Post-pandemic, this is what justice will require

We’ve been scattered and separated for so long that it’s hard to come back together again, even though we want to. We’ve been divided and manipulated for so long that there’s suspicion and concern as we try to return to life as we once knew it. These readings from holy scripture invite us to envision ourselves responding to the God who is like a shepherd with a scattered flock of sheep. God gently yet firmly gathers us in, not to only find each other again, but to experience safety, equality, and wholeness together. A sermon based on Jeremiah 23.3-5; Mark 6.30-34, 53-56.

1.

Many of us love to travel. And according to my Instagram stream, lots of us are traveling. This last week I’ve seen some of you smiling at me from places like Tahoe, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, Point Reyes National Seashore, and Austin, Texas.

While some of you have gone places you want to go, others have gone where they don’t want to go—like the hospital. And I saw some of you there too, but in person, not on Instagram. . . .

The Cost of Discipleship Now | A sermon on Amos 7 and Mark 6

In this tribulation, at this Great Turning, the world doesn’t need more religious consumers who are only interested in the greatest spiritual benefit for the least possible cost; right now our world needs more disciples who realize they need the spiritual practices, the relationships, the rituals and stories of communities like ours—not just to live a better life themselves, but to make a better life possible for the part of the world they inhabit. Right now our world needs disciples who can draw on the grace and benefits they’ve received from their spiritual experience, and then find themselves summoned from within—from the deep, soulful places within them and in their own unique way—to take risks, break with convention, envision a different future, and suffer when suffering is forced upon them because they know that this is the way real love works, this is the way love changes the world. Love will cost us everything. But love alone will set us free. A sermon based on Amos 7:7-15 and Mark 6.3.


1.

Most people pursue a spiritual life in order to make life better for themselves as well as for others. “If I can just get my spiritual life in order”—many of us have said—“if I can reconnect with God, if I can find my soul, if I can transform my pain, if I heal the trouble inside me . . . then I’ll not only feel better, but I just might be better and make a little less trouble in the world around me.”

Most of us awaken to God out of some need to create a better life. 

A conscious relationship with God ought to do that—make things better, not worse. Jesus said, “I came to bring you life, life in abundance.” There’s no question that intentional spiritual practices increase our awareness not only of God, but of the sacred in ourselves, the sacred in others, the sacred in nature. There’s plenty of evidence that a greater awareness of God and experience of God—above us, beside us, and within us—can improve our lives and make us capable of improving life on the planet. 

Christian discipleship, patterning our lives after the model of Jesus, imitating his way of life, has benefits. 

After Joy Dorf’s memorial service yesterday, I spoke with an older woman who decades ago had been very active here at DCC. Over the years, for one reason or another, her spiritual practices waned and she just slipped away. She wasn’t angry. She didn’t blame anyone. That intrigued me. 

Why? Well, when a person’s been gone awhile and then meets me at a memorial service or wedding, I often brace myself for a complaint. When a person has my ear over the refreshment table, it’s often their chance to gripe about what the church did or didn’t do that drove them away—this church or some other church.

The church does mess things up plenty. I’ve been a pastor for many years and I’ve been a part of plenty of mistakes, failures, or what some people perceive to be mess-ups. But most of the time, the church and Christianity and religion take the blame for what is almost always a two way street across a bridge—the church fails and so does the person. There are a lot of things the church needs to improve on. It just takes one of us to scowl at someone for sitting in the seat we think is our assigned seat; or it just takes one more hurtful statement from the pastor or another painful decision by the board or another failure of a volunteer or staff member to follow through. These are the kinds of things that can drive people away. But it’s almost always a two-way street. The church may mess-up, but that mess up is complicated by the mess inside a person’s own life. Most of the time problems don’t drive people away when a person’s own spiritual life is vibrant, if they’re connected to authentic spiritual community, and if and they know they will be heard if they have a concern. Mess-ups are inevitable. We need some kind of strength on at least one side of the bridge in order to endure them. 

The woman yesterday said nothing about the church and its mess-ups. She just said, “I’ve been away too long. Today I realized there’s something in me calling me to return. I need this.”

We need this. I wonder if you realize how important all this church stuff is, regardless of whether we’ve failed to meet your needs or desires from time to time. Sometimes we grow cold to this truth, we take the grace and benefits of religious experience for granted. But there’s no question that discipleship, intentionally practicing the spirituality of our shared religious experience, is beneficial in so many ways. 

