Be The Body--a sermon for Pentecost

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
Be The Body
Acts 2.1-8, 11b-21, 37-47
23 May 2010, Pentecost and Confirmation

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.
Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? In our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.’ All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, ‘What does this mean?’ But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.’
But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them: ‘Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o’clock in the morning. No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: 

“In the last days it will be, God declares,

that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,

and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

and your young men shall see visions,

and your old men shall dream dreams. 

Even upon my slaves, both men and women,

in those days I will pour out my Spirit;

and they shall prophesy. 

And I will show portents in the heaven above

and signs on the earth below,

blood, and fire, and smoky mist. 

The sun shall be turned to darkness

and the moon to blood,

before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day. 

Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

Now when they heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and to the other apostles, ‘Brothers, what should we do?’ Peter said to them, ‘Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.’ And he testified with many other arguments and exhorted them, saying, ‘Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.’ So those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about three thousand persons were added. They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.
Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.


In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the Spirit of God hovered over the face of the deep.
God’s Spirit of wisdom danced before the Creator at the beginning of time, making delight the first emotion this world knew.
The Spirit of God hovered over the waters again at Jesus’ baptism…and again at every baptism celebrated, as we claim God’s grace is for all—as many as the Lord our God shall call.
And now the Spirit dances again, this time in tongues of fire and wisps of wind, inviting us all to dance along—out of the safe spaces, the sanctuaries, and into the streets where people long to hear good news of hope, to see what peace and justice and community look like, to feel God’s breath rushing through the streets and commanding our attention.
On that first Pentecost, the disciples weren’t sure what to do next—they only knew that they needed to stay inside, where it was safe.
On this Pentecost, we seem to think we have everything figured out, and if we just stick to the plan and follow the bulletin, then everything will be safe.
But the Spirit of God has other ideas.
You see, God has called a people to be the Church—to be the Body of Christ, to love and live and serve as Jesus’ hands and feet, to reflect God’s glory, to BE the people of God right here, right now, whether it’s safe or not.
Sometimes we seem to think that the Church is a building—a place where we go.
Sometimes we seem to think that Church is something we do—we show up and say the right words and then we’re done.
Sometimes we seem to think that the Church is an institution that exists serve us—like a vending machine giving us whatever programs, kind words, and comfort we might need…but never offering words of challenge to us, our beliefs, or the way the world works.
Sometimes we think the Church is just another social club or just another non-profit agency—we join the group and give a little money to the cause and forget about it until the next mailing comes.
But none of these things are the Church. The Body of Christ isn’t an institution, isn’t a cause you join, isn’t a vending machine, isn’t a few magic words a week. The Church is US. A living, breathing, ever-changing organism made up of US. And the Body of Christ has a mission—it’s God’s mission, and we have the privilege of participating in it.
That mission is pretty simple, really: Do Justice. Practice Compassion. Walk Humbly With God. Love your neighbor as yourself.
That’s it—love. justice. compassion. humility.
That is what the Spirit blows into our lives to give us, and to call us to do and be.

This morning several of our youth—people who have been nurtured by many of you, who have taught Sunday School, helped with confirmation class, offered encouraging smiles, led youth group, shared conversations at potlucks, served in mission, and prayed for them—these youth will stand before this congregation, this part of the Body of Christ. Together we will remember the promises we made at their and so many other baptisms—promises to nurture and guide, through word and deed. We will remember God’s promise of grace and gift of community. And we will look for little tongues of fire—another kind of baptism, this one a calling to join in this mission God has set forth, to do our best to live into the vision of God’s kingdom.
This calling will take us out of the sanctuary. It will take us out of our safe places, and the wildfire of God’s love will jump the barriers we have set up, and our task will be to fan the flames. The Spirit is moving, dancing, blowing, and calling us to be The Church—the church that offers challenge alongside comfort, the church that serves rather than being served, the church that gives generously and loves generously and lives generously, the church that is the Body of Christ rather than just an institution, the Church that is gathered in order to be sent out.

In Jewish tradition, the festival of Pentecost commemorates God’s giving of the Torah—the law, especially the ten commandments—to Moses on Mount Sinai. The festival isn’t about receiving the Torah—it’s about God giving it—because while the gift happened at a specific point in time, the receiving of that gift takes a lifetime. The gift of the Holy Spirit is the same. On Pentecost God sent the Holy Spirit to the church—a Spirit who had been living and breathing through all of creation and throughout all our stories, but now has a particular role enlivening the Body of Christ. But our receiving of the Spirit and her gifts, our living into that calling, our process of being filled and refilled to overflowing—that takes a lifetime. And that is what the church is for—to be filled with the Holy Spirit so we can let Life Abundant spill out into the world. As new people join this dance, as the gifts within the body grow and change, as the body lives and moves and breathes and works, we continue the lifelong process of receiving God’s Spirit.
The Holy Spirit is at work, even now, even here, calling us to be the Body of Christ. Will we go out and live the good news?
May it be so.
Amen.

(image is this sermon in wordle form: wordle.net)

while I was procrastinating on a sermon...

Acts 2...make your own at wordle.net.

I can't be the first to have thought this...

Have you ever wondered if the church IS the "second coming"?

The Body of Christ, sent out into the world to help usher in the kingdom of God?

Empowered by the Holy Spirit, the very breath of God that animates all things?

So Pentecost is the beginning of this "coming again"...and we're still busy looking into the sky like on Ascension Day rather than seeing Christ all around us?

No way am I the first person to have this thought. I might be the first to say it out loud and not get burned at the stake (so far), but...

It's kind of interesting to think about, don't you think?

(that's all the thoughts I have about it right now, because I don't have time or energy to actually pursue the line of thought to any deeper place until life in our community slows down just a tad...)

it's time for an awesome weekend...

The 30 Hour Famine is underway! No more eating until dinner tomorrow night. We have a busy weekend planned even as we're fasting--we'll be learning about homelessness, working at the Food Pantry, going Cosmic Bowling (no snacks!), clearing out a vacant house and donating what we can to a local non-profit thrift store, and searching for donations for the food pantry. We'll also watch Food Inc and worship and study the Bible and pray...it's a busy weekend!

Once that's over...time to write a sermon. Sunday we have worship at 830 as normal, but at 930 and 11 the youth will lead worship and present selections from Godspell--awesome! Then a fabulous potluck (what am I going to bring???) and the Youth Auction (live! a live auction is a fun new twist on the service auction this year)...and then in the afternoon the confirmation class will meet with the session!

Phew!

See you on the other side.

dear mom...

I love you.

I miss you.

I hope you have a good day wherever you are now.

sun?

We had a gorgeous day yesterday--sunny and breezy and perfect for the ice cream I ate for lunch. :-)

Today started out cloudy and icky, but the sun may be on its way again...

If only the rest of my life were sunny too.

In an effort to shoo clouds out, I hereby proclaim that the following things are NOT OKAY and God should outlaw them immediately (in no particular order):

1. cancer.

2. parent-days (you should take the time to appreciate your mom/dad EVERY DAY, not just the day Hallmark tells you. Trust me, it's worth it--and then maybe I wouldn't get 5000 emails reminding me to love my mom. Too late.)

3. people who cheat on their families.

4. dirty dishes that for some reason don't wash themselves.

5. cat throw up.

6. suicide, whether on purpose or accidental through thrill seeking.

