And then there was Holy Week

Within my life of ministry, Lent always seems to pick up speed as it moves along. Suddenly we are in the rich tradition of Holy Week and wrestling with the dynamics of life and death, justice and grace. We began our Lenten journey with those words that remind us of our mortality: “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return…” We are constantly invited to make our peace with death and dying and then to live life to its fullest as the blessing intended by God.

Central to the peace that we are invited to hold within our hearts is the promise of God’s love that never ends. Our Easter proclamation embodies the power of love. I think that proclamation took on a very different character when I focused less on the language of a father sacrificing his son and started hearing the language of self-sacrifice – servant language. The ancient hymn that we encounter in the letter to the Philippians speaks so beautifully to a very different theology than that of a Father sacrificing his son (an act that has always sounded like it erred too close to abuse). That hymn proclaims: “Though he was in the form of God, he did not consider being equal with God something to exploit. But he emptied himself by taking the form of a slave and by becoming like human beings. When he found himself in the form of a human, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:5–8, CEB) The idea of God choosing to journey with us through suffering and death feels very different than offering your child for sacrifice. That solidarity becomes the antidote to a world that continues to be addicted to the myth of redemptive violence. God proclaims that the violence of the world cannot win – rather, servanthood, self-sacrificial love, this is the power that saves us.

At the center of this idea is a very early doctrine of the church, the incarnation. Rev. Holly Whitcomb in her new book “The Practice of Finding” writes about the incarnation in a provocative passage titled “say Yes to being vulnerable as God is vulnerable”. She references writer Melissa Tidwell who elaborates: “It is staggering to consider God's willingness to accept – or even God's desire to experience – a human form, living in a body like ours. It opens us up to marvel at the idea of a perfect, eternal God becoming perishable, harmable, capable of grief and pain, and finally, death.”  Holly continues: “Most of us struggle with vulnerability. In our work or our personal lives we may be seduced by images of our virtue and personal power, thinking these will win us accolades or personal agency. But of course, we all know on a deep level that it is in fact not our perfection but our humanness and our vulnerability that are the bridges to other people. […] God became human in the incarnation, and we become human when we are open and vulnerable and less than perfect.”

The journey of faith is one that continually leads us to understand the power of a servant’s heart. The Roman Empire thought that death on a cross would serve its purposes. It thought that the death of Jesus and any other rabble-rouser or revolutionary would save the empire in somewhat the same way that Temple culture thought that animal sacrifice would save the people of faith. The Psalmist and the Prophets often voice that God doesn’t merely want the sacrifice; he wants changed hearts. God becoming human in Jesus shifts our understanding of power yet again. The vulnerable becomes the victor, love triumphs over violence, sacrifice to God is abolished through sacrifice by God. Love wins.

           And it is the power of that witness that has us proclaim: Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!!!

Oops, I seem to have given up posting for Lent

Last week, as we began Lent, I seemed to have struck a chord with a number of people when I described the act of giving something up for Lent as fundamentally being about reorienting our lives to God. I recall my Judaism professor helping me to understand dietary laws, and indeed many of the religious laws of any tradition that define how one does ordinary tasks, as being about focusing our lives on living in relationship to God. When our daily lives are infused with constant reminders of our living in relation with God then it’s harder for us to lose our focus on living out our covenant. So, people not eating meat on Fridays may push them to remember that this is a church teaching, they may or may not understand the meaning behind it, but every time they choose not to eat meat on a Friday they think about their faith… or do they? I found myself pondering something as simple as people giving up chocolate for Lent, something I hear about often. And I wondered whether going without something that I enjoyed helped me to somehow reconnect with God better. It certainly had the possibility of connecting me to the story of Jesus in the wilderness for forty days being hungry, but did it deepen my faith? My sense over the years from watching the practice of giving something up for Lent is that it doesn’t seem to add much to people’s spiritual journey. And so the recommendation that I offered this year is one that I’ve read often from others – to focus on giving more love and grace instead of giving something up – giving outward instead of giving up. Maybe even something as simple as giving thanks and joy instead of the lack thereof.

