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Nehemiah: Side by Side

Posted on January 22, 2023Leave a comment

Text: Nehemiah 2:11-18, 3:1-4 (5-32)

Last week, we laid out some of the context for the Book of Nehemiah…

A people who found themselves in the in a transitional time… a time of rebuilding and resettling and restoring after the Babylonian Exile.

Nehemiah is granted authority from the Persian King Artaxerxes to return to Judah and rebuild the walls.

And the King gives him some authority… he basically appoints him as the governor of the region and sends along supplies as well.

So what happens when Nehemiah arrives?

Does he immediately gather all the people and tell them what to do?

No.

He checks everything out for himself.

His brother had told him about the condition of the walls and the gates, but he takes the time to do his own inventory.

He prayerfully explores the city walls and the gates.

He climbs over the rubble.

He makes his way through the ashes.

He spends days listening, looking, pondering.

This week, our Nehemiah Community groups were tasked with just that – to spend some time looking, listening, and paying attention to what is happening in our community.

Before we dive in and even think about rebuilding, what do we see?

Each fall, our Administrative Council is asked that question.

While it can sometimes feel like an excess of paperwork… apologies to our District Superintendent, Ron!… the truth is that our annual charge conference forms force us to notice our context.

And some of the things that we saw last fall as we looked out around us was that we are largely a middle-class neighborhood, but we are growing in our diversity.

At the same time, there is a limited availability for services like transportation and health care.

These great Beaverdale brick homes are great for newer families and older established neighbors, but there has been a lot of turnover in the last year or two.

But we also find ourselves in a place that is very community oriented… our Merle Hay and Beaverdale neighborhoods put on a lot of community events and community social media groups demonstrate how people look out for and show up for one another.

Some of the needs that we see include continued food insecurity… Our Little Free Pantry gets emptied out nearly every day.

There are rising costs all around us for food, fuel, utilities, child care, and more.

Our community continues to lack affordable housing and we’ve had homeless neighbors camp out on our property.

We lack access to the mental health services so desperately needed.

Folks around us in the community need spiritual support and are looking for identity and belonging.

Nehemiah took in all that he saw.

And to be honest, he probably found a whole lot more wrong with the city than just the wall.

But he had a call from God to start somewhere.

After he looked and listened he pulled together the people to talk about what God had put on his heart.

But he also drew their attention back to what was all around them.

“Face it: we’re in a bad way here. Jerusalem is a wreck; its gates burned up. Come – let’s build the wall of Jerusalem and not live with this disgrace any longer.” (2:17, MSG)

He shared with them what he saw, but also connected with their own investment in the situation.

To be honest, these folks knew the walls were in ruins.

They had lived this way for years… decades, even!

And maybe they hadn’t done anything because they thought someone else would.

Or maybe they hadn’t done anything because it was too overwhelming.

Or maybe they had just gotten used to how things were.

But Nehemiah invited them to see anew what was all around them… and then invited them to do something concrete to make a difference.

And the people responded with enthusiasm! As the Message translation puts it, the people rolled up their sleeves, ready for the good work.

He didn’t recruit them.

He didn’t assign them.

He didn’t force them.

He simply helped them see what they knew… and THEY realized they could do something about it.

Next Sunday, leaders from our church will share with you more about our goals for this year.

We all see the needs around us and we believe God has called us to engage in and partner with our community so that all who hunger might be fed by God’s grace.

Some people are hungry for connection… for welcome… for support.

Some people are hungry to know God more deeply.

Some folks are just plain hungry.

And we think there are some concrete things that we can do… that God is asking us to do… to make a difference.

From groups to support people through illness or grief…

To outreach and mission activities where we connect with our neighbors…

To the ways we can be intentional about rebuilding relationships and truly showing welcome to all people…

What we hope is that when you hear about some of our plans and goals for this next year that you, too, will want to roll up your sleeves, ready for the good work ahead of us.

For you see, the leaders of this congregation can’t do it all by themselves, no more than Nehemiah could rebuild the whole wall himself.

The task is too big and the work is too important.

And the truth is, the church, the Kingdom of God, the Body of Christ, that we are rebuilding is not about one person or about a small group of leaders.

It is going to take all of us, taking responsibility, hearing the call, and doing our part.

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Now, for the sake of kindness, I didn’t have Virginia read ALL of chapter 3 in the Book of Nehemiah.

But what we find in that chapter is that one by one, people figured out what their part of the rebuilding was.

They didn’t get assigned.

They just rolled up their sleeves and tackled their part of the project.

This graphic, created by Mark Barry, walks through all of chapter three of the Book of Nehemiah starting with the Sheep Gate which is in the middle on the right hand side.

Eliashib and the other priests get to work on reframing and setting the doors and focus on building the wall all the way to the Tower of Hananel.

But then verse by verse, Nehemiah lays out who decides to take responsibility for a part of this project.

The children of Hassenaah built the Fish Gate…

Next to them Meremoth made repairs…

Joiada and Meshullam repaired the Mishneh gate…

Uzziel, who was a goldsmith, made repairs on another section…

A perfumer by the name of Hananiah focused on the next section… (whew, imagine how many blisters he must have had after the first day of work!)

Folks like Benjamin, Hasshub, Azariah, and Zadok focused on the repairs to the wall outside of their own houses.

On and on it goes throughout the entire chapter.

Leaders, workers, business owners. White collar and blue collar.

Young and old.

Skilled and unskilled.

Side by side and shoulder to shoulder they worked.

They brought together their families and relatives from surrounding areas.

People from the countryside flocked in to help.

Everybody found something they could do.

The question before us in these coming weeks is to listen for our part.

As you engage with our town hall next week and hear about our plans for this year… what are you being called to roll up your sleeves and get involved with?

What is your part of the rebuilding?

Maybe it is something that is already close to you… a part of our shared ministry that you want to refocus on.

Or maybe your call is to bring together your family and relatives to join in the work.

Maybe God is nudging you to put your skills and training to work in a new way for God.

Or maybe, your part is to do something you’ve never tried before… like the perfumer who starts laying bricks to help out.

As Paul tells us in his first letter to the Corinthian church:

“Christ is just like the human body – a body is a unit and has many parts; and all the parts of the body, even though there are many. We were all baptized by one Spirit into one body, whether Jew or Greek, or slave or free, and we all were given one Spirit to drink. Certainly the body isn’t one part but many… You are the body of Christ and parts of each other.” (1 Cor. 12:12-14, 27 – CEB)

What are we, as a church community, if not the Body of Christ.