7. natural disasters (flooding, earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes, etc)

8. carpet that reveals just how much cat hair is on the floor.

9. insanely busy weeks.

10. children dying of hunger.

11. written statements of faith (especially when used as a litmus test). (the confirmation class this weekend proved that collage, praying in color, and music are much more effective.)

I think that's a pretty good list for God to start with. There may be more lists to come, who knows. Once God gets started on this one we can work on the next one.

Community of Hope--a sermon for Easter 4

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
Community of Hope
John 10.10b-16, Psalm 23
25 April 2010, Easter 4C, Day of Prayer for Colombia

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
he leadeth me beside the still waters;
He restoreth my soul.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life;
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.


‘I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.’


Many of you know that I just returned from a week away—and most of that week was spent at a seminar that took place on a cruise ship in the Bahamas. Sometimes the life of a preacher is hard, but someone has to do it! I spent the week with 20 other clergy women, discussing and practicing and receiving hospitality in all kinds of different ways. One day we decided to visit the Lucayan National Park on Grand Bahama Island…but between 7 of us together we couldn’t quite figure out how to get there, until we heard a voice calling us across the road. The voice turned out to belong to a taxi driver named Uncle who agreed to take us the 30 miles to the park, wait with us all day, and bring us home again. Uncle also turned out to be an amazing tour guide, as he drove us out of the tourist area of Grand Bahama and toward the other side of the island. He pointed out Johnny Depp’s vacation home, random neighborhoods, lots more vegetation than we expected, and various other sights along the hour’s drive. Once we were in the park, we could hear his booming voice whenever we rounded a bend in the path and we knew he was still waiting for us. When we returned to the van we could hear his laugh echoing from the small building where he was playing cards with the park ranger. He sat with us and shared a traditional Bahamian lunch of conch fritters, beans and rice, and French fries, and when he figured it was time to head back he called us off the beach. In some ways, he was our shepherd, leading us to the places we wanted to go and showing us a glimpse—just a glimpse—of life on Grand Bahama, which is not all tourist markets and cruise ships and brightly painted shops. He offered us hospitality beyond what we could have expected, and we became a family for the day.

One of the most interesting things to do when traveling is to get out of the tourist area and see where you really are. Many of the places we love to visit—the Bahamas included—sell themselves to us as one thing while hiding something else. We rarely see real life when we take a shore excursion or spend a week in a resort—the real life outside the walls is messy and hard and often marked by poverty, which is not the stuff vacations are made of. But they are the stuff hospitality is made of.

Our call to offer and receive hospitality is not limited to interactions with people who look like us, talk like us, live like us, or even are people we like. If it were, we would be no more than a hired hand, who runs away at the first sign of danger—because that’s what we think, subconsciously, right? That those who are different are dangerous—dangerous to our way of life, to our economy, to our religion, to our political structure, to our worldview. But Jesus says “I have other sheep not of this fold…and I will call them, and there will be one flock, one shepherd.” No running away, no welcome only for the spotless white sheep, no dividing the pasture—one flock, one shepherd.

And our shepherd is the God we know is Love—the one who prepares a table, invites all to come, leads us to green pastures and deep clean water, who provides the nourishment we need and a community to share it with.

Except I wonder what that can mean to people who don’t just walk through, but live in the valley of the shadow of death? How do people read this psalm, so beloved by many of us, when the reality of their life does not involve clean water, or green grass, or a table filled with food? How do the millions of people forced off their land read these words? People whose crops have been killed by aerial spraying meant for coca, or people whose children no longer feast on the fruits of many trees but instead scavenge the trash heaps of Bogota, of Khartoum, of Mexico City, of Cairo? What can “you lead me beside still waters” mean to a community whose stream was polluted by a mining company? How can we even begin to think about, let alone spiritualize, the Good Shepherd when there are so many people not just abandoned by the hired hand but then terrorized by the wolf and the thief?

I know it’s hard to try to read these, some of our favorite passages, from this other context. We are so used to our own context—where we are the people with economic and political power, where we have been culturally conditioned to think about green pastures and still waters and tables prepared in the context of funerals—where we’re supposedly talking about heaven. But we all know Christian faith isn’t truly about what happens after we die, it’s how we live into the kingdom of God here on earth—‘Your kingdom come.’ The last line of the psalm is more often translated, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.” Now. Here.

I don’t have any answers to the questions I’ve asked this morning. I don’t know how to think about the promise of green pastures, still waters, feasts, houses, or even one-flock-one-shepherd, in the midst of a world where children are murdered because their parents dare to speak out for peace, where people are driven from their land because of their ethnicity, where greed and violence seem more powerful than love and justice. The best I can do is to hope in that promise, and to do what I can to be a part of its fulfillment. I can leave the cruise ship or the resort and meet people where they are, I can love and accept people for who God made them to be, I can invite people to share their lives and mine, and I can accept invitations to cross the fences we’ve set up to separate the flock.

I read a story this week of a Colombian woman named Daira. When other members of the community council began to be murdered, she slept in a different place every night until the day she realized she had to flee. She says, “My dream was to stay there…in fact, I still dream that someday I will be able to return. I cannot stop dreaming, because if I stop dreaming then everything ends.”

Perhaps this is the word for us here—that we must continue to dream of a better world, to place our hope in the Good Shepherd, because if we stop dreaming, stop hoping, stop working for the kingdom, if despair takes hold, then everything ends. So may we be people of big dreams, people of God’s new community of hope.

Amen.

watch what you pray for

there is a prayer I learned from the Iona Community (I mean while I was living there many years ago):

O Christ the Master Carpenter,

who at the last through wood and nails

accomplished our whole salvation,

wield well your tools in the workshop of your world

that we who come rough hewn to your bench

may here be fashioned to a truer beauty of your hand.

We ask it for your own name's sake. Amen.

Now, setting aside the business where I'm not convinced that it was in fact through wood and nails that our salvation was accomplished (I'm more the empty tomb, less the on-the-cross, salvation kind of girl)...I love this prayer. and it comes to mind often...maybe more than once a day.

But here's the thing: who actually wants to be worked over like a piece of wood in the hands of a carpenter? Cuz while the end result may be a "truer beauty" or more usefulness, the process is, umm, hurty. there's cutting and pounding and lathing (is that even a word?).

So, I'm just saying--be careful what you pray for, cuz you might get it.

thinking

back when he actually worked, Richard used to say that the difficulty with being a pastor and also trying to be a scholar is that ministry in the church doesn't give you any time to think deep thoughts--you just get started thinking about something and then something comes up and you have to move on.

Come to think of it, he might have actually said that as one of the reasons he decided not to work anymore and go back and do the whole school thing (which is its own kind of work, blah blah blah).

Anyway, at the time I believe I thought something like "really? hmm. I need to think about tha....at confirmation class lesson..."

Yeah.

Well, it's official. I believe.

I have not been able to form more than one sentence worth of thought in months. I keep thinking "oh, I'll have to think about that later"...or "blog about that later" or "write that down later" or "look that up later" and then I move on to the voicemail/email/visit/phone/meeting/planning/preaching/whatever. And none of those thoughts ever get thought out, written down, researched, or anything. I have hundreds of half-thoughts swirling in my head and they are driving me insane. And, I think, they are hurting my ability to be a pastor. Because I'm annoyed by all these thought-gnats AND I can't focus on just one of them at a time WHICH MEANS there are all kinds of ideas that never come to fruition because I can't get past one sentence in my head before I have to move on.