There are a number of studies that show the personal benefits of spiritual practices like meditation, singing together, and serving others. And there are studies that show that people who intentionally affiliate with congregations are healthier in their bodies and minds because of the relationships around shared values and visions for what life can be. In our rootless, disconnected, and often suspicious and hostile cultures, people need what religion has always delivered to people—a sense of grounding in a reality that runs deeper than the vicissitudes of daily life.

I don’t know where I’d be today or who I’d be, and I don’t know how I’ll handle tomorrow without my religious experience, without the ability to practice the presence of God, without the spiritual practices I engage in my private life and those I engage publicly with you. My private discipleship needs my public experience with you. I must practice it myself, but it’s awfully hard when I’m all alone. 

What would your life be like today without a place like this, a people like this, this shared experience of discipleship that’s carried you? What might tomorrow be like without all this?

2.

It’s important from time to time to stop and acknowledge the great benefits of our religious experience, the blessings of discipleship.

But, as important as the benefits are, as wonderful as the blessings of discipleship are, our religious experience isn’t only about the benefits and blessings.

As people shaped by the consumerist agenda of capitalism, we’re more accustomed to thinking about benefits than we are about the costs of discipleship. 

It was Dietrich Bonhoeffer who coined the phrase, “The Cost of Discipleship,” for the modern world. He also knew the immense benefits. The grace and benefits of discipleship sustained him in his great struggle as a Christian pastor and teacher against the Nazism of Hitler’s Third Reich. Bonhoeffer was a young pastor in the 1930s and 40s who helped lead the Lutheran church’s resistance to the way Hitler and Nazism co-opted Christian faith, baptized it, bastardized it, corrupted it, and sold it to the adoring masses who were all too ready to see Hitler as a religio-political savior, and his version of white nationalism and Arian supremacy as the answer to Germany’s ills following the devastating economic sanctions placed on Germany after World War One. 

Published in 1937, Bonhoeffer’s book, The Cost of Discipleship, was an exposition of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. Trained by his spiritual practices, honed by his discipleship, Bonhoeffer foresaw that the way of Jesus Christ was endangered by Hitler and Nazism. On April 9, 1945, Dietrich Bonhoeffer—pastor, teacher, writer, and activist who helped plot the attempted assassination of Hitler—was hanged for treason at the concentration camp of Flossenburg. He was only thirty-nine. When the German officers came for him in the barracks, Bonhoeffer was leading a prayer service for other political prisoners. As he was taken away, he turned to his friends and said, “Friends, this is the end; but for me it is the beginning of life.” 

Bonhoeffer knew the grace and benefits of discipleship—grace and benefits that made it possible for him to face the costs of discipleship and endure whatever suffering he had to face in order to be true to God’s dream for the world.

Often he’s viewed as some great martyr or hero. He wasn’t great; he was ordinary. Like you and me.

We don’t often think about the costs of discipleship. We’re trained by consumer capitalism to ask, “What’s the greatest possible benefit I can get for the least possible cost?” We want God; we want spiritual goods; and we want religion to make sense, fit into our well-ordered, conventional lives. We want a church that meets our needs. And we don’t want it to rock the boat; we don’t want be to be offensive ourselves, to be countercultural, and we certainly don’t want to take a stand and stand alone when we do so.

How unlike the biblical prophets we are. 

Amos was just a farmer from the south when he was summoned by God to tell the king of the north that he was an abject failure at being a king, morally corrupt, and that what he was doing was contrary to God’s dream. Amos told the king he was doomed to die. Not a tidy message that was going to win him friends and get him dinner invitations at the palace. No, the temple priest told Amos to go back home, south of the border, and stop pretending to be a prophet. 

Jesus was just a carpenter from Nazareth when he began to teach about the kin-dom of God in such unconventional ways. What he did and taught threatened the status quo, challenged those in power, and umasked the privileges of the elite. Not a conventional, predictable message that would get him a lucrative book contract or a seat beside the king in his box-seats at the colosseum for the next games. No, our reading today tells us they questioned his credentials and “took offense at him.”

3.

There are certainly benefits to discipleship, but there are costs too. 

