Southwest Conference Blog

A Cardinal Lesson in Discernment

I have not always been sure of what I wanted to do with my life, but I have an uncanny ability to know deep within what I do not want—especially in what you might call “defining moments” of my life.

In the late ’90s, I served as a low-level public relations assistant for the government transit agency in Baltimore, assigned all the tasks that the director of communications didn’t want to do. We were hosting the Catholic Cardinal one day as we dedicated the opening of a new subway station near the Cathedral, so I wore my nicest skirted suit.

As the Cardinal spoke, it was clear the sound system wasn’t working properly. It made no difference that there were two men, in pants, staffing this event alongside me—I was ordered to step onstage during the speech, get on my knees, reach under the robe of the holy man, and adjust the sound. After the event, my boss ribbed me about “getting to fiddle around under the Cardinal’s robe” It was then I realized this job had run its course, and public relations was not a good fit for me.

Leaving that job, I went to seminary in the hope that my theological leanings would lead to a career. Everyone, including me, expected I would become an ordained minister. But part of seminary training is exposure to a variety of ministries and ministers. And what I discovered was a general malaise that set in for many clergy after doing the job for five or more years. These men and women of God talked a lot about “callings” and “loving the people”—in the abstract. In reality, they were lonely, tired and depleted. I became tired just being around them. Some of them had personality types like my own, and I realized that if they couldn’t cut it, neither could I. I just didn’t have the mettle to be a parish minister. And I knew that if I ignored that “no” and pushed forward anyway I would have a lot harder time leaving that job than I did saying goodbye to the job that had me crawling onstage with the Cardinal. So, with a bit of sadness, I crossed “parish pastor” off my list.

I wondered what I would ever be willing to say “yes” to?

While in seminary, I also studied to become a spiritual director—a person trained in listening and helping people along their spiritual journeys. We look for signs of energy, desire, life, and joy—clues that God is doing a new or significant thing in the person’s life. We look for the “yes” and pay close attention to the “no,” which is a key principle in the spiritual discipline of discernment.

As I learned how to walk with others, I found my own passions. Being a former broadcaster and having that short-lived career in public relations meant that I had done a lot of writing over the years. Now it was time to write about things that really mattered.

It began with articles, essays, book reviews and finally co-authoring a book. I was saying “yes” all over the place, and amazingly, people were responding. Then came an offer to write someone else’s book. It looked like a great career move, but a little voice deep inside me was saying that old familiar “no.” I pondered. Weighed the pros and cons. Consulted with mentors and elders. No. No. No. As certainly as I did not want to duck under the robe of the holy Cardinal, I did not want to write someone else’s book.

That’s when I learned the “cardinal” lesson of discernment. It is only in hindsight that we know with any certainty whether the path we chose was the right one, and that’s OK. As we keep looking back, we discover what we need to know to move forward. That visceral “no” is an important voice to honor. In fact, sometimes I think that’s the voice more good people in the world need to obey. It’s heartbreaking to see someone who says “yes” to every offer that comes down the road and become a scattered mess. Perhaps they heard the shout of “no” a few times but ignored it and now they are burned out and looking for the escape route.

That “no” taught me that, because life is short, I need to pursue what I am specifically made by God to do, even if it’s not all that clear at the moment. I need to write what I want to write, be around people who are full of life and help others along their spiritual journey.

And, of course–never, ever, work for someone who demands that I crawl under a Cardinal’s robe.

Ideas for reflecting on listening to the “no:”

When is the last time you honored a “no” that you felt in your heart? How did it work out?
How did you discover your life’s work? If you have not yet found your way, what tools are you using for discernment?

Practice: Using the Quaker image of the “stop in the mind” as part of your discernment process. When you feel an urge to slow down or stop around a particular request made of you, take time to explore that. It could mean saying no is what’s best. Or it could mean you need more information, or that now is not the time. The “stop in the mind” can be important discernment information about how God’s spirit relates to us.

Bribery Works!

by Abigail Conley

“Bribery works” is my very best parenting advice. I don’t have kids, but it’s born out of personal experience. Bribery works and works fairly well. I wouldn’t have made it through Kindergarten without it.

In the summer of 1989, I went to KinderCamp, the transitional, two-hour version of Kindergarten for kids entering school that fall. Preschools weren’t really a thing then, especially in rural areas, so this was new for most of us. Even full-day Kindergarten five days a week was new at that point. My birthday is in August, so I was barely five when the whole endeavor began. But really, the problem started at KinderCamp.

KinderCamp was held with Mrs. Robinson, a soft-spoken, incredibly patient teacher whom I was certain would be wonderful. (Years later, I babysat her kids. I remain confident in the opinion of five-year-old me.) A few weeks later, a decision to close a nearby school came down, and I got Mrs. Nelson instead. She was nearing retirement and very kind in many ways. She also was nearing retirement and was very done in a few ways. She was especially done with raising her voice, so she used a whistle to get our attention.

