Tag: sermon

Pick Up Your Mat and Walk (Part 2!)

by Rev. Deb Worley

Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk. (John 5:8-9, CEB) 

For those of you who were here last Sunday, you may be wondering if I forgot to change the Gospel passage for today, and accidentally read the same passage as last week! Whoops! That’s embarrassing!! 

Except, I didn’t forget to change the Gospel passage. I chose to stick with this passage for another week. When I went home last Sunday, after worship and then the “God Sightings” discussion, I felt like there was more to consider, more that needed to be said. Which is true, of course, with every scripture passage, always! There’s never a time when everything has been said that needs to be said about any one scripture passage. It’s the Living Word. There’s always more to say…because God is still speaking. 

But with this passage in particular, at this particular time, I felt the need to have another go. So…here we go! 

Because not all of you were here last week, and because this past week has been…well, it’s been quite a week…I’m going to start with a very quick review of the gist of last week’s sermon.  (Part 1)

Those of you who were here will likely remember the story I began with, about growing up on a farm in upstate NY, and a specific memory of my dad asking my then-teenaged brother, one wintry day, if he’d like to help him bring in some wood for the wood stove, and my brother saying, “Umm, no,” and my dad getting mad and my mom telling my dad that if he wanted my brother to help him, then to just tell him to help him, don’t ask him! Remember?? 

Well, as you can see and have heard, all three of those family members are here this morning! And all three of them will confirm the veracity of that story after the service, if anyone was thinking I made it up…  

But then I shifted from the question my dad asked my brother, to the question Jesus asked the man in today’s passage: “Do you want to get well?” 

And I pointed to how the man didn’t respond with yes or no, but with some of the reasons he hadn’t gotten well up to that point, some of the reasons he was still sick after thirty-eight years of sitting by the side of the pool…

And I imagined some of what the man might have been feeling: hopelessness, discouragement, despair. I imagined that he might have felt like being well would take more courage than he had, that doing things differently than he had done them for his whole life would take more strength and commitment than he had, that stepping into a new way of living would be hard and uncomfortable and scary–even if that way of living led from sickness and a diminished self to healing and wholeness–and that changing, even for the better, would take more patience and practice than he thought he could find.

And I imagined how Jesus might have responded, from his heart to the man’s heart, taking into account his fears and his despair, his excuses and his stuck-ness, his reluctance to say, “Yes! I want to be well!”… And I wondered if we, too, might need to hear that response, because we, too, can be reluctant to commit to being made well; we, too, aren’t always sure that we have the courage and strength we need to be made whole; we, too, can doubt that healing is worth the hard work and discomfort and commitment that are required… 

And just quickly, here’s what I suggested Jesus might have communicated to the man by the side of the pool in his hopelessness, and what he might also be communicating to us in our own stuckness: 

Yes, it will be hard to be well. Harder than it has been to be sick. 

Yes, it will require courage. Remaining stuck is easy.

Yes, it will require strength. It takes no effort to keep doing what you’ve always done.

Yes, it will require patience and commitment and practice. I will get you started; you will have to keep choosing to be well. Day after day, hour after hour, moment by moment.

Yes, it will be uncomfortable and unfamiliar and scary. 

And it will be hard! Or did I mention that already?? 

Get up. Pick up your mat and walk.

Stop watching others participate in the world around you, and step more fully into living yourself. Live life more deeply and be who God created you to be more fully. 

Get up. Pick up your mat and walk.

What you’ve been doing all these years that’s comfortable? Do less of that. Leave that behind.

What you’re considering doing right now that feels uncomfortable? Do more of that. Walk toward that. 

Those thoughts of “It’s too hard. I’m scared. It doesn’t feel good!”? Acknowledge them, name them, say them out loud. And let go of them. They are not going to make you well. 

Get up. Pick up your mat and walk.

Walk forward. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time.

Walk toward healing. Toward wellness. Toward being whole.

And step into Life.

Get up. Pick up your mat and walk.