I need a month just to think all these things. Then maybe I can get back to work. Maybe.

Since I don't have a month...I'll take a week on a cruise ship in the Bahamas, where you'll find me by the pool thinking with friends, colleagues, matriarchs, and some kind of drink that comes with an umbrella. That must count for four weeks sitting on my couch, right?

(hey, I never said I was an *introverted* thinker like Richard, just that I want to think! Extroverts think out loud!)

Friday Five: on the road

I haven't played the Friday Five, from RevGalBlogPals, in what feels like a hundred years, but this week is about one of my favorite things, so how could I resist???

1. When was your last, or will be your next, out of town travel?

Let's see, my last out-of-town trip was a quickie to Knoxville for my friend Jennifer's gorgeous wedding. I drove the 9:33 hours down on Friday afternoon, and came back Saturday night after the wedding. It was a wonderful trip, but too short.

My next trip will be one week from today!! I head out to Houston for another sure-to-be-lovely wedding, then on to the BE3 aboard Norwegian Sky. I've been dreaming about this trip all Lent, reading every word on the Norwegian Cruise Line website, even if it's not related. I've learned all kinds of not-that-useful things that have allowed me to daydream and fantasize about this cruise. it's how I survived the spring-that-was-winter.

2. Long car trips: love or loathe?

Hmm, it depends on where I'm going and who I'm with. I've made several cross-country car trips, with family, with friends, for moving, and for mission trips. one guess which is my favorite.

3. Do you prefer to be driver or passenger?

It depends. I like to be able to alternate driving so I can do other things (stare out the window, sleep, control the radio) but I also like to drive. So there you go.

4. If passenger, would you rather pass the time with handwork, conversing, reading, listening to music, or ???

I no longer read in the car--that had to stop about 8 years ago (sigh). I like to talk, nap, and control the radio (as previously mentioned). On this last trip I listened to a book on CD for the first time and found that engaging enough to make the long and late-night drives interesting. Normally I like to listen to NPR or NPR podcasts or the Indigo Girls.

5. Are you going, or have you ever gone, on a RevGals BE? Happiest memories of the former, and/or most anticipated pleasures of the latter?

Next week's is my first one! I'm very excited to meet people whose blogs I've been reading for years, to make new friends and catch up with old friends, and to get some sunshine and warm weather. Please, God, let there be sunshine and warm weather. I also look forward to the possibility of sitting down with Nanette and talking a little about her church and how that's happened. And, I have to admit, I also am looking forward to just being somewhere AWAY from here and letting my own self be fed/nurtured by great colleagues and a most-hours-of-the-day-and-night-buffet.

6. Bonus: a favorite piece of road trip music.

Well, when I was in high school my mom used to drive me 2.5 hours across the mountains for clarinet lessons every other week. We always timed our CDs so that the last thing we heard on the way home was the Styx Greatest Hits CD, and we always pulled into our parking spot at home as the last notes of Come Sail Away were fading away. It was our favorite song and it made every trip special, sort of like a ritual. If we didn't time it right, we felt weird. I still love to sing along with my CDs in the car--sometimes Come Sail Away, and sometimes another mutual favorite with my mom, though I didn't discover my own love of the Girls until after she was gone...here it is in original video, in all its 80's glory:

best shape ever!

I, like Amy, am working on getting into the best shape of my life this year. Let's not call it a goal...let's call it being healthy.

Anyway....

I have a Wii Fit (thanks dad!), and I love it, I play it every day except Sunday. On Monday morning, the Wii Fit asks me "so, too busy to work out yesterday, eh?" Well, yes. On Sunday I *am* too busy to work out. LOL. (sorry, that wasn't the point) Now that it's sunny, I can go for walks in the park near my house, too--yay! I've also been more careful about what I eat--I gave up fast food and pop for Lent (and I'm keeping them out until the cruise is over, due to the need-to-fit-in-my-dresses thing!).

So anyway...today I did the monday-morning-body-test on Wii Fit, and discovered...that I've stayed the same. That's right, through last week's partying (Mexican food, margaritas), bad choices (bottled frappuccinos), and Easter (mmm, cadbury eggs--thanks dad!--ice cream, mashed potatoes, the biggest green bean casserole ever, and some wine...), I managed to keep the same weight and a slightly better center of balance. woohoo!

Two weeks to cruise! :-)

Happy Easter!

Today I...

...ate a Cadbury Egg from my easter basket (thanks dad!!!!!) for breakfast.

...also ate pancakes for breakfast, between services.

...made a HUGE mess on the floor of the sanctuary with communion bread crumbs (good thing we don't believe in transubstatiation).

...discovered that in Crystal Lake you can buy alcohol at the grocery store as early as 7am, even on Sunday (when I shopped on Friday I forgot the wine to cook Sunday dinner...)

...sang the Hallelujah Chorus.

...went for a walk in the SUNSHINE! and 72 degrees and saw:

* kids playing hide and seek outside in the trees and bushes around my house

* families flying kites in the park

* kids looking for tadpoles in the pond in the park

* people grilling out!

...made and ate seitan "pot roast" and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. yum.

...got my beautifully toned upper arms approved for the sleeveless-top wearing by a 22 year old fashion critic.

...petted my kitties.

...watched some episodes of Angel.

...talked to an awesome friend for hours.

Good day.

Crazy Talk--a sermon for Easter 2010

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
Crazy Talk
Luke 24.1-12
4 April 2010, Easter

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. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.’ Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.


Close your eyes for a moment and imagine—or maybe remember!—the most outrageous thing a preacher could ever say. The most ridiculous, nonsensical, insane, crazy thing anyone could ever say…do you have something in mind? I read a few this week—for instance that a church in Texas was giving away cars and flat screen TVs as an incentive to come to Easter worship, or that the pope’s preacher compared criticism of the church to anti-semitism, or that the Jonas Brothers were providing musical entertainment for Easter Sunday at Saddleback Church in California. But I’m about to say out loud the single most shocking, ridiculous, crazy, outrageous thing anyone has ever heard, ever:

Why do you look for the living among the dead? Christ has risen.

Isn’t that insane? It’s clearly crazy talk, the ravings of a woman gone mad.

At least, that’s what the men—the disciples and other followers of Jesus—thought when the women came to share the news of the empty tomb, the dazzling messengers, and the message:

He is not here.

In our translation, which has been a little cleaned up for public consumption, it says “these words seemed to them an idle tale.” The word in Greek is lairos—garbage, lies, nonsense, manure…and those are still nicer than the real literal translation would be—imagine a card game sometimes called by two letters of the alphabet and you’ve got it.

The women, faithful followers of Jesus, disciples in their own right, wept the Sabbath away and came early on the first day of the week to perform the rituals of their faith…and found instead an empty tomb and a bright spark for their memory: remember how he told you? And when they did remember, and asked the other disciples to do the same, they were called liars and crazy people.

I don’t think we get this much anymore—resurrection is such a domesticated concept in our religion and culture, part of the story we hear over and over again, so equated with flowers that bloom every spring or butterflies breaking out of cocoons, that we miss how ridiculous it is, how impossible. Jesus was dead—really dead, no breathing, no heartbeat—and the tomb was sealed. And now he is alive, bursting out of the tomb into the world! And somehow we are supposed to believe that this is possible—that dead people don’t stay dead, that the world is changed, that our lives are turned upside down with crazy talk.

