A Church Comes to a Close ~11: Final Session Meeting

In the Presbyterian Church, the church council is called a session.  Ours has its final regular meeting tomorrow afternoon.

 

In my report, I provided an update on the nuts and bolts of the closing, and added the following, more important than any nut or bolt:

 

It has been my great privilege to serve our congregation with each of you for the past two years.  I so wish that the results as we know them right now were different ~ I do believe that in many ways we came close to transforming the life of the church.  And I am sure that the Holy Spirit has moved among us in powerful ways.  But God’s ways are so often not ours, and the Spirit may have been directing all of us toward something we have not yet imagined or understood. 

Nevertheless, from the most vexing maintenance problem to the most wondrous visioning questions, each of you has served the congregation with energy and intelligence and imagination ~ and distinction.  I am truly proud of and humbled by (can you be both things at once?) your courage, your willingness to try and try again, your honesty, and your determination to go out strong.

Well done, good and faithful servants.

A Church Comes to a Close ~ 10: Hindsight

 

 

It's always 20:20, isn't it? Although I confess, I haven't yet had the laser surgery that might afford me that vision, not where our congregation is concerned.

 

Let me state first that this is not a pity party.  My colleagues affirm that I have done well. My parishoners are grateful for the preaching and care they've received. 

 

But . . .

 

Every day I look around and ask: What did I miss?

 

Is there money hiding under a cushion somewhere?

 

Should I have walked through the building more often and looked at all that it contains in a material way (see previous post) and found a way to re-purpose it?

 

Should I have been out in the city more often talking with people and inviting them over?

 

Should I have shoved the congregation out the door to do the same?

 

Should I have stopped trying to address the endless series of financial problems and focused entirely on the congregation and neighborhood, building be damned?

 

Should I have insisted that we spend a month of Sundays worshipping in homes and cooking food together to give away so that people could have experienced an alternative form of being church?

 

Should I have spent more time teaching the various committee members how to do their work so that it didn't all fall on a few resolute leaders?

 

Should I have submitted that huge grant proposal to the Presbytery?

 

Should I have written an article each month for the local paper?

 

Should I have found a way for me to worship more, pray more, seek God more, and hear more?

 

I just don't know.

 

 

 

 

 

A Church Comes to a Close ~ 9: Please Don't Use!

Our administrative assistant and I are in the process of inventorying the contents of the church.  Last week, I made my way through most of the kitchen, and found what you might expect in the way of appliances, utensils, serving platters, and china and silverware.

 

I don't recall the china having been used since my arrival two years ago.  It seems that there must at one time have been at least 100, maybe 150, place settings of the white china, and possibly another 50 of the flowered china. We have used paper and plastic for everything ~ coffee hours, celebrations, and monthly free community meals.  As far as I know, the dishwasher ~ oops, forgot to add that to the inventory! ~ does not work, so using china would add substantially to an event's workload.

 

I knelt down to open a lower cupboard one day, where I discovered a store of dessert plates, on top of which rested a handwritten note stating that, "These plates have been counted and stacked.  Please do not use!"

 

I've been thinking about that note all week and what it says about the state of mind in the congregation.

 

What if it had said, instead, "These plates have been stacked and counted.  Ready for the next event!"

 

Or, "Clean and ready to use.  Enjoy!"


 

Retreat

One day.  Tomorrow.

 

I had some plans to get away to Chautauqua for a day (John Carroll, where I teach, is on a long week-end, so no class), but I've abandoned those. And I don't think the weather is going to cooperate as hoped for per the image above, so . . . an indoor retreat at home. 

 

I am unraveling here. Yesterday I had a flat tire way over on the other side of Cleveland.  This morning the tire store came up with ideas for $1,200 of repairs beyond the free tire replacement.  (Which were ultimately deemed  unnecessary, but not before I had completely flipped out.)  This after $$$ of repairs during the last couple of months, and at the same time that the furnace guy was at my house installing a new panel, whatever that is ~ also not inexpensive. 

 

At church, the day care director's anxiety over the Presbytery's indecision about its continued tenancy is spilling outward.  There was correspondence about the closing to which to attend, and food gone bad to throw out, and two Bible studies to lead.  I wrote most of my sermon at 7:00 am because I was up, so why not? . . . after having been wide awake at midnight when I realized that I had left the thing that covers the spare tire in the trunk behind at the gas station where someone had kindly changed my tire.  (Got that?)

 

And then there is this stray cat I have been feeding for more than two weeks.  I was freezing last night in our furnace-free house, so I was also awake worrying about her. Hoping that she makes it until her date with the shelter, and hoping that then she can be found.