I was recently introduced to some thoughts by Rev. Holly Whitcomb in her new book the Practice of Finding; she was speaking about learning to savor and find wonder. At one point she quoted an oft repeated Jewish saying that “on the Day of Judgement God will only ask one question: Did you enjoy my world?” From Judaism   I learned the sense of original blessing, that all of creation, and surely life itself is overflowing with the blessing of God, and we are to appreciate it. But that appreciation isn’t just supposed to be the passing glance that says, “hey, nice flower…” it’s supposed to be the practice of letting the blessings around us transform our hearts. Holly uses the word savoring as a way of inviting us to slow down and appreciate. I think that this would be a more faithful Lenten journey in the wilderness. To be more intentional in our day to day life, to take that extra moment to appreciate the blessings.

There was a well-worn story that crossed my desk recently:

There once was a happy monkey wandering the jungle, eating delicious fruit when hungry, and resting when tired. One day he came upon a house, where he saw a bowl of the most beautiful apples. He took one in each hand and ran back into the forest. He sniffed the apples and smelled nothing. He tried to eat them, but hurt his teeth. They were made of wood, but they were beautiful, and when the other monkeys saw them, he held onto them even tighter.

He admired his new possessions proudly as he wandered the jungle. They glistened red in the sun, and seemed perfect to him. He became so attached to them, that he didn't even notice his hunger at first.

A fruit tree reminded him, but he felt the apples in his hands. He couldn't bear to set them down to reach for the fruit. In fact, he couldn't relax, either, if he was to defend his apples. A proud, but

less happy monkey continued to walk along the forest trails.

The apples became heavier, and the poor little monkey thought about leaving them behind. He was tired, hungry, and he couldn't climb trees or collect fruit with his hands full. What if he just let go?

Letting go of such valuable things seemed crazy, but what else could he do? He was so tired. Seeing the next fruit tree, and smelling its fruit was enough. He dropped the wooden apples and reached up for his meal. He was happy again.

Don’t we often hold onto all the wrong things in our lives, things that can’t offer us life? In Colossians it was spoken of as “set your minds on things above, not on earthly things” Perhaps we could also say that we should set our minds on those things that feed our souls, that give us deep joy, that align our lives with God's blessings.

As we continue our journey with God, perhaps we should spend more time giving thanks, giving kindness, giving grace, giving joy… and let those things fill us up with the wonder of God's blessings.

Living into our Lenten journey - Pastor Eric

      Lent is nearly upon us. I’m perennially surprised by how this time, set aside as preparation for Easter, seems to arrive before I’m mentally ready. We are busy dealing with snow and winter, and Easter is surely about Spring!

Most of you know my attachment to the liturgical year as a structure that maintains a spiritual rhythm through the ages… whether we’re fully ready or not. Lent recalls how Jesus' first act of ministry was to go and face temptation in the wilderness for 40 days and nights, a seemingly interminable time. Those forty days of preparation and discernment are what we mirror in the structure of time with our Lenten Journey. But often Lent seems too easily disconnected from conversations of discerning how best to live in our relationship with God. Perhaps some of the challenge is that often the language within the Church focuses on our having the right understanding instead of discerning the actions of faithfulness.

My soul has always resonated with language of journey- for when we are focused on the journey, we are paying attention to the present moment instead of merely the destination ahead. Journeys can be grace-filled places, but they can also be places of anxiety - for sometimes we just want to know when we will arrive… or what the right answer is. In that space, I want to loudly whisper that arrival is a state of being, not a destination.

How would we read the Church’s stories if we focused on that relational journey with God instead of merely seeking the right answer? In part, we might ponder the way that we tell our story.