Amos, Jesus, Bonhoeffer, and Sojourner Truth (whose story as an early abolitionist I told you a few weeks ago) all are witnesses that if you and I have received the grace and benefits of the spiritual life, we will be called at some point to decide if we’re going to uphold the status quo or unsettle it, if we’re going to be someone or do something that challenges people, awakens them, forces new questions upon them, or requires them to do their own inner work to try to make sense of God.  Something sacred will stir in us and we’ll have to decide what we’re going to do with it. 

To imitate Jesus Christ—which is what discipleship is all about—will certainly put something worthwhile in you. But it will also want to do something through you that will cost you something. 

We are living at a time of great importance for the future of the human race. The older biblical language might call it a “great tribulation.” I think of it as a Great Turning. 

And in this tribulation, at this Great Turning, the world doesn’t need more religious consumers who are only interested in the greatest spiritual benefit for the least possible cost; right now our world needs more disciples who realize they need the spiritual practices, the relationships, the rituals and stories of communities like ours—not just to live a better life themselves, but to make a better life possible for the part of the world they inhabit. Right now our world needs disciples who can draw on the grace and benefits they’ve received from their spiritual experience, and then find themselves summoned from within—from the deep, soulful places within them and in their own unique way—to take risks, break with convention, envision a different future, and suffer when suffering is forced upon them because they know that this is the way real love works, this is the way love changes the world. Love will cost us everything. But love alone will set us free. 

“We unaccustomed to courage,” writes Maya Angelou (who understood the gospel).

We unaccustomed to courage,

exiles from delight,

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.




We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet [love alone

will set us free.]




[Silence . . . ]

On change (personal and societal) and how to journey through it spiritually

Whether it’s a birth or a death, a change in leadership or a societal shift, there’s something to let go of and something to embrace. A vibrant spirituality can help us cross through whatever transition is before us with awareness, intention, and openness to what-has-never-been-before. It’s been said that if we don’t learn to bend, we may well break. So, what is it that can keep us flexible, open, and able to enter the new? How can we find meaning, insight, and a sense of being grounded so we don’t wander aimlessly?

“This Brave and Startling Truth” is a sermon based on Isaiah 6.1-8 and an excerpt of Maya Angelou’s “Brave and Startling Truth.” Preached on May 30, 2021, Trinity Sunday.

1.

“When we come to it,” the poet, Maya Angelou, says—when we come to embrace this “brave and startling truth,”

We, this people, on this wayward, floating body

Created on this earth, of this earth

Have the power to fashion for this earth

A climate where every man and every woman

Can live freely . . .

When we come to it, we will rise up into the possibility that we can, together, create something that has never been before. . . .


A Mothers' Day Sermon | How small, cumulative actions can remake the world

“Cumulative Action”

May 9, 2021 Mother’s Day

Luke 13.18-21 and a reading from the Gospel of Mary

1.

Our readings today appreciate and celebrate the cumulative effect of small, ordinary things done by women that, over time, have the power to change everything and turn us toward what’s good, beautiful, and just.

It’s an appropriate theme for Mother’s Day.

On Mother’s Day, lots of people appreciate and celebrate what mothers do, and people show their appreciation in a lot of different ways. Not everyone does, of course; while everyone had a mother, not everyone has a mother they can appreciate and celebrate. But those who do, generally want to say thank you—for there are a lot of mothers who, despite their foibles and flaws, give lovingly and sacrificially for their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. And because of their love and guidance in our lives many of us can genuinely say “thank you,” even if not everything about our mothers or mother figures was appreciated.

Today, our church chooses to recognize the immense work of traditional motherhood, but we also want to appreciate and celebrate the ways so many women who may not be traditional mothers nevertheless give birth to so much that’s good in the world—mothering figures who’s love and sacrifice contribute to the larger wellbeing of our society, the transformation of our lives, and lead us toward the dream God has for what we call the kin-dom of God.

At DCC we talk about the kin-dom (k-i-n-dom) rather than kingdom. It’s a familial metaphor rather than a political one. We call it the kin-dom of God because Jesus denounced kings and tyrants; he undermined patriarchy and challenged misogyny. Jesus had a vision for an egalitarian community and not a hierarchical polity. Jesus said that God’s Beloved Community is more like a functional family than dysfunctional monarchy. Jesus preached a kin-dom of God that is a gathering of siblings who tend each other and ensure everyone has what they need rather than a collection of serfs and sovereigns who compete with each other for limited resources. In the kin-dom of God, God is imagined as a kind father rather than the capricious king; Jesus preached a God who is more a compassionate mother than even the most considerate monarch.