 

Just too much. 

 

I did tell my assistant today that as I was getting out of my car at church, I was thinking that I should get back in and start driving.  I could call her from wherever I was at about 6:00 p.m. ~ Wisconsin, maybe?

 

But I didn't do it. 

 

So: A day.  Tomorrow.

 

A Church Comes to a Close ~ 7: Not Prepared for This One!

A neighboring congregation has rolled out the welcome mat for ours.  Our session (and I) visited theirs (and their pastor)  a few weeks ago for an introductory meeting and tour.  They are taking our columbarium, shelves and stained glass window and all, and installing it in their building.  And yesterday, eighteen of our members worshipped with them.

 

And liked it.

 

LIKED it?  I wasn't at all prepared for them to LIKE it. 

 

Five folks stayed at "home" and so I led an informal service in our parlor, but I made it to the other church in the middle of the sermon, with about 20 minutes to go in the service.  Afterward, a large group of us went out to lunch, where I got to hear all the things they liked. 

 

The numbers of church.  The youth liturgist.  The bell choir.  The final song.  The pastor's animated preaching.  The light in the sanctuary.  The large, multi-generational congregation.  The graciousness of the regulars.

 

What's not to like?

 

Several of my colleagues have pointed out that my congregation has been well-prepared for change, prepared to be open and curious and to move on.  It's true; I have preached and taught and tried to model those things, and our session leadership has supported the rest of the congregation in exploring new possibilities.

 

But I'm not all that sure that I intended for them to LIKE it.

Blessed Interlude

Time to bless animals!  In memory of St. Francis and in honor of our furry friends.

Today I had the delight of helping out at a colleague's church. Two cats, one rat, and many very lively dogs!

A Church Comes to a Close ~ 6: Losses

There is our administrative assistant, who has sustained a number of hits fairly recently; the biggest, to my knowledge, being the death of her sister last winter after a long and cancerous siege.  Her job, and (most of all) the relationships it creates, have been big factors in sustaining her life.

 

There is one of our main volunteers, a 90-year-old woman, who found life anew as a major participant in the life of the church after she was widowed for the second time, a decade ago.  At our meeting last week, she stated that her biggest fear is losing her opportunity to volunteer, to be of service.

 

Another 90-year-old woman, whose health has prevented her from coming to church for most of the past year.  She has already lost an elderly husband, a middle-aged son, and an infant daughter.  And most of her friends.  Although the church of women's guild tea parties that she remembers is long gone, the disappearance of the entire enterprise is a major blow. 

 

Another major volunteer, a woman in her fifties now off to seminary. She and at least one other member, an irrepressible older woman, are both survivors of another church closing, only a few years ago.

 

Our almost inexhaustible clerk of session and her mother, daughter and widow of the founding pastor.  Our clerk has been here her entire life, and her mother for sixty years of hers, except for the brief period after their father and husband retired, when they went elsewhere.   The extent of their loss ~ lifetimes of faithful participation and extensive contribution ~ is so vast that words fail me. 

 

And me.  I've had a few defeats of my own over the past few years. Now: an entire church.

 

I woke up this morning thinking of some advice I read a few years ago about taking time off from grief.  Excellent advice.

 

I just cannot figure out when, where, and how we are supposed to carve out this time off over the next six weeks. 

A Church Comes to a Close ~ 5: Worn Out By The Thought of It All

 

There is a building and all of its contents to deal with.  Want a piano?  Want a box of files from 1972?  Want enough china to serve 200?  No, no one does.

 

There is the post-departure building security in a troubled neighborhood to deal with.  More lighting, says the police department.  Plow and mow, says the Presbytery.  Stay open, says the day care.  Got money?  No, no one does.

 

There is the neighborhood to which to attend.  Got bus passes?  Got food?  Got grocery cards?  Nope, running out of all of them.  (Well, then, could I have one of the refrigerators? asked a gentleman yesterday.  I don't have food, but I can get a truck.)

 

There are the members to love.  Where shall we go?  What about my funeral? Who do I talk to, if I need a pastor?   Not here, not here, not me.

 

There is the pastor to . . . what?  Where are you going?  Will the Presbytery find you a church?  Are you staying in town?  Are you ok?  No idea, reduplicated.  (That is a funny term from seminary Greek.  How the hell do you RE-duplicate anything?  I don't remember what it means, but I still find it humorous.)