So, a lot of that was me taking literary license. Imagining what might have been going on in the man, and, yes, in Jesus. Imagining what it might have been like for someone who had been sick, who had been incapacitated, who had been diminished in his self, in some way, for 38 years, most of his life–and at that point to be offered healing… And I imagined what that healing might have looked like, what that healing would feel like, what, really, it was that Jesus was offering. 

And we are told, after Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk,” that “At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.” (Jn. 5:8-9)

And again, I can’t help but wonder!! Did it really happen like that? Was the man completely healed, once and for all? Able to walk with confidence and strength, without a single stumble or misstep, without needing to rest? Simply getting up and stepping into this new way of being, with no looking back? 

“Stand up,” Jesus told him. “Take your mat and walk.” And “At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.”

I wonder…because in our lives and in our world, we need healing. Desperately. In our lives and in our world, we need to be made well. There’s so much pain, so much brokenness, so much suffering, so much chaos, so much darkness…

We need healing, so that as people of faith we can stand up.

We need healing, so that as people of faith we can stand up and begin to walk.

We need healing, so that as people of faith we can stand up and speak up.

We need healing, so that as people of faith we can stand up and be light in the darkness.

We need healing, so that as people of faith we can stand up and fight for justice.

And, we need courage. And strength. And commitment. And patience. And practice. Because while maybe the man in today’s passage was completely healed, once and for all, never to stumble again, my experience has generally been otherwise, and I suspect yours has been, too. 

We can say yes to healing and stand up–with God’s help–and begin to walk toward healing–with God’s help–with courage and strength and commitment–with God’s help–and we still stumble. We still take missteps, maybe even falling flat on our faces. We still need to rest from time to time. 

But then we can say yes to healing again–with God’s help. And we can stand up again–with God’s help. And we can begin to speak up, with courage and strength and commitment–with God’s help! And then we stumble and misstep and fall and need to rest. Again.

And then we can say yes to healing again–are you seeing the pattern??–and stand up again, and be light in the darkness and fight for justice–all with God’s help. 

All, and always, with God’s help. 

With God’s help, always.

With God’s presence, always.

With God’s power, always…

Hear these words once more, from God’s heart to ours, knowing that as God reaches out to us and offers healing and wholeness, God knows our fears and our despair and the comfort we find in our familiar stuckness. And God continues to call us to new life:

Yes, it will be hard to be well. Harder than it has been to be sick. 

Yes, it will require courage. Remaining stuck is easy.

Yes, it will require strength. It takes no effort to keep doing what you’ve always done.

Yes, it will require patience and commitment and practice. I will get you started, and will be with you; you will have to keep choosing to be well. Day after day, hour after hour, moment by moment. Again and again and again.

Yes, it will be uncomfortable and unfamiliar and scary. 

And it will be hard! Or did I mention that already?? 

All of that is true. And I am here, I am with you, and I want you to be well!

Get up. Pick up your mat and walk.

And this morning, hear these additional words:

Get up and walk–and when you stumble, which you will, reach out for me and steady yourself, and keep going. Get up and walk–and when you take a misstep, which you will, look for me and reorient yourself, and keep going. Get up and walk–and when you fall flat on your face, which you will, let me help you up and brush you off, so you can take a breath, and keep going. Get up and walk–and when you need to rest, which you will, rest. Find the sacred in your rest. And when you’ve rested, keep going. 

Get up. Pick up your mat and walk. 

And know that I am with you, always. 

May each of you, and me, and all of us, and our world, find the healing we so desperately need, the healing God offers us in Jesus Christ. 

Amen.

Installation Sermon for Rev. Susan Valiquette

by Rev. Sue Joiner, Senior Minister, First Congregational United Church of Christ, Albuquerque, New Mexico

Installation Sermon for Susan Valiquette 

November 7, 2021 

John 12:1-8 and John 11:44 

12 Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2 There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3 Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4 But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 5 “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” 6 (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7 Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8 You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” 

We live our lives based on the stories we have been told and even more, the stories we tell ourselves over and over. I heard a story in college that continues to profoundly shape my theology. Wes Seeliger tells this story from his own childhood. It may or may not be a coincidence that the one who changes everything in this story is named Susan. Wes said,  

“Grandmother’s living room was large and dark.  She kept the shades down so her furniture wouldn’t fade.  One day in 1943, when I was five years old, I sat in the middle of her living room floor playing with my toy cars.  I had at least a hundred; fire trucks, buses, tractors, everything – even a hearse. 

