Broken Into One--a sermon on Ephesians 2

Rev. Teri Peterson

PCOP

Broken Into One

Ephesians 2.11-22

28 June 2015, Pentecost 1-6 (Moved by the Spirit)

So then, remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth, called ‘the uncircumcision’ by those who are called ‘the circumcision’—a physical circumcision made in the flesh by human hands— remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, so that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the keystone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God.

play David LaMotte’s song Hope

Since the last time we gathered in this sanctuary together, four buildings of black churches in three states have been intentionally set on fire, the KKK held a rally at the South Carolina capitol building, and funerals were held for four of the nine people killed at Mother Emanuel church in Charleston.

In the 20 years since David LaMotte wrote that song, it seems not much has changed.

And yet this week the Supreme Court showed us just how much has changed at the same time.

It’s been a week of ups and downs, one moment seeing the dividing wall of hostility crumbling before our eyes, the next seeing it built back up brick by brick. One minute, we seem so close to touching the kingdom of God, and the next minute any glimpse of grace seems impossibly far away.

The Ephesians were a divided people too. Their division was based on the accident of birth, and to be called “the uncircumcision” was a derogatory slur used to keep Gentiles in their place. Those who used it said with just one word that a person was outside the realm of God, an alien among the people of Israel, completely without hope and alone in the world.

Our human talent for separating ourselves from those who are different has deep roots.

But now, this letter says: but now—right this minute, not later, not someday in heaven, now—you have been brought near in Christ. Now, Christ has made one body, one family, one commonwealth, one household, by breaking down all our walls and legalese and categories. In his own broken and glorified body, he has broken our fractured humanity into one.

And still churches burn, and children die, and families are separated at the most crucial moments of their lives.

And the dividing wall seems to fly high and run deep in so many places.

And we try to brush off history and shut out voices that disagree and then watch in horror as it happens again and again.

“How can we come any closer if I just shake my head where I stand? There can never be any handshakes until somebody puts out their hand.”

It seems naïve at best to stand here and say “Christ is our peace” and “you are no longer strangers or aliens or outcasts, all of us are part of the household of God.” They are beautiful words, and they are true words, and even the truest words are meaningless when our action and our inaction perpetuate sin rather than renewed relationship.

And yet I’ve got a lot of hope for the future, and dreams for a better world. Hopes and dreams are not the same as optimism or fantasy—our hope is rooted in God’s promise, and our dreams are the same ones God has been giving people since Genesis. Hope implies trust. Do we trust God’s promise enough to have hope? Enough to work to make it a reality, not just a nice but meaningless word? We have seen the work of hope triumph, and we have seen it fall under rubble…all in one week.

No one ever tells you that it’s hard work to be in a family. The household of God is just as complex as any of ours, with personality clashes, inside jokes, old photo albums, and deeply ingrained prejudice right alongside laughter and tears and board games and the dress-up box. We have awkward holiday dinners, joyous reunions, frustrating conversations, unimaginable support, and so much love we wouldn’t have it any other way. And like any other family, we don’t choose who is in the household of God. We don’t get to choose which branch of the family we’ll be born into, or who marries who, or where babies are born. The Lord builds the house, drawing humanity together into one family, one body, one household—a dwelling place for the spirit. Not just a gathering of individuals, not just a collection of special interest groups—a dwelling place for the Spirit.

I love the image the writer of Ephesians uses here. He says that the house of God is built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets—those who spoke the word, even when no one was listening. And the whole structure holds together because Christ is the keystone. When that one stone at the top of an arch is taken out, the arch falls. But here’s the thing: it is hard work to remove a keystone. Once it is in its place at the peak, it’s really only mother nature that can get it out. But God is our solid rock, and the living Word of God can never be swept away by erosion. And though the earth should shake and mountains crumble, the living Word of God stands forever, holding the whole household of God together from the pinnacle. And we, the living stones built together for God’s glory, look around and find ourselves wedged in together with people we never expected to see—people of every color and nation, every language, every immigration status, every sexual orientation, every age, every part of God’s great and glorious family throughout all time and space.

Sometimes we get a glimpse of the glorious diversity of God’s household, and we rejoice to see God’s promise of love. Sometimes we shut the door and hope the Spirit won’t notice. Sometimes we pretend that the door is wide open…as long as you look and act and love right. Sometimes we try to remodel according to our own specifications, and sometimes we follow the plans of the master builder. Sometimes we do all those things in one week.

But no matter how many dividing walls we put up, the cross shatters everything we thought we knew and bridges the gap between people, drawing us all into Christ’s body.

