Peace! Be Still

24 June 2012
Mark 4:35-41 (Jesus becomes "the man who stills the waters.")

What amazes me most about this gospel story is not that Jesus was able to still the storm. So the wind and the sea obey him—that’s still not the most amazing thing about the story. The most amazing thing to me is that while the little fishing boat was battered by waves and taking on water, Jesus slept in the stern. That is one sound sleeper. He must have been exhausted! And one doesn’t think of Jesus, the Son of God as being capable of being that tired! What’s more, even sound asleep, I can’t imagine Jesus being totally unaware of what was happening around him.
Jesus shows superhuman calm in the face of what drives others out of their minds with worry. “Don’t you care that we are perishing?” said the men in the same boat.
“Don’t you care that my sister has left me to do all the work?” Said Martha of Bethany about her sister, Mary. (In the gospel of Luke. It's the only other time anyone accuses Jesus of apathy.)
“Have you no faith?” (Jesus asked the disciples.)
“You are worried by so many things.” (Jesus said to Martha.)
It’s not that Jesus was Mr. Joe Cool. In fact, sometimes Jesus was angry at things that never seemed to bother anyone else. Like when he closed the market in the temple courtyard. He made a whip of chords and overturned the tables and shouted at people. Nobody else was bothered that the house of prayer had become “a den of thieves.”
Jesus wasn’t always serene. He was serene when others were panicking, and he was angry when others were resigned. Jesus challenges our priorities.
Panic is easy. It is the instinct of prey animals, to run at the sound of rustling in the bushes. Panic arises from the fight or flight response. When we can neither fight nor flee, like in a boat on a stormy sea—we panic, we go mad. We forget who and whose we are. We forget that we belong to God.
Who is this that even the wind and sea obey him? This is your God, whose Spirit is wind, who commands the sea, who heals the sick, who makes the wounded whole, who holds you in the palm of the holy hand.
Do not worry about your life, for God is at your side, on your side.
Do not worry about your life, panic is a waste of energy.
Do not worry about your life, live it. Spend your energy on love and faithfulness.
God who brought us into this world and receives us in the end will be with us always.
“Peace! Be still.” The disciples thought Jesus was talking to the sea, but maybe he was talking to them. Maybe Jesus is speaking to us, “Peace, be still.”

Green, for Growth; or "We're All Going to Seed"

*Call to Worship  
One: This is the litany of the growing seed.

Many: With what shall we compare the world that God wills?

One: It is as if someone would plant a seed, and sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow—we do not know how!

Many: With what shall we compare the world as God wills it to be and become?

One: It is like the white pine seed, knocked from its cone, carried off by the crow, dropped in the forest. It is the tiniest of seeds, but when it grows it is the tallest of trees, and the eagle makes a nest in its branches, to raise its young.

Many: Let anyone with ears, hear, and rejoice in the coming of a world that God wills.

One: It is like this world, but with abundant life for all God’s creatures. And it is coming, we do not know how. Alleluia!

Many: Alleluia! Amen.

            Seeds that sprout and grow are as wondrous to me now as they were in kindergarten, when we planted marigold seeds in Dixie cups and left them on the basement classroom window-ledge. Sometime after we had forgotten they were there, Mrs. Snodgrass handed them down and there were little green plants! Look at that! I was so proud to take that little green plant home to my mother. Proud, not of what I had done or made, but proud of that little seed, that it had managed to rise up out of the dirt and seek the sunshine.

            The kingdom of God is as if a child should bury a seed in a cup of dirt, and should come and go, day after day, to learn about letters and numbers and colors and shapes, and the seed should sprout and grow, she does not know how. But when it does, there is such joy.

            Even now, whenever I plant a row of seed, I am amazed that something happens, amazed at the power contained in each little seed. And I am amazed at how generous plants are. Thirteen, almost fourteen years ago, I moved into the parsonage and began plant a garden. The plants came not just from the local nursery, they came from you. Dorothy Janes gave me some iris, and so did Norma Miller, and Marge Vuchetich, and Elissa Hartwig, along with lilies and hostas and chrysanthemums. I have some phlox from Grace Forbord’s garden and some Peonies from Nancy Gould. The parsonage garden has received seeds and bulbs and corms and shoots from other gardens, and in turn has produced an abundance of plants to divide and share with my neighbors, so that when I go for a walk around the neighborhood, I can see how our garden has spread. The kingdom of God is like that. It spreads, it naturalizes, which is a gardeners’ term for going wild and taking over. The kingdom of God starts with a few modest acts of charity, mercy, and justice, and then it just goes wild.