The Holy Spirit that flows through us connects us to one another.

And every single one of you are important.

Every single one of you has something to offer.

Every single person who is connected to this community has a role to play in this rebuilding.

The needs around us are great.

There is much work to be done.

Friends… Come – let us rebuild.

I See You

Posted on September 19, 2021Leave a comment

Text: 1 Samuel 1:1-18

Where does it hurt?

I distinctly remember an incident when one of my nephews took a tumble and as soon as they hit the ground the wails and the tears began.

I rushed over to offer comfort and care.

Where does it hurt? I asked…

And though they couldn’t form the words, they could point to the scrape on their elbow.

“Oh no!” I replied. “It’s so bad we might have to cut your whole arm off!”

And suddenly the tears turned to giggles and a kiss and a hug from Aunt Katie made everything better.

Oh how I wish that hugs and kisses from aunts could make every hurt go away so quickly.

But the reality is that we have all experienced pain and suffering.

We try to put on a brave face and when someone asks we say we are fine.

But there are days when we are not.

And on those days, we need someone to see us.

To acknowledge our pain.

To hold it up as truth, rather than to dismiss or minimize it.

I am thirty-nine years old. I have been married for fourteen years. And my spouse and I have been unable to have children.

We have nine nieces and nephews that we love dearly and two cats that are our babies.

But we do not have children.

And some days that hurts.

I know that there are other folks in this room today that have known this kind of hurt.

The pain of infertility or miscarriage or the loss of a child.

Some of you have known the hurt of Hannah from our scripture today.

And when I think about Hannah’s story… and my own story… and maybe your story… I have to first acknowledge that Hannah is more that that one piece of her story.

Hannah is a daughter. And a wife. And a faithful believer.

She is loved.

She is whole and complete just as she is.

And… there are days when it hurts.

Our scripture for today talks about how every year the family would make their annual pilgrimage for worship and sacrifice.

And every year, that experience brought her pain.

It was the pain of how Elkanah’s other wife, Peninnah would taunt and bully her for not having children.

It was the pain of how her husband would try to minimize her pain, “why are you upset? Aren’t I enough for you?”

And it was even the pain of how those who served in the sanctuary made assumptions about what was wrong with her.

In the Message translation of this passage, it says: “Every time she went to the sanctuary of God she could expect to be taunted.”

Can you imagine if that place that is supposed to be holy and safe is the place where it hurts the most?

Well… some of you can.

The church is not perfect.

And at times has been downright terrible.

I confess and lament that the church and its people has been the source of harm.

It is not okay.

And I hope and pray and work so that this church is a place of God’s grace and love and mercy and welcome… for everyone.

When Hannah went to the sanctuary of God, she felt the hurt of childlessness more profoundly than at other times in her life.

And the text tells us that faced with others who couldn’t/didn’t listen to her hurt, she pulled herself together, and pretended that the pain wasn’t there.

Oh – how often do we do that.

We hide our pain.

We smile through gritted teeth.

We have been dismissed so many times that we start to feel that what we are experiencing is shameful.

Whether it is a job loss… or addiction… or a loved one in prison… or your mental health… or chronic pain… we carry the hurt quietly.

But all alone, in the sanctuary, in prayer… Hannah spoke aloud her hurt to God.

As Lisle Gwynn Garrity created this image for our worship series, she thought of this woman.

She writes, “In Hannah, I see a woman who has been mocked, shamed, diminished, and ignored. However, she refuses to be silenced. In the presence of her pain, she grits her teeth, pours her heart out before God, and insists that we see her: “Just look at my pain and remember me!” (1 Samuel 1:11) I decided to render her body as fading into the scene to symbolize the invisibility she feels, and also the vulnerable transparency she exudes.” (A Sanctified Art)

“Look at my pain. Remember me,” she cries out.

And friends, here is the gospel truth.

God hears our cries.

In the presence of God, all hurt is seen.

It was there that Eli, the priest, came across her weeping.

He initially made assumptions… she must be drunk… carrying on like that.

But having just been honest with God, Hannah finds the courage to be honest with Eli.

“I am a very sad woman.” She replies. “I am carrying a great burden.”

And for the first time… someone sees her hurt.

Eli can’t fix it.

He can’t make any promises.

But he sees her.

He sees her pain.

And he prays for her… praying to the God who knows all our hurts and who is always with us.

And here is the powerful thing about being seen.

When we are seen, we are no longer alone.

The hurt might still be there… but suddenly it isn’t something that we have to carry by ourselves.

Our passage for today says that once Eli sees her and prays for her, Hannah is able to get up.

She is able to find some peace.

She walks away and she no longer feels that deep sadness.

As I think about the stories that Rev. Brittany shared about her work with the homeless, there are so many problems and hurts in this world that we cannot fix.

But it is enough to be seen.

To be treated with dignity.

To know that someone is standing alongside us in the midst of it.

There are people in each of our lives that are hurting… for one reason or another.

And sometimes we feel helpless and hopeless because we can’t solve their problems or make it all go away.

But friends, all you need to do is listen.

Be present.

See them. Remember them. Walk with them.

Drop a card in the mail.

Leave a voicemail.

Look them in the eyes.

Hold their hand.

Let them be more than the place where it hurts, without ignoring that sometimes… it does hurt.

And folks… if you are hurting… this place is a safe place to share.

Please reach out to me… I am happy to sit with you, cry with you, yell at the heavens with you…

And there are lots of other good folks right here that are willing to do the same.

You are not alone.

Again & Again, We Are Called to Listen

Posted on February 28, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 8:31-9:8

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I have been thinking this week about my grandfather.

A little less than a year ago he died and in the weeks to follow, my little brother discovered online a memoir my Grandpa Earl had written for a booklet called “Facing Bereavement” from Alpha Ministries.

He tells of how he and my Grandma Doni were faithful churchgoers for years… until the spring of 1987.

My aunt, Candy, died at the age of 32 from an incurable brain tumor and they stopped going to church. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision, but my grandpa was angry. He found ways to just not be available.

Jennifer Stern writes that “grief, like drowning, an be deceptively quiet… those who live with grief often appear “okay”… they look like they are floating (if not swimming) yet on the inside they feel they are drowning…. It takes herculean effort to stay afloat during the rough waters of grief.” [1]

Grandpa Earl tried to stay afloat and numb his pain by traveling extensively for work and numbing it through heavy drinking. My grandma kept asking him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. He writes, “Throughout this time, I was drinking Scotch every night and I didn’t think I could stop – I didn’t really want to. I didn’t have the willpower. I was still mad.”

