"Lift up your Hearts"

For weeks after leaving Chestertown, I have avoided going to church on Sunday morning. I have touted a long list of excuses. I am exhausted after a week of 4:30 AM wake-up calls and Army reveille. More than this, in chaplain school, we pray multiple times each day, and listen to daily sermons. Doesn’t that somehow count toward Sunday worship? When the weekend rolls around, the last thing I want to do is force myself to pray and worship in a way that doesn’t feel authentic to my own tradition. There are no Iona worship booklets or hymns from the Scottish hymnary, or even any hymns from a hymnal. Most of the worship available on post is geared toward a more contemporary, evangelical audience. I do love a well played guitar, but, throughout my entire life, Sunday morning has been reserved for something else, something different. In my heart, of course, I know that I have been avoiding Sunday worship so that I might avoid the heartache I feel over moving away from home and being separated from my church family.

Last weekend, while I was visiting the town where I went to college, I decided it was time to break my streak of church skipping and face reality. My college minister is a rector at a local Episcopal church and though it wouldn’t be the same as going to church at home, reconnecting with her and my liturgical roots, would be special. I arrived as the service began and the announcement was made that my friend, the priest, would be away on a Sabbatical. I had a split second to stay or leave. As disappointed as I was not to see this friend and worship with her, I had a feeling that I had come into that sacred space for another reason altogether.

I spent the first half of my life in the Episcopal church. The prayers, creeds and liturgy drawn from the Book of Common Prayer are the first words I learned to articulate God and faith. Each week, from the time I was old enough to escape the nursery, these prayers were grafted upon my heart before I knew what any of it meant. “Lift up your hearts,” “Walk in love,” and “Send us now into the world in peace...with gladness and singleness of heart,” these phrases, and many more, are the threads which have bound my faith from childhood, and no matter how I may have grown as a follower of Christ, no matter how many other words I have learned, these first ones remain a part of me.

I was reminded of my own enthusiasm for church when I was a young, as I watched a pre-schooler take part in the liturgy of the Holy Eucharist. Throughout the Great Thanksgiving she stood intently in the aisle of the church, pretending, herself, to be the priest. Facing the altar, she made priestly gestures as the prayers were read-- the sign of the cross, a raised hand, and a dramatic bow as the bread was blessed. She may not know the details of what it all means, but she knew that whatever it was taking place in these moments, it was sacred.

As we all gathered around the Communion rail, small, smooth hands as well as the older, wrinkled ones, reaching out for a bit of the bread of life, a taste of that spiritual food, the sacrament of body and blood, I realized why I had come. Participating in this meal was just the reminder I needed. No matter where I am in the world, home is only as far as the pilgrims who gather to break bread and share cup around God’s table. I found this table long ago. Before I even understood what it meant, I lifted my hands to be fed, knowing whatever was taking place around this table, it was a means of finding fuller life. I am grateful, even through my homesickness and tears, to remember this and find my voice again so I can give God thanks and praise.

Binding Our Hearts

“Bind them upon your heart always; tie them around your neck.” Proverbs 6:21

The day of my ordination, two friends gave me a bracelet as a gift for the occasion. Inscribed upon the bracelet was the “Shema Israel,” a passage found in the sixth chapter of Deuteronomy. For two years, while I was in South Africa, I wore the bracelet every day. Often, when I was in lengthy worship services, struggling to understand or stay tuned into prayers and songs in a language that was not my own, this bracelet was a saving grace. I would look down at the Hebrew words which wrapped around my wrist, and I would recite their meaning in silence.

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem* on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” Deuteronomy 6:4-9

It was a reminder of where I had come from and of what was required for faithfulness, even thousands of miles away from home. Whenever I was called upon, to preach or pray, particularly in the wake of the death of a church member, or right before I walked into a house full of mourners, I would touch this bracelet, and I would find a little more courage to follow its instruction, despite my fear.

While most Christians know the Ten Commandments, many are not familiar with the Shema. They don’t know that these verses follow on the heels of the Ten Commandments in Deuteronomy, the chapters juxtaposed next to the other, or that observant Jews begin and end each day of life praying these words. At the time of death, these verses are often spoken as a last affirmation of faith in God. These words are at the very heart of the Jewish faith. Remember when Jesus was asked to name the greatest commandment, he recited the words of the Shema. If the Torah could be paired down into a “thesis statement,” many would argue that these verses would be the answer.

