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.

More Than A Candle--a sermon for Advent 2C

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
more than a candle
Malachi 3.1-6
6 December 2009, Advent 2C

See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight—indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?
For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness. Then the offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to the Lord as in the days of old and as in former years.
Then I will draw near to you for judgment; I will be swift to bear witness against the sorcerers, against the adulterers, against those who swear falsely, against those who oppress the hired workers in their wages, the widow, and the orphan, against those who thrust aside the alien, and do not fear me, says the Lord of hosts.
For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, have not perished.


I always think Advent is both the most wonderful and the most jarring season of the year. Outside, there are twinkle lights and blow-up Santas in the yard, while in here we have deep purple and a few candles. Out there are peppy songs about reindeer and snowmen and presents, and in here are songs in minor keys, songs about waiting, darkness, and promise. The commercials encourage us to buy more things, and the scriptures encourage us to shed things we don’t need and to make room for the One who is coming. Out there everything is saturated with forced Christmas cheer, and in here we have Malachi.

In spite of our consumer culture’s desperate attempt to make Christmas into a season that lasts from sometime in October until December 25, our faith tradition says we first must go through Advent—that waiting time, that preparation period, that reflection in the darkness. The Christmas of the Christian tradition begins when our consumer Christmas ends, and lasts 12 days. And so, just as we wouldn’t sing “Jesus Christ is Risen Today” during Holy Week, during Advent we wait for our favorite carols, we practice God’s presence in the darkness rather than rushing into the light, we hope for a day that has not yet arrived.

There are lots of ways to get ready for that day, of course. Some get ready by decorating the house, wrapping presents, baking cookies. Others get ready by reading Advent e-votionals, serving the hungry in our neighborhood, shopping from the Heifer Project catalog. However we prepare, I think what the prophet Malachi wants us to consider is that we have absolutely no idea what we are doing.

I know, we all say we’re getting ready to welcome the Christ-child, to see what new thing God will do among us. And there are time-honored ways of preparing and welcoming and looking. But, Malachi says, we seem to have forgotten something important. Our whitewashed version of what God among us would be like is really a fantasy. It’s not going to be Christmas-card perfection, it’s not going to be the beauty of one small candle burning in the dark—this is way more than a candle. This is the light of the world we’re talking about. This is a fire that burns so hot that injustice can’t stand it. This is messy and sometimes difficult. Our Christmas cards and nativity scenes and Macy’s windows don’t even begin to get at the reality of God-with-us. And, in spite of our best intentions, we can’t possibly begin to prepare for something like this.

There is a sort of motto of the Presbyterian church—Reformata, Semper Reformanda. It’s often translated “Reformed, and always reforming.” But the more accurate translation is actually “Reformed and always BEING reformed”—being re-formed, re-created, by the Spirit of God who is continually at work. I wonder if that motto might also apply to our advent season. We prepare the best we can, but what’s really important is that we are BEING prepared—God’s messenger is coming, the messenger who prepares us to be the living Temple so that God can enter and be brought to life again and again, right here among us and within us.

The preparation isn’t easy—it’s hard and painful and sometimes we might wonder if it’s worth it after all. The refining fire is not a pleasant place to sit, and I’d be willing to bet that none of us want to consider what it is within us—as individuals or as a community—that needs to be burned away. But we all have something—something that keeps us from housing the living God within us. And whatever that something is, when we are the ones being prepared for the coming of God-with-us, it will have to go, painful though it may be.

This wasn’t quite what any of us had in mind when we thought of preparing for Christmas, I’m sure. We like to be in control, to make the preparations ourselves. And we like for Christmas to be neat and tidy and full of good feelings and children singing Away in a Manger. But that’s not what God gave us. Instead, God gave us something we really needed—God’s own self among us, God’s image restored to wholeness right here, in the body of Christ and in the faces of those sitting in the pews with us today.

A few years ago, a group of women in a bible study were looking at this same verse we just read from Malachi, “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver” (Malachi 3:3), and they wondered what on earth it could mean. One of them decided to find out about the process of refining and purifying silver, and promised to report back at their next meeting. 

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn’t mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. 

As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities…


She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, “How do you know when the silver is fully refined?” He smiled at her and answered, “Oh, that’s easy—when I see my image in it.”

Look around you. Go ahead—look into the faces of the people around you—they’re next to you, in front of you, behind you—take a moment and look at them. You may not know their stories—you may not even know their names—but you do know something very important. Right now, as you look at these people, you are seeing the image of God, the glory of God revealed. You are seeing someone who is called by God to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly together with the community of God’s people. You are seeing a reflection of love so deep it would come to live within us and sit inside the refiner’s fire with us, who will never let us go.