My grandma didn’t drink, but one day she had enough of my grandpa’s behavior. She got drunk, floated out into the lake and might have drowned had my grandpa not found her. He thought she was trying to commit suicide, but after she yelled at him for hours, he came to understand just how unhappy she had been. A truth he hadn’t been able to hear until he dove into the water to drag her back to the dock.

My grandpa had been so caught up in his own pain, he couldn’t see or hear hers. He made a home in his anger and drinking and distance. He couldn’t see how his actions were causing further harm because he lived in a different reality. A false reality.

Until my grandmother was finally able to get through to him with a hard truth.

The next day, he made a commitment to never drink again.

And he kept that promise.

Together, they found ways to confront the reality of their loss. Together, they found ways to heal. Together, they found faith again.

The truth is, we all get stuck in our own pain.

We all get caught up false realities we think are good for us, whether they are narratives of success, or the rose-colored glasses of our privilege, or illusions that everything is okay when it is not.

Again and again, we mess up and refuse to see hard truths.

Rev. T. Denise Anderson rightly notes that “we don’t exactly incentivize the telling of hard truths.” After all, “hard truths trouble the waters of our understanding and challenge notions of what is real.”

Patterns of “shame, guilt, ignorance, or inaction” can trap us in situations that feel familiar and comfortable, when reality is far more difficult to accept.

We drive past the person looking for a handout on the street corner and ignore the problems of homelessness in our city.

We rush to make a neighbor feel better rather than actually listening to their story.

We lift up our few relationships with people of color instead of confessing the systemic racial injustices that plague our church and nation.

We drown our sorrows rather than holding them in the light and seeking healing.

In our scripture for today, Peter, likewise, found himself confronted with some hard truths.

Truths that shook the core of his being.

He seems like he has it all together, just like my grandpa did.

After all, Peter has been walking in the footsteps of Jesus for months.

He had a front-row seat to the inbreaking Kingdom of God!

And so when Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter knew the answer.

“You are the Messiah.”

It sounds like the right answer, but… perhaps Peter wasn’t actually pay attention.

In this time, the Messiah, the Christ, “the anointed one,” came with numerous interpretations.

Some talked of a king who would rule with divine authority.

Others believed the Messiah would return at the end of days to bring judgment.

Still others hoped for a spiritual leader who would reform the people.

When Jesus starts to say things HIS messiah would never say: words like suffering, rejection, and death, the text says Peter takes hold of Jesus and rebukes him.

“No, no, no, Jesus… you have it all wrong…”

Like Peter, we want it to be easy.

We want to pretend that everything will magically be better.

We’d like to think that we can show up for church once and a while and nothing more will be expected of us until we arrive at the pearly gates.

We have had enough death and suffering… especially in Covid times.

We’re tired of living in Lent.

We’d rather plead ignorance, or avert our eyes, or numb reality away with our favorite vice.

“No, no, no, Jesus… you have it all wrong…”

But Jesus challenges those false narratives with a dose of hard truth.

As Debie Thomas reminds us, we cannot replace the cross with a shortcut. [2]

If we want to be a disciple, we must take up the cross.

If we want to save our lives, we must let them go.

And truth be told… a lot of us really are not ready to embrace that reality.

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A few days later, Peter and some other disciples find themselves on a mountain top where Jesus is transfigured before their very eyes.

God’s power and presence is revealed in their midst.

The sight of Moses and Elijah confirms the role of Jesus in the world.

Surely, Peter gets it now… right?

Only, again.. and again… he wants it to be easy.

Or rather, the possibility of having to actually accept this reality is terrifying.

He thinks maybe there is an “out” from all this talk about crosses and suffering and death:

“It’s good to be here… let’s build a shelter. Let’s start a church. Let’s stay right here in this place and not leave.”

But the clouds roll in and a voice rumbles from the heavens… “This is my Son! Listen to him!”

Rev. T. Denise Anderson asks: Are we willing to listen to hard truths?

“Or are we committed to the status quo because, though it may be imperfect, it’s at least familiar?”

We tend to protect ourselves with numbness or apathy, or by plowing ahead focusing only on our own needs and desires without concern for anyone else.

Maybe this call to listen, to pay attention, to be aware, is actually what allows us to take up our cross.

Maybe it is what finally allows us to step outside of what Debie Thomas names as those vicious cycles we embrace again and again… cycles of denial and acquisition, success and violence, false realities that try to “cheat death, but in fact rob us of… abundant life.”

What if taking up our cross is not about denying the world, but opening ourselves to the suffering of the world?

We “experience the abundant life Jesus offers,” Thomas writes, “by accepting – against all the lies of my culture – that I will die, and trusting in Jesus’s assurance that I will rise again.”

And once we truly listen and understand that reality, we cannot help but work to make it a reality for others as well.

For a long time, Peter watched as the Kingdom of God was breaking forth.

The hungry were fed.

Demons were cast out.

His own mother-in-law was healed.

“This guy is making everything better!” He must have thought.

But what Jesus offers is not an invitation to sit back and watch…

Jesus doesn’t say that once we get ours the work is done…

Jesus calls us to listen, to notice, to roll up our sleeves, to take up our cross, to labor for the Kingdom.

To stand in the midst of the world’s pain and see the hungry…

notice the demons and powers that would destroy….

Weep with the broken and grieving…

and then do something about it.

We experience God’s abundant life when we enter into the reality of the suffering of this world and give everything we can to bring about God’s reality.

That was the kind of legacy that my grandfather left.

When he lost my aunt, Candy, he tried to hide from the reality of that loss. He numbed away the pain and closed himself off from others.

When my grandmother died from the same kind of tumor in 2001, he embraced the cross of Jesus Christ.

He learned to listen not only to God, but to his own pain and to the pain of the world.

He decided to let go of trying to do it all his own way and decided to allow others to help. To allow God to help.

My grandpa wrote: “I know that until he calls me home I have a mission of reaching out, touching people, helping carry his word in any way that’s his will.”

Grandpa Earl got involved in the church’s after school program and hung out with the kiddos every afternoon… building with blocks, reading stories, singing songs.

He started visiting people who were in trouble and needed someone to talk to, whether they were home or in the hospital.