Barely five-year-old me hated the whistle. I was scared by it, and also an incredibly shy little kid. As a result, I both hated the whistle and wouldn’t tell anyone I hated the whistle. And so begins the year of Keeping Abby In School: A Community Effort.

Step 1: Let’s begin with the bribery. That was my grandfather’s idea, and he funded the bribes. He had a knack for figuring out little kid problems, so it was a solid plan. He previously had great success ending bedwetting by giving me a flashlight so I didn’t have to walk through the dark to the bathroom. His bribery plan was simple: fifty cents a day to go to school and not cry. I would report to him when I saw him on Friday and he would pay me for every day I went to school and didn’t cry. Fifty cents was the cost of a can of pop from the school vending machine. Back then, sugary snacks at recess were expected. My best lesson in money management comes from the whole bribery endeavor, but that’s a different story.

Step 2: Next up was getting me to school. I had loved watching my sister get on the bus each morning, but was not so keen on getting on myself. My dad started dropping me off on his way to work. The fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Swint, always took the early morning bus duty. She was waiting in the gym for me, ready to take me from my dad. I’m told I was both cute and pitiful, wiping tears from underneath my Mickey Mouse glasses as I went from my dad to Mrs. Swint. Who knows how long it took her to settle me at the Kindergarten table.

Step 3: Breakfast. I started to write food, but we should talk about the two school meals separately. I have never been great at mornings. Food has never been great for me in the morning, and I stopped believing the “you’ll grow out of it” promises around age thirty. I need to be awake for about two hours before I eat in order to not feel sick after eating. I was also a strictly cereal child, with limited likes. This resulted in my mom packing a baggie of cereal for me each morning, and buying milk at school. The lunch ladies would always give me a bowl so that I could eat my breakfast at school. This was the system unless the state inspectors were coming and we couldn’t break the rules. They would make sure and tell me this so I could adjust my plans.

Step 4: Then, lunch. Yes, I was a picky eater. My mom would pack my bologna, cheese, and ketchup sandwich if needed, but preferred if I would eat school lunch. While we received the monthly menu, it would occasionally change. This meant a phone call to my home early in the morning to notify me of any changes, especially if the lunch ladies knew it was something I didn’t like. They would make a peanut butter sandwich for any kid in a school where many kids didn’t have something to pack. They also knew I didn’t care for peanut butter sandwiches. (We were a peanut butter crackers family.) A phone call was an easy way to make everyone involved much happier.

Step 5: Keep up steps 1-4 for an entire school year.

Step 6: Make special allowances on days when things do not go as normal. One day we had a substitute teacher and I freaked out. Mrs. Kenni, the secretary, let me sit in the office with her, which was just fine with me. She even showed me how the giant safe worked and let me lock myself inside and let myself out. She made her son try it first, so she knew it worked and I couldn’t actually get stuck in there. I’m sure there were other things, too, but I mostly remember her rescuing me the day Mr. Mason was there.

I should mention that there are failed steps, too. My mom thought I missed my family so she sent me with pictures. She was wrong on that one. My dad likely tried, “Dry it up,” a few times; that was his standard response to crying. I’ve also probably forgotten the ineffective attempts to help. I realize things would have been much harder in a different school. My class had twelve or thirteen kids at any given time; once, we might have gotten up to sixteen. My school had about a hundred students.

Still, let me tell you: bribery works.

An Invitation – Let’s Get Busy!

by Karen Richter

As (I hope) you’ve seen, the theme for Annual Meeting 2020 is Stories That Transform. This is maybe the most human, most exciting theme I’ve experienced over the last decade of annual meetings. Sharing stories, listening to the stories of others, crafting meaning and connecting events: these are the things that humans do. Over days, seasons, and lifetimes, these story activities form family, community, and culture.

So what better way to prepare for Annual Meeting and share ideas and experiences than a Southwest Conference Book Club! But here’s the rub… when you ask churchy, bibliophile people what they recommend to read, you can get overwhelmed. Take a deep breath and check out the recommendations below.

From Bill’s Reading Pile:

Conference Minister Rev. Dr. Bill Lyons is a serious guy. It’s no surprise that there are challenging reads on his shelf. Try any of these for a mind-expanding experience, leading to great conversations.

White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo
Reading Guide
What Got You Here Won’t Get You There by Marshall Goldsmith
Summary
Charity Detox: What Charity Would Look Like If We Cared About Results by Robert Lupton
Executive Summary

Something interesting from Barb:

Associate Conference Minister Rev. Dr. Barb Doerrer-Peacock is a lifelong learner and a lover of narrative. She’s sharing this recommendation (and it’s in my To-Be-Read-Pile too!).