Luke proclaims: “Jesus was about 30 years old when he began his ministry.” (3:23) Last week there was a devotional from Mary Luti that got me thinking about how we talk about our journeys of discernment. The devotional pondered what Jesus was doing from birth to 30 years old (scripture only records one moment in the story, when Jesus slips away from his parents and makes an appearance in the temple). Mary Luti imagined Jesus working hard in his father’s woodshop, curls of wood in his hair. And somewhere in that work, Jesus must discern his path. She writes: “Each of us has our work, too. A purpose we find in the overlap of who we are, what we're good at, what we love, and what our human neighborhood is needing. Work that generates motivating joy as we lend ourselves to it. Work that makes us more fully who we were created to be, as we give ourselves away in doing it.

Sometimes our work coincides with our jobs. Sometimes it doesn't; it disrupts and uproots us. Sometimes it leads to great public achievements. Often, it's as hidden as Jesus was in those first twenty-nine. Whatever it is, we're meant to seek and find this work that is seeking us. We're meant to turn thirty, which we can do at any age. The important thing isn't how old we are when we find it. The important thing is that, like Jesus, once we find it, we step out in trust and do it.”

We know what stepping out looked like for Jesus’ ministry. For three very full years, Jesus’ passion overflowed with teaching, preaching, healing, feeding, and helping people to grow in their relationship with God in nearly every way imaginable. That’s the journey into which we should be leaning – the living relationship with God, not the static, right-answer kind of faith. Have you ever wondered why our Creeds manage to render that passionate journey of ministry for Jesus as: [he was] “born, suffered, was crucified, died, and on the third day rose again and ascended into heaven…”? The Church’s creedal certainties speak nothing about what Jesus did; they just answer who he is from a doctrinal standpoint. The Jesus who inspires us to want to follow or emulate his ministry, vanishes into a series of answers to some of the church’s internal questions from a particular moment in history.

I believe our faith is always calling us into a deeper relationship with a dynamic God who will always transcend our limits. This is a God who chooses to journey with us in the unnamed spaces, the 29 years, the 40 days, and the lifetime of celebrating every moment as opportunity to be surprised again by the love and wonder of God.

This Lent we will once again journey on Wednesday nights with our 9th grade confirmation class sharing some of their reflections. We’ll journey together in the questions, not the answers. We will gather in beloved community and sing Holden Evening Prayers and see where it is that God is still speaking to our souls with new life. I believe this is the true Lenten journey to which we are called. Blessings on our journey together,

A Message from our Covenanted Partner in Ministry, Rev. Gretchen Martin

Greetings from North Carolina! As part of the four-way covenant, the agreements made in my ordination, I committed to sharing my thoughts with you in the “Tidings” on a regular basis. This month, I am excited to be starting a multi-month series on how to best support people in difficult medical situations, including people facing loss, people who are sick and dying, and people who are caregivers. The information shared in the next several articles is a combination of research around these topics, my personal reflections from my training in Clinical Pastoral Education, and my experiences with families who have someone at the end of life. So, to begin the series, I want to review the Top 10 Things NOT to Say to people who are sick, grieving or faced with loss.

The NOT Top 10!

1.     “At least…” According to Brenè Brown, research professor at the University of Houston who studies courage, vulnerability, shame and empathy, “Rarely, if ever, does an empathetic response begin with at least.” [1] These statements minimize the person’s feelings/situation they have shared, while trying to put a silver-lining around something incredibly painful. For example: “my son is failing out of school… At least your daughter is a great student” or “I just had my 3rd miscarriage… At least you know you can get pregnant.” Can you see how “at least” statements divert the focus, and dismiss the painful and vulnerable reality?

2.     “We statements” We statements such as “We will get through this round of chemo together” or “we will get your son back in school” put you in the middle of the other person’s crisis. Unless the person you are speaking to is your spouse or child, you will likely not be with them every step of the way. Reminding your friend that you are here to help, or offering concrete ways you can actually help the situation (like a professional referral to a physician or tutor) would be much more beneficial than we statements.