He became involved in recovery ministry and A/A and made his famous five-pound-fudge to take to meetings.

When he listened to his own pain, and saw how God was moving through it, he was able to listen to the pain of others, and help them find a way through as well.

As Anderson reminds us, “Again and again, we are implored to listen, especially when what we hear is unsettling.” Again and again, God shows us a path through the difficulties of this world… through even death itself… to abundant life.

May we hear… and may we act.

[1] https://transformativegrief.com/2018/04/30/drowning-doesnt-always-look-like-drowning-neither-does-grief/

[2] https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2930-gains-and-losses

Getting Off the Mountain

Posted on February 23, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Exodus 24:12-18, Matthew 17:1-9

There are a number of places in scripture where the divine is revealed in those thin places where heaven and earth meet.

I think about Elijah hiding on the side of the mountain.

Or when Moses heads up the mountain and receives the word of God for the people.

Or our reading from the gospel today when Peter, James, and John travel up to the mountain top with Jesus.

You know… I was thinking about Moses’ time up on the mountain and this renewal leave that I just finished.

Moses took this time to head up the mountain and spend some time with God.

This is actually a story that we’ve looked at this past fall with our Bible study groups on Wednesday’s and one of the things we discover if we read ahead a few chapters is that the people started to get worried that maybe he wasn’t coming back!

Forty days and nights go by and for all they knew, Moses had been engulfed by the cloud and the darkness on the top of the mountain and they were on their own!

In fact, Moses only comes back in chapter 32 after they discover that the people down below have begun to rebel – forming a golden calf and offering sacrifices.

Well, good news friends… I’m not back because I’ve heard you were misbehaving!

But these mountain top experiences were all surrounded by something really hard.

They came in the midst of stressful and difficult times of ministry.

Persecution.

Exodus.

The first prediction of Jesus death and suffering.

They are transition moments that remind each of these people who God is… and who they are.

They remind them that God is there.

They remind them they still have a job to do.

And in many ways, that is what my renewal leave has been about.

In the midst of the mounting pressure and stress of our denominational life…

In the midst of staffing transitions…

In the midst of some personal relationship struggles that I needed to focus on…

This set-apart time to breathe, and sleep, and focus on God and finding a new balance and rhythm in my life has been so important.

So many of you have been asking already, and so that I don’t repeat myself a hundred more times… my work on renewal leave was pretty simple.

I completely disconnected from email and the constant call of social media.

I spent time every morning reading – scripture, books, resources to help ground myself in God.

I spent hours talking and cuddling with my spouse.

I hiked in the snow.

I didn’t set an alarm for an entire month.

I laughed a lot with friends.

I listened to the birds.

I made some really good homemade bread.

I had the opportunity to really drink deep from the living water and to fill my cup back up for the season ahead.

And I am so grateful that you have been supportive of this time away.

But in some ways, I also have a new insight into how Peter, James, and John felt at the top of that mountain.

They had been following their teacher for quite some time now and they had witnessed some pretty amazing things.

But they also had just learned how difficult the journey was going to be.

They were starting to experience push-back.

And Jesus had just shared with him for the first time that he expected to be executed.

He was calling them to lose their lives, too.

This trip up the mountain must have seemed like a welcome respite from the stress and strain of this work.

As they get to the top of the mountain, Jesus changes before their eyes!

His whole body radiates with glory and even his clothes shine… brighter than the sun!

And as their eyes adjust to this brilliance, two others appear… Moses and Elijah.

Our text says that Peter reacted in this moment.

He reacted by wanting to bottle it up and capture it right there, just like that forever.

He interrupts Jesus and Moses and Elijah and offers to build some shrines where they can sit down and get comfortable and just stay right there.

None of this talk about losing your life.

None of the persecution that was happening back down in the valley.

None of the stress.

Just this perfect presence of the divine.

Light. Life. Glory.

If you encountered it… you wouldn’t want to leave either.

When you have a chance to catch your breath and rest in God’s presence it’s awfully hard to not want to just stay right there forever.

Trust me… I’ve just had four weeks to dwell in this beautiful space.

And while I’m excited to be back, it was also really, really hard to let go of that precious time away.

I’d be fibbing if I didn’t admit that a part of me imagined what it would be like to just leave it all behind and stay in that place forever.

During Lent this year, as a church, I’m challenging you to participate in one of our small groups focused around the book, “Unbinding Your Heart.”

I think this particular study is so important right now, because in some ways, I think we have got a little comfortable.

We’ve taken rest in the familiar and the holy and everything we know about God and the church.

We get into our patterns and routines and sit in the same seats on Sunday mornings and like Peter and James and John have built a little beautiful shrine around everything we believe about God and church.

This holy place is amazing and we want to stay right here in our comfort zones.

But on the mountain top, the voice of God quickly sets things straight. Out of the clouds, the glory of God rumbles: This is my Son, This is my Beloved! Listen to him!!!!!!

Just as quickly as it appeared, the clouds and fog dissipated and three bewildered and terrified disciples opened their eyes to find their teacher Jesus, standing before them alone.

It was time to head back down the mountain.

It was time to get back to work.

You see, the mountain top is not a destination.

It is more like a rest stop.

It is a place to fill up your tank, to pick up some snacks for the road, to take a nap if you need to…

But it is not the be all and end all of the journey.

This mountaintop transfiguration comes at a key transitional moment in the gospel.

It is framed in Matthew’s gospel by these two predictions of his suffering, death, and resurrection.

Jesus has set his face towards Jerusalem.

The disciples were being called to leave behind the healing and teaching and instead to head straight for the seat of power.

They were being called not to violence or revolution, but a display of righteous love that would “refuse to play the world’s power game of domination, exploitation, greed, and deception.”[1]

In the church year, it is also a moment of transition.

We, too, are setting our faces towards Jerusalem as we enter the season of Lent.

This Wednesday, we will remember our mortality when a cross of ashes is placed on our foreheads.

We, too, will live together the last week of Christ’s life.

We, too, are called to live out God’s righteous love in a world that doesn’t always accept or understand it.

As people of faith, we were never called to build tents and tabernacles to enshrine these moments forever.

We can’t say – oh, well, we accomplished that, look how great we were, and be done.

We can’t neatly wrap up our faith with a bow and put it on a shelf.

We have to set it free.

We have to keep working.

We have to keep seeing what changes need to be made.

We have to keep following the guidance of the spirit.