I wonder what it would be like to pray these same words every day throughout life, after waking up and before going to sleep, these verses becoming the bookends to whatever else the day might hold. I imagine that once this prayer becomes a habit, once it is grafted upon a person’s heart so well that nothing can erase it, reciting this prayer is like taking a breath. Whether or not we are aware of our breathing, as long as we live, our breath exists. We can count on it. For some, faith may follow a similar pattern. Just as our body breathes instinctively, without constant reminder, praying this prayer no longer requires memory. Instead, over time this prayer becomes an underlying refrain in one’s life, and in some seasons louder than others. But, always it is an echo of the faithful from other times and places.

A few days ago, I was talking to a young woman about going to church. For years, she had avoided the faith of her upbringing, finding other things to fill her days and other ways to connect with community. But, the birth of her daughter changed her heart. For her child’s sake, it was time for her to be serious about church. It was as if she was responding to the words of the Shema. Teach them to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Though her daughter is still young, she recognizes that binding this little girl’s heart with God, inscribing the ways of faithfulness into her genetic fabric, begins at birth, in the morning and at night, at home and while away.

Over the coming weeks, we will continue reading Brian McLaren’s book, Finding Our Way Again, and we will discuss the practices of our faith with help us bind our hearts to God. Following God’s statutes is not, in the end, what saves us. God’s grace and love are solely responsible for that. We are reminded, though, that God’s instruction is food for the journey. When practices, like prayer, fasting, Sabbath, and others, become a daily part of our lives, they further bind our hearts with God. Proverbs speaks of practicing these commandments saying, “When you walk, they will lead you; when you lie down, they will watch over you; and when you awake, they will talk with you. For the commandment is a lamp and the teaching a light, and the reproofs of discipline are the way of life (Pro. 6:20-23).” May we cherish this gift of light and use it well, making our way home again.

Finding Our Way

A friend asked me the other day what I thought was the most important thing that every person needed for their journey of faith. I attempted to answer his question in the moment, but it has lingered with me over these days as I have thought about my own faith journey and the integral pieces which have brought me further into life with God. When I consider what has made much of the difference for my own faith, a patchwork of faces and moments shared with incredible mentors always comes to mind. I remember times of great anxiety or uncertainty when an encounter with one of these friends helped me to re-cast my anchor into the sea of doubt that surrounded me and threatened to capsize my boat. Often answers to the great questions were not the object of our discussions. Instead, across the table, in the presence of a trusted companion, I had the chance to reorient and find my bearings. In these conversations, I was reminded that Jesus choose the tumult of a great storm to walk through crashing waves and extend a hand to his friends whose faith had been shaken, saying, “I am here. Do not be afraid.”

I have always appreciated the metaphor of faith as making a journey. Our lives with God require us to travel a path with very few signposts or visible markers which point us in the right direction. Instead what we have are stars which shed just enough light to help us through some rather dark times. These light bearers come in many forms. Often mentors and friends have taken time to share their light, holding lanterns along my path so that I may better find my way. Those who have walked this bit of the road before and taken time to mark this place are a reminder that no matter how lost I may feel, someone else has felt this lost, too. One particular practice of pilgrimage is for the traveler to leave stones in different places along the way as a reminder to those who follow that this ground has been already tread. In our wildernesses, where darkness, doubt, and low-visibility reign, even mounds of stones are a welcome symbol that we are never far from God or one another, even when all evidence points to the contrary.

For the next few weeks, our Thursday night small group is going to be reading a book which offers light and aid for our spiritual journeys. In his book, Finding out Way Again: The Return of the Ancient Practices, Brian McLaren discusses Christian faith as a way of life. He urges those of us who call ourselves Christian, followers of Jesus, to understand faith not as a system of beliefs but instead as a refining process which requires our whole life and being. Each week, we will be reading, discussing, and praying about our own journeys of faith, and we will seek to discover the mounds of stones which have been left for us to learn from by those who have walked the road before us. In this process, we may even leave a few stones of our own to share with the pilgrims who are sure to follow.