Today we take time to consciously appreciate and celebrate what women have done, are doing, and will do to birth and nurture a humanity capable of living into the vision of Jesus.

2.

These contributions, while vital to the remaking our humanity, have often been ignored and suppressed throughout history. Our second reading today from the Gospel of Mary is a sign of that.

The Gospel of Mary is a second century Christian document. It’s part of what’s called the Nag Hammadi collection of dozens and dozens of early Christian documents, dismissed by the mainline church as heretical. They came to light in December of 1945 when an Egyptian peasant named Mohammad Ali made one of the great archeological discoveries of the last century.

Deep under the desert sands, Ali, completely by accident, unearthed a large and ancient storage jar filled with papyrus manuscripts dating back to the second century. The collection included thirteen codices with over fifty ancient texts, most of them previously unknown to scholars. The Nag Hammadi library of early Christian documents gives us a glimpse of a diversity of experience and knowledge among the early Christians that the orthodox tradition tried to bury in order to unify the church and establish centralized power around its male leadership. The documents witness to a fascinating alternative perspective on Jesus and his earliest followers, including Mary, known as Magdala, the companion of Jesus. The Gospel of Mary, which we read from today, was buried by the mainline orthodox church because of its witness to Jesus’ ground-breaking confidence in and teaching of women, not just men. It provides a vision of a more egalitarian community, where parity and collaboration were the norm, rather than the rule of a single gender—the supremacy of men. It’s a vision we’re working toward today in our modern world, but the vision’s not new. It was there from the beginning of our tradition, but it was quickly buried.

In today’s reading, Mary, the companion of Jesus, steps before the confused and troubled male followers of Jesus in order to comfort them by teaching them what Jesus had taught her.

But Andrew, the text tells us, doesn’t believe a word Mary says, “I do not believe that the Savior said these things, for indeed these teachings [of hers] are strange ideas.”

And Peter joins in, denouncing her: “Are you kidding, are we supposed to believe Jesus choose her over us?”

But another man, Levi, speaks a word of support: “Peter, you have always been a wrathful man. Now I see you contending against Mary as if you were her adversary. If Jesus made her worthy, who are you then to reject her? The Savior’s confidence in her is completely reliable. That’s why he loved her more than us.”

In Jesus and in Mary we have a sign of the future, the parity of the genders, the wholeness of humanity.

But you can see, can’t you, that it’s little wonder the Gospel of Mary was denounced and buried by priests and popes and pastors—men who refused to yield their power, who presumed their power was a divine right—men, like Andrew and Peter, who refused to welcome the contributions of those too long marginalized by those who held social power in society?

Nineteen hundred years later, the Gospel of Mary emerged, just as the new force of the feminine spirit was rising in our world—the contributions of women, more fully recognized and celebrated. Makes you wonder if our “Mother who art in heaven” was up to some divine mischief in that discovery made in 1945 in the deserts of Africa.

Makes me wonder where we might be today, what kind of world we might have, had this vision of Christianity prevailed instead of the one dominated by patriarchy, had men not tried to bury the contributions of women. Who might we be today? What kind of world might we have?

But the feminine spirit has never really been buried, has it?

Maybe there were great stretches of time when the contributions of women were marginalized and jeopardized, but that doesn’t mean women were silenced or rendered powerless.

The truth of history is this: you can try to suppress the feminine, but there are always women who know now to give birth to something life-changing, women who know how to nurture something new and revolutionary no matter how strong the repressive forces might be, women whose presence is like leaven rising in the world.

3.

In 2004 Wangari Maathai was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her environmental work in Kenya and around the world. In Kenya, a tree is a sign of peace. Dr Maathai, inspired by her vision for a better world, has inspired countless women in her own country and around the world to plant trees as a humble and patient and non-violent way to work toward peace through justice; together, her movement has been responsible for planting tens of millions of trees not only in Kenya but in many other countries.

Small, ordinary actions that, cumulatively, create an extraordinary effect.