3.     “Just try…” or “I’ve done some research and…” Both of these statements suggest that there is an easy solution that the person who is sick or experiencing a medical crisis such as infertility hasn’t yet explored. Kate Bowler, professor at Duke Divinity School and cancer survivor sarcastically shares “I thought I should listen to my oncologist and my nutritionist and my team of specialists, but it turns out that I should be listening to you.” [2]

4.     “Let me know what I can do for you.” While, on the surface, this seems like a helping statement to someone who is sick or faced with loss, it actually puts significant pressure on the person who is grieving or in crisis. A statement like this puts the responsibility of follow-up and follow-through on the bereaved. It will likely not happen, which is unfortunate, because they really need your help. The grieving or sick person is likely overwhelmed with numerous details (funeral plans, choosing a new course of treatment, figuring out life in their new normal, etc).

5.     “When I…” Similar to we statements, statements that begin with “When I…” shift the focus from the person who is vulnerable, and instead puts you at the center of attention. I think we use statements about ourselves to try to relate to the other person’s struggle. Often sharing our own stuff does nothing for the person who is sick/grieving, but instead lets us explore a similar pain that is being stirred up. “When I” statements could be appropriate if the bereaved asks you a specific question about your experience. Ex. “When you did chemo, did you get a wig? How did you get a death certificate after your husband died?”

6.     “It’s God’s Will/Timing/Plan” I think we make statements like this because there is no tangible or concrete explanation for why bad things happen to good people. But if you think about the statement, it really is counter to our theology. Did God really want someone’s child or spouse to die… or for someone to lose their job… or for a woman to have a miscarriage? If you say something like this to a person who is grieving, it is putting a theology on them that implies God wanted this awful thing to happen. Instead, remind the bereaved that they are loved by God and that God will never leave them!

7.     “Everything happens for a reason.” A statement like this suggests that you know the reason, yet the reality is that some things just can’t be explained. Statements like this stifle the conversation the grieving person is trying to dive into. This statement leaves little room for the bereaved or sick to explore their own feelings and faith perspective around what is happening and why. “When someone is drowning, the only thing worse than failing to throw them a life preserver, is handing them a reason.” [3]

8.     “You can use this experience to…” Yes, someday a person who has lost a child might be able to write a book, or a person who survived a trauma may become a motivational speaker to others with similar experiences. But now is NOT the time to remind them of this. When a person is in crisis or is grieving, they want support in the here and now. They don’t want to (and really don’t need to) think about how this experience will help them in the future.

9.     “I know exactly how you feel.” Simply put… no you don’t! You may be able to image how they feel, or imagine how difficult a situation might be for them, or what a situation might feel like if you were in the middle of it. But you can never know exactly how someone feels because no two people’s experiences with grief and loss are the same. Two people may have lost a parent, but their experience with death will be different, because their relationship with their parents is unique to them, their relationships with their surviving family are unique, and their experience with death in the past is unique.

10.  “What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger.” As Dr. Alan Wolfelt, author, educator and grief counselor, might say, “True, but not helpful.” Sickness, grief and loss affect all aspects of our being: physical, cognitive, emotional, social and spiritual. [4]  When we walk with the bereaved, we need to honor their darkness and let them work through it, not feel the need to push them into the light or future if they aren’t ready.

After reading this list, please don’t fret if you have said some or all of these things to someone faced with grief or loss. Give yourself some grace that you were doing the best you knew how to do. I hope that the next time someone is vulnerable with you, you’ll remember this list and do your best to avoid the NOT Top 10. Be on the lookout for next month’s article that will offer some suggestions of what TO say and do when supporting someone who is sick, grieving or faced with loss.

[1] Brenè Brown on Empathy, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Evwgu369Jw

[2] Bowler, Kate. Everything Happens for a Reason: and Other Lies I’ve Loved. Random House, New York, 2018.

[3] Bowler, Kate. Ibid.

[4] Alan Wolfelt, The Art of Companioning the Mourner; Workshop hosted by Hospice of Davidson County, 10/17/18