And that means getting off of the mountain top, rolling up our sleeves, and getting to work.

We do it all, because Christ has already gone before us.

He is the one we are following down the mountainside.

Jesus showed us you can take a moment for affirmation and to rest in the glory of God, but then we have to be on the move.

We have to let the good news out.

That light that overcame Jesus on the mountaintop – the glory that transformed him into a dazzling visage – wasn’t meant for him alone.

Christ is the light of the world and he knew that in order for that light to dwell within each of us, he was going to have to shine even in the darkest places of the world.

He was going to have to confront evil powers.

He was going to have to withstand betrayal and abuse.

He was going to have to carry his cross and enter the grave of death.

And we can’t stay on the mountaintop either.

We can’t rest for a moment longer.

We have to come down and let that light of Christ shine through our hearts.

If you haven’t already signed up for one of our Lenten groups, I urge you to do so today.

They will be starting this week and next and the discussions we will have as part of them will help us learn what it means to get out of church… to get out of these shrines and tabernacles we have built… and go out there to where people are waiting and hungry for the good news of God.

It is a chance to spend some time listening to God, listening to Christ, listening to the cries of our neighbors.

It is a chance to push ourselves out of complacency and into the harder and more beautiful realm of real ministry.

It is a chance to unbind the gospel… to set it free from those quiet mountaintop moments so that every moment can be filled with the good news of God.

Friends, it’s time to listen to Jesus.

It’s time to let God’s light shine through us.

It’s time to plant the seeds of the Kingdom of God everywhere we go.

It’s time to get off the mountain.

[1] Rodney Hunter, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol 1, page 454.

Are you really helping?

Posted on January 23, 2020Leave a comment

One of the first lessons I have learned on this renewal leave: just because you think you are helping doesn’t mean you actually are.

You have to ask.

You have to find out what they really need.

You have to probe beyond their own discomfort and go a little deeper.

You have to listen.

For over a year, my spouse has had an ankle injury that has gone untreated. Like previous sprains or twists, he had followed the tried and true instructions of RICE – rest, ice, compression, elevation. It got better. But then it didn’t.

And for a year, I’ve been trying to figure out how I can help.

Offering to do things that would reduce time on his ankle.

Compromising and not going on the hikes or walks that I’ve wanted to take with him.

Gently encouraging him to see a doctor.

Nagging him to see a doctor.

Asking how it was feeling.

But what I never asked was: what kind of help do you need from me?

I took on his problem as if it were my own and tackled it in a thousand ways, but I never actually asked him what would be beneficial to him as he worked out solving the problem.

I ended up in the ER in mid-December with what turned out to be heartburn. But at the time it felt like I was dying and it wasn’t getting any better and while I sat on the bathroom floor in tears, he sat next to me and asked – “what do you need?”

And what I needed was to know that I was going to be okay and the only way to do that, after googling symptoms and having these red boxes keep appearing that said “go to the ER”, was to go get it checked out.

We had different plans for that morning: Christmas shopping followed by lunch out together. Instead, we spent the morning there, with him right by my side, and me feeling more than a little foolish when the GI cocktail worked to relieve my pain.

A couple weeks later, that trip to the hospital came up again. But he was frustrated and upset and it wasn’t about the time or the money. It was because he felt like I hadn’t done the same for him.

I realized that I had never sat down with him, really listening to his fears. I hadn’t taken the time to ask him what he needed. His fears about what could be wrong, anxiety about navigating the scheduling, it had in some ways paralyzed him from taking the one step he needed to take. What he needed, the only thing he really needed, was for me to call and schedule an appointment.

Crap.

Do you know how many times I had thought about doing that? How many times I was frustrated with him for not doing so? How often I wanted to force him to go… but then backed away from that idea because I thought he would find it to be over bearing or insulting.

What if I had just asked?

What if instead of trying to fix his problems on my own, I had sat down with him and listened to what he needed and what I could do.

What if I had bypassed the assumptions and set aside all of the drama and stress and distraction in my life and had just asked:

“What do you need?”

How many times in ministry do we encounter similar problems? Someone walks into our office with a personal crisis. A staff member is having difficulty accomplishing a task. A committee is paralyzed by lack of involvement.

How often do we jump to problem-solving and offering solutions and doing the work for them? How many times have I taken on the burden of their situation and have wrestled with a thousand ways to help?

What do they actually need?

Maybe the answer is far simpler than we imagine.

We’re All Here

Posted on September 15, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Romans 8:38-39, Acts 16:22-34

The first thing I want to prayerfully acknowledge this morning is that we are all entering this space from different places.
Some of you may be concerned about a family member or friend who you worry are having suicidal thoughts.
I know that some of us have lost a loved one to suicide.
And it is without a doubt that there are persons in this room who at one time or another have experienced a dark time and thought about suicide yourself…
No matter whether you have personal experience with this struggle or not, my hope and prayer is that we will all learn better how to share and offer hope and comfort to one another.

This morning as we reflect together on how we, as a faith community, can come alongside those who are considering suicide, I’m drawing heavily upon the work of Fe Anam Avis and Soul Shop. A couple of years ago, I had the opportunity to not only take their Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training, but also become a presenter for this program. Soul Shop was developed by the Pittsburgh Pastoral Institute to equip faith communities to minister to those impacted by suicidal desperation.
Notice I said “desperation” and not “depression.”
While sometimes suicide and depression are linked, that is not always the case. Not all people who are depressed have suicidal thoughts and not everyone who is suicidal is depressed.
Henry David Thoreau once wrote, “the great masses of men [and I would add women] lead lives of quiet desperation.”
There are many people in this world who are struggling just beneath the surface, invisible to the rest of us.
We might marvel at how wide their smiles are or how well they are handling the difficulties in their lives, not realizing that they feel overcome by the immensity of their situations.
And when they don’t feel like they can be honest about that desperation, they might become isolated, which leads even further down the path.
Fe Anam Avis reminded me that this is why suicide often comes as such a surprise to us. Too often, the depth of desperation in a person’s life is only visible after an irreversible tragedy.

When I was in college, one of my roommates attempted suicide.
She is and always has been a bright and bubbly person, full of energy and life. We noticed that she was a bit more sharp and stressed out, but we all were. It was college and life was full of anxiety and the drama of boyfriends and tests. We never sat down and had a real conversation about what was going on in our lives in that way… at least not until she had to be taken to the hospital and our whole friend group made the long drive in the middle of the night from Indianola to Des Moines.