‘For me, playing with cars was serious business and there was definitely a “right” way to do it.  The idea was to form a large circle of cars on the living room floor.  And the cars had to be evenly spaced.  Precision was of the essence. I placed my toy box in the middle of the floor.  Then, I took each car out of the box and began forming my circle.  I was very careful.  No two fire trucks could be together.  No two cars the same color could be together.  It was a tedious process, but I was a determined kid. 

When the circle was complete, I sat in the middle and admired my cars and my handiwork.  And since my grandmother never used the living room, my circle remained intact for days.  I returned time and time again to look at my cars and to make minor aesthetic adjustments. 

One morning I was sitting in the middle of my circle.  Peace and contentment bathed my five-year-old soul as I surveyed my almost perfect toy kingdom with everything in its proper order. 

Then came Susan.  Susan was my 3-year-old cousin, and she was a live wire.  Susan took one look at my precious circle of toys and charged.  My precious, tranquil circle was destroyed in an instant.  She kicked and threw my cars all over the room.  She was laughing and squealing – I was crying and screaming.  Grandmother dashed in to see who was being murdered. Grandmother told me later than I cried for two hours, and she had to rock me to sleep that night.  How can you sleep when your world has been destroyed? 

The next morning, I went into the living room to survey the damage.  I was about to begin the painful process of rebuilding when Grandmother told me that Susan was coming over, so I gave up in despair.  So, when my rambunctious little cousin arrived there was nothing to destroy. 

I met Susan at the door to try and avoid additional damage. Susan suggested that we take the cars outside.  What an idea!  I hadn’t thought of that.  But what if they get dirty?  What if one gets lost or broken?  It wasn’t my idea of playing cars, but I gave in.  I decided to risk taking my cars outside.  No use trying to build a circle with Susan around. We played outside all day.  We put real dirt in the dump truck.  We made ramps, forts, and tunnels.  I even let Susan talk me into crashing the cars together.  I had no idea playing cars could be so much fun.’ 

A lot of water has gone under the bridge since that day in 1943.  I have listened to hundreds of sermons and Sunday school lessons.  I have read stacks of theology books.  And a seminary degree hangs on my wall. 

But I think Susan taught me all I really need to know about theology – SIN (unfaith) is sitting in the middle of our homemade universe; FAITH – is the courage and freedom to leave the dark, musty, familiar, living room and take what we love most into the great outdoors.” 

Susan, you know the literal truth of this story already. You find energy outside, and you make sure you get out as much as you can. It keeps you grounded, and I experience that when I hear you pray because I feel your connection to God. Is there something you love that you are called to carry into the great outdoors? 

Let’s be honest. The world is not always open to Susans. Susans come along and question how things have been done. Susans may suggest an extravagant alternative and that can be a threat. At the same time, it can be so beautiful. It is 2021 and the world still isn’t sure what to do with women in leadership. What a gift that First Church has been open and welcoming and loving with you. It is important for all of us to embrace your unique ministry here. 

No one knew what to do with Mary. She sat with Jesus instead of working in the kitchen. Here she takes very expensive perfume and pours it on Jesus’ feet. Note she doesn’t just use a drop or two, she empties the jar and then wipes his feet with her hair. Could she be any more embarrassing? Where is her sense of dignity? But Jesus saw her. He saw the ways she ministered from the depth of her being. She wasn’t trying to be someone else. She wasn’t trying to fit in to a mold that didn’t fit. In fact, she is used to criticism. She doesn’t let that stop her from ministering in the way that is authentically her.  

My concern about the stories we tell ourselves is that those stories may be the ones that keep us from being who we are at any given time. Susan, God called you to ministry. Today you are installed at First Church, and you all say a wholehearted yes to each other. My hope is that this covenant you make with one another will allow you to be who are as you serve this congregation. By doing so, you may all be surprised by the joy you find when you take what you love most into the great outdoors. 