 

And now: The presbytery is hoping we will have a reception after our final service (with which the presbytery will end our congregational life and which no member wants to attend), and wants to celebrate the THREE churches we are closing in our area in the next three months with a presentation or Powerpoint or something or other at the November presbytery meeting. 

 

So . . .  while you are running to the hospital to see members briefly felled by stress and while you are trying to figure out where you rent a dumpster and while you are listening to "I just can't believe it" (reduplicated) and while you are trying to figure out what to do about your health insurance, would you mind making a Powerpoint of high enough quality for a large crowd?

 

Oh, and hey, Pastor, don't forget about Self Care!  OK?  You'll do that, too, right?

 

A Congregation Comes to a Close ~ 4: Columbarium

I have been writing letters.  To the exercise classes and AA and NA groups that meet in our building, to tell them the dates by when they must move on, and to the folks who have left the cremains of their loved ones with us.  For some years, the urns were stored in the bell tower (in which no bell resides) but, more recently, a beautiful little columbarium was built off the chancel.  Oak cupboards and a backlit stained glass window; a lovely space to visit.

 

A neighboring Presbyterian church has offered to remove our columbarium and install it somewhere in its building, so probably most of our cremains will go there.  But we still have to send a letter to everyone to explain the situation and ask what they would like to do.  Some are current members, who will receive a personal note from me on the form letter. Many are themselves long gone from the congregation, and perhaps from this world.  Some will no doubt come looking a few years hence, and frantic calls to the Presbytery will ensue.

 

I have presided over many funerals since becoming a pastor four years ago, and many interments of caskets and urns.  I have also continued my own little worldwide journey with ashes of my son in hand, most recently to Canada.  Most people look inside caskets; few, as far as I can tell, look inside urns. Although mothers do.  I'm not sure that the sense of the world flung out of orbit ever leaves us after that first look.  "Bone of my bone," as a dear friend said to me about our children.  As with most things related to the deaths of children, scripture offers cold comfort.

 

Despite the stress involved in learning to scatter ashes so as to render them, and the activity itself, invisible in spots where others might raise objections (and sometimes the humor as well, as we  finally experienced it, in the form of an early morning campus paintball game on a day when we were sure we would encounter no one), I prefer the winds and the wilds to urns locked in a an interior space.   And this latest experience has turned out to transmit its own stressors.  My own reaction where cremains are concerned is a relaxed one, but you never knows how others will respond.  One person's calm is another's horror, and vice versa.

 

I need to remind myself that the conversations that lie ahead will be holy ones.

 

A Congregation Comes to a Close - 3: Anything Going Right?

What's going well?

 

That was the first question our consultant asked us yesterday when the congregation met for a conversation over a potluck luncheon. 

 

It seemed that each of the four round tables of people came up with one similar answer: We are all still coming.

 

True enough.  Attendance has not dropped at all.

 

And, I added, people are still doing the work that needs to be done.  We still have ushers and communion servers and liturgists and Powerpoint operators.   And people made lunch!

 

Perhaps lethargy.  Perhaps denial.

 

But, on the whole, I think folks really do want to be together as they have been for as long as they can.

A Congregation Comes to a Close - 2 (Sermon: Brothers and Sisters [Hebrews])

Have any of you heard of the book All The Light We Cannot See? 

It’s a recent novel by Anthony Doerr, with whom I am not otherwise familiar.  It was published last year and won several prizes, including the Pultizer Prize, a major book award, but that’s not why I’ve been reading it.  I’ve been reading it because a friend recommended it -- and by “reading it,” I mean that I raced through it once, because the suspense was almost intolerable, and now I am re-reading it slowly, savoring every word.

All The Light We Cannot See. The title is ironic, in that the two main characters represent seeing and not-seeing in different ways. They are each engulfed in the horror of World War II as it plays out in Europe.  One of the main characters, a young German boy, is pulled into the Nazi war machine, and struggles mightily to see clearly what he does not want to see at all -- the corruption and evil which dominate his life.  The other, a young French girl, is trapped in a city occupied by the Germans.  She is literally blind, and yet she sees the world around her clearly and is thus able to act with tremendous dignity and courage.

The lives of these two characters are intertwined early on, although they do not know it until they meet, by happenstance, in the middle of a great battle.  And we understand that, while the title of the book, All The Light We Cannot See, is about light, and vision, at many levels, light and vision are about relationship – and, ultimately, about relationship for good.

Jesus, too, as we so often hear in the Bible, is about light, and vision.  “I am the light of the world,” he tells us, in the Gospel of John.  I bring not merely sight, but vision – understanding – of what is real, of what is important – he tells us as he heals those who are without literal sight.