May we continue to be prepared by God’s spirit in the coming days.

Amen.

Friday Five: do nothing edition

This is my kind of Friday Five--list 5 things you WON'T be doing to prepare for Christmas!

1. decorating. My cats climb, scratch, knock, and eat every last thing I bring in, so no trees, no ornaments, no ribbons, no nothing. My house looks like it does every other season--messy.

2. cookies. I don't like making christmas cookies (as I discovered when I made some for youth group last week), and I don't like to eat them either. If I buy some at the Cookie Walk, they'll just sit on my counter for weeks. Therefore, I will not be buying or making or eating any cookies. Unless someone pops a (free) gingerbread man on my desk--I'll probably eat him.

3. shopping. I don't like consumerism, I don't really enjoy shopping all that much, and I think the whole gift-giving thing at Christmas is a little out of control. I do love birthday presents! but Christmas is a different thing. This year I'm giving Kiva gift certificates and a Heifer gift. I haven't decided on an animal yet...but I'm contemplating a sheep and a goat. you know, for the funny factor. No one will know who got what.... ;-)

4. pre-emptively singing Christmas carols. I love Advent songs, and I love Advent...I won't be singing Christmas carols until Christmas Eve, and I'll sing them for a couple of weeks. :-) Now, this doesn't mean I won't pop in "Barenaked for the holidays" (the barenaked ladies) or Mary Chapin Carpenter's holiday CD, but I won't sing any traditional carols myself until Christmas Eve.

5. ummm....actually, now I'm not sure what the 5th thing is. Cleaning my house to get ready for company coming over? I don't plan to entertain this Advent season, partly due to no time and partly due to no time/energy to clean. :-)

priceless--a sermon for ordinary 33B

Rev. Teri Peterson
RCLPC
priceless
1 Samuel 1.4-20
15 November 2009, Ordinary 33B

On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters; but to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. Her rival used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year after year; as often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah said to her, ‘Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?’
After they had eaten and drunk at Shiloh, Hannah rose and presented herself before the Lord. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly. She made this vow: ‘O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death. He shall drink neither wine nor intoxicants, and no razor shall touch his head.’
As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was praying silently; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard; therefore Eli thought she was drunk. So Eli said to her, ‘How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine.’ But Hannah answered, ‘No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.’ Then Eli answered, ‘Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.’ And she said, ‘Let your servant find favour in your sight.’ Then the woman went to her quarters, ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.
They rose early in the morning and worshipped before the Lord; then they went back to their house at Ramah. Elkanah knew his wife Hannah, and the Lord remembered her. In due time Hannah conceived and bore a son. She named him Samuel, for she said, ‘I have asked him of the Lord.’



This is going to be an odd thing for a pastor to say, and some of you may be shocked to hear it, but stick with me. Sometimes, I hate people. Not individuals, but people—the whole lot of us. I know, I know, hate is a strong word and is not to be used lightly, and I should say that I “intensely dislike” instead, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, I do hate people. I know that hate is not a part of what God intends for us or for this world, but while we strive for the more excellent way we are still broken people, so I’m willing to go ahead and confess this to all of you: I hate when we exclude others because they are different from us. I hate when we act in ways that are hurtful to our planet. I hate when we withhold love to prove a point. I hate when our expectations of ourselves and one another obscure who we are as children of God. These times make me want to ask why we can’t all just get along, everyone love everyone, sing in perfect harmony…come on people, now!

The beginning of this story brings all of that up for me. Hannah wants to have children, but can’t. And Peninnah has dozens, it sounds like, and taunts Hannah because of this difference. And Elkanah isn’t helping, since he clearly loves one of his wives more than the other, but also one wife is more valuable than the other, and those two things don’t line up. It almost seems as if the whole society is conspiring to bring Hannah into a deep depression. And they are, really, because she is worthless. Hannah is a woman without children—in her culture, she has no value, no meaning, no purpose. She’s just taking up space.

Thankfully, we no longer believe that about childless women. Those of us who either choose not to be parents or who can’t be parents though we might want to are still valued members of society, worthwhile members of families, and lead meaningful lives. But I suspect we do believe it about others in different situations. Our culture values work, for instance, and often those without work feel as though they contribute nothing—like they are worthless. Those who have no home to live in sometimes feel as though they have no value as people because they have no possessions of value. I would be willing to bet that we can each think of either a person or a category of people that we consider to be in some way lacking worth, lacking value, lacking purpose, taking up space.