That’s right—our whole lives are turned upside down. Because Easter isn’t about intellectual knowledge or even about what we believe in our hearts. And Easter isn’t about our afterlife, living in heaven after we die. Easter is about LIFE—life abundant, lived right here, right now, on earth. Because Jesus is alive, we no longer hoard resources, since the enemy of abundance—death—has been conquered. Because Jesus is alive, we no longer do it on our own, making our own way alone in the world—Christ calls us into community. Because Jesus is alive, we know that this life, this body, this world, matter—enough that God refused to let it die. Because Jesus is alive, we can gather around the table together with all kinds of people and find Christ made known to us in the breaking of bread. The Word of God is living and is among us and within us, turning our lives upside down.

Remember, how he told you, and showed you, and lived among you? Remember how he fed the hungry, healed the sick, opened the eyes of the blind? Remember how he told stories, ate with sinners and outcasts, and stood up to religious and political authorities who oppressed people? Remember how he followed God’s will, lived out God’s love, and taught us to do the same? Remember how he said, again and again, that nothing is impossible with God? These are the signs of life, the saving grace of God, the amazing and yet everyday Immanuel, God with us, made flesh, one of us, sharing our life. Even death cannot stop this kind of power.

In a world filled with despair, violence, hatred, grief, poverty, fear, and greed—in short, a world filled with death—Christ is ALIVE. And so we who join our names and our lives with Christ also live our eternal life starting right now! We, the people who make up the body of Christ, do something that looks ridiculous, that seems insane, that people have every reason to call crazy: we live resurrection. We invite the stranger to our table, we feed the hungry and heal the sick and welcome the outcast, we care for bodies, not just souls, we stand up to oppression and work for freedom, we insist on love and compassion rather than hate and revenge, we speak the word of God into everyday situations, we form God’s new community of hope—no matter what people think of us, no matter what they say about us, no matter who’s watching or listening, we live our life with Christ in the here and now, together.

In fact, I’ll even be the crazy preacher lady who says outrageous things and say that in every decision, every action, every word, we MUST proclaim that life, not death, has the final word; that light is stronger than darkness and love stronger than hate; that even in the midst of the world as we know it, nothing is as it seems, because God’s powerful love is at work in ways we can’t even begin to imagine.

So, friends, (in the words of Wendell Berry) every day do something 

that won't compute. Love the Lord. 

Love the world. Work for nothing. 

Take all that you have and be poor. 

Love someone who does not deserve it.
Practice resurrection.

Christ is risen—he is risen indeed—and may that be so for the body Christ as well!
Amen.

from my random brain...

there's lots going on, of course, it being Lent and all that. so here's my pensieve moment for the week:

* if you are walking your dark colored dog at night on a (busy!) street with no sidewalks, you should not wear all black. And if you do, don't get angry at drivers who have to swerve when they finally see you.

* it's a good idea to start laundry several hours BEFORE you need clean clothes.

* even though I've seen the whole series a bazillion times, Vicar of Dibley = still funny.

* I get easily upset by inanimate objects--like when my Wii Fit balance board doesn't count all my steps when I'm doing step-aerobics, I get mad at the board. THEN I checked the battery status and found it flashing red and empty...gee....

* eating oatmeal every day for breakfast sounds like such a simple and good thing to do, but after 2 weeks I'm both oatmealed out AND really need to wash all my microwave safe bowls...so I'm eating some kind of whole-foods-brand cheerios instead. Oatmeal will come back next week, I promise.

* I love sleeping in. A Lot. My cats, not so much.

* I can't wait for all the snow to be gone, because that probably means sunny days are coming soon, right? RIGHT???????

* I need dressyish sandalish shoes to wear to two weddings in the next 5 weeks. I can't bring myself to wear white shoes (plus the dress I hope to fit into by then is plum colored) so I guess I'll get black, even though both weddings are in the daytime.

* How many hours of Wii Fit do I have to play to fit into the plum dress?????? And are there that many hours in 5 weeks?? Or 2? (first wedding is March 27...)

* When Washington Mutual left my county 2 months after I arrived, I never closed my account there. Now they're Chase and I got a notice saying that today is the last day to claim my account or else they're going to send my $24 back to the FDIC. I could probably use that $24, and maybe having an account at another bank would be good for my saving plans, or taxes, or something. Guess I'd better call.

* I love to drink tea in the morning.

* At Whole Foods last week I got two different kinds of vegan marshmallows (no gelatin, yay!)--small ones for hot chocolate and bigger ones (sweet and sara) for other things. I can't explain why, but nighttime hot chocolate is So.Much.Better with marshmallows.

* the nighttime hot chocolate may explain the difficulty with using Wii Fit to get down to the dress's size. But I'm still going to drink it, so there. It's winter--there have to be SOME ways to deal with that.

* I've read two books in the past two days. Both were good in different ways. 29 Gifts was uplifting and inspiring and also gave me an idea for church. Including People With Disabilities In Faith Communities was practical and helpful as we think about making not only our building but our community more inclusive.

* I'm still annoyed by Glenn Beck's various comments of stupidness, and also noticing my own tendency to proof-text when it comes to things like arguing FOR social and economic justice or whatever other ridiculous thing he's talking about. The most relevant, though, I think, is this: "show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith." Thanks James 2.18.

* I have to go feed a friend's dog now...he's very cute but I don't think he'll be excited by the 10am breakfast. :-)

hunger

I'm not sure many of us (I mean people who read this blog, or people I interact with most days) really know what Hunger feels like. We know what it's like to want to eat, we know what it feels like to skip a meal, but Hunger (with a capital H)--the kind that is a statistic, the kind where there's no food to eat and no idea where the next food will come from, the kind that's painful--is not part of most of our everyday experiences.

The reason I'm thinking about this is, of course, that I've been sick and so have eaten basically nothing for two-and-a-half days now. And I've been trying to figure out, through that whole time, if I'm hungry or if my stomach is still upset--even the slightest hunger pangs are easily confused with other signals that actually mean "DON'T EAT!!" It's amazing to me how quickly I have forgotten, or how easily I mix up, a message from my own body that I feel every day.

Which probably means I don't really feel it every day--I get a pang and, like most people I know, I eat something. It may not be the healthiest something, or the thing my body actually needs to function well. But something with calories goes into my stomach so the feeling will go away. (I confess that often, especially when I'm sitting in my office, chocolate fulfills this task nicely.) But now, when I need to be able to distinguish the signals from one another, I'm not sure which is which. Maybe it's time to listen to my body a little more carefully before just answering the need with a want. This is what the 30 Hour Famine is all about, too, of course--giving us a taste of hunger (if you will) and helping us think about where and when and what we eat and why...and how that affects others, and how others can't just pop a piece of chocolate in their mouths whenever they have the slightest twinge. (the RCLPC 30 Hour Famine isn't until May, but I've just had my own personal 30 hour famine here and, as uncomfortable and frustrating and icky-feeling as it has been, it might have been good for me.)

Having said all of that: I think I'm actually hungry, for actual food, so I'm going to go find some real food and see how that goes this time!

asking for help

Yesterday I was sick. Very sick. Something I ate at the lock-in didn't really work for me and my body...umm...rejected it. strongly.

I felt icky and I was shaky and weak and dizzy and cold and dehydrated (and apparently very pale).