Know Your Story and Lead With It: The Power of Narrative in Clergy Leadership by Richard L. Hester and Kelli Walker-Jones

On Karen’s Side Table:

When my family left middle Georgia to move to Arizona, the moving company’s notes said, “An unusual number of books for a house this size.” True story. Here’s your intrepid annual meeting coordinator’s reading suggestion.

Long Story Short: The Only Storytelling Guide You’ll Ever Need
by Moth Grandslam Champion Margot Leitman

So get busy! Find your way to your local bookseller and crack the spine on one (or more) of these great books. Look for encouragement and discussion questions, along with ways to connect with others who are reading, via In the Loop and on the Southwest Conference UCC Facebook page.

Why I Became a Spiritual Director

by Teresa Blythe

The practice of spiritual direction rescued me. I never felt I fit into the conservative church I grew up in, so I set out as a young adult to find a spiritual path that focused on God’s unconditional love of creation.

The journey took considerable time. My new path had little to do with the institutional church. I didn’t discover it in worship, bible studies, social justice activism or through the adoption of a new theology. I found it by way of a Presbyterian minister who was in training to be a spiritual director. From the very moment I entered spiritual direction, I knew I wanted to be exploring my experience, values, and beliefs the rest of my life.

A Safe Place

The spiritual direction relationship was a safe port in the storm of my connection with Christianity. It also gave me the tools and the space for discernment—especially around vocation.

When I entered spiritual direction in the late 1980’s I had no thoughts of pursuing ministry. I was busy developing a career as a radio news journalist. My need for spiritual direction was solely about healing my image of God. And it was working—I was healing.

As I moved from market to market trying to make a living in what was turning out to be a shrinking field, I was fortunate to find many able and experienced spiritual directors along the way. The work I did in spiritual direction gradually changed me, showing me a greater depth of purpose in life.

The Call

By the mid-90’s, I was broadcasting 100-second news updates for a Baltimore rock station with a “Morning Zoo” format, fondly referred to in the business as a trio of “the d–k, the dork and the (news) girl.” My epiphany—my “call narrative,” so to speak, came when the two DJs brought in a female stripper to entertain them at work. While I’m not a prude, inviting a stripper to a radio show seemed useless, even counterproductive to me. Still, I played it cool, reading the news on air as she danced for the guys. Walking out of that studio, heading back to my closet (literally—they had me work out of a closet) I heard a tiny voice say “I want more than this for you.”

For me that meant attending the Ecumenical Institute of St. Mary’s Seminary in Baltimore at nights while continuing to be part of the Morning Zoo. From there I headed to San Francisco Theological Seminary because it had a training program for spiritual directors.

Giving Back

Wanting to give to others what I had received was a driving force for me vocationally. I thought I would work mostly with people—like me—who were refugees from fundamentalism. What I’ve come to appreciate is the variety of experience, concerns, and spiritual needs in the world. We’re all refugees from something. Everyone who enters spiritual direction has wounds, desires and beliefs worth paying attention to. We all need sacred space filled with compassion, deep listening, and reverence.

That’s why I became a spiritual director.

The year I became a nonviolent universalist

by Karen Richter

Note: our 2020 Annual Meeting (April 24-26 at The Good Shepherd UCC in Sahuarita, AZ) theme is Stories That Transform. Humans are meaning-making, storytelling creatures. In the weeks leading up to AM2020, the SWC blog will feature posts that highlight this aspect of our human journey.

Two things happened in my senior year of high school that have helped form my character. Like most of us, I’m barely recognizable as the same person that I was all those years ago, but two experiences over that year have set me on a course to be who I am now.

The first was in Washington DC. My biology class was visiting the Capitol area and the national aquarium in Baltimore. I had visited the monuments before with family, but on this trip, we walked through the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. At that time, I could not have found Vietnam on a map or told you anything of significance regarding American involvement in that conflict. I knew vaguely that I had born around that time and that friends of my parents had been drafted.

As I walked along that stark wall, I cried. My friends wanted to be helpful… they inquired about my tears. Had I lost someone close to me? Was I homesick or heartbroken? I had no good answers. “I just hate war,” I kept saying. It was the emotional reaction of an adolescent – wanting to be special, discovering who she might become – but the idea of nonviolence, of a life committed to peacemaking has stayed with me.