I didn’t read the story from John that comes before Mary’s ministry to Jesus, but it is important. Mary and Martha’s brother has died. He has been in the tomb for four days and he smells. Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb and then he turns to the people gathered and gives them a simple instruction: “unbind him and let him go.” My friends, that is what we are here to do. My understanding is that you know this, First Church. You have a history of it. My prayer for you as a church is that these will be your guiding words in the days to come. Jesus did not turn to the ordained minister. He did not turn to the lay leader. He turned to the entire gathered community and called them to be the ones who would unbind Lazarus. It is what we do for each other. It is what we do for those who dare to walk through our doors or log on to see if they could possibly be welcome here because they have been told there is no place for them in God’s church. It is what we do for those who have sacrificed everything to step into this country, hoping to find freedom. It is what we do for those in recovery, for those who are housing insecure, for those who are struggling with mental health challenges.  

If we are going to unbind them and let them go, it will take all of us. This is not a job for a few volunteers or committee chairs. It will require the whole community to listen to one another and care for one another. It will mean decisions that are difficult. It will mean loss and sacrifice. It will take us into places that are scary and unknown and sometimes places where it seems there is only death. It is into those very places that Jesus calls us to make room for life.  

We are trying to be the church in difficult times. The pandemic has taken over five million lives. There have been more than 37,000 deaths to gun violence in the United States this year alone. Suicide is among the leading causes of death in our country. Our planet is dying before our own eyes. As we have made decisions over the last twenty months, we are not just talking about what we should do, we are asking “who could die if we do this?” Death is not hypothetical.  

We worship a God who teaches us again and again that death is not the last word. People are dying around us. God is not shielding us from death, but rather calling us to be the ones who will “practice resurrection” to use Wendell Berry’s words.  

God is at work in the world right now. God is breathing life into those places where this is no hope, where there is nothing but death. God is showing us a new way. As Kate Bowler says, “God can make things new with or without us. But God chooses to use us.” Be warned, we are going to be asked to get involved. God will remove the stones from places we believed were only death. Then we are called to step in and begin the process of unbinding. 

Wes Seeliger didn’t experience deep joy until he risked losing his precious cars. Susan taught him that life is to be lived out in the world and that means things will get dirty and broken along the way. But she showed him to live fully. 

Before he became a full-time poet, David Whyte tells about being stressed and feeling like he was in a dead-end. He met with Brother David Stendl-Rast and said, “Speak to me of exhaustion.”  [David Stendl-Rast] put his glass down for a moment and realized that David Whyte was absolutely exhausted.  David Stendl-Rast said, “You know, David, the antidote to exhaustion is not necessarily rest.”  And David Whyte repeated, “The antidote to exhaustion is not necessarily rest.  What is the antidote to exhaustion?”  He said, “The antidote to exhaustion is wholeheartedness.  This is the point where you have to take a full step into your métier (meh·tee·ay), into your future vocation, and wholeheartedly risk yourself in that world.” (https://gratefulness.org/dw-session-1-transcript/).   

In 2017, we took Kadhim Albumohammed into Sanctuary at First Congregational, Albuquerque. We did this with the support of the Southwest Conference, Bill Lyons, Ken Heintzelman, and Brendan Mahoney who flew to Albuquerque to talk with us about the legal implications of this decision. Kadhim was from Iraq. He worked for the U.S. military to teach them language and culture with the promise that they would take care of him. Instead, he received a letter to report for deportation. To be deported was guaranteed torture and death. He had betrayed his country and he would pay for it if he was sent home. In November that year, the Native American youth from the Rehoboth School in Gallup came to sing for worship. Afterward, they asked to hear Kadhim’s story. He spoke with them and then they asked him to stand in the middle of the sanctuary. They formed a circle around him and sang the words, “We are not alone.” When I hear these words, I am reminded that in the most difficult situations, God is with us.  

Susan, First Church friends, today you commit to ministry together and my prayer for all of you is to do so wholeheartedly, to ground yourself in a God who calls us to life and to know this work must be done together. God is with you. May you discover the fullness of God’s love as you practice resurrection in the days to come. 