BUT: I had a lock-in to finish and a mission project to lead, so I had to stick around another 4 hours.

Enter two people who came to my rescue and allowed me to supervise from the couch, because they did all the real work...in essence doing my job for me, empowering youth and supervising painting and moving stuff and directing/correcting/helping. They did this in essence without being asked--they sort of looked at me and decided to stick around to help. They are amazing!

Then enter two more people, people I called for help. I don't know that I've really called for help, at least like this, in a long time. All you mom-types out there will be glad to know that instead of just wishing for my mom but doing everything for myself (even if whining about it), I actually picked up the phone. What with the shaky/dizzy/inability-to-keep-my-eyes open thing, I figured driving home was a bad plan. So I called someone to drive me home and bring my car home too....and they did! While I was waiting for them to get there, I actually laid on the floor of my office and cried. Normally tears come with the throwing up, but this time they accompanied my breaking down enough to ask for help--and having that asking answered.

I got home safely (after the first words out of my knight in shining armor's mouth were "you look terrible!") and proceeded to sleep for almost 18 hours (in 3 hour segments, in between which I updated my facebook status, tried to drink water, and realized that I still couldn't hold my eyes open more than a few seconds at a time). That's right--I was in my bed from noon until 6.15am. crazy.

today I'm better.

Thanks to you people who helped me when I needed it--I appreciate you.

hee!

I don't have anything to say today, because I am busy being in awe of Peter Sagal.

prodigal love--1st sermon in a Lenten series on reconciliation

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
prodigal love
Luke 15.11b-32
February 21 2009, Lent 1C (off lectionary—Reconciliation series)

I have two sons. One day, my younger son came and said to me, “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” So I divided all my property between my two boys. A few days later my youngest gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’ ” So he set off and walked the road toward home.

I had been looking out the window every day, so while he was still pretty far down the road I saw him and I was overcome with compassion; I ran out of the house, through the gate, and down the road. When I met him on the dusty road, I put my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. Then my son began to say to me, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” But I could barely hear him through my tears of joy, and I said to my slaves, “Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And we all began to celebrate.

My older son was still out in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard the music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. The servant replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” Then my older son became angry and refused to go in. I came out of the house again and began to plead with him. But he answered me, “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” Then I said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found. Please, come and celebrate with me.”


There is a story that floats around the email-chains every now and then—a story about a person who hurts other people. Now, I know that none of us are ever hurtful, and none of us are ever hurt by others, but consider the story anyway. This person used words and anger to wound—sometimes on accident and sometimes on purpose. One day a pastor suggested driving a nail into the fence around the backyard each time they wanted to (or did) say something hurtful. Over time, the fence filled up with nails even as skill at restraining hurtful or manipulative words grew. Eventually, a time came when no anger let loose, no words flew, no temper was lost, and the pastor then suggested taking a nail out each time kind words were said instead. When that project was completed, the person and the pastor considered the fence together—no longer filled with weapons, but still scarred by anger and manipulation and hurt. It seems that forgiveness and kindness still don’t always erase the holes.

It seems we humans, particularly in groups—and even in churches!—have a real talent for hurting each other. And though we try sometimes to practice the forgiveness we know in Christ, or we feel we should make an effort to forgive and forget, we often forget instead the wounds and the sadness we inflict. And, on the other side of the fence, as it were, we sometimes nurse our grudges and continue to feel the holes, forgetting the damage we continue to do to ourselves and others when forgiveness is out of reach within our own selves.

Reconciliation—working toward wholeness—is never an easy task. Sometimes we can’t get to the whole for all the holes, sometimes we’d rather be wounded than do the work that leads to healing, and sometimes we haven’t even stopped to consider what nails our words and actions are driving in. Like the younger son who thinks of the possibilities, the places to go and things to see, who asks his father for his inheritance early. Translation: “I wish you were dead so I could live my own life the way I want. Since you’re not dead, how about you give me what will be mine when you die, we go our separate ways, and we live as though you’re dead?” There aren’t many more hurtful things we can hear after we’ve heard, “I wish you were dead—you’d be more useful to me than you are right now.”

But when the tables turn, and its time for the son to take the nail out of the fence by asking forgiveness, being meek and mild, groveling and hoping for a spot in the servants’ quarters but all the while knowing the gaping hole in the relationship would still be there…the father does something remarkable. While there’s still just a small form on the horizon, maybe even a mirage or a dust devil, the father RUNS out of the house, through the gate, and down the road. Before the son can speak a word, the father embraces, kisses, and calls for servants to start the party. By the time the son is led back up the road, through the gate, and into the house, he’s dressed in finery and the hamburgers are on the grill.

That doesn’t sound like the kind of forgiveness we’re used to. The way forgiveness works, right, is that someone apologizes for what they’ve done, asks for forgiveness, and then they are forgiven. This business of making a fool out of ourselves running through the street, shouting party plans over the apology, and literally welcoming home with open arms is not the kind of reconciliation most of us normally think about. But it is the kind of reconciliation we are called to—it’s the kind of welcome we have experienced and the kind of life God wants us to live. Sure, we could wait for the person who’s hurt us to come to the door, where we will receive them politely but not let them into the parlor. We can listen to the groveling, then sigh and say “it’s okay” even while we remember the hurt for years to come. We can shake hands for the camera but shake our heads in private. Or…we can be God’s compassion overflowing, poured out of the house, out beyond the fences, and down the road, love making a fool of itself for the sake of wholeness. Even when the older brother refuses to come inside, the father again lays it all on the line, again coming out of the house, pleading in a most undignified manner, overflowing the boundaries of propriety for the sake of a resurrection celebration.

That’s right—I know it’s Lent, but in some ways this is a resurrection story. The son lived as though the father was dead…and the son was in many ways dead, but now that we’ve come together, now that we have reconciled, we are both alive again.

This is what prodigal love does—it leaves its boundaries and runs out to make the first step toward wholeness. Prodigal love doesn’t forget—remember, the father says “my son was lost, and now is found, was dead and now lives.” But it also doesn’t nurse grudges. It doesn’t give different explanations of the problem to different audiences. It doesn’t forgive only after confession. In fact, it doesn’t even wait to be approached—it runs, overflows, fills, pours.

There is a zen proverb that says that holding a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. And there is a line in a David LaMotte song, a song we will end worship with each week during Lent, that points out what may be obvious and yet is still so difficult, “there can never be any handshakes until somebody puts out their hand.”

Is it easy to make the first move, to run down the road toward the source of our hurt and open our arms wide? Obviously not. But we were never promised an easy calling. There is pain, right here in our community. Some of us have been hurting and others hurt, and in all of that God weeps, begging us to consider a different path. This path may make us look foolish, may cause some to call us naïve, may open us up to future pain…but it is the way of Christ. In Christ, God reconciled the world to God, and entrusted us with the ministry of reconciliation. May our hope overflow, our compassion pour out, our love be prodigal as we run down this path through Lent and beyond to resurrection.

amen.

hello blog, it's me teri

I need to come up with something to blog about. any ideas?

I'm going on vacation tomorrow...visiting Amy until Saturday night...when I get back, I hope for some ideas about what to say here! I need to write more. so...what shall it be?

cast wide--a sermon for Ordinary 5C

Rev. Teri Peterson
cast wide
RCLPC
7 February 2010
Luke 5.1-11

Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.’ Simon answered, ‘Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.’ When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!’ For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.’ When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.