I can remember feeling helpless and full of guilt and shame as I sat in the car that night.
Why didn’t I see it?
Why didn’t she tell me?
Why didn’t I ask?

The truth is, too often we feel unequipped to even begin to respond in the midst of our worry about loved ones.
But friends, we can move from a reality of others struggling with quiet desperation to one of honest conversation. We can create space right here at Immanuel, but also in the lives we live outside of this building, to be honest about the struggles in our life, for others to be honest with us, and together to and to know they are not alone.
In fact, one of the most difficult problems that people face in the midst of their quiet desperation is simply finding someone to talk to. Someone who will listen. Someone who will hear them. Someone who will be there.

And it starts with being able to talk about suicide.
I want to invite you to try something. I want to invite you to turn to the person next to you and use the word “suicide” in a sentence. Any sentence. Just practice saying the word.
Fe Anam Avis says that if you can say the word “suicide” in a sentence, you can save a life.

For too long, the church has largely been silent about this quiet desperation, instead of actually wrestling with the many different stories within our scriptures that relate to suicide.
We are quick to think of Judas, but that only further connects these kinds of thoughts with feelings of guilt, betrayal, and condemnation.
The very first thing I want to say about this is that our United Methodist position on suicide is very clear. “Suicide is not the way that a human life should end… a Christian perspective on suicide begins with an affirmation of faith that nothing, [not death or life, angels or rulers, or powers, things past or present…. NOTHING] including suicide, separates us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39).

The reality is, our scriptures describe many instances where people struggle with suicidal desperation… Job, Elijah, Jonah, Jeremiah, Paul, and King Saul, just to name a few.
And there is a text in the Bible that describes a successful suicide intervention… a moment where a life was saved because someone was willing to talk about suicide.
Let’s turn to Acts 16 and explore that story together.
First, I want you to notice in Acts 16:24 that the jailor in this story was busy just going about his life doing his job. He received the order, put Paul and Silas in the cell, and locked them up. Fe Anam Avis calls him a First Day person – someone who may never have remotely considered suicide and was totally unprepared for how quickly life could change and desperation could show up.

But then something unexpected happens. An earthquake shakes the prison, the doors fly open and the shackles of the prisoners are broken.
In that moment, described in verse 27, the jailor finds himself in a dark night of desperation. In his case, this was a sudden change triggered by a life event. We sometimes see this with young people after a break-up or failure, but also among adults who have experienced a dramatic failure or loss or rejection.

But there is another part of this story. The community shows up and they too are desperate. They are concerned and worried for the life of this person in their midst. They notice. And they say something.
“Don’t harm yourself. We’re all here!” Paul cries out in verse 28.
In that moment, the jailor discovers he is not alone… and he chooses to live.

One of my colleagues, Heidi Carrington Heath, has written about her own experience with suicidal thoughts and what it meant when someone showed up in her life. (https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2017/11/9/second-day-people-suicide-and-faith)
“I was 18 the first time I was suicidal… I don’t remember reaching out to my best friend, but I did.
I remember that she appeared at my door in what felt like moments with another friend of ours. He crawled on the floor with me… and told me that I had two choices. He told me I could leave the room walking, or he could carry me out, but the option of sitting alone in that room with a box cutter in my hand wasn’t an option anymore. I haven’t seen either of them in years, but I literally owe both of them my life.
In that moment, I became a second day person. Second day people are people like me who live through the dark night of suicidal desperation to see the resurrection of the second day. “
She goes on to write,
“People suicide primarily for two reasons: a loss of hope, and a loss of social connection. And if the Church of Jesus Christ and our faith communities cannot do something about that, we should shut our doors. Building communities where no one loses hope, and no one is alone should be the heart of our work together.”

And so to that end, I want to share with you a simple acronym for how we, as people of faith, can show up to provide hope and connection with one another.
C.A.L.L.

First… we Commit.
We commit that if we are ever experiencing desperation and thoughts of suicide that we will reach out and find someone to talk to. I am someone you can talk with – but so are so many other people in this room.
If we make this commitment, we reduce our isolation and we don’t have to carry those burdens all by ourselves.

Next, we can Ask.
If you notice that someone around you is struggling, don’t be afraid to ask if they are thinking about suicide. They may not tell us. They may not want to admit it. But simply noticing their struggle and being to say the words, “That sounds like a lot. It is a lot to carry. Sometimes, people going through what you are going through begin to think about suicide. Do you ever think about suicide?”
Simply asking the question helps someone to know they are not alone. That you are there. That you care for them… deeply.

And once we ask, we have to Listen.
Listen for their story.
Listen for their struggle.
Let them tell you about what they are going through and be willing to sit with them through that.

But then, as in the story of Heidi… and also the jailer… the final thing we can do is Lead someone to safety.
You cannot change someone’s thoughts or their struggle or desperation, but you can help them get to a safe place where they can get the help they need.
Maybe you sit with them and make a phone call.
Maybe you remove an object of harm.

You are not a professional and you don’t have to be.
Just remember that you are called.
CALL: Commit, Ask, Listen, and Lead to safety.
The apostle Paul struggled with his own life in ministry in Philippians 1:19-25, which perhaps better equipped him to notice the desperation in the life of jailer who was right in front of him.
But as people of faith, we all are equipped with love, compassion and mercy. We are all equipped with love and grace. And we know that life is not easy and that desperation is a reality for all of us.
So friends, you, too, are called…. And we are here. We are here for one another. We are here for you.

Sing! Play! Summer! – Here I Am, Lord

Posted on June 2, 2019Leave a comment

Text: 1 Samuel 3: 1-11

Earlier this spring, we invited everyone at Immanuel to share with us some of your favorite hymns and songs. And this summer, we are going to highlight one of those pieces each week during our series: Sing! Play! Summer!
As the pace of activities slows down just a bit, we want to go back to those familiar songs that ground us in our faith.
We want to learn some new songs that will help us continue to grow in our faith.
And just as importantly, we want to have some fun and play and relax and let our spirits be re-energized by God and rest and recreation.
One of the pieces of our Sing! Play! Summer! Series is actually a six-week guide to summer fun and faith that we want to offer you and your families. It has some devotions, lists of related activities, new songs to learn, and ideas for making this the best summer ever!
You don’t have to do all six weeks in a row, but you could! Simply go at your own pace, enjoy this summer with your kids or grandkids or niblings or neighbors, and be sure to check out our church website for audio versions of the songs included!