So what would happen if we put out our empty hand, rather than adding planks to a crumbling security fence?

To put out an empty hand is to be vulnerable—which is to say, on equal footing rather than in a position of giving to the underprivileged.

To put out an empty hand is to make the first move to cross the divide, rather than wait for them to come to us.

To put out an empty hand is to look into the eyes of another child of God, bringing the only thing we have to offer: gratitude.

To put out an empty hand is to be ready to receive tools to use for the building of the kingdom, rather than clinging to the weapons used for the building of empire.

Or we could stand and shake our heads and look away, whether from fear or indifference or disgust or hate or helplessness or privilege…and when we look up we will find Christ, bruised and weeping, hungry and angry, pleading and reaching out to us. For as often as we have done it to the least of these who are members of his family, we have done it to him. Or, if we take seriously that we are the body of Christ, then we have done it to ourselves—for when one member suffers, all suffer together with it, and when one member rejoices, all rejoice together with it.

Christ is our peace—he has broken open his own flesh to make one humanity in place of the dozens we have created, he has broken down the door of the grave to bring the kingdom of heaven to all creation, he has broken down the dividing wall of our prejudice and privilege and built us into one house, one body, with one Spirit and of one mind with him. And he calls us to be a part of this work—dismantling the dividing walls one flag at a time, one stereotype, one joke, one gut reaction, one silence, one historical lie, one unloving thought at a time.

This week, the challenge for us is to go out from our comfortable place and reach out a hand across a wall—whether it’s a wall of class or race, gender or orientation, religion or language. Make the first move to participate in Christ’s work of breaking down walls, and see what happens when we view every single person as a member of our household, rather than someone else’s.

I’ve got a lot of hope for the future, and a lot of dreams…and a lot of work to do.

May we all reach out a hand and do the work.

Amen.

Singing Thanks

After a day practicing Sabbath (I napped, read 2.5 books, petted the kitties, listened to the rain, and enjoyed the silence), tonight was the Interfaith Thanksgiving Service.

I've been involved in this service since the beginning, which we think may have been 7 years ago. Or possibly 6. In any case...we have had a variety of ways to give thanks as a community over the past several years. Some years we have relied heavily on spoken and chanted prayers from different traditions--responsive readings, especially. A couple of years we had storytellers who brought out different themes of gratitude. Last year we asked each faith community to give us a synopsis of the foundations/keystones of their tradition, and celebrated the things that make us who we are--and then we asked each individual to think of what they personally have to offer, and we put together the puzzle of our community, literally.

This year, we called the program "Melodies of Gratitude" and we spent the evening hearing music from a variety of musicians who are part of different traditions. Some of the music was explicitly religious (a Muslim poem of thanks), others were written by members of the various communities. Some were instrumental and meditative, evoking thoughts of our blessings without ever uttering a word, others involved the whole congregation in singing along. While it went longer than we anticipated, it was wonderful to hear from so many beautiful voices and instruments, to let gratitude echo through the amazing space and settle into our souls through melody, harmony, rhythm, and wonder.

I'm so lucky to be a part of Faithbridge. I hope everyone has something like it, because this is the kind of thing that changes the world for the better: when we get together and hear each other's songs and stories, share snacks, visit each other's houses of worship, and know our neighbors' names and places. Amazing, and worth all the gratitude we can muster!

here are some snippets of communal singing with the performers--beautiful in the wonderful Blue Lotus space, as you can hear.

song in my head

Today's NaBloPoMo prompt from the RevGals is about your go-to-sing-in-the-shower song.

I confess that I rarely sing in the shower, except on Sundays when I use that time as a vocal warmup. But I do have a song in my head most of the time, and over the years I've learned to keep it there rather than humming constantly. (at least, I think I have...those who spend their days with me may think differently!)

There seems to be a rotating playlist for my brain. There are currently three songs that I have noticed in the rotation over the course of today. Well...really there are two constants and then one song that seems to swap out every now and then.

The two most common things my brain seems to sing are: the opening of the Mozart Clarinet Concerto:
 
(this recording is of Robert Marcellus...his interpretive choices are currently out of fashion, but his playing is smooth like buttery velvet or something...I love to listen to him!)

 and the hymn tune Judas Maccabeus ("Thine Is The Glory").


This reality pretty well sums up the entire trajectory of my life...memorizing clarinet repertoire (I'm pretty sure I could still play that concerto in my sleep) and working with hymns.