The second event was less dramatic… just a phone conversation. My parents’ house had a single rotary dial telephone in the kitchen. To have a private conversation, I would walk a couple of steps down the stairway to the basement and snake the phone cord under the door. I was pretty conventionally churchy in those days and I had a friend whose soul I was very sincerely trying to save. This seems nearly laughable now, but again, adolescent emotions were involved. ‘Just how does this work….?’ my friend wondered. And I had my opening! Out of my mouth poured all of the atonement theology I had absorbed in 17 years…

“There’s a price to pay for sin.”

“God is righteous.”

“Humans don’t deserve eternal life.”

And as those words poured out, they seemed to crash down on the steep wooden steps where I was sitting. And I sat there, listening to my own words, and no longer believing in what had moments before been so important.

In that year (1988 in case you were wondering), I became a nonviolent universalist. The content of my intellectual faith assents (like miracles and healings and virgin births and even bodily resurrection) has ebbed and flowed through the years, but these identities have remained.

To share a story from your life, please email Wende Gonzales at wgonzales@uccswc.org

For inspiration, click over to this Medium article with advice from Pixar.

The Gift of Community

by Abigail Conley

If we want to schedule something out of the ordinary, it means working around the AA groups. I’m guessing many of your churches have people in some version of a twelve-step program in your buildings throughout the week. A small building means ours is a little fuller with these groups.

There’s the early morning group well on their way by 8 a.m. They meet six days a week. There’s the giant men’s meeting, and a mixed-gender meeting, and now a speaker’s meeting. That version is open to anyone, it seems, including people who just want to know more about AA. We’re home to an Atheists and Agnostics meeting as well. They asked tentatively if we were ok with that. I laughed and said, “Yes. We’re Christian, so we have crosses and things like that around, though.” Oh, and then there’s the itty bitty Sunday night one. I think that’s all, but no guarantees.

I know more about Alcoholics Anonymous than I ever thought I would. And I know practically nothing. I am grateful for the leaders who are so kind and helpful to my congregation. Many of the members of the groups have plumbing and handyman skills and so will make small repairs. I offer to reimburse for supplies and they always say no. I return phone calls to people who call the church asking about AA, and give them times and what details I do know; it makes sense to them, at least. Mostly, I know they gather often and without fail, holidays and all.

As a culture, we don’t know as much about addiction as we should. We don’t know how to effectively treat it. There’s little evidence to reinforce the abstinence-only model of AA. The organization started in the 1930s, with no scientific backing. But it works for many people and works shockingly well.

I grew up in one of the many places where drugs have become part of the economy. Dealing or cooking or running drugs is viable employment when nothing else is; using drugs will make many problems go away for at least a little while. We know even less what to do with these addictions than alcohol.

A topic for another day is how addiction is related to economy and to lack of healthcare, especially mental healthcare. But as I watch AA folks in my building, I am also deeply aware that one of the successful treatments for addiction is community. There are twelve steps, sure, but many of the people I see day in and day out have been sober for years, often decades. Somehow, that sobriety and community are linked. While it’s unlikely I’ll ever have medical expertise to talk about addiction, I remain amazed that an effective treatment for addiction is community; that has been true for nearly a century.

This year, my church set some intentional growth goals. As someone who has been a part of a church my entire life, I sometimes forget that church can be the good kind of weird. Sure, you encounter little kids and old people in an increasingly age-segregated society. But church will also put you in rooms with much more wealth than you have and much less than you have. You will learn friendship with people with a wide variety of skills and abilities. In fact, every church I’ve been a part of had at least one adult who had an intellectual disability who was a valued member.

When talking with people who don’t go to church, they are often shocked to find that we expect to visit people in the hospital. There are plenty of other terrible life things where churches are long-time companions for people. Yet, on more than one occasion I’ve heard shock and awe about hospital visits from people who have never been part of a faith community. I find it much more shocking that my own congregation has cultivated a place to talk about infertility, one of those cultural taboos. On a few occasions, news of a pregnancy was shared well before the expected thirteen weeks; one of the people sharing said, “If I have a miscarriage, I need my church through that.” It is decidedly not AA, and yet, there are striking similarities in how trusting those relationships become.

I wholeheartedly believe a church cannot exist just for its members. The Gospel absolutely turns even the church outward from ourselves. Yet, I cannot escape the reality that deep, abiding community is apparently difficult to come by. That reality is attested by the people gathering in the first and last hours of daylight, and even as I write. Maybe even some of our biggest cultural struggles are wrapped up in a need for connection that is not being met.

So when you gather this Sunday, the motley crew that most churches are, that alone is reason to rejoice. That gathering is surely one of the ways Jesus saves us. We need to remember that more often.

Partnerships and Partings

by John Indermark

Acts 15:36-41

Partnerships. First there had been Peter and John in Jerusalem. Now came Barnabas and Saul in Antioch and points beyond. Heat forges bonds of metal and relationship. Barnabas took the heat of standing by Saul in Jerusalem when no other would, no doubt deepening their ties to one another. When Jerusalem commissioned Barnabas to the church at Antioch, Barnabas soon after traveled to Tarsus to find Saul that he might assist in the work at Antioch (Acts 11:19-26). Later, the pair would undertake a missionary journey to Cyprus.