Our very first song of the summer is actually the number one favorite song of the people of Immanuel: Here I Am, Lord!
This is also one of MY favorite songs and so we thought we’d kick off our summer series with the best of the lot 😊
Here I Am, Lord was written by Dan Schutte in 1981 and he based his work on two different call stories in scripture: Isaiah’s call in chapter 6 and Samuel’s call that we just heard a few minutes ago.
In fact, we were originally going to use the Isaiah story… but we are going to save that one for another Sunday coming up very soon!

The verses of the song remind us that the creator of everything in this world: the snow, the rain, the sea, the skies, the stars… this Creator God is not far removed from us, but hears every cry of God’s people. God feels our pain and weeps with love for us.
And God will not leave us in our despair and our sin, God actively works to save us! He provides bread, light, life itself… but… and most importantly… God does so through people like you and me.
Mr. Schutte comes out of the Jesuit tradition in the Catholic church and actually wrote this hymn for a mass for the ordination of Deacons in the church.
As he described the words of the chorus, he wanted to capture that sense that we as God’s people, aren’t always so sure about answering that call.
He writes: “In all those stories, all of those people God was calling to be prophets have expressed in one way or another their humanness or their self-doubt.”
So he adapted the sure-footed response from the mass to the words that perhaps we all find ourselves speaking:
Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord?
Are you actually speaking… to me?

The chorus of this hymn takes us to that call that keeps coming again and again to the young boy Samuel in the middle of the night.
Samuel serves in the temple with the priest Eli and that night is charged with the duty of keeping the lamps burning until dawn in the part of the temple where the ark of the covenant was kept.
As we are reminded each winter when the peace light from Bethlehem comes through, it is not easy to keep a lamp burning over night. You worry the oil will go out or the wick will burn through.
So Samuel is sleeping there on his mat in the temple so that he can get up periodically and check on the lamp.
And there in the night… in the dark… God speaks to him.
We don’t know how old Samuel might be in this part of the story, a boy is all the scriptures say, but he has spent his entire life in the temple. His mother Hannah was barren and prayed with all her might for a child. When her prayer was answered she brought the child before God and left him in the care of Eli, the priest and Samuel grew up in the temple, serving the Lord.

But I think too often we focus on how Samuel heard his call and forget the details of what that call was TO.
You see, Eli had two sons: Hophni and Phinehas, and they were the worst pastor’s kids you have ever met.
When people came to offer sacrifices, some of the meat was always given to the priests for their service. But the boys wouldn’t wait until the sacrifice was over… but they would grab a chunk of the choicest meat right off the fire.
Today, it would be like if the pastor’s kid stopped the offering plates as they were being passed, took out the largest bills they could find for themselves, and then allowed everything to proceed. And they did it with threat of violence.
Not only that, but they also sexually harassed the women who served at the temple.
Samuel would have grown up, seeing the actions of these two young men, and likely would have been troubled in his heart by their example.
Maybe he even cried out himself, asking God to do something about it.
Well, God heard the cries of the people and God promised this injustice would end.
And God called Samuel in the night and gave him a vision of what he was supposed to do in response. Of the kind of leader he was supposed to become.

As a junior in college, I was convinced that I was going to be a meteorologist when I grew up. But I was also in leadership with the Religious Life Council at Simpson and had been involved in ministry through my local church. One afternoon, the chaplain called me into his office and invited me and a few other students to an event called, “Exploration.”
It was a conference for young people who felt like they were hearing a call to ministry – a place to explore what that meant for their lives.
I don’t remember much about that gathering, except for one worship service.
Bishop Minerva Carcaño was preaching… in fact, she might not have even been a bishop at that point… and before her message she read aloud for us the call story that Tony just shared with us in our scripture reading.
Bishop Carcaño is Latina and what I simply can’t get out of my mind is her calling out, over and over again through the scripture and her message that name in her gentle dialect:
“Samuel! Samuel!” (heard phonetically as Sam-well!)
Hearing her say that name in such a different dialect helped me to hear the entire passage in a new way. It was like it struck a new chord and snuck into every corner of my mind.
The entire drive home from that event, I thought about all of the people throughout my life who had been calling me into a certain type of ministry:
First it was my pastor, Bruce Ough, who is now a bishop of the church. He called me into his office after I gave the sermon for the youth sunrise service at my church and told me I was going to be a pastor someday.
Then it was my youth leader, Todd Rogers, who kept lifting me up into leadership and preparing me for a pastoral role, whether I wanted to accept it or not.
That voice of God had come through teachers and fellow students who had been gently encouraging me to consider starting down the path of pastoral ministry even as I ran in the other direction.
I realized that like Samuel, I thought I was simply hearing the voice of my pastor or my teacher.
I had never stopped to consider before that weekend that perhaps it wasn’t just a human voice after all….
Perhaps God was speaking to me and inviting me into a particular role in the world!

The reality is, God doesn’t just speak to people being called into professional ministry or to prophets from the Old Testament.
God speaks to all of us.
God is looking around at this world that you live and move and breathe in and God hears the cries of the people around us:
The fear and anger surrounding gun violence and mass shootings.
The reality of climate change and its impact upon our neighbors… especially farmers and those along rivers in the Midwest right now.
The impact not only of mental illness, but also desperation because of the lack of resources to respond.
The sense of isolation and abandonment experienced by LGBT youth who are turned away from their families.
The physical hunger of our neighbors young and old.
The crisis of desperation that leads some women to seek to have an abortion.
The stress upon the lives of our youngest people that impacts their ability to learn in a classroom.
The realities of addiction that lead so many to end up on the streets or in our prisons.
These are the cries that God hears. These are some of the people for whom God, out of great love is weeping.
And these are all places where I have seen and heard that you as people of Immanuel have heard God calling you to do something.
They are the things keeping you up at night…
Nudging at you…
Tugging at your heartstrings…

And friends… when God starts calling, God doesn’t stop!
I see so many of you answering God’s call through your work and your volunteer time.
You show up faithfully in classrooms and work with kids outside of school.
You are present with vulnerable and hurting folks at hospitals and in prisons and in shelters.
You are organizing with others to make an impact upon this world, to put your prayers into action.
You are present and reach out to that person who most needed to hear that they are loved by God.
I’m so proud of the way that you, the people of Immanuel, have already said,
“Here I am! I will go!”
I think it’s the reason that this song is the top of our list for our favorite songs to sing together.
But I also want to say… we all have fear and doubt and uncertainty about responding to God’s call. Every single one of us has asked that question,
Is it I, Lord?
Do you really mean me?
Why do you think I am capable of this?
if you are feeling that nudge, that calling to do something, and you don’t know quite what comes next… I have two things I want you to remember:
First: the advice from Eli to Samuel – Take it to the Lord. Pray and tell God that you are listening and you are ready to hear. Ask what God wants you to do.
But second: you aren’t in this alone. And just like Samuel had Eli, I’d love to sit down and chat with you and listen so that maybe I can help get you connect with other people who are already engaged in this work as you learn what it might means to say yes.