            The kingdom of God is as if a gardener should prepare the soil to receive the seeds and bulbs and shoots from other gardeners, and should sleep and rise night and day, and the garden should sprout and grow, she does not know how, but when it does, there is a giveaway.

            Even more amazing to me is the knowledge, wisdom, and will contained in the garden. We lived in Vermont for a summer. Vermont is a state that was once more populous than it is now. The forest has reclaimed land that once had been cleared for grazing and farming, and houses and gardens. As you walk through what you think is a wilderness, you will come across stones, stacked to make fences, like the fence Robert Frost and his neighbor repaired in the poem. It is also possible to make out the old dooryards, for that is where the lilacs grow. Lilacs planted by folks who gave up Vermont and moved west, more than a century and a half ago.

            The summer after Vermont we lived out west in the Sandhills. Our second summer there, the hills were covered in wild sunflowers-- sunflowers as far as the eye could see. People our age had never seen such a thing. The old-timers had heard of such, from their parents. Even Gerald Boots, born in a soddie in Grant County in nine-teen-some-teen, couldn’t be sure he had ever seen such a sight. In Stories of the Sioux, Mari Sandoz’s collection of tales that she heard as a child, there was mention of one summer way back in the buffalo time, before man came to earth, when the hills were covered with sunflowers, and the buffalo wrapped the flowers around their horns for decoration. Legendary sunflowers, they were. Who knows how many generations those seeds had slept in the sand, to be awakened by just the right amount of rain and sun and wind.

            The kingdom of God is as if the homesteader should plant a hedge, or the buffalo should scatter seed, and long after both have returned to the dust from which they came, the seed is still sprouting and growing, and the children of the earth weave crowns of flowers for their hair.

            The seeds of God’s mercy have been scattered, and have taken root and grown in you. You are God’s garden. Go to seed! Scatter that love and mercy and compassion generously, wastefully even—because nothing is really wasted. Seeds may lie dormant for ages, but seeds will sprout and grow, and so will the kingdom of God, the love of God, life in God, we do not need to know how. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Allied Pride: Proudly Seeking Justice

June Newsletter

“[L]earn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.” (Isaiah 1:17)

“We will seek justice and advocate redress of the wrongs committed against sexual minorities in our local community and in society at large.” (our church’s Statement of Openness and Affirmation)

June is “Gay Pride Month” and Pride events are open to everyone. GLBT friends have told me that Pride events are like a window into a new world, where they don’t have to be afraid that someone will take offense at them. What kind of a world is that? It sounds to me like a kingdom of God kind of world, a world where everyone has enough of everything that makes for life, and no one is degraded, down-graded or oppressed.

With the anti-gay constitutional amendment coming on the November ballot, this must be a particularly stressful time to be GLBT in Minnesota. Now more than ever we allies need to come out of our closets.

An ally is a person who stands up to the neighbor who makes a rude or ignorant comment about sexual orientation. An ally is a person who says, “I am voting no on that amendment because no one benefits from it, and good people will be hurt by it.” An ally is a person who will speak up for justice, stand up to bullies, and defend the victims of hate.

Now is not a time to whisper or mutter under the breath, now is the time to speak up. Now is the time to learn to do good, seek justice, rescue the oppressed. Now is the time for advocates. Everybody, say it strong and say it loud, “I’m an Ally, and I’m proud!”

Amen.

Living in the Mystery

Sunday, June 3, 2012

According to the liturgical calendar, which describes the seasons of the year in the language of the church, Trinity Sunday is June 3. Trinity describes a traditional teaching (doctrine is the technical term) about God, that God is three-in-one. One God, three persons. Trinity is the way that the church traditionally describes the ways that God relates to the world: Creating, redeeming, empowering. Lover, beloved, love.

The Trinitarian language of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit was useful to the church at one time, apparently-- perhaps more so at some times than others, more so for some cultures than others. I don't think that Jesus was invested in doctrine. He was pretty anti-doctrine, actually. He said of the scribes, the class of teachers in the temple, "They tie up heap up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others." (Matt 23:4) If the Trinity makes sense to you, if it is light to your path, very good. But, if the burden of ancient doctrine obscures rather than enlightens, I say, lay that burden down.

There are other teachings about God that are much more ancient than the doctrine of the Trinity. In the Hebrew scriptures, God is nameless ("I am who I am," said the voice from the burning bush) but God known in many ways: as a creator, liberator, king, rock, fortress, mighty warrior, consoling mother, holy wisdom, lover. When people in Bible stories think they have God figured out, God does something completely new.