I don’t think I’ve ever been fishing—and if I have, I seem to have blocked the memory nicely. The way I understand it, most fishing involves sticking something small, wiggly, and slimy on a hook, throwing it into the water, and waiting for a fish to bite the hook, which I imagine must both hurt really badly and contribute to the fish’s death even were it to stay in its watery home. Using this kind of analogy, fishing for people doesn’t sound very pleasant—we’re going to toss out bait and then injure and possibly kill them in order to get them to come along with us? Thinking of a fishing net doesn’t make it much better—we need to entrap people and drag them across the lake and onto the shore? This sounds suspiciously like child trafficking in the guise of missionary work, or the slave trade in the guise of civilizing. So I have to admit that even with a more accurate translation, which is “bring them alive”…I still don’t really resonate with this metaphor Jesus seems to like so much. It seems like one of those things where you kind of had to be there, you know?

But I do resonate with the first part of the story. The part where we labor through the night, burning the candle at both ends, working ourselves to death as we row through the same waters, dragging that weight peculiar to empty nets, trying the same methods, the same ideas, the same places, the same programs, the same bad habits, the same people in leadership, the same styles of communication and the same boxes and nets that catch nothing in this shallow water.

And then we hear Jesus… “put out into the deep water and let down your nets.” But we’ve been over every inch of this lake, we’ve let down and brought up and dragged and pulled and we have come up empty handed. Why should we do it again? Why should we leave the shore and go out into the middle of the lake again, in the heat of the day, when the wind blowing from the heights is strong, when the fish are down in the deep? Why should we leave our comfortable place, the way we’ve always done things, and follow this guy? We’ve worked all night, our energy is drained, morale is low, and all we want is a rest. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when energy picks back up. Maybe when some new people—or a new pastor—come. Maybe when schedules are less busy. Maybe when there are some stronger people to help pull in the nets, or when there are more people here. Maybe when we feel ready, worthy, prepared. For now, let’s stay where it’s safe, where we’ve been before, where we’re comfortable, here in the waist-high water. Why go deeper?

But Peter puts the boat out to the deep water and lets down the net. He takes a risk, a leap of faith, doing something that must have felt and looked ridiculous to these weather-worn, tired-out fishermen. But they had been listening to Jesus’ teaching, hearing his words and apparently taking them to heart. “If you say so, Jesus, I’ll row out there and let down the nets.” They have been changed by the message, inspired to follow his word, turned into people willing to leave the shallow water and cast the net wider than ever before.

And so I have to wonder: we’re here week after week, some of us more than once a week, and we hear the words and we listen to the messages and we sing the songs and pray the prayers and enjoy the community—but are we being changed, or are we just splashing in the shallow water? Are we so filled with Jesus’ teaching that we’re willing to take the next step—to go deeper, to try something outside our comfort zone, to keep going even though we’re tired and attendance is down and energy is low—or are we the crowd on shore that disappears when the sermon is over? Are we being made new by the living Word of God in our midst, or are we just tiring ourselves out working so hard at keeping the same things going the way they always have? Are we ready to row our rickety little boat out into deep water and cast wide the net and see what new thing might happen?

You heard in the story, right, what happened? They cast wide the net, out in deep water, in broad daylight, and caught so many fish the net couldn’t hold them—the knots were straining and the ropes were fraying and we can practically see the boat tipping and sinking as unimaginable abundance flows in. This isn’t just “a lot” or “a blessing” or even “a miracle.” This is net-breaking, ship-sinking, call-for-help abundance. God has literally burst the bonds we work so hard at tightening and mending. This is what happens—God answers our leap of faith, our willingness to be changed by the Spirit, with broken nets and sinking ships. Our safe, comfortable places will be no more. We will be out in the wild world, with Christ as our leader, casting wide the net of God’s love and grace, God’s vision of peace and justice…and who knows what might happen.
Or, we can stay on shore and head to bed and try the same thing again tomorrow or next week. What is the living Word calling us to do and to be? Will we allow ourselves to be transformed into disciples?
May it be so.
Amen.

just tired

I've been sick--I've had a cough since the Christmas Cold mostly went away. I'm down to just a slightly annoying cough (not unlike what I imagine high-maintenance 19th century girls sounded like), which is good, but still...well...annoying.

I've been trying (and failing) to be the TWO pastors everyone wants. I've been teaching 2 adult classes and confirmation class, trying new things and trying to maintain old things, coordinating, resourcing, helping, etc. I've been trying to work from home more because the amount of hours I've been spending in the church building is a little ridiculous.

And, to top it all off, it's WINTER--cold, gray, windy, snowy, icky blah dark WINTER.

So is it any wonder I’ve been contemplating lately the meaning of the word “exhausted”? I know we bend the English language to our own purposes a lot…and we say “I’m exhausted” and mean that we’re really tired. But are we “exhausted”? Doesn’t exhausted in other areas mean depleted, empty, finished, used up? Resources are exhausted, time is up...

Here's hoping I'm just tired!

Just Do It--a sermon for Ordinary 2C

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
Just Do It
John 2.1-11
17 January 2009, Ordinary 2C

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ Now standing there were six stone water-jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’ Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

I remember the first time I was given a 3rd clarinet part for a John Philip Sousa march. The notes were repetitive and at the same time few and far between. Looking at that one sheet of paper with a few dots here and there, there was no possible way this was going to turn into a piece of real music.
I also remember the first time I was handed my own personalized chart for marching band, showing how many steps I was supposed to take, in what direction, and when. Again, no WAY was this going to make for an interesting half-time show…it was just a bunch of x’s in a random pattern.
I remember how useless I have felt rearranging a thrift store on a mission trip—what was the point, and how was that helping people?
I remember my first week working at the Ramses College for Girls, teaching first grade girls English and Library skills. That first week of storytime, I read a storybook that only had 11 different words, and I read it to 12 classes of girls. It seemed like it would never end, and that it would never result in anything worthwhile.
And I remember the time I tried to convince Naadia and Marsa, the women who worked in my house in Egypt, to buy me a butternut squash. First I had to learn the word: ‘ara ‘asl. Then I had to tell it to them, only to find out they didn’t know what I was talking about. I drew pictures, described as best I could, and assured them that though it was expensive it would be worth it. It took easily half an hour to persuade them that I wasn’t insane.

Here’s this woman, a woman who has never quite lived down her shame from that strange story of a pregnancy, a woman party guest, who notices a problem and brings it to someone’s attention: they have no wine. The promise is for abundance, this celebration is still going, but scarcity has struck. They have no wine…they have no supplies…they have no clean water…they have no bulldozer to clear rubble…they have no food…they have no electricity, no phones, no medicine, no shelter, no doctors, no hope. Our eyes see the scarcity, see the tragedy, see the despair, though we can barely take it in. And so we tell someone, someone we think can do something—we call out to Jesus, “they have nothing—do something!”

And we hear an echo of Mary’s next words, “do whatever he tells you.”

Those few words are enough to convince somebody else’s servants to spend time—in the middle of a huge wedding celebration—fetching 180 gallons of water. It’s not like they turned on the faucet and filled 6 bathtubs…it’s a lot of trips to the town well, a lot of heavy loads lifted into huge stone jars…for what? I can practically hear the servants muttering as they walk back and forth to the well. Who does this guy think he is? Why are they carrying all this water? What does this have to do with the party and the wine situation? How many more gallons do we have to go—150? sighs. eye rolls. under-the-breath sarcasm. What’s the point? It’s just a few notes on a page, a few x’s on a chart, a few words in a boring book, read over and over again.