The Cure for Writer’s Block

by Ryan Gear

If you are a pastor writing sermons, or if you serve in any creative role, you have undoubtedly experienced writer’s block (or some other form of creativity block). All creative people feel blocked at times.

The pressure to produce sometimes motivates us. At times, however, we experience some funk that holds back our ideas like an emotional Hoover Dam. Perhaps we have begun to idolize some predetermined expectation of our work. Or maybe we’ve grown generally fatigued in our busyness. Or, instead of being intrinsically motivated, perhaps we feel uninspiring expectations from faceless masses of critics just standing there with their arms crossed, daring us to impress them.

So how do you break through the block?

I remember Bono saying something in an interview about how, for him, the key to overcoming writer’s block is to write songs about writer’s block. The suggestion is that in whatever media you create, whenever you feel blocked, just express what it feels like to be blocked.

In other words, you create from where you are, not from where you want to be.

It’s that concept, familiar to all creatives, that is at once both comforting and maddening… honesty. A block in creativity seems to come from having a subconscious edit button for some yet unexplored reason. An author I know refers to the “Censor”. We might have slowly given into expectations about what we should be creating. My counselor friends call that “shoulding on yourself.”

What if the experience of writer’s block is actually a blessing in disguise because it is an invitation to ask yourself, “What are you editing? What are you censoring? And why are you editing or censoring?” An even more probing question is, “Why are you blocking what is already in you?” As you perform the potentially gruesome soul surgery of answering those questions, your best work will spring from what is actually going on deep in your gut and not what you think you should be creating in your head.

Writer’s block is a flashing neon sign imploring you and me to be honest with ourselves.

If you’re experiencing a creativity block, here are some questions to explore…

  • What does it feel like to have writer’s block?
  • What great writers are known to have struggled with writer’s block?
  • What causes writer’s block?
  • What role do fatigue and depression play in writer’s block?
  • Do you have an overactive edit button? Why are you editing? Why are you censoring? What are you afraid of? Who are you trying to please?
  • What would it look like to be honest about how you feel and why?

Writer’s block is an invitation to get honest with yourself and explore what is really going on deeper within you. And yes, ironically, once you give up trying to create something awesome, that thing you create out of that vulnerable honesty will be what is celebrated as super cool and profound and mind-blowing. It is your honesty that will inspire others who, just like you and me, know deep down that they need to stop trying so hard and just be honest with themselves.

Preaching Sermons People Remember

by Ryan Gear

A friend of mine was telling me about his pastor’s sermons recently. He said that his pastor uses sermon props every single Sunday and seems to be trying to make his sermons “cool.” My friend confessed that, in spite of the props, he can’t remember a single point from any of his pastor’s sermons. He said the sermons seem gimmicky, and they just aren’t memorable. Of course, I hoped he wasn’t secretly talking about my sermons and that this wasn’t some kind of subtle intervention for me.

For anyone other than a blazing narcissist, preaching is humbling.  You study and prepare. You pray for God’s Spirit to move. You stand up and speak from the heart, laying yourself bare. Then after the service, some well-meaning member of your congregation makes a comment revealing that he was completely oblivious to everything you said. No wonder Sunday afternoons are described as the pastor’s hangover. After all that work, we at least want to know that people will remember something from our sermon.

There could be several reasons why the above pastor’s sermons aren’t memorable. Maybe it’s the use of props every weekend that makes all of the sermons run together so that what is supposed to be creative and memorable is not. Maybe the pastor is parroting clichés instead of sharing profound content. Maybe he’s trying to make too many points in his sermons, and the content gets lost in the rubble.

Emotion and Memory

It turns out that there could be another reason. Some psychological studies have supported the theory that we more vividly remember ideas or events that move us emotionally. According to their findings, we are more likely to remember what we feel, what moves our emotions. In a University of Arizona study, psychologists Reisberg and Hertel suggest that we remember parts of events that produced an emotion in us, and we forget parts of events that did not produce an emotion in us.[i]

In Memory and Emotion, the same authors site two separate studies that used visual images to produce an emotion in participants. The result should make every preacher shout “Hallelujah!” They found that it was not just the visual images that created powerful emotional memories, but it was the story connected to the pictures that produced emotion … in other words, pictures with narration! While visual images aided in the telling of the story, it was the spoken word that produced the powerful emotional memories in participants. In both studies, memory was enhanced by the emotional experience created by narration!

