a speech impediment and deafness, indicated something seriously wrong about a person – some sin had caused this handicap. Yet Jesus, in his unorthodox manner, including spitting on his fingers before touching the man’s tongue, again brings about a healing, much to the amazement of those who watch. In fact, despite his command that no one tell of this action, the witnesses go out exclaiming to all they meet that he has made the deaf hear and the mute speak. The good that he does cannot go unannounced.
In that day, Jesus was providing health care without concern for anyone’s eligibility. Even non-believers and outcasts received healing just as effectively as did the insiders, the people of Israel. It did take behavior by that woman which offended propriety, and flaunting ritual laws on Jesus’ part, with the deaf man, but he overrode the limits to health care provisions. In a way it was a single-payer system, where Jesus paid the cost for the patient.
We know that health care for all has been one of the prominent issues before the public today. The death of Senator Ted Kennedy heightened attention to it, as eulogizers spoke of his life-long career of working for better ways to provide good medical care for the nation. It was, as he stated, his life’s work, his passion, his determined goal. He didn’t live to see that accomplished, but his death focused our attention even more upon the need to improve the quality and the scope of health care coverage for all. We don’t know yet how or when this goal will be reached. But we have precedents for care of the nation’s health dating back before Jesus’ day, and practiced by him in his brief career among us. Granted, there were theological purposes behind his healing in that he was focusing on the widening circle of God’s love and power. He was proclaiming the Kingdom. Yet his method of doing so included compassion for the people who came to him in throngs seeking his touch, seeking healing of mind and body, seeking food for their sustenance and food for their spirits.
We note that these crowds were not composed of the rich and powerful but rather predominantly consisted of the poor, the outcasts of society, the least among them. Perhaps as Jesus ministered to them he remembered the teachings from the book of Proverbs. Teachings about the poor, for example: “Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate . . . Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor.” As far back as we have written records, there were the poor in every age and every civilization. People of faith, of different world faiths, were taught to have compassion for them. In fact, in ancient societies it was the obligation of the ruler to care for the poor – to see that they had the necessities of life. It was a telling mark of a nation or society how well the least were cared for. That principle has been recognized throughout the ages. Recognized but seldom adhered to fully.
When our own nation has 47 million without health insurance living among us, we wonder how we are judged in such a situation. When the numbers of the poor, the homeless and hungry increase in such economic times as we have now, what are we saying about ourselves as a society in terms of our faith?
Tomorrow is our national holiday celebrating the ones who labor, the workers, the industrious ones who are recognized for their efforts by a day off – or many of them will have a day off. Many however, who have lost their jobs, their positions, their incomes, have had too many days off this year that they didn’t count on. And the snowball effect has increased foreclosures on homes when the owners can no longer meet the payments, or purchase household items, or buy groceries, which in turn affect the manufacturers and merchants . . . and so it goes. It may be difficult for such as these to celebrate a Labor Day that no longer includes them as part of the nation’s workforce.
These are desperate times for our neighbors. . . and ourselves. How do we measure ourselves against the biblical norms of justice, healing of body and mind for all fairly; distributive, equal standards of living that leave no one out, no children behind, no elderly and infirm outside the doors of our health care system?
A recent study on the state of children’s health care around the world indicates that although our country spends more money per child on their health, it is aimed primarily at those between 12 and 17, rather than care for younger children. Where would the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter fit into this picture? These figures show the US to be far behind other countries for children 6 and younger – key ages for development into a healthy adulthood. We rank 4th from the bottom in infant mortality, after Mexico, Turkey, and Slovakia, and only Mexico ranks above us in teenagers giving birth. One writer, speaking of our poor record in health care compared to other countries notes that America's troubles stem from a flawed mix of government spending and not enough help for the working poor. The inadequate programs for undergirding for the poor show that there is less money spent to keep the incomes of the poor up. Thus, the poor have less money for their health care.
(Timothy Smeeding, author of "Poor Kids in a Rich Country: America's Children in Comparative Perspective – the article is by Greg Keller in an Associated Press article on Truthout)
These studies do not reflect a promising picture for the future of the nation’s underprivileged, but where does the church stand in this issue? After all, we are people of faith, followers of Jesus Christ. How do we reflect Jesus’ example of care for the poor in their search for a sustainable life? We do provide homeless shelters and soup kitchens in our cities, which are often part of an urban ministry program. It is a beginning, and where these ministries exist they have a noticeable effect upon the population. We act in the name of that Jesus who walked the countryside, hounded by the needs of the people, fatigued by the demands that the institutional religious establishment and the Roman government had ignored.
How do the poor see the ministry of the church? Two stories from a collection by a Benedictine Sister in Erie, PA give us an idea. Mary Lou Kownacki is active with a Soup Kitchen and an inner city Children’s Art House run by the Erie Benedictines. “What do I do here?” she asks. “I listen. I get to know my neighbors, really know them. I listen to their hopes and dreams for decent jobs, decent homes, a safe place to raise their children. They are worried about their children, especially their teenagers, who can see no future except minimum-paying jobs, lockup, or dropping out to the streets” (A Monk . . . p.6) She writes a poem: “Poor people on my street/rummaging through city trash/for stained mattresses, torn chairs/a chipped vase/to hold a stolen daffodil.”
And the poor respond, some in unusual ways. Sister Mary Lou describes how angels at times appear among them, such as Alfred A. “He appeared at our soup kitchen one day in the image of a Native American – tall, dark skin, high cheekbones, jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail. After eating a meal, he walked up to the serving counter and asked for a table napkin. Then he took a pencil from his vest pocket, stood at the counter, and began to scribble on the napkin. . . . [he wrote:] ‘I feel the presence of God here.’ On the napkin was a sketch of the face of Jesus. Then he walked out the door, and we haven’t seen him since. . . . [she goes on] I think Alfred A. reminded us that to serve the stranger, the poor, is an act of worship. Whenever we treat the stranger with respect, with kindness, with unconditional love, we worship God” (11). Another guest at their soup kitchen was Joe. He called the place a church. When asked why, his answer was simple: “Because this is where I find God. . . This is where God’s work is done” (127).
Is that how we might describe our own churches? As a place where God’s work is done? And would those places include a health clinic for the indigent, a soup kitchen, a shelter for the night? At Fellowship Presbyterian Church in Greensboro where my husband and I worship, we are part of a program known as the Interfaith Hospitality Network. Every quarter we house families in the network in our church building for a week, providing meals and a place to sleep. They are away during the day at school or perhaps their jobs, and arrive in time for dinner. No doubt Hawfields is involved in many ways as well to make life easier for those with little means of their own. It is when we do this that we worship God – it begins when we gather in the sanctuaries of our towns and cities to sing praises and hear the Word, and offer our own prayers of need. The time we are fed there includes that moment at the Table where Christ is our Host, healing us in his bountiful forgiving love, so that we might then go out and share what we have received. We are the Church, the Body of Christ. The woman waits for us to heal her daughter. The outcast waits to speak and hear. We are able and ready, for we have witnessed the Christ in our own lives. We labor on to answer his charge and do his work.