But this much is consistently true: God is who God is, God will be who God will be, and everything works together for good. Therefore, we live by faith, trusting in the infinite mystery.

These Bones Can Live

Pentecost Sunday, 27 May 2012

Ezekiel 37:1-14

            This is the day that the Spirit made—that creative, life-giving force that is God-in-action. The Spirit moves. That is the most consistent quality of the Spirit of God, it moved over the waters of the deep before the world was created; it blew through the valley of dry bones and gave them life; it roared through the room where the disciples were gathered on the day of Pentecost. Wherever the Spirit moves, it upsets the stagnant order of the day. Wherever the Spirit happens, life happens. The spirit overturns tables and makes the dead rise up!

            Ezekiel looked around at the landscape of a conquered Israel, but it could have been anywhere the innocent were slaughtered at any time. It could have been Bataan, it could have been Wounded Knee, it could have been Auschwitz or El Mozote. Anywhere mothers grieve over their lost children, anytime brutality overwhelms humanity, we look upon the mass graves and ask, my God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

            And God answers with a question. Mortal, can these bones live?

            In Ezekiel’s vision, the bones rattle, reassemble into skeletons, and the skeletons grow flesh and the flesh is covered with skin, when the prophet spoke in the name of the Lord. But there was no life in them without the Spirit. So the prophet called out the Spirit—the spirit that moved over the waters of creation and filled the first earth-creature with the breath of life (wind, spirit, breath, it’s all the same word in Hebrew)—and the people lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.

            These are the people of Israel, God says, who say, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” But the promise of God is that new life will come. If you think you are dead, rest assured, I will give you life. If you are lost, I will bring you back.

            Pentecost is the anniversary of the church. In case you haven’t noticed, the church is smaller than it used to be. Not just this church, but all the churches. For example, the number of congregations of the Minnesota Conference, and the total number of members of churches of the Minnesota Conference, have decreased steadily since the Conference was founded fifty years ago. But it’s not just the Minnesota Conference, it’s all United Church of Christ congregations. But it’s not just United Church of Christ congregations, it’s also Lutheran, and United Methodist, and Episcopalian, and Presbyterian. But it’s not just the old established churches, it’s also the newcomers. It’s not a matter of one kind of Christianity vs. another, or Christianity vs. other religions. The only group that has grown steadily is the group that answers “none of the above” to the question “What faith do you practice?”

            And the churches are panicking. Bishops and executive ministers are quaking in their wingtip shoes. Committees and task forces are forming, consultants are being contracted, troops are being mustered to fight the decline of the mainline church.

            “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost, we are cut off completely.”

            As much as we may try to reassemble the dry bones of the old church, there is no life there. Not without the Spirit.

            The thing about the Spirit is, being of a creative temperament, it rarely creates the same thing twice. When the Spirit created the church, it did not create Synagogue 2.0. The spirit didn’t recreate the religion of the Pharisees, under new management. The Spirit created something completely new. And the church, it was not born fully formed, it was born an infant. The apostles struggled to manage the growth, but they could not. Once the Spirit was loose, it created church in unexpected places. In the homes of gentiles, and in the hearts of aliens in the land. The Spirit went abroad and created churches all over the world, and no two were alike, and it was disorderly, messy. In spite of the Apostles desire to reign it in, the Spirit could not be bridled.

            The thing about church is, maybe it isn’t dying so much as being reborn in a new body—one that we cannot recognize, unless we look with the eyes of a heart enlightened.

Oh, the places you will go with the Spirit

Confirmation Sunday, May 6, 2012

Acts 8:26-40

        

This is the story of Philip, who found himself traveling by the power of the Holy Spirit, from Jerusalem, north into Samaria, and from Samaria south to Gaza, and from Gaza north to Azotus and all the way up the coast to Caesarea. In first century terms, that is an impossible distance. It would be like saying, Philip was in Minneapolis, and then the Spirit said, go down to Tucson, Arizona. And then the Spirit lifted him up and he found himself in San Diego, and he went up the Pacific Coast Highway until he got to Seattle. It’s hyperbole—there’s that word again, hyperbole—a literary device employed to make the point that the power that was in the prophets and in Jesus and in the apostles is at work in Philip, even though he was only recently confirmed.