The implications of these findings on preaching are obvious. Your sermons are the narration, and you can give your congregation mental images coupled with stories that move them emotionally, so that they remember the images.

To be clear, I am not encouraging emotional manipulation. Manipulation is always wrong, and insightful people can tell if a speaker is feigning emotion or telling a schmaltzy story just to make them cry. The truth is that life itself is intensely emotional, and if you preach sermons that matter to life, you will move people, and they will remember what you say.

Here is an example. Last year, Pope Francis stopped a parade and walked over to a man suffering with a disease that has produced skin deformities all over his body. As the Pope walked toward him, no one was prepared for the emotional impact of what the Pope would do. The Pope wrapped his arms around the man, kissed his forehead, and prayed with him for about a minute. On its own, the Pope’s warm embrace of this hurting, often-rejected man is a powerful image.

The narration is the man’s story. His name is Vinicio Riva, and he has suffered from this disease since he was 15 years old. Get this. Since developing the disease, he has felt rejected by his father.[ii] His father, who is still living, is embarrassed of him and rarely shows any affection toward his son. Vinicio has walked through life feeling the continual stares and rejection of other people, including his own father. That all changed, however, when the Pope embraced him on international television. Even though Vinicio’s father rejected him, the Holy Father, and Vinicio’s Father in heaven, embrace him as a beloved son. That’ll preach! Your congregation will never forget the unconditional acceptance communicated by that powerful image coupled with moving narration.

Here are some ways to tell if you’re preaching sermons that move people:

  1. Does it move you?

Do you feel the importance of what you’re saying? If not, why bother? Find something that moves you, or why preach it?

  1. Are you communicating with passion?

You will, if the content matters to you. Let your emotion show in ways that are appropriate to your context. Even well mannered, upper middle class Americans want to be moved. They want to experience life in all of its fullness, and you can help them do that.

  1. Do you tell true-to-life stories to illustrate your sermon point(s)?

Stories, or plot lines, are what move us emotionally. You will not move people with a bullet point list, alliteration, or academically presented information. Of course, sermons do present information, but in order to move people, you have to illustrate information with emotionally powerful images and stories.

  1. When you tell stories, do you communicate the real emotion that would be expected in that story?

Some pastors tell cliché-like simple stories that skip over all of the real emotion that someone would experience if they were in that story. Life is not a tidy little fable. Ask someone who is facing a crisis right now. Cute little stories lacking emotional depth do not speak to someone whose child has been diagnosed with a disease, someone wrestling with questions, or someone who is facing relational brokenness.

Tell stories that are true to the deepest pains and highest joys of life. Ask yourself, “How do the various parts of this story make me feel?” Then honestly communicate that emotion as you tell the story.

  1. Most importantly, are you in touch with your own emotional life?

If you are not aware of your own emotion, you will not be able to connect with your congregation emotionally. This is the most important point. When you get real about what’s going on in you, then other people will see your emotion and connect with you on a deep level. Get honest with yourself, and preach from your gut!

Something that has helped me become more aware of my own emotions is self-monitoring. It sounds incredibly simple, but in actuality, it requires courageous and focused soul-searching. To practice self-monitoring, ask yourself, “How do I feel right now, and why?” Try this a few times a day, and see what happens! You may discover sources of your feelings that you never imagined… and you will know how you feel and why.

When you feel it and communicate it, they will feel it too. As you couple powerful images with moving narration, both you and your congregation will be emotionally affected, and the result will be a sermon they remember.

People remember your sermons when you move them.

[i] http://www.u.arizona.edu/~nadel/pdf/Papers%20as%20PDFs/2003%20PDFS/Reisberg%2003%20.pdf

[ii] http://www.nydailynews.com/news/world/disfigured-man-speaks-pope-loving-embrace-article-1.1529537