I am thankful for every lantern and stone which has appeared on the scene just when I needed them. As I have grown older, I have also realized that the time has come for me to put extra oil in my own lantern and look around to notice where other travelers may need the light of a star to guide their way. Learning and sharing, this dance shifts back and forth until the destination has been reached. In memories and words, in stories and traditions left for us like mounds of stones along the path, we find our way home.

Following the Star

From the Sermon by Sara this past Sunday, 1/9/11 - a day when we remembered the journeys of the 3 Magi ... "A Word to the Wise":

In the wave of post-Christmas news reports about shoppers standing in long lines to return their unwanted or mis-sized Christmas gifts, I caught a news report that the giant Internet store of amazon.com has received a patent for a new service they are adding to their online store. It seems that they have figured out a way to convert that unwanted Christmas fluorescent red and green necktie from Aunt Sara into something you might actually want or even perhaps use.[1]

The customer can place a standing “conversion” order so that I could tell them: if anyone tries to send me an “Albert Einstein Action Figure” please convert it into a gift card or a sweater … or something else I might actually like to have. And so the original unwanted gift won’t be sent … and the new one will.

Or, I can also tell them to stop any gift from a particular person. So if Aunt Sara is known for sending you things you don’t want – like bedroom slippers with bells on them or “how to” books to improve your life – you tell amazon.com: “Whatever Aunt Sara tries to send me, please DON’T SEND IT and instead convert it into …” and you can tell them what you want the gift to become instead of whatever Aunt Sara wants to give me.

And, for an additional cost of course, I can also have Amazon.com send a thank you note to Aunt Sara thanking her for the original gift she wanted to give me so she would never know (unless of course she comes to visit and asks where it is … amazon does not have a service for that, at least as of now). Although for those who might feel a tad guilty about this deception, you can have amazon.com send Aunt Sara a note thanking her for the original gift, but letting her also know you converted it into a gift card or whatever.

While Emily Post and Miss Manners did not have many kind words to say about this, our college-age nephews, when I asked them, thought this was awesome … which may explain why gifts from Aunt Sara and Uncle Bob now come in the form of dollar bills.

But let me take an informal poll this morning: how many of you think this is an awesome idea? How many of you think it’s an awful idea? [NOTE: an overwhelming response by our congregation was in the AWFUL category … but there were some who agreed it was awesome … and I wonder if people were afraid to raise their hands to say it was a terrific idea! Lots of peer pressure in worship … ]

An informal online poll at National Public Radio had 65% of people responding saying it’s awesome and 35% saying it’s awful.

Given that up to 30% of gifts given are returned each year – the costs to the retailers run in the millions and perhaps billions of dollars to process a returned unwanted gift and then exchange it for something else. In our challenged economy I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone figured out how to do this to save money. I can understand and even applaud the cost-saving idea behind this, even as I line up on the awful idea side of this one.

Yet, as all of us struggle to figure out what to do with all the “stuff” we have, most of which we no longer want or need … maybe this isn’t as heartless and callous as it first sounds, but is actually a step toward good stewardship for both the giver and the receiver of the gift.

I can understand the enthusiasm of our nephews: What if we only got what we actually wanted?

But that’s the real question, isn’t it?

What if we only ever got what we actually wanted?

And not just getting that new book we’ve been wanting to read or a sweater that fits … but to get everything we want: peace on earth, let alone peace of mind, or healing for our loved ones and answers to the questions that keep us up at night. What if we could send back everything in our lives that we don’t like?

My “convert this gift” list could be endless.

But we know that life is not like that and we do not always get everything we want.

That was clearly brought home to me as I read the journals that have traveled with our 3 wise men these past 2 weeks. I had asked those who had “hosted” one of the wise men overnight to share what wisdom they had learned in their lives and what words they would use to describe their own journeys of faith.

It became very clear to me that no one has ever found that they had always gotten everything that they wanted – but along the way they found that they had received gifts that they could never have imagined … the kind of gifts that unfold and surprise us over time. Again and again, people spoke of learning along the way that in whatever circumstances, even in adversity, they also found hope, comfort, trust, contentment, courage, they learned to live with mystery and to experience doubt as a partner with faith.