Mystery: Deserted

Posted on November 11, 2018Leave a comment

“Justice too long delayed is justice denied.”
If you never have an opportunity to make your case…
If you are never allowed to truly be heard and seen…
If you believe that if someone just listened to you, they would see what was wrong…

Job cries out for justice.
He cries out for a hearing, a trial, an opportunity to lay out his case before the Lord.
And the days and weeks pass and no one is listening.
No one is paying attention to his pleas.
No one truly sees his struggle.

His friends try.
In fact, for 29 chapters there is a back and forth between Job and his friends.
They take turns speaking, lifting up platitudes, calling Job to repentance… and after each speech, Job responds in turn… his frustration growing with every sentence.

You see, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, believe that God is a God of justice, like Job does.
A God of retributive justice.
You get what you deserve.
If you live a righteous life, then you are blessed with peace and prosperity.
If you do unrighteous things, if you sin, then you are punished.

And those friends are looking at Job’s sorry state – his loss of family and income and now bodily distress.
Seeing all of that pain and misery, they conclude that if he is suffering, it has to be because he has done something wrong.
They take turns, but each one of them makes the case, that Job must be reaping something he himself has sown.

Don’t we do that?
When we see someone who has an unfortunate life experience or seems to be down on their luck, isn’t our first response to wonder what mistakes they might have made or how they got themselves into that situation?
We make assumptions about the cause of another person’s anguish, instead of simply being present and listening to them.
These friends… they don’t listen.
They don’t question their own assumptions.
Instead, they leap to intervention.
They see just how much harm has come into Job’s life.
Each one feels like they now have a burden to uncover his sin, point it out, so that Job can repent of that sin.
And this is because while they believe God is just, they also believe God is merciful.
“Happy is the person whom God corrects; so don’t reject the Almighty’s instruction. He injuries but he binds up; he strikes, but his hands heal.” (Job 5:17-18)
If they can get Job to repent, they believe they will save his life.

But for every one of their speeches, Job has an answer.
He has done nothing wrong.
Can’t they see that?
Can’t God see that?
We get a glimpse of his responses in our scripture reading for today. In yet another of these cycles where his friends speak and he responds, Job declares he is innocent and he demands justice… but God won’t even show up in his life so that Job can question him and lay out the case for his innocence.

“Justice too long delayed is justice denied.”

Those words from legal wisdom were echoed by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as he sat in a jail cell in Birmingham, Alabama.
He, too, is responding to friends – colleagues – the white Jewish and Christian leaders of the day, who had criticized the methods and timing of the demonstrations taking place in the city.
Dr. King was seeking justice for those who were suffering from racial injustice and segregation in the city, and was willing to put his own life and liberty on the line for the freedom of others.
What he encountered instead, was that people who should have been on his side – namely the white moderates – were instead finding all sorts of reasons to delay justice.
Like Job’s friends, they were making all sorts of assumptions about what was the cause of injustice and what might remedy it.
This isn’t the right path of action.
You aren’t the right person for the task.
It isn’t the right time.

He answers every single one of their charges and then finally turns his attention to this question of waiting.
“There comes a time,” Dr. King writes, “when the cup of endurance runs over and men are no longer willing to be plunged into an abyss of despair.”

There comes a time when you simply can’t wait any longer.
When the delay of justice becomes a denial of justice.
When it feels like no one is listening and you have been absolutely deserted.

That loneliness can be found in Dr. King’s letter.
We see it throughout Job’s pleas to God.
We can also hear it in the words of Christ on the cross, echoing the psalmist – “My God, My God, why have you left me?”

You see, along the path towards true justice are moments of doubt when we aren’t sure we can keep going.
The fight appears too daunting.
The resistance is overwhelming.
There is no energy left to carry on.
And the loneliness… maybe that is the worst part.
Feeling like you are in this all by yourself and that there is no one out there to help you and no one out there is even listening.
But you also can’t wait any longer.

That desperation is all over Job’s pleas that we read in our passage of scripture today.
He wants his day in court.
He still, firmly, unwaveringly believes that God is a God of justice and if he could only make his case that he would be justified.

In many ways, Job helps us to find our way forward in our own times of great agony.
When we don’t receive answers those deep questions about why something is happening, we could choose to turn our back on God altogether.
We could also resign ourselves and simply give in – This must be what God wants, I guess I should just accept it… in fact, remember this was Job’s initial response when everything was taken from him.

Or, we can resist the suffering we see in our life or in the life of others. We can actively fight against it while at the same time clinging to our faith….
Rev. Nathalie Nelson Parker sees this paradox through the lens of theologian Martin Buber: “’Job’s faith in Justice is not broken down. But he is no longer able to have a single faith in God and Justice.’ Although God and Justice are not mutually aligned in his current situation, ‘He cannot forego his claim that they will again be united, somewhere, sometime, although he has no idea in his mind how this will be achieved.’”

Or as Dr. King once said, the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards Justice.

In the face of suffering, it is hard to cling to hope.
It is hard to see God’s presence.
Both Job and Dr. King remind us of the persistent struggle to be seen, to be heard, to be known… and what it means to keep fighting, even when you feel like you are fighting all along.

I think for many of us, the question, however, isn’t what it means to be the one who sits in lament and struggle, but what it means to be the friends and the bystanders… the ones who so often make assumptions about where God is and what is really happening.

Rather than making excuses for God…
Rather than making assumptions about what is wrong in the lives of other people…
Rather than pushing our own understanding of what is right and wrong…
Maybe what we should do is sit back and listen.
Listen to the cries of suffering and injustice.
Listen to what those who are oppressed or struggling would like us to do.
Listen for where God might be calling us to lay aside our own assumptions.
Simply listen.
May it be so. Amen.