Two critical developments transform their partnership during this latter journey. What had heretofore been “Barnabas and Saul” (13:2) now became “Paul and his companions” (13:13). The text does not explain the reversal of billing, but the focus of Acts clearly shifts to Paul-no-longer-Saul. Secondly, almost as a footnote in the same verse introducing this new order, a minor companion named John Mark separated from the entourage in Pamphylia.

Partnerships work in delicate balances, whether among friends or in businesses. . . or within churches. Regarding Paul and Barnabas: should a reversal in the order of names signal a change in the relationship? Not necessarily. Should the departure of a “junior partner” influence the workings of the seniors? Not always. It is to be underscored that neither of these occurrences, in their initial unfolding, caused Acts to explicitly note the partnership had changed.

Yet within two chapters, the partnership ends. Acts traces the cause to the footnoted departure of John Mark. A new journey awaited, a journey determined by Paul’s unilateral declaration (15:36). Barnabas desired to take John Mark with them, a desire squashed by Paul’s unilateral veto (15:38). Paul, apparently, now came first in more than name order. Disagreement deepens. The partnership dissolves. Barnabas and Saul, Paul and Barnabas, were no more. Great things done by these two would never be done in tandem again. They parted.

Before we trot out funeral dirges and mourners for a tragic ending, consider the fresh beginnings unleashed – not by Paul, but Barnabas. Barnabas, once again, risked his own reputation for the sake of a maligned colleague. Just as he had with Saul/Paul before, Barnabas gives John Mark another chance. By the gracious act of Barnabas, failure in the church in one instance is not hopelessly relegated to a lifelong imposition of disgrace and disuse.

Truth be told, Barnabas surpassed Paul in this episode through re-enacting Jesus’ own tendency toward ministries of rehabilitation: a ministry that commissioned as apostles the very ones who had deserted him (Matthew 26:56); a ministry that founded a church upon the very one who denied knowing Jesus in a spate of curses. (Mark 14:71); a ministry of second chances.

Even the split that sends Barnabas and John Mark in one direction and Paul and Silas in another contributes positively to the church’s expansion. Where before one missionary partnership set out to declare the gospel of Jesus Christ, now two sets of partners fan out to do the same, potentially doubling the territory to be covered and the persons to be encountered.

So, to put this in a larger and contemporary frame: are denominational schisms to be sought? No. Are divisive church conflicts among its always-abundant cache of clashing personalities and vigorously-held theologies to be encouraged? No. But the parting of Barnabas with Paul for the sake of John Mark does reveal God’s ability to bring fresh beginnings out of seeming dead-ends. In the final analysis, it is not our successes or failures at church unity that manage God’s purposes. It is the other way around. Barnabas risked giving Saul a chance, then John Mark a second chance. And God used Barnabas’ risks. So it can be for us. May potential endings to what has been not preclude us from risking for the sake of what could be.

Christmas 2019 Meditation

by Bill Lyons

“We are all meant to be mothers of God . . . for God is always needing to be born.”

Meister Eckhart

One Christmas I ventured into the kitchen at Grandma’s house. She and my mom and my aunt were scurrying to clear the table, put away food, and wash dishes, all while chattering about this church friend, that neighbor, or some distant relative’s Christmas letter. Their movements were fluid, fast-paced, and well-rehearsed from years of repetition. I could only imagine their energy before dinner.

Until that particular Christmas, I had only known the “living room” side of family holidays. The guys sat lazily on comfortable furniture, predicted outcomes of college bowl games, avoided politics (it wasn’t safe then either but for different reasons), and stared at the tree. We kids piled presents neatly at everyone’s traditional seats, so as to be ready the moment our hostesses emerged. How different these two distinct experiences of the same day were!

The Nativity narrative sounds very “living room” to me this year, telling the tale from the guys’ point of view. The Holy Couple’s journey seems to be all about Joseph. The innkeeper pointed to the stable from his establishment’s doorway. Shepherds (almost always males then) experienced the wonder of an angelic birth announcement. Privileged Magi decoded a star’s mysterious meaning and called on the king of Judea before delivering beneficent gifts to a different king’s impoverished family. Yes definitely, a carol-inspiring guys lens on Christmas. I imagine Mary describing Jesus’s birth quite differently.