In the end, maybe that’s what we are to remember each year at Epiphany. For the word “Epiphany” simply means “to reveal” … as Jesus Christ is revealed as Savior and Son of God first to the wise men from the East … but then to all generations and to each of us. So we continue to receive from God’s hands, through Christ, gifts we may never have asked for, but which continue to surprise us … and sustain us … for our own journeys along the way.

We are met here with the gift that is nothing that we could make happen. A gift that is the fulfillment of more than everything we could have hoped for or dreamed of.

A Gift that continues to be revealed to us in all of its mystery – in Word made flesh, in cross and resurrection, and in countless ways throughout our lives as God’s Holy Spirit makes a home among us, and within us, and through us.

So in honor of Epiphany, I want to send you home today with a gift. (At this point in the service, the Ushers distributed the offering plates with paper stars in them … with words written on them.)

There is no return or exchange policy on this gift … and unlike amazon.com, you can’t convert it into something else. And, while you certainly have the option to refuse it, I hope that you will consider receiving it instead.

In a moment, while we sing our next hymn, the ushers will be passing baskets among us. Only you won’t put anything in the basket. Instead, you will take out something: a star – one per person.

On one side of each star is a word … a word that is a gift to you for this coming year. Take a star … without looking at the word first … and let it be a gift to you to remind you throughout the year of God’s continuing presence in your life.[2]

It may be obvious from the moment you look at it what the word means to you … or maybe not. Maybe its significance has yet to be revealed and it will only take on new meaning for you over the coming days and months.

I encourage you to put the star somewhere where you will see it and over this year I would love to hear from you what the word means for you in your journey.

But for today - simply receive this word as a reminder of God’s presence in your life. And to remind you of our generous, giving God who keeps giving, and keeps breaking through our darkness … one star at a time.
May it be so. Amen.

NOTE TO READERS of the Blog ... Because of the randomness of selecting a "star" if you would like a "star word gift" - please email me at: pastorsara@verizon.net and I'll send you a word ... randomly chosen of course!
*****
[1] There are numerous articles online about this new patent. Articles can be found online at The Washington Post (http://www.washingtonpost.com/ – online article by Michael S. Rosenwald (12/26/2010) “Amazon patents procedure to let recipients avoid unwanted gifts”); or at National Public Radio (http://www.npr.org/ – online article and recording of radio news report by Mark Memmott (12/28/2010) “Amazon Could Let You Return a Gift Before It’s Sent”). A search online will turn up other business news articles about this new patent.
[2] This is modeled on the “Star Gifts” of East Woodstock Congregational Church in East Woodstock, CT, shared in the journal Reformed Worship no. 93, p. 36-38.

Baby Jesus' Travels: A Special Update

Over the past week, Baby Jesus has continued to make the rounds, visiting a new family each day. There are so many wonderful things he has done over the week that it is hard to say what his favorite memories are of time spent with new friends.

Everyone knows how exciting a birthday can feel, especially if you are still in the single digits! One family helped Baby Jesus to get ready for his upcoming birthday by making special decorations and even singing some Christmas songs to get into the spirit. There is nothing quite as nice as celebrating your birthday all month, and with a new family each day.

Baby Jesus has been so lucky. He has had lots of sleepovers and stayed up late, whispering and talking with his new friends because it was just too exciting to go to sleep. It's nice to have Baby Jesus spend the night because he helps his friends not to get scared in the middle of the night. He has also really enjoyed getting to play lots of fun games. One of Baby Jesus' favorite activities has been coloring. He really likes it when his youngest friends draw portraits of him, often in the abstract, and he doesn't even mind if a little of the colors miss the paper and get him instead.

Most of Baby Jesus' new friends are so sad to see him go to the next house. But, Jesus is always teaching his friends about sharing. He also promises to come back again... and we know he keeps his promises.