But they did it.

It seemed stupid, it seemed irrational, it took a lot of work and a lot of time and a lot of energy, and it took all of them working together, but they did it.

This is the real miracle, I think. The water turning to wine—sure, that’s amazing and all, but we never see it happen, we don’t when or how or if Jesus was muttering something under his breath like Harry Potter. What we do know is that a bunch of people, spurred on by Mary’s insistence, listened and obeyed when Jesus called them to do something, even something that seemed ridiculous, pointless, insignificant in the face of the problem. If you’ve ever headed up a committee, you KNOW this is a miracle!

You’ll notice that at no point does anyone ask, “why did they run out of wine? What bad planning happened, who is responsible for this failure?” Instead, the question seems to be, “what are YOU going to do about it?” We can spend a lot of time and energy focused on questions like: “Why is there conflict in our community? Why do 20% of the people do 80% of the work? Why isn’t there more money for our mission and ministry?” Or on questions like: “Why were people living and working in buildings that would so easily fall down? Why are there people living in such desperate poverty so close to the wealthiest nation in the world? Why did the medical staff leave with the injured still pouring in? Why isn’t their government equipped to handle their problems?” But all of these questions are useless in the face of conflict, in the face of tragedy, in the face of scarcity where God has promised abundant life for all. The better question, the question Mary asks, the question implied behind Jesus’ instructions, is “what are we going to do about it?”

We have the opportunity, and the privilege, of being part of a miracle. Every day, every minute even, we have a choice to make. We can choose to see what is happening and call out to Jesus, or we can choose to close our eyes and be silent. We can choose to ask ourselves and our community what we are going to do—and then do it, or we can choose to be immobilized by the reasons behind or the magnitude of the problem. We can choose to hear and obey when we are called to do something, however crazy or insignificant it seems, or we can choose to close our ears and stay in our own comfortable routines.

Miracles like this happen every day. People follow where God is leading them, whether it’s to serve at the food pantry, tutor an immigrant family in English, say an encouraging word to a coworker or a fellow student, call up a church member they haven’t seen in a while, send a card to someone who’s sick, build a home, give a CTA card to a person on the street, text message a donation for Haiti to the Red Cross, or clean at the thrift shop. People play a small part whose notes, when joined with others, makes an amazing song.

Miracles like this are also thwarted every day. We are often too tired, too wrapped up in our own concerns, too excited about our own joys, too lost in our own material things, too stuck our own daily routine. We call people who help heroes, letting ourselves off the hook because we’re not heroes. We decide not to do anything because we can’t do it perfectly or because we can’t predict or control the end results.

Mary, Jesus, and the servants made the first choice—to do something. To hear and obey. What abundance would flow in the world if we did the same?

May it be so.
Amen.

living it up--a sermon for christmas 2C

(designed to be read by two voices—neither of them me, since I'm sick and can barely get a sentence out without coughing my germs on everyone around me)

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
living it up
John 1.1-18
3 January 2010, Christmas 2C/EpiphanyC

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, ‘This was he of whom I said, “He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.” ’) From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.

In the beginning was the Word…

…a still small voice, whispering over the formless void that would become earth. A still small voice, a word barely spoken, not yet written. A still small voice, a word, a breath, a dream, a hope: Let There Be Light.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

…a Word on God’s lips, the essence of God’s being, expressed in a whisper, a sentence, a paragraph, a book...and yet cannot be contained in a sentence or a book. This Word is more than our words, more than millions of our words, more than any word can express—this Word IS God. The heart of who God is, we find in a Word. More than the word “The Trinity”, the Word and Spirit and Creativity of God lived, and lives, in a shared story, a sentence spoken between friends or enemies, a poem read, a sermon preached, a life lived, good news shared. The Word became millions of words, but all those words cannot contain the Word that is God.

All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.

…a word unwhispered, a dream unexpressed, a passing thought—they are nothing. A word spoken, a hope whispered, a vision shared—they come into being through God’s breath, God’s very self, God’s own voice. Without God’s voice, without the Word straight from God’s heart: not one thing can come into being.

What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

…He came that we might have life, and have it abundantly. In the beginning, when God created, God breathed God’s very own breath, God’s very own Spirit, into our lifeless body. God puts God’s very own words into our speechless mouths. God shines God’s very own light through our dark eyes. More than just alive, not just the living word, but Life Itself! Abundant Life. Enough for all people. Life—Abundant Life—born through a whisper, through a shout, through tears and through laughter, through pain and through joy—born in a way we never thought to expect, to people we never dreamed would be good enough. Life Abundant—for all people.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

…Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.

…Hunger. Poverty. Violence. Fear. Hate. Hopelessness. Grief. Darkness.

The light shines in the darkness. But the light does not banish the darkness away, not yet. Light dances, light flickers, light waxes and wanes, but still the darkness coexists with the light. The darkness does not overcome the light, it’s true. But light does not completely overcome darkness, either. Shadows also dance, following us wherever we go. The shadowed valleys may be long, and very dark, and very cold. We still have to walk through these valleys, we still have to confront the shadows, we still have to squint in the dim light…but there is light. Light comes again into our darkness, shining all around, and darkness, however dark it may be, will never overcome it. And one day, light will overcome.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.

…A voice crying out in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord—make his paths straight! And John said: I am not the Messiah, I have been sent ahead of him. He must increase, and I must decrease.

There are few things so difficult as to remember I am not the light. It is not through my strength, my will, my talent, my words, that light comes to the world. We are here to testify to the light. Our lives bear witness to one greater than ourselves, our words and our actions show forth a light that is not of our own making, our relationships and interactions with others give glory to God. What would it be like if our testimony, our witness, was always grounded in the reminder that He must increase, and I must decrease? What would our world be like if we reminded ourselves every day that we did not make the light, and we do not sustain the light—we let the light shine through us?

And the Word became flesh and lived among us…

…not just words, millions of words tumbling off pages and running across screens, explaining, justifying, informing, arguing, telling, amusing…not just words. The Word became a human being, one of us. The Word—God’s own self, God’s whispered dreams and shouted prayers, God’s breathy love—became flesh and lived among us. The Word is in the world, loose, dancing and twirling and begging and hoping and breathing and living—Life Itself, the Word, God’s love—right here. Out there. Where we least expect it. Where we most expect it. Words can’t be contained—once they’re out of your mouth or finished flowing from my pen, they are loose in the world, spreading like wildfire, running like rumors, rushing about from place to place, from ear to mouth to hand to eye. The Word is loose, breathing its good news in every place, and living with us, teaching us, helping us breathe words of grace upon grace, good news of great joy for all people.

May it be so.

Amen.

Happy Christmas!

May Christmas be happy and merry and joyful.

This week, the people of RCLPC handed out 13,000 pounds of food

and about 400 presents for children...

to anyone who came needing food or gifts.

No documentation, no explanations, just come and get food. There are 115 families out there having Christmas dinner and opening presents under their trees this morning because of our Wednesday spent out in the snow and sleet. Thanks, RCLPC, for being the church this week. This is what Christmas--the incarnation of God with us--looks like.