There can be no question that she was uncomfortable at that point in her pregnancy. Her mother tried to hide her worry while Mary smiled through her own fear and anxiety at the prospect of leaving the familiarity and support network of her hometown. The shifting backbone of a walking donkey is no friend to a widening cervix. We aren’t told exactly when Mary’s water broke, if she thought her back pain was just from the 4- to 7-day trip, or just how long she was in labor. At some point, the contractions got closer together, lasted longer, and wrenched a first baby through a virgin’s birth canal. Where was the epidural, the episiotomy? Were there any experienced mothers or midwives at the manger?! Or was it only an inexperienced Joseph holding her hand, telling her to breathe, that it would be OK, sweating beside her albeit for different reasons.

Not all births had happy outcomes then – or now. But when they did, when they do, a feeling that ‘everything is right with the world’ arrives too. Sometimes it comes after the first cry and baby turns pink, or after the last push and the placenta’s exit, or maybe even after the OMG moment that this baby is beautiful and ours. Sometimes it settles in after the relief that baby has latched onto mommy’s nipple and is nursing. It’s the realization that a miracle just happened. And with that moment, everything that mommy’s just been through yields to the joy of what’s just happened and what can happen next.

All of that had to have been part of Matthew’s, “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way,” (Matthew 1:18) but no one recorded it. We have trouble remembering it. And we need to remember – especially in these days – we need to remember how the birth of Jesus happened for Mary if we are going to live into our roles as “mothers of God.”

John’s never-read-at-Christmas account of Jesus’s birth makes our ‘mother of God’ role crystal clear (Rev. 12). And no wonder we don’t read it! An expectant mother is about to give birth while an incarnation of evil waits to catch and devour her baby the moment the child is delivered. For John, we (the Church) are that expectant mother, the agent through which Jesus arrives in our time and our place. And just like Mary’s experience, our delivery of the Christ in the world is fraught with fears, painful and exhausting, and includes blood, sweat, and tears. But we don’t really want to hear that version of the nativity on Christmas Eve.

Neither do we want to hear the after-birth Gospel accounts about the Holy Family fleeing for their lives and seeking asylum in Egypt, or the ensuing slaughter of Bethlehem’s children under age two. Still, those stories are part of the Holy Family’s Christmas experience. Tragically, stories like those are the Christmas experience still of too many families in poverty, facing violence, being trafficked, at our country’s borders, separated, and in detention.

I wonder exactly when Christmas became the story of Jesus coming into the world to deliver individuals from personal sin. That wasn’t Mary’s experience. Mary’s song about Christmas (Luke 1:46-55) was about bringing down the mighty and filling up the hungry. Delivering Jesus into the world was a painful, messy, labor-intensive task. But the outcome was, and is, new life in our midst! Mary’s lens on Christmas promised a time when everything would be made right again. As long as we are willing to be “mothers of God” and deliver Jesus into our world, Christmas still holds that promise.

When Jesus does arrive through our acts of charity, advocacy, generosity, solidarity, or justice restored, we can experience, like I imagine Mary experiencing, the truth of John’s words: When a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world. (John 16:21) May these Twelve Days of Christmas revive and renew you, strengthen and encourage you, empower and embolden you as mothers of God in our time. May joy be yours every time you bring Jesus into the world, joy so profound that everything you just went through in the process melts into God’s forgiving forgetfulness. And be assured of this: everything in that moment is right with the world.

This Unholy Christmas

by Abigail Conley

This Christmas seems to be a Christmas of lasts. An aunt is dying and this will be her last Christmas by any reasonable account. My mom was diagnosed with dementia earlier this year, and while medication is staving off some symptoms, that won’t last forever. “Rapidly progressing” was added to the diagnosis. In less than six months, she went from working full-time to not making sense in phone conversations. Hindsight says there may have been earlier signs, but no matter what, I imagine she will be much less of the mom I cherish by this time next year. I’m walking with lay leaders snagging moments with loved ones, knowing this is the last Christmas together.

All of that is terrible, and brings some wonderful with it, and is exactly what we expect from life. Some years and seasons are better than others. But as I read the story of the Magi’s visit with a bible study a couple weeks ago, I was reminded of the strange and profound re-writing of history that Christians did. Matthew, the only Gospel writer to tell of the Magi’s visit, does all sorts of acrobatics to tie this experience of Jesus to the Old Testament. He cites verse after verse, assuring us, “This is what those people were talking about.”

If you go back and read the original texts, what Matthew says is about Jesus is never about Jesus. Read Isaiah all the way through at face value if you don’t believe me. Yet, here he is, re-writing, re-telling, certain of God’s faithfulness in the quoted texts and in the experience of Jesus. Facts are being rewritten in favor of Truth.