And this light, this vision, this Jesus – he is about relationship.  Today’s text reminds us that he is in relationship with us.

Our text today comes from the Book of Hebrews.  We don’t know who wrote the Book of Hebrews, although it’s possible that the apostle Paul did, which would mean that it was written in the middle of the first century.  What we do know is that it makes reference to Jesus’ calling his disciples, calling us, brothers and sisters. Jesus calls us brothers and sisters. 

What is a brother or a sister? The most basic definition is that brothers and sisters are people whose relationship is determined by their having a parent in common. And who is Jesus?  The son of God, the heir of God, as our passage also tells us – which makes us also the children and heirs of God and God’s goodness.  The heirs of God’s light. 

But – let’s get back to brothers and sisters.  What does it mean that Christ calls us brothers and sisters?  It means that he draws us together into relationship as one family of siblings. 

And what does it mean to be included in this family, to be brothers and sisters to one another?  It means that we follow Jesus and his teachings.  It means that we are drawn into his light. It means that his way of seeing, his vision, become our way of seeing and our vision.

And what are those teachings?  Love God.  Love one another.  What path do they light?  The path of love.  How are we to see? With love.

Since we are talking about brothers and sisters today, I want to focus on the call to love one another.  The call to be in relationship. And I want to do that in the light of this congregation’s current situation, and in the light of the path of love we walk during this difficult time of loss and sadness. And in light of the loving meal we are about to share.

At their best, what do brothers and sisters do for one another?

For one thing, they, brothers and sisters recall a common heritage together.  They know who they are – together.  In my husband’s family, there is an old photograph of the four siblings lined up – seated on an ironing board, as it turns out – in a little row, when they were about three, four, five, and six years old.  Last New Years’, the four of them sat on a couch – they don’t fit on an ironing board anymore! -- in the same configuration, so that a matching photograph could be taken – nearly sixty years later.  A sign of one of the things brothers and sisters in relationship do for one another: they remember the past together.

Another thing brothers and sisters often do together is share activities and events together.  Some extended families live in close proximity to one another – my husband’s brother and one of his sisters, and their spouses and families, now extending to two generations, live in the same town as his mother, and so they all share time together on nearly a daily basis.    But even families whose members live at a considerable distance usually find time to get together for holidays and weddings – or funerals --  and for graduations and new babies and other significant milestones.   Brothers and sisters share their lives with one another.  They tend to relationships.

A third thing brothers and sisters do? They take care of one another.  When one is in trouble, others come running.  When life hands one an unexpected challenge, the others are there.  When someone needs a listening ear, it’s often a brother or sister who calls.  When practical needs arise, it’s sometimes a brother or sister who lends a hand.

And I’m not just talking about biological brothers and sisters. Many of us have neighbors and friends who are as brothers and sisters to us – people with whom we share memories, and activities, and care. 

And in the Christian family? We are brothers and sisters together.  In relationship together.  Jesus calls us brothers and sisters because we are his disciples, because we follow him.  Biology has nothing to do with it.  Geographical proximity has nothing to do with it.  Longevity has nothing to do with it.  We are brothers and sisters because we are loved, and love one another, in Christ.  We are brothers and sisters because Jesus is our brother.

What does it mean for us, here at Boulevard, to be brothers and sisters, as we prepare to close? It means the same three things as it usually does, but in a very particular way:

As brothers and sisters in Christ, we remember together.  I invite – no, I URGE—you to spend time with your Boulevard family remembering.  Take a look at those old photo albums.  Pull out old cards and letters.  Talk over the memories with one another.  Treasure one another and what you have been to each other. 

You know what one of my favorite Boulevard memories is?  On one of my first Sundays here, Julie K pulled me aside and said, “Now I’m going to explain to you how things work around here!”  And then a year later, as she lay dying in hospice, she told me all about her childhood in a West Side Hungarian family.   I treasure those memories – and here I am sharing them with you, again.  Please – share your pasts with one another.  How do things work around here?  What did you learn here, together?  How did you worship together?  How did you celebrate together?  Remember, my friends, and remember well.

As brothers and sisters in Christ, we also share the present with each other.  Again, I urge you – take advantage of our last weeks of worship together.  Come to Bible study.  Spend time with your friends.  Participate in the work ahead together – come together to help with clearing out of the church.  It can be hard to see the light when the air is thick with sadness, as we all know from cleaning out the homes of loved ones whose lives have ended. But that is work that siblings do together.  And then -- Share in our final services together.