That’s right. This Philip was not the Philip who was called one of the Twelve (apostles), this Philip was one of the Seven, the first confirmation class, though the Bible doesn’t actually use those words. The book of the Acts of the Apostles tells the story of the first church, the first congregation in Jerusalem, which gathered around the Twelve Apostles after the resurrection of Jesus. It was all good, in the beginning, so good that day by day, more and more people heard about Jesus, and saw how well the Christians loved each other, and hearing and seeing and believing this to be something they wanted to be part of, people responded by being baptized and becoming part of the church. Then it got complicated, because the church was getting too big for the Twelve to manage on their own. So they appointed the Seven-- seven new Christians to assist them in leading the church. The book of Acts describes how the Apostles prayed and laid their hands on these seven. Which is exactly what we are going to do with you Nine in just a little while.

            I have had hands laid upon me twice: once at my confirmation when I was about your age, and once again when, after a much longer period of study and prayer and tests and interviews, I was ordained to the ministry, and given the titles of “Reverend,” and “Pastor.” Have you noticed how, in the masthead of the church bulletin, I am not the only “minister” here? Ministers: All Members. Pastor: Rev. Deborah G Celley. Ministers are people who serve, and that includes you, particularly now that you are becoming full adult members of the church. But nobody can do ministry on their own power. Not even the first Twelve Apostles could do much of anything without the power of the Holy Spirit which came to them in a mighty way on the day of Pentecost.

            The laying on of hands is the way the church has, throughout the ages, recognized the potential for leadership, and instilled the power of the Holy Spirit. It isn’t magic. We don’t control the Holy Spirit with our hands, it is a wild and untamed power. You have already felt it, I am sure. It is that power that makes you get up and do good things, brave things, that you never thought you could do before. It is the power to stand up to the bully and defend the victim. It is the power to put yourself between danger and the endangered. It is the power to comfort those who grieve, and to heal the sick. It is the power to endure pain, and believe that the pain will give way to healing. It is the power to know that suffering pain or discomfort for a time will not break you, but will strengthen you in body, mind and soul. You are young, but you have already learned much, by the power of the Spirit that have been with you since your birth. This ceremony, this laying on of hands is a visible and memorable symbol of an invisible and sometimes forgettable power at work in you.

            Oh, the places you will go with the Spirit. O the places you have already been with the Spirit. Oh the places you will go, with the Spirit.

Creating Art and Worship Together

Art is a gateway to worship. As we worship during the next several weeks, we will be creating a work of art together. Each Sunday everyone will be encouraged to fold a paper crane in one of the rainbow colors. The cranes will be strung together to create a rainbow banner, which, when complete, will be a visual testimony of our Open and Affirming welcome, and a reminder of God’s covenant with all creation.

I learned how to fold paper canes when I was in high school. In Sunday school or confirmation class, we folded cranes while our teacher told us the story of Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes. We learned that because of Sadako’s story, the paper crane became an internationally recognized symbol for peace.

When I was in seminary, I re-learned how to fold paper cranes from a Japanese Buddhist student. She folded tiny paper cranes from 1” square pieces of paper and strung them together in garlands. The crane garlands became part of her shrine to the Buddha which she created in her apartment, and she also hung crane garlands over her door knob and gave them away as gifts. Watching Miyako fold cranes, I began to realize that the crane was more than a symbol of peace—that the act of folding a crane was in itself a prayer for peace. Those garlands of cranes were garlands of prayers for the world.

As rational adults, we know that objects are inanimate. Things have no soul, no mind, no thought processes. (I may be tempted to believe otherwise when the lawn mower works for my husband but never for me, because it hates me. But really, I know better.) The knowledge that objects are inanimate often leads us to the false assumption that material things have no effect on us. We think, therefore we mow. Or type. Or garden. Or paint. We work with wood and chisels or fabric and thread.

But what if our interaction with inanimate objects is not as one-way as we imagine? What if our engagement with material actually works a change in us?

An illustration: Having been given a guitar when I was eight years old, I learned to play it. It left marks on my fingertips. It created a pattern in my brain whereby I see notes on a page and my fingers play a melody. The guitar I got when I was eight years old played a role in creating me.

I’m inviting you to fold cranes with me because the paper and the act of folding will work a change in you. While you are folding paper into a crane, the paper will play a role in creating you.

We will fold cranes of many colors, and put them in a basket. And when we have all the colors of the rainbow, we will string them into garlands. And when we hang the garlands together we will have a rainbow banner for the entryway. And whenever we walk into the sanctuary we will see the banner that we made, that played a role in making us.

That is how art becomes a gateway to worship.