Baby Jesus' Travels: The First Week of Advent

Throughout the Advent season, Baby Jesus is traveling around the eastern shore, visiting members of our PCC church family. Baby Jesus (from our church nativity scene) packed stories, games, stickers, and a special prayer journal into his suitcase to share with all of his new friends, and he has been going to a new house each night. Each family that hosts Baby Jesus takes care of him, reads and plays with him, and has an opportunity to write special prayers for this holiday season into the Jesus journal. This is a time for many of our younger members to learn more about the true Christmas story and put hospitality into practice. Every family is encouraged to talk to their children about Jesus' coming, and pick out words the describe the meaning of Jesus' birth. Already, Baby Jesus has made quite a few stops and had numerous adventures.

Here are some of the highlights from the week:

Baby Jesus got to have a special lunch with a group of our younger children from the church. The rumor is that the lunch was an all-girls affair, but that Jesus was allowed to participate since he is so special.

Baby Jesus had a sleep over that included Chinese take-out food and lots of playing. Baby Jesus even helped to wrap Christmas presents to go under the tree. Baby Jesus was given a new blanket by one of his new friends so he can stay warm on the rest of his travels.

Everyone has wished that Baby Jesus could stay an extra night or two, and hopes that Jesus will visit again soon! Tune in for more updates later in Advent!!

Memory for the Future

For the past few weeks I have been putting together this year’s Advent devotional entitled Signs of Hope. Many of you received an email from me inviting you to be part of this project... in some instances over time, the invitation turned to be a little more like a plea for help and a little bribing and begging, but when the real deadline arrived, not the pretend deadline I put in the letter to trick everyone into turning their submission in early, we had the perfect number of entries. You can imagine the great temptation I faced, especially this week as I was visiting with family and friends and away from my computer. I had a WHOLE booklet dedicated to hope written by church members and the task of preparing a sermon for the first sunday of Advent, the day we traditionally celebrate hope. All I really needed to do this morning is stand up and read from the book. It would make a great sermon. Well, that was my plan B if thanksgiving festivities got out of hand. Putting this booklet together, reading your thoughts on hope and having quite a few conversations about hope made me wonder further, to have hope or not to have hope... that seemed to be the looming question. Some of us have known hope well, have felt it palpably pulsing in our veins, and can articulate it easily, while to others of us, hope has seemed a stranger, a gaping hole, an emptiness of something which has been promised but not truly given.

Hope is not just a word used within the hallowed walls of churches and theological communities. It is a concept which has even peaked the interest of science and in particular, neurobiology. Scientists and doctors argue that numerous studies have shown that having an anticipatory consciousness, the ability to imagine and anticipate and even hope for the future, is deeply imbedded in our neurobiology. “Imagining the future depends on much of the same neural machinery that is needed for remembering the past.”

Our memories and the way we understand the past directly impacts our ability to anticipate and imagine the future. One neurobiologist calls this, a “memory for the future.” Those who anticipate the future in the spirit of hope, even coming from difficult circumstances like living with HIV and AIDS, live healthier physical lives. Daily practices of hope result in better, brighter futures. Communities of faith have known this well for centuries, and now science is finally catching up.

Despite these scientific breakthroughs, I must confess when I read Isaiah and Psalm 122 this week, poetic words about a future time when all will join together on the mountain of the lord, praising God unceasingly, my thoughts wandered to the darker side of hope. I thought about hearing these words which speak of peace, of the abolition of war and violence, as a parent who has just lost a son or daughter in Afghanistan or the Sudan or Anacostia. Do these hope-filled words mean anything to one slain under fire or dismembered by a roadside bomb or hidden land-mine? To those who have been lost to the HIV and AIDS epidemic? To family members who have been left behind? In some moments, these passages make hope seem so far- reaching that it doesn’t belong in the present tense or even as possibility of what I might know in my lifetime.

I think about the tension of hope being here and now versus hope being a distant promise when I consider my brother who suffers from a debilitating mental illness which has brought great sadness to our family. For a long time, I have held hope at an arm’s distance. Hope was fine for a distant mountain and I had faith that God would make it possible, but not now, not today, or even in the near future. I could not begin to pray for his healing and renewal in the present tense because I was too afraid that an undesirable answer to prayer would be too much for me to bear. Hope would require me to open my heart, both to the wonderful possibility of his healing as well as the sorrow of his illness remaining the same. I knew that even entertaining hope for his healing would test my faith in God and God’s love for my brother. Therefore, I remained silent. Having any hope for the here and now seemed too difficult for me to risk.

