Toward the gospel of inclusion: re-reading the parable of the Great Judgment

In this sermon on a well known, and much abused text about the so-called Great Judgment, I challenge the conventional reading of the text and invite us to listen to it’s message, stripped of the literalism that has caused too many of us to miss its message and misunderstand God, the future, and Christian ethics. The sermon was preached on November 28, 2021 and was based on Matthew 25.31-40 and a reading from Barbara Brown Taylor.

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Advent is a uniquely Christian holiday season. It begins with scripture readings that announce the Second Coming of Christ. The purpose of those readings is to awaken us to the spiritual fact that Christ needs to come a second time to us personally; if we are to live a life that is robust and flourishing, Christ needs to be born in us. The language is symbolic of this truth: we are all spiritual beings, we all have a deep and intimate connection with the Divine, whether we are aware of that truth or not. The symbolism of the Second Coming of Christ is designed to help us become nativities, birth places, nurturing spaces, hosting God’s presence. . . .

Let God Love You: Practicing ‘Sabbath’ Today

Sabbath is not merely a way to rest; it’s a way to experience God. In this sermon, I examine the problem of the Ten Commandments, the Sabbath in the legalistic religious tradition, and explore the way I believe the Jesus of the Gospel thinks about Sabbath. Based on this, Sabbath practice today invites us into the “prayer of repose” as a holy encounter with the Divine. Sabbath, therefore, can be practiced anytime and anywhere.

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Last week during the kids’ Discovery Time, Kate Boxeth, our Minister of Children and Youth, introduced our children to the Ten Commandments. The Ten Commandments have held a central place in Jewish and Christian religious practice, and in the shaping of western civilization. . . .

The sermon was preached on November 21, 2021 and is based on Matthew 11.28-30 and quotes from Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel.

The Truth a Veteran Knows: Dulce et decorum est

One of the most admired poets of World War I, Wilfred Edward Salter Owen is best known for his poems "Anthem for Doomed Youth" and "Dulce et Decorum Est." He was killed in France on November 4, 1918.

Today, let us not glorify war by covering its terrors with mistaken visions of glory. Let us acknowledge the massive sacrifices of those who’ve had to serve, or were forced to serve, or foolishly thought they’d taste some mythic glory. Let us stand in sympathy with those families who’ve waited, anxiously, fearfully, and tearfully for a loved one to come home . . . or not. Let us care for the traumatized, tend care-fully their wounds, physical and emotional, and with our full humanity commit to do our best to seek another way to solve our conflicts and turn ourselves from the fear and greed and rage that drape themselves in flags.

Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

‘Know Thyself’ | The Key to Self-Care

Some of us were scolded as children for “being selfish”—we learned that others’ needs were more important than our own. Others believe it’s a virtue to put others first, often to our own detriment. Often, we lose ourselves in our efforts to conform or comply with the agendas others have for us. Today, we focus on the ancient saying “Know thyself.” Self-knowledge, that is, who-we-really-are, is the ground from which a flourishing life grows.

Sociologist Brene Brown says that her research has shown over and over again that the most compassionate people are the most boundaried people. They have the capacity to reach out in ways that foster wellbeing. So today, we gather in worship to pray, to listen, and to be in such a way that we hear the divine call to an integrated and robust life through the practice of self-knowledge and self-care

A sermon based on John 8.25 and several other ancient texts.

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Who are you?

Do you know who you are, who you really are? Not who others say you are. Not who your parents wanted you to be. Not who your fears or ambitions drive you to be. But who are you, really? Do you know? And does it make any difference in the way you live your life? . . .

On life and death, love and joy | The risks we take 

We take risks when we choose to love. Inherent in loving is the reality, in fact, the necessity, of loss. On October 31, 2021, All Saints Day was near and mingled with Halloween and Dia de los Muertos. When we focus intensely on death and our loved ones, no long among us physically, we consciously face not only the fact of death but the way death can make both life more precious and the act of love more daring. As Yehuda HaLevi wrote long ago: “It is a holy thing to love what death will touch.” “To remember this brings painful joy.” Here’s a sermon based on based on John 16.16-22 and a poem by Yehuda HaLevi.

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To live is to risk.

To love is to take a chance.

Life and death walk hand in hand, whether we like it or not. . . .