As brothers and sisters in Christ, we also care for one another.  My friends, we have many members who are unable to get out, to make it to worship, very often, or ever.  I urge you – care for one another.  I.  Y. R. D and N.  P.  S. T.  People just in and out of hospitals this past week.    These folks are not solely the responsibility of the pastor.   Cards are not solely the responsibility of S.  Make it your business to care for each other.  A card, a call, an email, a visit – these things mean so much. If you are an elder, past or present, talk to me so that we can plan to take communion to someone at home or in the hospital.  And – look around at those who ARE here, every week that they can be.  Everyone is hurting.  Make up your mind to reach out to one or two people each week so that you can have a talk about our closing. These are the sorts of things that brothers and sisters do for one another.

All the light we cannot see?  We do see the light, the light of Jesus, in relationship. In relationship with one another.

And today – today we have a special opportunity to share memory, and present, and care, not only with one another, but with the whole world!  Today is World Communion Sunday, which means that all over the world, at virtually every hour, congregations are sharing together the meal provided to us by Jesus Christ.  Today we are invited to remember, not only ourselves, but the worldwide church -- which for those of us here means folks from Africa and Europe and Asia and the Americas, and which for all of us means the whole world.  Today we are invited to participate in a great event, to share as brothers and sisters with people the whole world over.  And today we are called to care for one another by sharing the food and drink with which Jesus cares for us.

It is often – no, it is always – the case that our own sadness is relieved by attentiveness to others.  When we struggle and suffer, we grow, and our capacity for love increases, as we tend to our relationships with others.  And so, even as we re-affirm that we here at Boulevard are brothers and sisters, let us also celebrate the brotherhood of Jesus, with us and with all peoples of the world.  All the light we think we cannot see is right here, emanating from this table and filling the world with sight, with vision, and with relationship – with love. Amen.

A Congregation Comes to An End -1

For nearly two years, my little congregation has been struggling to stay open, to merge with another congregation, to re-create itself, and now ~ finally ~ to close.

Much of what has happened has not been bloggable, but the time has come to go public, at least to some extent.

In a nutshell: a month after my arrival at the church, an unforeseen financial crisis resulted in a significant decrease in our income.  Eventually, we approached two other congregations about some sort of potential relationship.  One quickly backed out of our discussions.  With the other, we spent many months exploring a possible merger ~ and then it backed out as well.  At that point, we were financially strapped and our leadership was exhausted.  We made a few efforts to renew ourselves internally, but it became apparent that there was no energy for a new start, and on September 13 the congregation voted to close the church by the end of the year.

That little paragraph represents a mountain of hard work, frustration, hope, and sadness.

For the next several weeks, my sermons will be addressed to this particular context: a congregation on the verge of closing.  And I am going to write about the process, to the extent that I can.  Maybe someday, I'll write about the entire enterprise.

 

Tomorrow: World Communion Sunday, followed by a Congregational Conversation over a meal, as we begin to process reality together.

 

 

 

 

Image: Our sanctuary.  When I posted this picture on FB, a friend commented that it was beautiful, but would look better full of people.  Indeed.  That would be the problem.

Sunday Morning Musings

It's a little after 7:00 a.m. and I am doing what I usually do on Sunday mornings -- getting ready to leave the house for church.    And thinking about others who are and are not doing the same thing.

 

For some, the next few hours will be a time of deep, rich engagement with God, through communal music and prayer and scripture and preaching.

 

For others, the same outward activities will conceal an inner experience of busy-ness and preoccupation, or hassle and nuisance, or turmoil and unrest, or boredom and irritation.

 

For others, the morning will be a time for social connection, in the hallways before worship and at the coffee hours after.

 

And for many, many others, whatever is taking place in houses of worship this morning remains completely irrelevant to their conscious lives.

 

Having been all of those people at various points in my adult life, I find myself now unable to pinpoint what it is that makes the difference. 

 

I don't believe that God calls some to worship and others, not, so it isn't God. 

 

I don't believe that the entire responsibility lies with those who lead worship, whether pastors or musicians or liturgists, who on any given day may be more or less well prepared, more or less aware of the movement of the congregation as a whole, more or less attuned to individual nuances in behavior or response. 

 

And I don't believe that it all falls on the congregation or the individuals who make it up ~ or don't ~  and who bring to worship, or to whatever else they are doing with their morning, whatever it is they have to bring.

 

I do believe that I should have a better handle on this, though.

 

Time . . . and the Church

An endless stream of commentary and counsel on the current state of the mainline church crosses my desk and computer screen on a daily basis.  As the pastor of a small church which has been in a freefall decline for the past two decades, I am, naturally, interested in what everyone has to say. 