The third song at the moment is "Defying Gravity" from the musical Wicked.
I'm not 100% sure why that's running the loop, but it is. Could be because it came up on the Sunday morning drive playlist this week, could be because it's the ringtone of one of my favorite people who happened to call me today, or who knows what. Maybe it's that line "dreams the way we planned them, if we work in tandem..." which is, basically, my hope for the church (and I hope the Church doesn't decide to stay behind while the world flies away on a broom!).

Interestingly, my favorite hymn tune ever is St. Columba. I often sing it in the shower on Sunday mornings as a warm-up. But the rest of the time...my brain sings and my mouth stays closed under the cascade of scalding water.








Aside: this past week I've been doing a lot of laundry, so this little ditty is also in my head pretty frequently, mostly in hope of hearing it very soon...

Friday Five: Background Music!

It's been a zillion years since I played the Friday Five. As I sit here (in silence, incidentally), it seemed like a fun way to end my Friday afternoon.

Over at RGBP, Deb invites us to talk background music this week for our Friday Five.

1. At the office: If you have a choice, do you turn it up, turn it off, or drown it out with headphones? 
turn it off! I'm not good at having background music--I mostly find it distracting. I prefer to work in quiet and/or to eavesdrop on other people around. :-)
I will, however, admit that occasionally when I'm stuck on a sermon, I make a playlist of the songs we're singing on Sunday morning and play that for a while until I come up with something to say that ties it all together.

2. At the grocery store or mall: What song (or genre of music) makes you want to hurl? Or throw something? 
"christian" muzak makes my soul hurt. Please, businesses--just say no to the canned Kenny-G-sounding instrumental versions of "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" and "Shine Jesus Shine."
(please note: there's nothing wrong with those songs, until they are played by someone attempting to be Kenny G, then turned into muzak.)

3. If you were going to create a “perfect playlist”, who are the artists (or songs/pieces) that you would include? 
It would be full of the Indigo Girls, Carrie Newcomer, and David Lamotte, with a smattering of Gungor, Mozart, and the BareNaked Ladies. 

4. Have you ever tried using recorded music in worship? If so, what was your plan, and how did it go over? 
I think there was one instance when we were using a piece that actually faded from recording to live...I would call that a disaster. Most of the times we've used recorded music has been for VBS songs (so, once a year, basically). I'm not opposed to it if there is a good reason for wanting to use music that can't be made live.

 5. When is the earliest you’ve heard Christmas music in the grocery store or mall? 
I'm sure I've complained about it and then blocked it from my memory, because I really can't recall. Probably in October, at least...

BONUS: “Weird Al Yankovich” has been releasing a stream of his parody music videos lately. Among my favorites: “Because I’m Tacky” :) If Weird Al was going to do a music video of your life, or a recent experience, what song/hymn/musical would the parody be based on?
Some days I think that song Ariel sings (in the Little Mermaid) about "I wanna be where the people are..." pretty much sums up my suburban-single experience. It would make a hilarious parody that might make me feel better about that situation, actually...

Friday Five: healing spaces

Deb over at RGBP is "an enthusiastic newspaper reader. Lately, however, world events have made it hard to read and process the pain in the world around me. Perhaps you have struggled with this, too. So, with the events of the violence and tragedy from the Boston Marathon fresh in our memories, I thought it would be good for us to focus on where as RevGalBlogPals, we find healing, peace and strengthening. As a chaplain, there are days where I never seem to catch my breath, and invariably, those are the days that I need it the most!"

 So with all this in mind, share with us these healing things:

1. A piece of music 
hmmm....I think I have several go-tos, depending on the situation. probably here first:

But I might pull out the Indigo Girls. Or a Mozart piano concerto. Or the music for this Sunday. Or I might decide to go with a podcast instead, because learning something new helps my brain let go of some of the crazy badness all around.

 2. A place 

Port Ban, on the west side of Iona

 3. A favorite food (they call it "comfort food" for a reason) 
Mashed potatoes. Mac-n-cheese. things with carbs. But also veggie enchiladas, refried beans...things my mom used to make. (and if anyone says "salad" in the comments...well...I'll try to remain non-violent.)

 4. A recreational pastime (that you watch or participate in) 
reading reading reading! Weeks like this make me want to hibernate--curl up on the couch with a good book, a cat, and a cup of tea. Luckily, I have a stack of books...unluckily, a day or two of hibernating is not on the schedule, even if it is decidedly un-spring-like outside.

 5. A poem, Scripture passage or other literature that speaks to comfort you. 
The end of T.S. Eliot's "Little Gidding"...

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
 Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

 BONUS: People, animals, friends, family - share a picture of one or many of these who warm your heart.

andrew

ollie

Gao Gao, panda papa of the San Diego Zoo

birthday buddies: T-3 days!