Every year on the first Sunday of new school year, my university’s chapel choir sings a setting of Psalm 122, entitled “I was glad.” Over the seven years that I spent going to school and singing in this choir, I came to expect this song every opening Sunday. It was a kind of renewal for me, a reminder of to whom I belonged. After a long summer, venturing far from my home surviving the mud crawling at basic training or the grueling pace of internships in DC, this reunion with my church community in the chapel choir and our proclaiming these words together was an annual infusion of life and faith. “I was glad, glad when they said unto me, we will go into the house of the Lord.” The first phrase always required full sound and voice, all of us singing our hearts out. In that space which represented love of God and neighbor, the sacred connections of community, my heart would swell and tears would threaten to spill over onto my music.

As much as that song came to represent so much of what I loved during my school years, the first occasion I had to sing this song was far from a happy, hopeful time. Not even a week had passed since my parents had driven me to North Carolina, unpacked the rental van full of my important possessions all variations of the color pink, and driven away, leaving me alone in my freshman dorm. As excited as I was about the possibilities which were at my fingertips, gladness was far from my heart. As the choir belted out, “I was glad” I wanted instead to sing “I was sad.” My tears did not spring forth out of fullness, but from just the opposite, from my deep loss. I had no song in my heart that day, but those who surrounded me in the choir, as much as each one sang for herself, she also sang a little bit for me too. It felt as if this collective effort of praise was carrying me through my own weariness. Because they shared their song, including me in a proclamation of faith though I could hardly part my lips to sing with them, I was reminded of the hope which was present despite the darkness which had closed in on me.

In South Africa, the place that I best witnessed hope was during a funeral. In the township, the busiest place, Saturday after Saturday, was the local cemetery. Each week, thousands would gather around newly dug graves, and they would sing and give praise to God for an entire morning, dancing and clapping around the holes in the ground. Watching this scene and participating in it was the most hopeful thing I ever did. Despite the number of deaths, the seeming finitude, the children orphaned, the wails and tears that were shed, hope managed to emanate from the grave. In the face of death, the message of their songs, of hope in God’s promise of life everlasting through Jesus Christ, rang out louder than the evidence of what seemed to be. The promise of renewal was more significant than the reality of the coffin.

The curious part of this kind of hope is that it is made possible each week through the strength of the hope present in others in the community, those who have come to witness the funeral and proclaim promises of life. Through their song, a message of hope transmits to all who hear, even those who have no song to sing, no hope at all. The community’s singing is a reminder of the life which remains, the hope that still exists, even at this site which symbolizes that which has been lost. When these funeral goers have the courage to sing about promises of life in the midst of death, they reverberate hope into the community often depleted by illness and death. They pave the way for a memory of the future.

It is ironic that I learned how to hope in a graveyard. As I reflected on our gospel lesson though, I realized I should not be surprised. Jesus says, “The Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” In the most unexpected place, where no real hope seemed possible, my own hope was born. It was the hour I did not expect. And, this is the truth which connects the gap between the hope of here-and-now and the eschatological promise of one day. We may not know the particulars, when or where or even how, but we have been promised and then reminded in the meal which we celebrate today, that our Lord Jesus is never tired of coming to our world. We must be ready and watchful, living the kind of lives which pry open our hearts and prepare us for encounters of hope which defy our reason and challenge us to trust what God has been promising us all along-- that he is here and continues to come.

As you meditate on hope during this Advent season, remember that you both pray and hope not as individuals but as a community which spans in every possible direction, young and old, the past and the future, and the here and now. Wherever you are, however you feel about hope, about faith, even about God, rest in this knowledge, the song of hope goes on. It has been sung from the beginning and will be sung until the end. It is a part of all of us, every facet of creation which has been formed and cradled by God. Some days you may be the one to lead the song and other days your song will be choked by tears, but every day, whether you feel it or know it, this song of hope will carry you.

I was glad, glad when they said unto me, we will go to the house of the Lord. Amen

This sermon was preached by Rev. Mel Baars at the Presbyterian Church of Chestertown on November 28, 2010