 

How to reverse attendance and giving numbers?  What happened to all the young (under 50!) people? How do we become a "missional" church?  Should we add a contemporary service?  Should we add a contemplative service?  Will renting space to another enterprise resolve our financial issues?  Would a different pastor pull them in? 

 

Yesterday, I enjoyed a long breakfast with a friend who is a few years (five) older than I am, who has lived without one of her children for a few years (seven, for a total of fourteen) longer than I have, and who is ahead of me in the delight category (a new grandchild!) by five months.  If you had to summarize our wide-ranging conversation, you might say that the theme had to do with finding ways to live out this period of life (which I sometimes refer to as the third third) as fully and deeply and even joyously as possible, given what we were handed in the second third.

 

This morning as I lay in bed for a few minutes after waking up, the word that came to mind was:

 

Time.

 

A question applicable to both the congregation and the sixty-something person. 

 

To what do we want to give our limited, precious time?   What is of such great value as to make it worth hours, weeks, months, even years, of our time?

 

It seems clear that numbers of people who might have been participants in the life of a mainline congregation a generation, definitely two generations ago, no longer believe that what the church has to offer is worthy of their time. 

 

I wonder: Do we, we who are pastors and leaders and participants in the life of the church, do we ourselves understand what it is that the church has to offer?    Do we understand what it is that we are doing there?  Do we have any inkling of  how to communicate why we are drawn there?

 

What claim does the church have to our time?

 

 

 

Friday Five: Saints be praised!

Today's RevGals Friday Five takes advantage of the upcoming March 17 to focus on saints!  From 3dogmom:

Saint Patrick’s Day is right around the corner, which got me thinking about how the “official” saints of the church touch our individual and collective worlds. A woman I met recently was born on St. Patrick’s Day, and her parents honored the occasion by naming her for this saint whose feast day is the cause for much celebration. So for today’s Friday Five, please share with us a little something about the saints that are a part of your life in one way or another.


1) Do you have a “favorite” saint? Tell us about him or her!

I have at least two! St. Brigid ~ healer, artist, abbess ~ and St. Ignatius, whom I consider a friend, mentor, and teacher, even if he did live 450 years ago.

2) Some of us share names with a saint. If that is the case, has that saint, or his or her feast day, held any meaning for you?

My first name is Mary, so perhaps I should give some consideration to Mary Magdalene.

3) Is there a saint whose life or story intrigues you (other than number 1)?

Who comes to mind?  Some "official Catholic saints" and some who are important to me in various ways regardless of official status: Syncletica, Hildegard of Bingen, Julian of Norwich, Catherine of Sienna, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Jesuit Peter Favre, founder of my Catholic boarding school Julia Chatfield (pictured above with my dear friend and sculptor Sister Agatha Fitzgerald).  We are doing a Bible Study on Exodus at church, and so this morning the midwives Shiprah and Puah come to mind as I think about life stories I would like to know.

4) Do you pray with, or to, a saint (or saints)?

Not "to," but I definitely talk things over with Ignatius, and I pray with many other saints in the sense of praying their words and considering their circumstances and challenges.

5) Many saints are designated patrons of occupations, needs or occasions (like traveling). Is there such a saint that factors into your life professional, or avocationally?

That would be Brigid, for ministry in general, and Ignatius and Peter Favre, for the ministry of spiritual direction.

Bonus: please share a picture of one (or more) of the saints named above.

Memorial Homily

Last night our church hosted a memorial service for the daughter of the former pastor, who died of suicide two months ago.  Her service was eight hours away, where she lived, and we wanted to do something for  former parishoners and colleagues here.

It turned out to be a beautiful and powerful service, a  perfect blend of pastoral leadership (including the mom and her husband as well as four others of us) in music, word, and ritual.  So many gifted people in ministry!  My contribution was to host and to preach a short homily.  Here it is:

 

 

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

‘See, the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with them; they will be God’s peoples, and God’s very self will be with them;  God will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.’

~ Revelation 21:1-4

*****

 

 Many, many years ago, I heard the late Unitarian Universalist pastor Forest Church preach at Chautauqua.  “Why do we have religion?” he asked.  The answer? “Because we live and we die.”

We live and we die, and we have to make sense of those twin realities.

 

For those of us whose lives have been marked by the suicides of people we cherish, the entanglement of life and death becomes the question that relentlessly stalks our days and claims our nights.