And now...I'm off to sunny SoCal for a week...back in 2010!!

awesome

so I know that the word "awesome" is often overused, and that many of us use it in a way that is much smaller than the word really is--full of AWE. Well, tonight I believe that my church family is AWEsome, as in full of and inspiring Awe.

Sometimes, life is hard. And life in community can be really hard. And things happen and people are difficult and our emotions and traditions and spirituality are all tied up in it all. And, more often than not, we neglect to tell people how much we appreciate them and how much they mean to us...until it's too late. Then they're gone and we're left telling an empty room or a hole in our hearts things we wish we had said earlier.

I am working really hard on telling people how great I think they are, how much I appreciate the time and energy and hard work they put in, how wonderful their attitudes and presence are. I'm also working really hard on holding people accountable when they aren't being great or when their attitude is hurtful to others--but that's actually a much harder and more intimidating task. I like positive reinforcement and put a lot of value on appreciation and love and hope.

Tonight I saw the church in action, with people caring for each other, doing the work of ministry, enjoying each others' company, listening and sharing and looking to a future of hope together. I also saw the wonder that is people appreciating each other and looking for ways to help one another out. And I felt so supported and held up and loved myself, too. So, elders and deacons and team members: thanks. I mean it. It's a joy to serve a church like this, even when things are tough, and especially when we are the church for one another. Awesome!

Advent

I like Advent.

I don't really like the preparations for Christmas that the rest of the world is doing...the forced cheer, the shiny bows, the tacky blow up santas, the shopping shopping shopping.

But I do like Advent.

I like that it forces a slowing-down, a reflective time, a sitting in the darkness. Our culture has usurped the dark, shining colored LED lights in it rather than allowing us to just be in the dark, or the dim, for a while. Not everyone's life is full of cheery lights. Not everyone's holiday is happy. Not every Christmas is merry. Some of us work hard to have those feelings on display, but behind that facade is sadness and loss and only the faintest glimmers of hope.

That's what Advent is about...the faint glimmer of hope in the darkness. So, for one more Sunday we will eschew the Christmas Carols and sing instead in minor keys, dark tones...songs of the world turning upside down and of the possibility for things to be different. The cheer will have to wait just one more Sunday.

more than a feeling--a sermon for advent 3C

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
more than a feeling
Zephaniah 3.14-20
13 December 2009, Advent 3C

Sing aloud, O daughter Zion;


shout, O Israel!


Rejoice and exult with all your heart,


O daughter Jerusalem! 


The Lord has taken away the judgments against you,


he has turned away your enemies.


The king of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst;


you shall fear disaster no more. 


On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:


Do not fear, O Zion;


do not let your hands grow weak. 


The Lord, your God, is in your midst,


a warrior who gives victory;


he will rejoice over you with gladness,


he will renew you in his love;


he will exult over you with loud singing 


as on a day of festival.


I will remove disaster from you,


so that you will not bear reproach for it. 


I will deal with all your oppressors at that time.


And I will save the lame


and gather the outcast,


and I will change their shame into praise
and renown in all the earth. 


At that time I will bring you home,


at the time when I gather you;


for I will make you renowned and praised


among all the peoples of the earth,


when I restore your fortunes


before your eyes, says the Lord.

There are a lot of things in life that make me happy, and I’m not afraid to say them. I can often be heard saying things like “I am eating this piece of chocolate because it makes me happy” or “watching the San Diego Zoo panda cam makes me happy” or "this video on youtube makes me so happy I watch it every day."
There are lots of things that make me happy—I’m sure there are lots of things that make all of us happy! What are some things that make you happy?

It’s important to be thankful for these things—sometimes happiness is hard to come by in our world. There’s so much badness out there—freezing temperatures, people living by the train tracks, 10% unemployment, cancer, hungry children. Everyone needs some things that make them happy, even if they are small things. These small moments of happiness do add up, and all of that is a gift from God.

A few years ago there was a study of youth and spirituality, and one of the things the researchers discovered is that the vast majority of teens believe that God’s main purpose for their life is that they be happy. Very rarely did they mention anything that didn’t ultimately lead back to their own personal happiness—and the way to get there was to be pleasant and nice, to help people, and to believe. The journey of life and faith, with its accompanying good deeds and kind words, is meant to lead to happiness, and if it doesn’t then God should be abandoned for something that does lead to feeling happy.

This is the time of year when these kinds of undercurrents tend to come out in the open. There’s Christmas cheer everywhere, and we are supposed to feel happy and cheerful or else there must be something wrong with us. Those of us who wait for something more are deemed archaic, and those of us for whom the holiday season is hard for some reason—because we can’t afford the trappings of consumer Christmas, because we are far from family or friends, because we are trying to celebrate in the midst of grief and loss and missing people we love—are told to just sing some cheery songs, eat some cookies, and all will be well. Christmas is one time when not feeling happy is practically a crime against humanity.

Does anyone remember the opening of A Charlie Brown Christmas? It starts with a song…

Christmas time is here, happiness and cheer, fun for all that children call their favorite time of year…

And then Charlie Brown says:
I think there must be something wrong with me, Linus. Christmas is coming, but I’m not happy. I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel. I just don’t understand Christmas I guess. I like getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I’m still not happy. I always end up feeling depressed.
Even Linus tells Charlie Brown that he should get over it and be happy!

The prophet Zephaniah, you’ll notice, doesn’t say anything about being happy. In fact, most of his short book—only three chapters—is about doom and gloom and the horror of being a people in exile, far from home, having lost everything. The Israelites had no reason to be happy, and every reason to be angry, sad, even despairing. And Zephaniah lets them have it, calling attention to their own shortcomings as partners in God’s covenant. But then, just at the end, he makes a sharp turn to what we read this morning: Rejoice and exult with all your heart! Do not fear! The way will be clear, the path will be straight…The Lord, your God, is in your midst! God will rejoice over you with gladness—God will burst into song because you have been renewed in love!

This isn’t just happiness—this isn’t just the feeling we get from a piece of chocolate or a TV special or the 12 days of Christmas that ends with Toto’s Africa. This is JOY—more than a feeling, it’s a state of being, a reality that is made possible because of God’s very presence, right here in our midst, and it will take up all our heart—all our being will rejoice and exult. And not only is God present, but GOD is rejoicing, God bursts into song, God celebrates! The people of God have a new sense of God’s love, and a new vision for passing that love along—and that is worthy of some singing! I can just hear God singing “I’ve got the joy joy joy joy down in my heart…”—because, remember, God’s heart is where the community of God’s people, the world God made…all of US…live. It is the home God is constantly calling us back toward. We will, once again, bring joy right into the heart of God, because God has brought joy right into our midst.

At the end of a Charlie Brown Christmas, Charlie Brown is so frustrated…and then Linus explains what Christmas is all about. He walks out on stage and tells the same story we tell each Christmas Eve—shepherds minding their own business until angels come and bring them “tidings of great joy for all people—for unto you this day is born in the city of David, a savior, Christ the Lord.” God comes among us, and we get more than happiness—these are tidings of great joy, and the glory of God shines around, and even the angels rejoice. That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

We are waiting and preparing and hoping and looking for something very different than what you can buy in the stores or get in a Christmas card or even a cheery carol. We are looking for Emmanuel—God-With-Us, the God who sits down in our midst to share our humanity, the God who will renew us in love and give us a vision for sharing that love with the world, so that we may be bearers not only of fleeing happiness, but of Joy to the world, for the Lord is come.

May it be so.
Amen.