One of my rabbi friends was appalled the day I told him that many Christians’ understanding of redemption is that a ransom was paid by Christ or a purchase made. Redeemed ends up wrapped up in the cross. With all the horror still on his face, he said, “You mean it’s not that God can take something terrible and make something good out of it? Like the holocaust?” I liked his definition better for sure, but I readily admitted that was a definition that would have to be supplied and agreed upon. It was not the assumed definition.

I say that because Christians do not have a corner on God’s ongoing work in the world. Sometimes we think we do for sure, but we are not alone among the people who believe God still intervenes in this place. Nor are we alone in our understanding that we participate in God’s work.

We are a bit alone in the Trinity, though. Even those of us who reject the notion of the Trinity are still wrestling with it. I can go most ways on the Trinity, but I do like that one of the claims of the Trinity is that the prophetic Spirit that was with Isaiah made its home with the church. We are always Spirit-led, Spirit-breathed people. I wonder about what it means so many years later for our Jewish family, but I am still amazed by the permission given by the Spirit for Matthew to rewrite history.

And I said all the Spirit stuff to come back to this: lasts are still holy. We have permission to figure out the new thing. We do not sit back waiting for God to do God’s thing. We make choices, and we do so with prayer and discernment trust the Spirit remains with us through that. Some of God’s best work even seems to come in impossible interruptions that are made holy.

So as we sit in these days with the prophets roused by the Spirits, and the Magi called by a star, and the Shepherds beckoned by angels, and a holy family that definitely wasn’t feeling so holy to start with, keep deep hope even through the lasts. For God still calls and leads, even you.

God is Bigger!

guest post by Deborah Church Worley from her sermon on October 13, 2019 at White Rock Presbyterian Church

“Then Peter began to speak to them: ‘I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.’” (Acts 10:34-35)

When I was at Cornell last weekend with my soon-to-be-graduating daughter Sarah, I was filled with both memories of my time there as a student, some 30 years ago, give or take, as well as perspectives as the mom of a prospective student, seeing some things in a fresh way, as Sarah was seeing them for the first time. I did feel a somewhat surprising feeling of pride toward Cornell…a feeling of wanting to share all that was good about it with Sarah…a growing hope that she might be able to experience Cornell as a student herself….

One of the memories that came most quickly to mind, I’m a little embarrassed to say, was actually one that I had shared with my kids previously, because each time I think about it, it makes me laugh. Or at least chuckle. And that is of a T-shirt that some entrepreneurial students created and sold door-to-door in my freshman dorm. It had the Harvard seal on the front… and on the back it said, “Harvard…because not everyone can get into Cornell.” 🙂 🙂 🙂

Now that’s not biggest nor the most famous rivalry in the world, but it does exist. 🙂

Some of these [rivalries] are likely more familiar to more people:

Coke/Pepsi
McDonald’s/Burger King
Fox/CNN
DC/Marvel
Taylor Swift/Kanye West
Apple/Microsoft
Celtics/Lakers
Tom Brady/Peyton Manning
Red Sox/Yankees

And of course, for us here in New Mexico, there’s this one….

Red or green chile??

Some of these rivalries are all in good fun. Some, people take more seriously. Sometimes, just to say, for example, that you’re a fan of a particular team can get you in hot water and earn you some seriously nasty looks and comments, at a minimum. I have a good friend who grew up in Maine and is a lifelong, committed fan of the New England Patriots. When they are in the Super Bowl (which seems to happen pretty regularly these days!), she doesn’t like to tell anyone she’ll be rooting for them…as that is not a particularly welcome comment around here.

And that’s just football! What about things that are inherently more serious? Like politics? There are some serious, and significant, divisions in our country around politics, and it seems like it’s only getting worse…

There are places where a person might very well be afraid to admit that she, or he, voted for Hilary in the last Presidential election; just like there are also places where a person might not feel safe admitting to having voted for Trump. It’s more than a personal preference; it seems to be taken as a reflection of your intelligence or character or goodness or patriotism.

It seems there’s a growing attitude of “If you’re different from me in some way that’s significant to me, I don’t need–or even want–to really get to know you, or know why you think what you think; I know all I need to know about you simply because you’re a [fill-in-the-blank].”

Patriots fan. Broncos fan.

Republican. Democrat.

Labbie. High school dropout.

“I know all I need to know about you because you have tattoos, and body piercings.

Because you curse like a sailor, smoke like a chimney, and drink like a fish.

Because you went to an Ivy League school.

Because you went to Cornell… 🙂

Because you went to Harvard…. :/

Because you served your country in the Armed Services.

Because you didn’t serve your country in the Armed Services….

I know all I need to know about you because you live in the [Espanola] Valley.

Because you live in Los Alamos.

Because you live in a million-dollar home.

Because you live in a mobile home.

I know all I need to know about you, thank you very much,

because of the color of your skin…the shape of your nose…

the accent in your voice…the sound of your last name…

the person you love…the church you attend–or don’t…

the height of your car’s suspension…the height of your heels….