“Choose life!” the Bible tells us.  And most of us do.  All of us here have seen how joyously people choose life when they are married, when a child is born, when labor work is satisfying and fruitful.  And all of us have seen how tenaciously people cling to life even as they gasp their final breaths, how they long for one more day, or even one more minute.

But the choice for life is not always as easy, or natural, or hope-filled, as it might seem.  For some, illness makes of death a release from pain and trauma.  And those of us left behind are called to delve into that dark place in which we can understand, a bit, where our loved ones found themselves, marooned on islands of despair and longing, no longer able to see even a sliver of light at the end of tunnels that curve and swell and twist and turn and finally narrow.

And then – what becomes of those of us who would have done anything, anything at all, to preserve the lives of those precious to us?

We start looking.  Where are the answers?  A  and T and E, I know that over time, you will find your own ways to live with the loss of S, and your own ways to live with the paradox of the stunning beauty of her flower-filled life entertwined as it was with  the searing pain of her illness.  I myself can offer only one small Biblical interpretation which has helped me.  It comes from Mirslav Wolf’s book The End of Memory, in which he suggests that the new heaven and new earth held out as promises to us, the final fulfillment of the kingdom which has already come among us, this new reality in which every tear will be wiped away and mourning and crying and pain will be no more -- this will be a reality in which even the memory of these hard things will be no more.

It sounds shocking, at first, and kind of horrifying.  Memory no more? We all want to retain our memories, don’t we?  Our memories of all of it, the good and the bad, the joy-filled and the heart-rending -- our memories which remind us of all that has made us who we are today?  We don’t want to lose our them, not even the reminders of tears and mourning.  We cling to our memories as if they are ourselves.  Who we are.  People of compassion because we have suffered, people of determination because we see what might be,

And yet . . .  and yet . . . and yet, what if we are made for more?

What if we are not, as Wolf says, merely “the sum of our past experiences?”  What if we are called to leave our heartaches behind and to receive ourselves as the people we were originally intended to be?  People created for a garden? People created entirely for love?  To remember and to know S, gardener, animal lover, daughter and sister and friend, as most fully and joyously her beloved, precious self?

It’s hard to imagine, tonight, when the loss is so great, that compete transformation lies ahead.    That there will come a time when the heavens and the earth, even the tangible earth on which we live, will be transformed  by the love of God into a mass of extravagant color and growth, into a garden in which brokenness and death will be no more, a garden in which life will flourish without recourse to the past. 

Here, we live and we die.  Sometimes the combination seems harsh beyond comprehension.  But the promise is for life.  Even when our capacity for this existence is crushed by illness and battered by sorrow, the promise remains.  Life for S.  Life for us all.  Amen.

A Sermon for Visioning Day

GOD’S COVENANT

GOD COVENANTS WITH US TO PRESERVE AND RENEW LIFE

And God said to Noah, "Make yourself an ark.” . . . 

God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and all the domestic animals that were with him in the ark. And God made a wind blow over the earth, and the waters subsided; the fountains of the deep and the windows of the heavens were closed, the rain from the heavens was restrained, and the waters gradually receded from the earth. At the end of one hundred and fifty days the waters had abated; and in the seventh month, on the seventeenth day of the month, the ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat. The waters continued to abate until the tenth month; in the tenth month, on the first day of the month, the tops of the mountains appeared.

At the end of forty days Noah opened the window of the ark that he had made and sent out the raven; and it went to and fro until the waters were dried up from the earth. Then he sent out the dove from him, to see if the waters had subsided from the face of the ground; but the dove found no place to set its foot, and it returned to him to the ark, for the waters were still on the face of the whole earth. So he put out his hand and took it and brought it into the ark with him. He waited another seven days, and again he sent out the dove from the ark; and the dove came back to him in the evening, and there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf; so Noah knew that the waters had subsided from the earth. Then he waited another seven days, and sent out the dove; and it did not return to him any more. . . . Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, ‘As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.’ God said, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth.

                                                                                                ~ Genesis 6:13a, 14a; 8:1-12, 9:8-1

Do we feel, sometimes, in the church, as if we have been hit by a deluge?  Trampled by a tumultuous storm? Submerged in the depths?

Everything has changed.

Our culture used to be a culture in which, for Christians, church was front and center. Stores closed and it seemed that everyone went to church on Sunday.

Our city used to be a booming little city in which people all had jobs during the week, whether in industry or at home, and thronged to places of worship on Sunday mornings.

Our congregation used to be a lively home for hundreds of people, where children learned about faith and adults sang in the choir and all enjoyed regular fellowship.

Our numbers used to be high: 1,000 people in worship on Sunday, two services, filled classrooms.