Sometimes life takes unexpected turns--all our best-laid plans, our following of the rules of the road, our expectations, occasionally (or maybe even often) turn out in ways we just did not anticipate.

Not unlike Jazz.

I recently read a book called Make the Impossible Possible, and the author regularly compares life to jazz. He wants his life to have "swing"--to get into the groove from which you can venture out and try new things. He talks about how jazz opens the mind and creativity because it's not always obvious where the melody is going, and improvisation is such a part of the art. A good jazz musician can take the elements of music and turn them into something new each time, can hear what is going on around him/her and pull many different threads together into a new melody line, can imagine something that's both unique and fits into what's already being played. Jazz is really about listening, imagining, acting...and if it doesn't work, you just keep going until it does.

So my birthday buddy to think about and celebrate with today is a jazz great--someone who brought the art to the fore and has been an active and well-known part of the jazz world for a very long time: Dizzy Gillespie (1917).

Dizzy was, by all accounts, extremely intelligent, into complicated harmony and rhythm, and able to communicate incredible ideas at breakneck speed in ways no one had ever considered playing the trumpet before. He was mostly a self-taught musician! He drew on a deep spiritual, intellectual, and emotional well in his playing, and he was generous with his time and his knowledge of music. He told stories through the trumpet, and even now is unequaled in his virtuosity. He was known as the ambassador of jazz, going all over the world to play.

Not a bad person with whom to share a birthday (especially as I contemplate my life's unexpected turns thus far, and how to approach the coming year)!

Birthday Buddies: T-4 days

When I was in elementary school, we listened (and sang along) to a lot of what would later be called "Classic Rock" at home. But occasionally I'd hear something else--whether at home or at school I'm not sure, but at some point I heard plain-old Classical music...and it was awesome. When the time came to think about joining the band, I was all over it--and my instrument was chosen for me (because the daughter of a friend of my grandma's had a clarinet and would sell it to us for $60--so I played the clarinet). It wasn't long before I was super into the whole Classical music thing. When I was 11 I told my mom that I wanted to be a professional clarinet player, and there wasn't much looking back. I took lessons, I listened to recordings, and sometimes I even practiced. I had dreams of playing in a major orchestra.

One of the authors of that dream is someone with whom I share a birthday and who would be 100 this year: Georg Solti (1912), longtime conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. He coaxed such beauty and mystery and passion and wonder out of a group of people holding apparently inanimate objects...it's like a miracle every time you go to a concert or even hear their CDs. He liked to experiment, to broaden the horizons of both musicians and audience. He insisted on being absolutely-together, an excellence of ensemble that continues today. He took the orchestra on its first ever tour outside the United States. That orchestra wins Grammys for a reason, and Solti is a huge part of their history, reality, and legacy. The Chicago Symphony Orchestra was my goal for a long long time, and going to DePaul to study with people who play in the CSO was such a part of my dream that I didn't even apply to other schools. While concert-clarinetist wasn't my ultimate path, following it to Chicago was a huge part of leading me where I am now. And I do still love the CSO! And I love the ethos of Solti--excellence, ensemble, experiment.

Thank you for the music, birthday buddy!

Birthday Buddies: T-5 days

This weekend (on the eve of my birthday, in fact) the High School youth group is having an 80s lock-in. I've been putting together a youtube playlist of music videos of the 80s, and now that I have that finished (or as finished as it's going to get), here's a little tidbit I found in doing that--I share a birthday with Lee Loughnane (1946)!

Who is Lee Loughnane (pronounced Lock-nane), you ask?

Why, he's one of the original members of the band Chicago!!

I love Chicago. The city, of course, I loved the band long before I ever set foot in the city. They were regulars for sing-along music in the car and kitchen when I was growing up (and one of the things I've discovered on my 80s music playlist search is that Chicago and Styx are just about the only even remotely kid-appropriate music to come out of the 80s...holy cow there's some crazy stuff we used to just sing along to without paying any attention!!). I still have some of their greatest hits in rotation in my iTunes. When I went to college I went to the same school of music as several members of Chicago, including trumpeter Lee (though a few decades later, and not on purpose--that was just a perk!), and whenever the band was in town, the Dean of the music school would receive a couple of VIP/backstage passes...and he often shared them with me, because he knew I was a fan. That's right, I've been backstage at a Chicago concert, and one of my passes is still on my bulletin board. If only I had known then that Lee was my birthday buddy--think of the things we could have chatted about. :-)

Happy almost-birthday, Lee.