Wangari Maathai was born in a small village in the highlands of Kenya. She grew up Catholic, in sight of Mount Kenya, the second highest mountain on the African continent; sacred to her tribe, the Kikuyu. In her area was a species of fig tree, the Mugumo tree, revered by the Kikuyu as one of God’s special trees. As a girl, she was forbidden from collecting branches of the Mugumo tree to use as firewood. “This is a tree of God,” her mother taught her, “we don’t collect wood from this tree.”

Over the years, she came to understand why this tree was sacred. The Mugumo fig tree played a critical role in the ecology of the land and the health and wellbeing of its people and creatures. When she left for university, developers began to cut down the trees. The soil was destabilized, the new, large farms polluted the water, and women and girls had to walk long distances to find clean water for their families; long walks that became increasingly dangerous. Conflict ensued.

Meanwhile, Dr Maathai became the first female scholar from East and Central Africa to earn a doctorate, the first female professor in her home country of Kenya, and the first woman to hold the position of Minister of the Environment in Kenya. In 1977, she started a grass-roots movement called the Green Belt Movement, aimed at defending land and its people against deforestation and its withering effects on people and the environment. Her work inspired women to plant trees in their local settings and to think more ecologically. Since it’s beginning, Dr Maathai’s Green Belt Movement has spread to other African countries and parts of the world. Women have planted over 51 million trees, leveraging the cumulative power of this simple, ordinary work and the way it affects democracy, women’s rights, and fosters international bridge building and solidarity.

But it’s not been easy. Politicians and developers, even the men in their own villages, have tried to stop them. She’s been vilified, marginalized, jailed, and beaten for her tireless work. “But planting a tree,” she says, “is a small but powerful act of ecological civil disobedience,” a simple act that over time transforms the land and its people. Dr Maathai says that so many conflicts have ecological problems at their source. Planting trees and paying more careful attention to the balance of nature actually helps transform people, turning them from violence and injustice. “When women plant trees,” she says, “we plant the seeds of peace and hope.”

The cumulative effect of small, ordinary actions performed by determined women have the power to change everything.

4.

This is what Jesus was teaching long ago in his parable of the yeast.

“To what should I compare the kin-dom of God?” he asked the villagers. “The kin-dom of God is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”

Yeast, something understood by Middle-Eastern women, added to flour, leavens the bread. What otherwise would stay flat and small, rises big because of only a little yeast. Yeast is a small thing but makes possible something that grows much larger than itself.

So with the cumulative effect of small, ordinary actions by women who refuse to be silent, who refuse to give up, who refuse to be intimidated, who refuse to do nothing, and who believe the world doesn’t have to be a place where their daughters cannot achieve their dreams and their sons have to go to war.

Today, we’re appreciating and celebrating the long history of women who’ve not only helped us become who we are individually, but whose grit and grace leaven the world and make the kin-dom of God rise and spread among us bringing goodness, beauty, and justice.

Many women today have the power to perform great acts for the common good. We appreciate them and celebrate them. But if history has its say, we don’t have to wait upon women of great power, the Kamala Harris’ and Angela Merkels of the world; for wherever there’s a woman who sees a hungry child, a loved one in need, an injustice that denigrates the humanity of another . . . wherever she is, something new and better can rise—because the cumulative power of even the smallest, most ordinary actions performed by determined women will eventually change everything.

"Opening to God" | Why the Bible's "fiction" can be more true than fact

A sermon exploring a way to read the Bible, not as history (as we know it) or science, but as art, and how to profit spiritually from its truth. Based on John 10.1-11 and a poem by scientist/astronomer, Rebecca Elson, and her poem, “Antidotes to Fear of Death.”

1.

In the Bible, there are four Gospels. The word, Gospel, comes from the ancient Greek word, euangelion, from which we get our words, “evangelism,” and “evangelist.” The word, euangelion, means “good news,” and the four Gospels—supposedly written by the four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—are four different ways the early Christian communities told the story of the good news about Jesus. These four Gospels are not the only Gospels; there are others: the Gospel of Mary, the Gospel of Thomas, the Gospel of Philip, and the Gospel of Truth—these are a few of them. But only Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were, after several hundred years of debate in the early church, accepted as the more commonly authorized versions of the Jesus story.

I could spend a lot of time talking about how and why these four Gospels rose to the top of the heap, identified as worthy by the orthodox tradition while the others were dismissed as inferior or unworthy or even dangerous theologically and spiritually. . . .