Our funding used to be a given. Run a stewardship campaign and the pledges poured in.   

Did we even ask questions about what and who we are as a church?  Not so much, I think.  Our successes were obvious; our future, assured.  

And then the skies darkened.  The wind blew. And the rains came pouring down. 

The culture changed.  The congregation changed and dwindled in number.  The money began to dry up. 

Does it feel as if a storm has hit?  As if we are rocking back and forth and side to side in a leaky ark?

And yet: God offers us a rainbow, a sign of promise.  God calls us out of the ark and into a new world, a world longing for God’s promises of life and love.

Conversation Question: What does God promise us when the storms come?

RESURRECTION LIFE

OUT OF DEATH COMES RESURRECTION LIFE

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.”

                                                                                                            ~ Luke 24:1-5

At the core of Christian faith is a great mystery: out of death comes life. After a flood, a rainbow forms in the sky. After all seems lost on a cross, light shines forth from a cave. 

We usually hear this story, about the first day of the week at early dawn, on Easter Sunday itself.  And then we kind of forget about it.  We get busy with our meetings and our meals, with our finances and our food, and we forget.

So let’s remember for a moment.  The heartbroken women at the tomb, as we are heartbroken when we ponder what seems to be the death of the church.  The women perplexed by the rolled-away stone and the vanished body, as we are often perplexed by the church: What happened?  Where did everyone go? The arrival of the unexpected: two men in dazzling clothes, who terrify the women.  How do we respond when it seems that we are confronted by the unexpected?  Are we anxious, afraid?  Terrified, even?

And then the question: Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen.

We forget, when we are busy with our meetings and our meals and our finances and our food, that we are called to live resurrection lives.  We forget to look for the living not among the dead, but among the living.  We are so accustomed to being hobbled by loss and dismay that we forget that we have been set free by love.

If we feel discouraged and disoriented by changes in our church, then we are right at the heart of Christian transformation.  And at the heart of Christian transformation we are called to peel off the trappings of death and turn toward the light of new life. 

Conversation Question:  What would a resurrected church look like to you?

CALLED TO MISSION

IN RESURRECTION LIFE WE ARE CALLED TO CARE FOR OTHERS

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my lambs.’ A second time he said to him, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Tend my sheep.’ He said to him the third time, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, ‘Do you love me?’ And he said to him, ‘Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep. Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.’

                                                                                                                                ~ John 21:15-18

Do you know what the word ‘mission’ means?

We tend to think of a mission as a plan, or an assignment: something we are supposed to DO. 

But the word mission comes from the Latin mittere: to send.  To be on mission is to be sent.

The Bible is one long story of mission, of sending.  God is always sending people out to serve others.  The Hebrew Bible is filled with narratives of people called and sent.  The prophets, sent to call the people back to God’s justice.  Moses, sent to lead his people to freedom.  Noah, sent to build an ark and prepare for a new world.

And then: God sends Jesus, to love God’s people and to trounce death.  And God and Jesus send their Spirit, to energize the people to proclaim the God news: The Kingdom of God has come among you!  And God keeps sending: the apostle Paul, the other disciples, other people across the centuries, and yes, even: us.

Our final passage today is about sending.  About Jesus sending, starting with Peter.  Jesus is with his disciples on the beach, in one of his many appearances to them after his resurrection. And what does he say? Feed my lambs, Jesus tells Peter.  Tend my sheep; feed my sheep.

Rainbow-covenant life and resurrection life are not only about us.  We are not called to mind only our own business, tend only our own field, mind only our own sheep.  This might mean some radical changes for us as a church.  To Noah, God did not say: Build and ark and then live there. To Peter, a fisherman, Jesus did not say: Build a new warehouse and a shop on the beach, buy a new boat and some new nets, and get back out there to do what you did before.  To us, Jesus is not saying: Save the building, buy some curriculum, and invite people to come in and do with you what you’ve always done.  Jesus says: Feed my sheep.  Get out there and look for my people – that would be all people – and care for them.  Be a people in mission!

Conversation Question: What sort of service to others excites you?

WRAP-UP

Today we are all about: a storm, an ark, a rainbow ~ a grave and a resurrection ~ and a sending forth.  As we continue with today’s gathering, think about what we have before us:

You all have animals on your table, who represent the storm, and the ark, and hope for the future.  We have a rainbow, which represents God’s promise of new life.  We have an empty cross, which represents resurrection life. And we have a question: how do we respond?   Take your animals home with you and remember to ask: How are we going to feed God’s sheep?  Amen.