That’s the place in which Hannah lives. Everyone around her knows what she is. She knows what she is, too—she’s a smart girl, she knows what people are saying and she has internalized the message of her society. So she does the only thing left for her to do—she takes her despair into the temple, at the height of a festival in which sadness is prohibited. Even here, she can’t bring herself to speak out loud—she moves her lips but her voice is silent. But in that silence, in that pleading, in that conversation, Hannah finds something. She renews her relationship with the God who is love, and she discovers that all she had thought, all she had believed, all she had wept over, was a lie.

That’s right, a lie. Hannah had been told a lie, she had bought into it, she had lived it for all of her adult life. And I would be willing to bet that many of us buy into this same lie—I know I certainly do sometimes. It’s hard not to—it’s sold to us every day, in most of our conversations, in all of our advertising, in many of our TV shows and movies, and sometimes even in our families and churches. And when I say it, you are all going to roll your eyes and say how obvious it was, but it’s still out there and we are still living it, even if subconsciously.

The lie is this: that our value, our worth, our purpose is determined by the things we have, the things we do, the job we perform, the family members we relate to, or anything else at all.

Pure and simple, it’s a lie. Your value, your worth, is determined by one thing and one thing only. You are a child of God. Period. You are loved beyond belief, valuable beyond measure, priceless, because God loves you. That’s it.

Does that mean that we don’t do wrong things sometimes? Does that mean we are perfect and wonderful and lovely at every moment? Does that mean we aren’t still broken, living in a world where love is often the last rather than first thought? No. But it does mean that we are not defined by those things. That is not who we are, not where we find our worth.

To discover our worth, we don’t need to bear children or do the right job or say the right things or live in the right neighborhood or wear the right brand of shoes or be little miss perfect all the time. All we need to find our worth is to renew our relationship with God, who made us and calls us, and who chooses us before we can even respond. That is the heart of our story.

The first question in one of our Presbyterian teaching tools is this: “who are you?” Normally we would answer “I’m Teri, I’m a pastor, I’m a cat owner, I’m a motherless daughter, I’m a friend, I’m a colleague, I’m a sister, I’m a musician…” and so on. But none of those are the answer. The answer is “I am a child of God.” That’s it. And that, friends, is the truth, and the good news of the gospel. Once we know this truth, we can join our newfound voices with Hannah’s and sing about the world being changed at last into the kingdom of God...

‘My heart exults in the Lord;

my strength is exalted in my God.

‘There is no Holy One like the Lord,

no one besides you;

there is no Rock like our God. 

Those who were well-fed are begging for bread,
while the hungry are served second helpings.
The barren has a houseful of children,

but she who has many children is forlorn. 

God brings death and brings life,
brings down and raises up. 

God puts poor people on their feet again;
God rekindles burned-out lives with fresh hope,
Restoring dignity and respect to their lives.
For the very structures of earth are God's;
God has laid out a firm foundation, and not by might does one prevail. 


Thanks be to God.
Amen.

strange

it was the first time I didn't spend the entire day at home, eating comfort food and blogging and reading silly books.

I would have, but for a meeting I couldn't avoid, but somehow going and doing something (farmer's market, starbucks, meeting, a little work, playing video games with friends) that made life resemble a normal life--like the life I have on other days, like the life millions of people have every day, regardless of major milestones in my own life...it was kind of good. maybe.

I still miss my mom. every day. and I still don't celebrate Halloween because it's not really fun any more. but yesterday was almost a normal day. almost.

I could see glimpses of what Isaiah talks about in the text we will hear in worship this morning:

And God will destroy on this mountain

the shroud that is cast over all peoples

the sheet that is spread over all nations;

God will swallow up death forever.

I might be about to believe that again.

birthdays

The birthdays since I became a real grown up (aka since graduating from a zillion years of consecutive schooling):

4 years ago today, I lived in Egypt and I spoke to my mother for the last time before she died.

3 years ago today, I was at the White Mountain Cooking School, learning many vegetarian yummies, with my fabulous friend Jennifer!

2 years ago today, David LaMotte was playing a concert right here at my own church, and it was completely amazing.

1 year ago today, my small group (which was supposed to be meeting and learning about Body Prayer and embodied spirituality) surprised me by giving me a beautiful gift and also taking me out for Mexican food instead of having a regular small group class.

Today, I received all the gifts that were on my wish list (new stainless steel saucepans, TWO snuggies (one for home and one for office), and a Wii!! And tonight I will have Mexican food (catered by an amazing local restaurant) and chocolate and cake with lots of great church people.

I am 29 today. Since I was born in 1980, I can do this: next year, I will turn 2010, and in 2011 I will turn 2011, and so on. I love it. :-)

Locks of Love

before...

and after....