I know all I need to know about you, because I know that one thing about you.

Sometimes it feels like this kind of thinking is becoming more prevalent rather than less…

But maybe not. Maybe it’s just always been around. It certainly existed in first-century Israel. It’s present in the background of today’s passage. Jews and Gentiles really didn’t associate with each other much. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have that big a deal for Peter to visit Cornelius. The story might not have even been worth recording. But it did get recorded, because it was a big deal.

According to one website I looked at, in first-century Israel, “[According to William Barclay,] it was common for a Jewish man to begin the day with a prayer thanking God that he was not a slave, a Gentile, or a woman.” It went on to say that “a basic part of the Jewish religion in the days of the New Testament was an oath that promised that one would never help a Gentile under any circumstances, such as giving directions if they were asked. But it went even as far as [promising to refuse] to help a Gentile woman at the time of her greatest need – when she was giving birth – because the result would only be to bring another Gentile into the world.” Another extreme example of the importance of remaining separate that I stumbled upon in my research is that “if a Jew married a Gentile, the Jewish community would have a funeral for the Jew and consider them dead.” Less extreme but perhaps more important as it was a more common possibility, was the thought that “to even enter the house of a Gentile made a Jew unclean before God.” Jews and Gentiles just did not associate. They knew everything they needed to know about one another simply by knowing to which group they belonged.

That would have been Peter’s training, and point of reference. As a devout Jew, he would have prayed those prayers, made those promises, taken those oaths. He would not have eaten with Gentiles, or invited them into his house, or entered the house of a Gentile himself. Those were simply things he had learned since his birth to not do, things that were ingrained in him by his religious teachings, traditions among his people that were acceptable and accepted, going back thousands of years. To live by those practices didn’t make him a bad person; on the contrary, they made him a good Jew. He was doing what he needed to do, what was expected, what was right.

Until now.

Until God broke in.

Until the Holy Spirit of God told Peter, showed Peter, taught Peter, otherwise.

“Do not call anything impure that God has made clean.”

Or more simply put, as it says in “The Message”: “If God says it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Peter’s religion had kind of put God, and the blessings of God, in a box. A box meant only for the people of that religion. And only for the people of that religion that did it right!

Religion seems to have a tendency to do that. Or perhaps, it’s not religion per se, but the people of those religions, who want to make sure they get it right, so that God will love them and bless them….and part of what helps them make sure they’re getting it right, it seems, it be clear about who’s getting it wrong…

Certainly the Christian church, and a good number of us Christians (or more accurately, a horrifying number of us Christians…), seem to think and behave in that way…..

Our practices and traditions, some of which have been passed down for hundreds and even thousands of year, can be harmfully divisive, can seem to seek to exclude rather than include, can serve to move us toward that attitude of “I know all I need to know about you, because I know that one thing about you…,” and it seems we, as Christians, sometimes take that even further, going on to think that “because I know that one thing about you, I also know God doesn’t love you. Or at least not as much as God loves me. Not until you change that one thing so that you’re more like me…” No wonder there are people who would “rather chew glass than come to church.”!! (That was a quote in the article in the Daily Post from someone from the Freedom Church in Los Alamos! Did anyone else see that?? 🙂 )

I am bigger than that! I am bigger than your practices and customs! I am bigger than the way you have always done things! I am bigger, and my blessings are meant for so many more than just your people! I am bigger than your customs have allowed me to be, and I am breaking out! Watch, and watch out! Even better–come with me! Go where I lead you, do what I tell you, say the words I give you, and you and so many more will be blessed!

And Peter listened, and he went, and he did, and he said…all that the Holy Spirit of God told him to do. And the world was changed!

It’s true that there are rivalries and divisions and misunderstandings and prejudices in our world. Just like there were in first-century Israel. And before. Just like, I suspect, there always will be, this side of heaven. And while some are good-natured and harmless, some are very hurtful and hateful.

But our God, the God of Peter and the God of Cornelius, the God who took on flesh in Jesus of Nazareth and who empowered the apostles in the form of the Holy Spirit, the God whom we gather each Sunday to worship and depart each Sunday to serve, our God is bigger than all of that!!

Our God is bigger…and stronger…and greater…and truly beyond our comprehension and capacity to know…but that God knows us, and loves us, and loves the world! And wants to bless the world. Our God wants to bless the world–the whole world, and all the people of the world, not just those whom we choose or approve of or deem to be worthy or like, but all persons… And God can use us to do that, to bless people and change the world…if we, like Peter, will listen and go and do and say, led by the Holy Spirit of God.

May God break our hearts…so that God might first break in, and then break out!

Amen.